kismetandkindred-blog

[kismetandkindred-blog]

I LOVED THIS SO MUCH!

Morning Viewing

Regina is a morning television presenter and Robin is one of the resident chefs 

“Good morning and welcome back to today’s show,” Regina smiled warmly at the camera as she rubbed her palms together before continuing, “now, before the break I gave you a little sneak peek into today’s menu and I for one,” her eyebrows raised as she leaned in a little closer on her seat as though divulging a great secret to the home audience, “cannot wait to try what Chef Locksley has whipped up for us today. What do you say we head on over and see how he’s doing?”

The camera cut from her to the kitchen and to Robin as he welcomed the viewers in and began talking through today’s recipe with ease, so very personable in a way that she envied. His charm was so natural, so infectious that she couldn’t help but watch for a few moments despite the fact that she needed to prepare herself for the next segment – something that always happened whenever it was Robin’s turn to present. It wasn’t often that they got to work on the same day but when they did, it always excited Regina and, if twitter was anything to go by, their viewers.

They were quite a hit with the audience, had been from the very first moment they’d been on-screen together – he’d call her over soon, when the food was almost ready, for a taste and, much to everyone’s amusement, he wouldn’t allow her the sample unless she allowed him to feed it to her and she’d berate him for it later when he arrived at her apartment with that knee-weakening smile and his tender kisses but every time she’d allow him to do so – “Robgina” as everyone referred to them. It’d unnerved her at first, everyone knowing of their relationship despite the fact that they kept out of the tabloids and away from paparazzi but with every new comment on twitter, every new piece of fan mail gushing about the twinkle that sparked in Robin’s eye whenever Regina was close and the way that she blushed whenever his touch would linger or he’d compliment that morning’s outfit, she was growing more used to it.

 “Now, what do you say we get the lovely Regina over here to take a bite?”

Her eyes rolled as she was brought out of her thoughts to find Robin smirking over at her with his palm outstretched in invitation. She moved as quick as she was able in her heels, footsteps echoing throughout the studio and she pulled at the hem of her skirt before she was back in shot and smirking just as warmly at her idiotic boyfriend. “Mmm,” she hummed, blushing – as per usual – when his palm slid over the small of her back and he pulled her close behind the counter, before telling both him and the viewers “this smells absolutely delicious.”

“Why, thank you” he replied, rubbing his thumb over her hip out of sight of everyone else.

Her head shook subtly, amusedly, at his tone before she was tucking into the English stew he’d prepared for them today – come break time the whole studio crew would be able to try some for their lunch but for now she would enjoy – or at least trying to.

“Ah, ah, ah” he tutted, taking the spoon from her fingers the moment she lifted it, chuckling at her “seriously?” and reminding her “you know the rules, Regina” as he scooped up a healthy mouthful and brought it to his lips close enough to blow on it for her before offering it up and revelling in the warm smile filled with affection that she gave him before allowing him to feed her.

He used a palm beneath her chin to catch any droplets, gaze growing a little heated when she closed her lovely lips around the utensil and he pulled it slowly from between them. His eyes narrowed subtly at her, knowing she was doing such a thing to tease him simply for he could do nothing about it whilst on the air and so he merely brought up a thumb to brush away excess liquid from her bottom lip before putting the digit into his mouth in a way that had her eyes widening as she flushed a subtle pink. You bastard her gaze seemed to read before she swallowed her mouthful and told him “it’s even more delicious than it smells, Robin” a small slip from an absolute professional because here he was Chef Locksley though he didn’t comment on it, merely thanked her before turning back to the camera with her to finish off the segment with his palm on the small of her back once more.

Once the cameras had stopped rolling, the advert break giving them some time to reset the studio, he turned to drop a tender kiss on her cheek before telling her that he would be waiting backstage and that perhaps later on they could grab some lunch in town together. It still had her grinning like a schoolgirl even as she agreed and accepted the gentle kiss he pressed to her lips before watching as he exited the stage, shaking hands with crew members as he went and turning back to flash her another dimple filled  smile before leaving her to finish the show off and later, when the showbiz journalist tells her of how they’d sent twitter into meltdown with their cuteness, she will only smirk and roll her eyes but inside her heart will be singing.

[kismetandkindred-blog]

OQ Fic Celebration - Day 2

- Your favourite fic out of all that you’ve written.

This was like making me choose between children…or alcohol!

In the end though, I had to go with the first thing that sprang to mind and Coming to my Senses was it. I’m still writing it having heeded my need (and some requests) to continue it so really I’m just talking about the first chapter because for so long it was my favourite one-shot.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11941273/1/Coming-to-my-Senses

[kismetandkindred-blog]

This is my change! Though I don't know what I should ask for :/ Ohhh, maybe one of those post break up prompts! Like Regina/Robin coming to the others apartment in the dead of night because they missed them and realized they made the biggest fault if their life for breaking up with the other one/letting the other one go😱😍 pretty please and with sprinkles on top :$ love you❤️

Love you too! Short and sweet! 

“Thanks,” she murmured quietly, taking the warmceramic mug from his hands and curling her palms around it as she lowered it torest on her knees, keeping them from bouncing any more as she fought againsther natural instinct to run and remained in place on the couch. The place was alot tidier than she’d ever known it to be and, even though it wasn’t her place,her cruel mind had her picturing him cleaning up, ready to bring someone backhere with him and it had an aching jealousy flaring within her stomach. He wasn’thers any more, she’d lost that right some time ago.

He gave a small smile that didn’t reach theeyes that were watching her as he moved around the coffee table to sit on theopposite couch with his own mug of hot cocoa. He was wearing the greysweatpants that she’d stolen on more than just a few occasions and had no doubtpulled an old t-shirt on to answer the door to her. He usually slept naked.

Her fingernail tapped against her cup as shechewed at her bottom lip, wishing she’d have taken a couple swigs more of Emma’sbrandy before she’d left their apartment to come here because now that she was,now that she was faced with him, every word seemed to have dissipated from hertongue and from her mind.

There was nothing but the sound of the clock onthe mantle ticking for the longest time before Robin cut to the chase and asked“what are you doing here, Regina?” it wasn’t accusatory nor spoken sharply andfor that she was grateful but in all honesty, he just sounded tired, as tiredas she too felt.

She was tired of this limbo that they’d foundthemselves in the very moment she’d left this house and asked him to give hersome space, tired of the fact that he hadn’t fought for her, had simply let hergo and she was tired for walking out in the first place because things hadn’tbeen as bad as all of that, they’d been good together but in the moment, snowedunder by picky little arguments and foolish annoyances, she’d chosen the outinstead of fighting for him inreturn. “I don’t know…” and it wasn’t a lie, not really because “I just wantedto remember how it felt.”

His brow furrowed as his head tilted slightly,their mugs merely distractions for fidgeting fingers at this point. “How whatfelt?”

“Seeing you.”

His lips parted in surprise because “we’vebarely spoken in weeks,” and he sounded as though he wanted to laugh and in allhonesty, so did she.

“It’s stupid,” she shook her head, her own browfurrowed as her eyes dropped to swirling liquid chocolate rather than remainingon his, “I shouldn’t have co-“

“And what does it feel like?” he asked, cuttingher off with raised eyebrows and a look that begged for her honesty, a lookthat had her stomach churning with guilt because he’d never wanted this andneither had she but he deserved so much better than her, so very much better. “Regina…”he prompted when she remained quiet for a long moment, eyes pleading andkeeping her rooted to the spot.

She whimpered quietly as her eyes filled andher bottom lip trembled, “it feels like coming home.”

[kismetandkindred-blog]

Bed-sharing AU: I'm scared of thunderstorms and shaking and you lull me to sleep by stroking my hair (sorry I don't remember the exact wording), OQ of course!

Bandit!OQ

He settles onto his back with a heavy sigh atthe beginnings of the great storm that Granny had predicted only that morningafter feeling the warmth in the air despite the grey sky, heavy winds blowingat his tent and thick droplets of rain water pelting hard and fast against thecanvas, shaking the very (fabric) walls around him. Usually, he didn’t findsleeping in such a racket to be particularly hard, not after half of his lifeliving and breathing the elements but this was going to be a tough one to blockout.

The sky flashed a bright white, illuminatingthe world outside of his tent and instantly he closed his eyes and begancounting. One arrow, two arrows, threearrows, four a- There was a great rumble of thunder that told him the stormwasn’t too far away. It was a trick – and something of a tradition – that he’dlearned from his mother as a young boy. The moment the storm would begin, he’dscurry into her chambers and climb up and onto her bed to get ready for thefirst roll of thunder and together they would count and track the storm. It wasa memory tinged with both happiness and sadness for the time he’d got to havewith his mother and the days he spent now trying to recall her scent and thesound of her laughter. She was fading more and more as he grew older but they’dalways have their thunderstorms.

He began his counting once more when the skyflashed again, one arrow, two arrows,three arro- The thunder crashed once more, the storm was moving towardsthem.

Robin burrowed a little more into his sleepingthings, wrapping it a little tighter around himself as he rolled to lay uponhis side, only spying her silhouette once the lighting struck again.

“Regina?”

The flap of his tent lifted as she practicallyfell inside, soaked to the very bone despite her tent standing beside his own.Her eyes were wide, her lips pressed tightly together as she looked to the skyabove them, her whole body tensing at the next crash of thunder as her eyesscrewed shut and her hands curled into fists. She looked so small, so afraidand it was only when the lighting flashed once more – it was growing closer andcloser with every loud bang – that he saw the gleaming trail of tears fallingdown her cheeks. She was absolutely terrified.

“Regina…” he called her name again, softly tocontrast with the terrible sound of the storm, softening his expression whenshe turned to look at him, prising open her eyes once more as her bottom lipquivered. In any other situation he’d have teased her for being afraid of sucha thing and she’d have threatened to relieve him of his more valuable bodyparts and they’d laugh beneath their feigned scowls but now, all he could dowas open his coverings to her and welcome her into the safety of his arms, wetclothes be damned.

She didn’t hesitate to nuzzle herself in against him with her nosetucked in the crook of his neck and her fists clutching his sleep shirt and hedidn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her small frame, to tangle their legsbeneath the cover and to hold her as close as he possibly could with one armwhilst the other bent to stroke soothing fingers through her damp hair and shecried for the first hour, wept silently against him but after some time, whenthe sound of the storm grew more distant, her fingers loosened their grip andher breath evened out slowly and Robin found himself glad that at least one ofthem would be getting some sleep that night and he was glad that it was her.

[kismetandkindred-blog]

This is the one time I can't be mad about the dumb things Adam says... Only because Allison gifts us with OQ treats when she's fired up. Otherwise, Adam is still not ok with me.

This post is absolutely ok with me. Thanks Allison!

Breaking In Flash Forward Sneak Peek

Okay, so the other other day they released that OQ deleted scene of Robin being adorable and supportive and I was all annoyed by how much he always loved her and supported her and then they kill him, so I decided to sit down and rage write some BIn Robin (or as @beccabumblybee called him, RoBIn, you clever girl) being all supportive and loving to DEAL WITH ALL MY FEELS. But then I got a little, uh, carried away, and it’s 10k words, so I decided, y’know, I was gonna hold on to it until we got to that point in the story.

And then today Adam Horowitz got me ALL FIRED UP and I decided NEVERMIND LETS POST IT ANYWAY so here you go, 10k of BIn OQ. 

Set in early October (ch 25 was late July, for reference). You will see this again within the story itself, but it’s written so as not to give away any major plot points, I believe. NSFW, and trigger warning for disordered eating. You can skip down to the sex and be okay on that front, though. But the first part… proceed with extreme caution if disordered eating might trigger you.

Keep reading

[kismetandkindred-blog]

Parabellum Chapter 2

(5,645 words) Read Chapter 1 on Tumblr

She should’ve known there’d be trouble waiting for her at home.

Driving up to the townhouse, she sees Leopold’s car parked at the edge of the circular driveway.  He must have been watching through the window awaiting her arrival because she barely has time to shift the car into park and collect her things before he swings the front door open.

She can see him working his jaw in time with his tapping foot, every nerve in his body twitching noticeably with impatience.  Regina holds her breath as she exits the vehicle.  He’s clearly annoyed with her. Here it comes.

“Where have you been?” He barks.  “I thought we agreed that you should stay home and get some rest.” They hadn’t agreed on anything; Leopold had ordered her to stay home until her eye was healed.

“Someone had to drive Henry to school,” she retorts as she walks by him to let herself inside the house.

Leopold follows her through the front door, continuing with his lecture. “That’s why we have a staff on call, Regina.” He’s gesturing with his hands, an obvious indication that he’s losing what little calm he has left. “I already told the press that you were visiting your family in Appleton. Who saw you?”

He’s clearly nervous, and with good reason. Any breath of a scandal could mean the end of his political career. Every carefully placed stepping-stone to the White House would all be for nothing if the people speculated even the tiniest bit of foul play. There would be plenty of incriminating evidence to uncover if they decided to start looking for it.

Regina manages to clear the entryway, a couple of paces formed between herself and her husband, but his legs are longer than hers. Not by much, but he catches up with her fairly quickly. She’s reaching for the banister when Leopold’s fingers curl around her bicep, a faint jerk of her arm stops her from climbing the stairs.  

She’s shaking, partially from anger, but the fear is ever present and bubbles just enough to warn her to keep her own temper in check. Snapping doesn’t help; it never helps. She spins around to face him, intends to end this before it can escalate any further.

“No one saw me, Leo. I dropped Henry at school and drove around for a while.  I needed to clear my head.”  She whips her dark frames off her face and stares up at him with a fixed glare and pursed lips.  “I don’t think I should have to remind you that you are not the victim today.” She yanks her arm away. “Go back to the office.”

She leaves him in the foyer, her heels clicking loudly and filling the silence between them, a curse from under his breath joining in.  

It’s only in her mind, but she can practically feel the imprint of his hand on her shirt and she wants it gone. At the top of the stairs she begins unfastening the buttons down the front of her blouse, wanting to rip the fabric and the feel of Leopold off her. She isn’t going to ruin a perfectly good designer blouse because of him, but she can’t stop herself from slamming the door behind her as she marches into their bedroom and flings her purse and sunglasses onto the bed.

She wants out, but instead she closes herself in. If she had only herself to worry about, she’d have thrown her hands up a long time ago, but she has Henry to consider. She’s caused enough damage with her bad choices, she can’t ruin his life too by breaking apart the only family he’s ever known. Leopold would never grant her a divorce anyway, not while he’s running for President.  If a man can’t hold his marriage together, how can he convince voters that he’s capable of leading an entire nation? If anyone could though, it was Leopold; the master-manipulator worked around the clock, working the people and working her.

Pinpointing exactly when things started to spin out of control was difficult, though Leopold’s constant reminders that she brought this on herself were an unnecessary help. It was one count of infidelity, six years ago, during the Senate elections, after months and months of long days of campaigning that turned into long lonely nights in an empty bed.

At twenty-two years old, Regina had looked around at her close friends, all of them in rocky relationships with their spoiled, rich, Ivy League boyfriends who lied and cheated without remorse.  Those were not the kind of men that she wanted to waste her time on, definitely not the kind she wanted to marry, but that’s what was expected of her.

Regina always did suspect that her mother had known exactly what she was doing when she had contacted her old friend Leopold after his wife tragically passed. Leave it to Cora Mills to use another woman’s misfortune with a losing battle to cancer for her own benefit. It’s a thought that makes her cringe now, after almost seven years of marriage, but Regina may have taken advantage of Leopold’s vulnerability just as much as her mother did.  Her young eyes had seen Leopold as the man who could give her the one thing she desired more than anything - freedom.

She took the internship with the 40-year-old gentleman she knew back then only as ‘Mr. Blanchard,’ and as time went on she found that she enjoyed his company, and the company of his young daughter.  It was clear that her presence in his office served more than the estimated professional purposes.

Leopold’s charm was what ended up winning Regina over. Regardless of their eighteen-year age difference, Regina felt as if Leopold really cared for her and wanted to give her a happy life. She fell in love and at first they lived a charmed life.

She was Leopold’s young bride by age twenty-three, married for only two months before the touring started. Wedded bliss was so short-lived; she began to doubt all the reasons for getting married in the first place. Leopold frequently opted to check into hotels in the city instead of making the drive home, choosing to spend nights alone instead of sleeping next to his wife. Nights that, for Regina, dragged on, while she checked the clock every quarter hour with the TV remote hugged close to her chest, shivering in wasted lingerie, clinging to a glimmer of hope that her husband would change his mind and surprise her by just coming home and spending the night with her. He never did.

An affair hadn’t been the solution, it wasn’t something she had planned and certainly wasn’t her idea of retribution, but it happened and the dream life she signed up for turned into a nightmare from which she never wakes up.

Looking around the room, she spots the broken vase on the floor in the corner where Leopold had thrown it last night. She stares at it. She knows that nothing she did justifies Leopold’s actions towards her, but she can’t juggle all the emotions. Last night guilt had won out, but now it’s exhaustion. Exhaustion and disgust. At herself for being weak and at Leopold for making her feel weak.

She can’t stand to look at the vase for another second, can’t stand to be in this room. Everything holds a reminder of each time her husband lashed out at her, each time he offered her an apology in the form of an expensive gift, buying back her affections and bartering for her silence.

Her hand trembles as it grips the door jamb of the connecting master bath, steadying herself there while she hooks a finger between the arch of her foot and the strap of her high-heeled shoe. The shoe slides off, granting her instant toe-curling relief as it lands on the floor, toppling onto its side. The other shoe comes off the same way and it clunks against the bathroom tiles in front of her. She absently nudges it with the side of her foot until it reunites with its twin on the bedroom carpet.

All she wants is a nice long bath – a relaxing soak in hot water where she can sink into up to her chin or completely submerge herself, drowning everything out.  She’ll stay there until her skin is bright pink and the tips of her fingers have pruned.  She could stay there until it’s time to get Henry from school. To hell with this completely worthless day.

Three twists of the faucet handle has water spilling from the tap into the deep freestanding tub. She pours a generous amount of honey-vanilla scented oil into the splashing stream.  The fragrance is warm and inviting, lightly tickling her nose with its sweet aroma. She breathes it in as deeply as her lungs will allow. When she finally exhales, tears fill her eyes, but she refuses to shed even one more.

It’s like a bolt of lightning when she remembers the card from the man at the gun shop.  The simplicity of the so-called business card had piqued her interest, but it was too risky to have the number show up on the phone bill and have Leopold trace it, so she never made the call from the safety of her car. It was a good thing she didn’t because there may not have been enough time before she got home to make the private call and had Leopold seen her on the phone when she pulled up…she didn’t want to think about it.  

Finding him waiting for her had been a surprise. The man was a self-proclaimed workaholic who only makes time for his family when there’s a photo op for the local newspapers. He never spent time at home during the day if he could help it. He certainly never popped in just to check on her.

It was apparent, especially after last night, that his behavior was becoming more impulsive. This new unpredictability could prove to be dangerous.

The mirror hanging on the bathroom wall reflects that truth for her as she catches a glimpse of the dark bruising on her face.   She knows she has to do something.  This can’t happen again.  There can’t be a next time.

Soft steady footfalls carry her toward the bed and her purse, hasty fingers going to work seeking out the crumpled card. She finds it partially wrapped around a tube of lip gloss. She feels her blood chill within her veins for an instant, heart stuck in her throat. Then comes the little push of adrenaline she needs to help her follow through and she reaches for the cordless phone on the nightstand.

She presses the call button then listens to the dial tone echoing from the holes in the ear piece, letting it buzz on and on, mesmerized by the sound. Seconds tick away while she inspects the buttons on the dial pad, the lines and points of each number, the cracks between plastic and rubber, until it all goes blurry and shapeless under her gaze.  

She doesn’t know how long she sat there under the trance of her own thoughts, wondering whether she’s trying to talk herself out of this or if she’s working up the courage to set her plan into motion.  Her mind is a tangled mess.  Should she or shouldn’t she? What does she even plan to say to this man – this Robin Locksley – who sells guns under the table and “can show you how to use it properly?”  

Curiosity and self-preservation prompt her fingers into movement. It’s like she’s on auto-pilot when her thumb finds the first digit and firmly presses down on the keypad. Then she’s reading the following numbers on the card and pressing them into the phone one by one, and the call is connecting. It rings through once and she almost hangs up, but then the second ring comes and she’s still on the line. Her heart beats wildly, her hands shaking so much it’s difficult to hold the phone. Her mouth is dry, making her tongue stick to the roof. She takes a deep breath to stave off the nauseous feeling that’s rising up high in her stomach.

A male voice answers on the fourth ring with only a declaration of his last name, “Locksley.”

Regina’s heart is pounding – she can’t breathe, can’t speak. She pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it with dread.  She’s making a mistake, this is insane.

“Hello? This is Robin Locksley.”

He has an accent, a faint one. British. She still can’t respond.

“Hello?” He’s starting to sound irritated, “Hello?”

Like a petrified teenager making a prank call, she disconnects the call without saying a word. The phone is returned to its base next to the bed and she puts the card away in the top drawer of the nightstand before withdrawing herself back to the bathroom.

It’s just as she’s releasing the clasp of her bra and allowing the tiny black straps to slide down her arms that she catches her reflection in the mirror again. The lacy garment falls onto the heap of clothes she’d already discarded. She steps over the pile as she moves slowly toward the framed glass.  Her palms rest on the marble countertop, supporting her as she leans across the smooth surface. She tilts her head this way and that, allowing her eyes to roam over every angle of discolored skin.

Leopold had never left visible marks like this on her before.  He was strategic with his placement, usually on her arms, so that her blouse could hide the little spots where his fingers would dig into her flesh. Sometimes her thighs felt the sting of his anger, or her back, if she turned to get away while still within throwing distance. She didn’t know if those marks were worse than the invisible scars her left on her soul; the kind of scars that never truly heal.

The floor tiles are cold and slippery beneath her bare feet. A chill runs up her legs, along her spine, into her scalp.  Steam rising from the scalding water filling up the porcelain bathtub is fogging the mirror, and she stares blankly at her form fading in the white mist blocking the glass, unable to look away as her mind pulls her away again, back to the night before.

>< >< >< >< ><

It was an important night on the Senate calendar, requiring Leopold to give a speech at the Maine Sustainability Conference. Regina would of course be accompanying him to the event center with an effortless smile, unwavering support, and endless adoration.

Her hair was done and makeup looked flawless, as always. She was making sure of that detail, studying herself in the full-length mirror, checking the shadows above her lashes were blended enough when Leopold glided up behind her.

"You look wonderful tonight.” He tugged up the zipper on the back of her strapless dress. He pressed a kiss to her neck and another on her shoulder.  

She watched him in the mirror, watched his hands settle above her hips and squeeze gently at her waist.

“I’ve always loved you in black.”  His voice was low, but not quite a whisper, signifying the slow build of his arousal.

“We’ll be late if you don’t hand me my earrings and go put on your tie.”

“We have time.”  He turned her around and pulled her close, fingers firmly pressing against her lower back. He moved his hands up, his fingers hooking around her elbows to draw her arms up to his shoulders. He ran his fingertips to her hands, urging her to lock her wrists behind his neck. When she did, his touch found its way back down to the swell of her bottom, thrusting their hips together, and she could feel him straining against her crotch.  

Pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, she tried to push away. “I’m going to put on my earrings and freshen my gloss now that you’ve ruined it,” she smiled, trying to reach around him for her diamond studs on the dresser. “Go say goodnight to Henry and I’ll meet you downstairs.“

Had she been paying more attention, she would have noticed the frustration enter his eyes, but she didn’t want to see it and she wouldn’t until later.

Leopold left, his gait a bit stiffer than when he had come in, but he left quietly. To her delight, she found him in Henry’s playroom when she went to say goodnight to her son. It was a rare sight, but there was Leopold, in one of the small wooden chairs next to the Lego table, aiding in the construction of some grand fortress.  Henry stood next to his dad, showing him where the watchtower should be built. Regina’s heart couldn’t help but swell as she observed from her place in the doorway, wishing that these little bouts of bonding weren’t so few and far between.

Before leaving for the night, she reminded Henry’s nanny Ivy to have him in bed by eight; he’s a sweet talker and they both know he will try to stay up past his bedtime. Ivy’s messy blonde topknot bobbed along as she nodded and promised that Henry wouldn’t give her any trouble.

Regina hugged her little man tightly, leaving a quick kiss on the top of his head as he jetted across the room, tugging on Ivy’s hand and pulling her with him.

“We have to play Peter Pan!”

She backed out of the playroom, smiling at the sight of Henry standing on top of his toy chest with a foam sword, getting ready to leap into the air, Ivy reminding him to “think happy thoughts” and pretending to sprinkle pixie dust above him.  

She was laughing as she and Leopold descended the stairs, commenting on Henry’s wild imagination.  If only she hadn’t stopped. If only she didn’t turn back to get her forgotten clutch from the entryway table. If only she hadn’t taken a minute to double check that she had everything she needed. If only Leopold hadn’t picked up that day’s newspaper, which had been waiting for him on the same table in the entry hall.  

But she did and he did. He picked up the newspaper and kept walking, leaving her checking her bag just inside by the front door, his eyes scanning the columns for his own name as he ducked into the back of their waiting vehicle.

The early evening air had cooled with the setting of the sun, remnants of winter not quite giving way to the warmth of spring. Regina breathed in deeply as she stepped outside. Something about the change of the seasons made her giddy, had her looking forward to weekends spent biking and playing baseball with Henry. It would be crucial to give him that sense of normalcy in the upcoming year, especially if the elections were to go in Leopold’s favor. When she climbed into the back seat of the SUV to join Leopold, she sensed that his disposition had shifted. He wasn’t happy. She could see it on his face, and there was nothing she could do but steel herself and try and distract him.

“Did you remember to bring your speech pages?” Her voice remained light and even, but they both knew it was a well-practiced approach to avoid setting him off.  

She couldn’t imagine what had happened to sour his mood in such a short span of time, until she saw the newspaper crumpled on the floor of the car. The headline was creased right through the middle, but the face in the photo beneath it stared up at her with a smile she would recognize anywhere – Daniel Colter.

“Did you know that he was back in town?” Leopold breathed out forcefully, his question sounding more like an accusation.

“How would I have known? I’m as surprised as you are.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

Her brow creased. “Why would I? I have no reason to see him.” She smoothed her dress down over her legs to keep from clenching her fists in the same way Leopold was clenching his at his sides.

His voice lowered. “Don’t play dumb with me, Regina.”

“If you insist on bringing this up again, can you at least wait until after I’ve finished promoting you to the public?”  

In those dragged out moments between her snapped retort and Leopold’s response, she felt caught somewhere between brave and cowardly, and she hoped he didn’t see her slight flinch when he raised his hand to brush her hair away from her cheek.

His hand moved to cup the back of her neck, fingers pressing recently cut fingernails into her skin as he held her in place. “I’m sure you’d still win the Academy Award for tonight’s performance, my love.”

It was a venom-laced compliment. His thumb stroked her exposed collarbone.  Regina wasn’t quite willing to back down, didn’t want to allow him the satisfaction of having the final word.  She knew that Leopold wouldn’t want to push things out of proportion - not right before they were going to be put on display in a communal setting in less than twenty minutes. He’d save it for after the public appearance.  Still, this little routine of theirs required a certain level of choreography and it was time for her move.

“Years of training, dear husband, and I only have you to thank.”

The clicking of camera shutters broke through the silence that had descended on the car.  Arriving at the Civic Center in Augusta, a row of flashing lights greeted them. Regina was already annoyed by the pomp and circumstance surrounding the event. Thankfully, Leopold was in no mood to pose for the press either, so all Regina had to do was take his arm and smile until they managed to bridge the gap from the SUV to the open doors of the auditorium.  

Inside, she was seated with Mallory Spencer, whose husband Albert is a House Representative and one of Leopold’s biggest supporters. A well-kept trophy, Mallory worked just as hard as Albert during campaign season, and she was working her tongue tonight, wagging it incessantly with the latest gossip about each politician.

Her bright red lips hadn’t stopped moving from the time Regina sat down at their table and as much as Regina adored her friend, she was not really interested in hearing the latest rumors flitting around their social circle.  She humored the chatty blonde for a while, raising her brows and quietly gasping when reaction was warranted.  Too often, she glanced at her watch to check the time, fully knowing that the night was far from over. She felt a small bit of relief when Leopold was introduced, but when his speech was rounding to a close she knew the floor would be open to sponsors and residents once he surrendered the microphone.  

At 7:56, she discreetly sent a text to Ivy, asking if Henry was in bed yet.  Ivy replied back with a photo of Henry and herself propped against the bed pillows with a book of fairytales.  Seeing Henry’s droopy eyes served the purpose of putting a genuine smile on her face.

The conference ended two hours later and she was able to kick off her shoes in the back of the Tahoe and relax into the seat, too tired to remember why she had been on edge the whole time. Leopold’s arm slipped around her, pulling her to lean against him, had her remembering, but she couldn’t recall which one of them had left the car earlier with the upper hand. She’d have to play it safe. He tilted his head down to look at her.

He spoke softly. "You’re not still angry with me, are you?”

Her guard was up. He didn’t care whether she was really angry or not, but she was so tired and the last thing she wanted was a fight.  Her lips stretched into a weary smile before she answered, “all is forgiven. I know how much you love me, and I love you too.”

It was a well-practiced line, nothing more. There was no truth in it. Tears stung her eyes, and she prayed he hadn’t notice the way they glistened when the headlights of a passing car shined into them.

"That’s so good to hear, my darling.” He was still holding her, almost possessively, and slowly tracing figure eights along her upper arm, “I really need you to be on my side right now.  I don’t think I would be able to focus on my work while I’m away in Washington, if I thought you needed supervision that I could not provide myself.”

“Supervision?”  Regina jerked against him, eyes burning as she looked at his smug face. “I’m not a child, Leo.”

“No, you’re not, and that’s why I’m surprised you don’t know better sometimes.”

Anger blurred her vision. She was hyperaware of her pulse hammering against her skin. She counted to ten before blinking him back into focus. She hated how he was looking at her and she forced her gaze away, leaning back against the seat and crossing her arms over her middle.

Leopold’s voice went hollow. “I gave up wondering, a long time ago, if Henry is really my son, Regina, but it still hurts me … It hurts me to think that he may not be.”

“And there it is.” She gnawed on the inside of her cheek, eyes fixed on her reflection in the dark tented window.

"I only want reassurance that I have no reason to worry about your old,” He paused, wanting to choose the most neutral word to define her relationship with Daniel, “Acquaintance … while I’m so far from home, that’s all.”

“You have nothing to worry about.” She’d ground out the words through clenched teeth, wouldn’t look at him, hated him again for the way he held this single count of indiscretion against her yet unable to blame him anymore then she could forgive herself.

They shared twenty long minutes of silence and staring out into the darkness, eyes catching blurred dashes and orange reflectors along the highway.  When the SUV finally came to a stop in front of their home, Regina looked over her shoulder to find that her husband had fallen asleep.

The driver opened the back door for her and she stepped out, not bothering to wait for Leopold.  Once inside, she’d ventured up the stairs to check on Henry.  He looked so angelic, sleeping on his side with his palms pressed together and tucked under his cheek.  She’d slipped out of his room quietly, moving two doors down to find Ivy curled up on the lounge in the study.

“Hey,” her voice was barely above a whisper while her hand gently touched the girl’s shoulder to rouse her. “We just got in.  Would you like a ride home?”

Ivy smiled and stretched until she was sitting upright and gave a long yawn before she could answer, “No, I’ll be okay, thank you. Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.  Henry was out like a light by 8:03.”

Leopold stalked in with a drink in hand, thanked Ivy for staying so late, then told Regina he would wait up for her.  He’d clutched her arm a little too hard when he leaned in to kiss her temple and she knew that meant he wasn’t going to let her off the hook tonight.

By the time she escorted Ivy out, set the security alarm, and made it back upstairs, Leopold had finished his first drink and was refilling his glass to the rim with more bourbon.

She closed their bedroom door and began removing her jewelry. Next, she slipped out of her heels and scooped them up to put them back in their place in the closet. Leopold put down his glass, already empty for the second time.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” He asked.

She stopped and turned to look at him only long enough to say, “No. I’m tired of talking in circles,” before retreating into the closet.

“Perhaps you’d stop going in circles if you just admitted the truth.”

Her hands squeezed angrily at her shoes and she whirled around so quickly her hair slapped against her face. “Why don’t you just demand a paternity test if you refuse to believe me?”  She met him in the middle of the room, standing toe-to-toe, her face pushed up to his. “Why keep holding it over my head the way you do?  Would you love Henry any less if he didn’t share your DNA? Would you ask for a divorce if you found out I’d been lying to you all this time?”

Her voice began to crack as she used up more and more oxygen with her lengthy outburst. “Let’s just get to the bottom of this right now, Leo, because frankly, I don’t care about the public’s opinion of my character being destroyed, not nearly as much as you do.  So why don’t we just settle it with a blood test?”  Her lungs had run out of air by that point and she gasped to catch her breath.

He had pulled back while she ranted, but now he closed in on her, raising his voice as he yelled back. “Unlike you, I have integrity.” His hands grabbed her arms, clenching tight enough as he pulled her flush up against him that she dropped one of the shoes she’d been clutching. “I want to believe it when you say you’re sure he’s my son.”

The smell of bourbon was heavy with each of his expelled breaths, the stench made Regina turn her face away in disgust. His right hand seized her jaw, pulling her face back toward him.  Regina squeezed her eyes shut, twisting her arms to press against his chest, trying to pull back, but he managed to hold on, bringing his arm around her waist.

“Look at me, God damn it!” He’d bellowed with no regard for their son sleeping down the hall.

“Keep your voice down,” she warned him, “or you’ll wake Henry.”

His arm held her against his torso with enough pressure that she could barely take a breath and it scared her. She knew what that look in his eyes meant. It appeared there quicker now than it had any time before.

She tried to push against his chest again and wiggle out of his grasp. They pushed and pulled against each other, both grappling for leverage, both struggling to get the upper hand. Leopold’s face was red, his cheek sweaty as it pressed against her forehead.  They were both shaking with the rage coursing through his body.

“Take your hands off me, or I swear to God-” The threatening bite she’d hoped to deliver this statement with wasn’t there. She thrust her head up and locked her eyes on his, trying to stare him down and show him she wasn’t as afraid as she felt.

“You swear to God, what?” He latched onto a handful of hair at the back of her head and pulled so hard it caused the bones in her neck to crack audibly.

That was her cue. “Please, just let me go.  I’m sorry.  Please, don’t … please …” Her voice faded, turned into soft whimpers as she started to cry.

When he did let her go, it was with a hard shove.  Her foot landed and rolled on the shoe that had fallen from her hand at the start of their scuffle.  She stumbled away from him, body twisting, and there was nothing she could do to stop herself from falling face-first onto the armrest of the settee in front of their bed.

Her brow bone caught the brunt of the impact on the wooden edge. She cried out and hissed, impulsively clamping her hands over her eye to apply pressure to her throbbing face.  She stayed on her knees, hunched over, until she felt Leopold put his hands on her shoulders.  At his touch, she jumped and quickly crawled around the side of the bed.

His voice was still harsh when he said, “Regina, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?  Let me see.”

She swatted him away, “Don’t touch me.”

“Let me look at you.  Are you bleeding?”

“I’m fine. “ She scuttled backwards, reaching to pull herself up with one hand grasping at the sheets of the bed.

“Goddamit Regina! Just let me look!”

He grabbed to pull her hand away from her face

“Just leave me alone!” She shoved him away from her.

That’s when he grabbed the vase off the dresser and flung it at the wall in anger.

>< >< >< >< ><

She’s still in the bathroom, bracing herself against the edge of the sink, looking at the fogged up glass, her reflection gone completely. It breaks the trance and she abandons the mirror to go dip her body into her waiting bath.

There’s a soft knock a few minutes later. She hears the door click open and a rush of cold air forces its way in behind Leopold. He leans against the countertop next to the sink. He looks so tired, so guilty, so weighed down by regret. At least that’s what she tells herself.  

He’s staring at her eye. “Please forgive me.” He breathes, shoulders hunching forward and he looks down, head hanging low. His eyes are now focused on his own hands.  “I never wanted to hurt you.”

She holds a hand out to him, squeezing his fingers in hers. He won’t do it again, she promises. She can wash this one away and be clean. One way or another, he won’t do it again.

Read on ff.net   Chapter 1   //  Chapter 2

[kismetandkindred-blog]

Parabellum Chapter 2

(5,645 words) Read Chapter 1 on Tumblr

She should’ve known there’d be trouble waiting for her at home.

Driving up to the townhouse, she sees Leopold’s car parked at the edge of the circular driveway.  He must have been watching through the window awaiting her arrival because she barely has time to shift the car into park and collect her things before he swings the front door open.

She can see him working his jaw in time with his tapping foot, every nerve in his body twitching noticeably with impatience.  Regina holds her breath as she exits the vehicle.  He's clearly annoyed with her. Here it comes.

"Where have you been?” He barks.  “I thought we agreed that you should stay home and get some rest.” They hadn’t agreed on anything; Leopold had ordered her to stay home until her eye was healed.

“Someone had to drive Henry to school,” she retorts as she walks by him to let herself inside the house.

Leopold follows her through the front door, continuing with his lecture. “That’s why we have a staff on call, Regina.” He’s gesturing with his hands, an obvious indication that he’s losing what little calm he has left. “I already told the press that you were visiting your family in Appleton. Who saw you?”

He’s clearly nervous, and with good reason. Any breath of a scandal could mean the end of his political career. Every carefully placed stepping-stone to the White House would all be for nothing if the people speculated even the tiniest bit of foul play. There would be plenty of incriminating evidence to uncover if they decided to start looking for it.

Regina manages to clear the entryway, a couple of paces formed between herself and her husband, but his legs are longer than hers. Not by much, but he catches up with her fairly quickly. She’s reaching for the banister when Leopold’s fingers curl around her bicep, a faint jerk of her arm stops her from climbing the stairs.  

She’s shaking, partially from anger, but the fear is ever present and bubbles just enough to warn her to keep her own temper in check. Snapping doesn’t help; it never helps. She spins around to face him, intends to end this before it can escalate any further.

“No one saw me, Leo. I dropped Henry at school and drove around for a while.  I needed to clear my head.”  She whips her dark frames off her face and stares up at him with a fixed glare and pursed lips.  “I don’t think I should have to remind you that you are not the victim today.” She yanks her arm away. “Go back to the office.”

She leaves him in the foyer, her heels clicking loudly and filling the silence between them, a curse from under his breath joining in.  

It's only in her mind, but she can practically feel the imprint of his hand on her shirt and she wants it gone. At the top of the stairs she begins unfastening the buttons down the front of her blouse, wanting to rip the fabric and the feel of Leopold off her. She isn't going to ruin a perfectly good designer blouse because of him, but she can't stop herself from slamming the door behind her as she marches into their bedroom and flings her purse and sunglasses onto the bed.

She wants out, but instead she closes herself in. If she had only herself to worry about, she'd have thrown her hands up a long time ago, but she has Henry to consider. She's caused enough damage with her bad choices, she can't ruin his life too by breaking apart the only family he's ever known. Leopold would never grant her a divorce anyway, not while he’s running for President.  If a man can’t hold his marriage together, how can he convince voters that he’s capable of leading an entire nation? If anyone could though, it was Leopold; the master-manipulator worked around the clock, working the people and working her.

Pinpointing exactly when things started to spin out of control was difficult, though Leopold’s constant reminders that she brought this on herself were an unnecessary help. It was one count of infidelity, six years ago, during the Senate elections, after months and months of long days of campaigning that turned into long lonely nights in an empty bed.

At twenty-two years old, Regina had looked around at her close friends, all of them in rocky relationships with their spoiled, rich, Ivy League boyfriends who lied and cheated without remorse.  Those were not the kind of men that she wanted to waste her time on, definitely not the kind she wanted to marry, but that’s what was expected of her.

Regina always did suspect that her mother had known exactly what she was doing when she had contacted her old friend Leopold after his wife tragically passed. Leave it to Cora Mills to use another woman’s misfortune with a losing battle to cancer for her own benefit. It’s a thought that makes her cringe now, after almost seven years of marriage, but Regina may have taken advantage of Leopold’s vulnerability just as much as her mother did.  Her young eyes had seen Leopold as the man who could give her the one thing she desired more than anything - freedom.

She took the internship with the 40-year-old gentleman she knew back then only as ‘Mr. Blanchard,’ and as time went on she found that she enjoyed his company, and the company of his young daughter.  It was clear that her presence in his office served more than the estimated professional purposes.

Leopold’s charm was what ended up winning Regina over. Regardless of their eighteen-year age difference, Regina felt as if Leopold really cared for her and wanted to give her a happy life. She fell in love and at first they lived a charmed life.

She was Leopold’s young bride by age twenty-three, married for only two months before the touring started. Wedded bliss was so short-lived; she began to doubt all the reasons for getting married in the first place. Leopold frequently opted to check into hotels in the city instead of making the drive home, choosing to spend nights alone instead of sleeping next to his wife. Nights that, for Regina, dragged on, while she checked the clock every quarter hour with the TV remote hugged close to her chest, shivering in wasted lingerie, clinging to a glimmer of hope that her husband would change his mind and surprise her by just coming home and spending the night with her. He never did.

An affair hadn’t been the solution, it wasn’t something she had planned and certainly wasn’t her idea of retribution, but it happened and the dream life she signed up for turned into a nightmare from which she never wakes up.

  Looking around the room, she spots the broken vase on the floor in the corner where Leopold had thrown it last night. She stares at it. She knows that nothing she did justifies Leopold’s actions towards her, but she can’t juggle all the emotions. Last night guilt had won out, but now it’s exhaustion. Exhaustion and disgust. At herself for being weak and at Leopold for making her feel weak.

She can’t stand to look at the vase for another second, can’t stand to be in this room. Everything holds a reminder of each time her husband lashed out at her, each time he offered her an apology in the form of an expensive gift, buying back her affections and bartering for her silence.

Her hand trembles as it grips the door jamb of the connecting master bath, steadying herself there while she hooks a finger between the arch of her foot and the strap of her high-heeled shoe. The shoe slides off, granting her instant toe-curling relief as it lands on the floor, toppling onto its side. The other shoe comes off the same way and it clunks against the bathroom tiles in front of her. She absently nudges it with the side of her foot until it reunites with its twin on the bedroom carpet.

All she wants is a nice long bath – a relaxing soak in hot water where she can sink into up to her chin or completely submerge herself, drowning everything out.  She’ll stay there until her skin is bright pink and the tips of her fingers have pruned.  She could stay there until it’s time to get Henry from school. To hell with this completely worthless day.

Three twists of the faucet handle has water spilling from the tap into the deep freestanding tub. She pours a generous amount of honey-vanilla scented oil into the splashing stream.  The fragrance is warm and inviting, lightly tickling her nose with its sweet aroma. She breathes it in as deeply as her lungs will allow. When she finally exhales, tears fill her eyes, but she refuses to shed even one more.

It’s like a bolt of lightning when she remembers the card from the man at the gun shop.  The simplicity of the so-called business card had piqued her interest, but it was too risky to have the number show up on the phone bill and have Leopold trace it, so she never made the call from the safety of her car. It was a good thing she didn’t because there may not have been enough time before she got home to make the private call and had Leopold seen her on the phone when she pulled up...she didn’t want to think about it.  

Finding him waiting for her had been a surprise. The man was a self-proclaimed workaholic who only makes time for his family when there’s a photo op for the local newspapers. He never spent time at home during the day if he could help it. He certainly never popped in just to check on her.

It was apparent, especially after last night, that his behavior was becoming more impulsive. This new unpredictability could prove to be dangerous.

The mirror hanging on the bathroom wall reflects that truth for her as she catches a glimpse of the dark bruising on her face.   She knows she has to do something.  This can’t happen again.  There can’t be a next time.

  Soft steady footfalls carry her toward the bed and her purse, hasty fingers going to work seeking out the crumpled card. She finds it partially wrapped around a tube of lip gloss. She feels her blood chill within her veins for an instant, heart stuck in her throat. Then comes the little push of adrenaline she needs to help her follow through and she reaches for the cordless phone on the nightstand.

She presses the call button then listens to the dial tone echoing from the holes in the ear piece, letting it buzz on and on, mesmerized by the sound. Seconds tick away while she inspects the buttons on the dial pad, the lines and points of each number, the cracks between plastic and rubber, until it all goes blurry and shapeless under her gaze.  

She doesn’t know how long she sat there under the trance of her own thoughts, wondering whether she’s trying to talk herself out of this or if she’s working up the courage to set her plan into motion.  Her mind is a tangled mess.  Should she or shouldn’t she? What does she even plan to say to this man – this Robin Locksley – who sells guns under the table and “can show you how to use it properly?”  

Curiosity and self-preservation prompt her fingers into movement. It’s like she’s on auto-pilot when her thumb finds the first digit and firmly presses down on the keypad. Then she’s reading the following numbers on the card and pressing them into the phone one by one, and the call is connecting. It rings through once and she almost hangs up, but then the second ring comes and she’s still on the line. Her heart beats wildly, her hands shaking so much it’s difficult to hold the phone. Her mouth is dry, making her tongue stick to the roof. She takes a deep breath to stave off the nauseous feeling that’s rising up high in her stomach.

A male voice answers on the fourth ring with only a declaration of his last name, “Locksley.”

Regina’s heart is pounding – she can’t breathe, can’t speak. She pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it with dread.  She’s making a mistake, this is insane.

“Hello? This is Robin Locksley.”

He has an accent, a faint one. British. She still can’t respond.

“Hello?” He’s starting to sound irritated, “Hello?”

Like a petrified teenager making a prank call, she disconnects the call without saying a word. The phone is returned to its base next to the bed and she puts the card away in the top drawer of the nightstand before withdrawing herself back to the bathroom.

It’s just as she’s releasing the clasp of her bra and allowing the tiny black straps to slide down her arms that she catches her reflection in the mirror again. The lacy garment falls onto the heap of clothes she’d already discarded. She steps over the pile as she moves slowly toward the framed glass.  Her palms rest on the marble countertop, supporting her as she leans across the smooth surface. She tilts her head this way and that, allowing her eyes to roam over every angle of discolored skin.

Leopold had never left visible marks like this on her before.  He was strategic with his placement, usually on her arms, so that her blouse could hide the little spots where his fingers would dig into her flesh. Sometimes her thighs felt the sting of his anger, or her back, if she turned to get away while still within throwing distance. She didn’t know if those marks were worse than the invisible scars her left on her soul; the kind of scars that never truly heal.

The floor tiles are cold and slippery beneath her bare feet. A chill runs up her legs, along her spine, into her scalp.  Steam rising from the scalding water filling up the porcelain bathtub is fogging the mirror, and she stares blankly at her form fading in the white mist blocking the glass, unable to look away as her mind pulls her away again, back to the night before.

   >< >< >< >< ><

 It was an important night on the Senate calendar, requiring Leopold to give a speech at the Maine Sustainability Conference. Regina would of course be accompanying him to the event center with an effortless smile, unwavering support, and endless adoration.

Her hair was done and makeup looked flawless, as always. She was making sure of that detail, studying herself in the full-length mirror, checking the shadows above her lashes were blended enough when Leopold glided up behind her.

"You look wonderful tonight." He tugged up the zipper on the back of her strapless dress. He pressed a kiss to her neck and another on her shoulder.  

She watched him in the mirror, watched his hands settle above her hips and squeeze gently at her waist.

"I’ve always loved you in black."  His voice was low, but not quite a whisper, signifying the slow build of his arousal.

"We'll be late if you don’t hand me my earrings and go put on your tie."

"We have time."  He turned her around and pulled her close, fingers firmly pressing against her lower back. He moved his hands up, his fingers hooking around her elbows to draw her arms up to his shoulders. He ran his fingertips to her hands, urging her to lock her wrists behind his neck. When she did, his touch found its way back down to the swell of her bottom, thrusting their hips together, and she could feel him straining against her crotch.  

Pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, she tried to push away. "I'm going to put on my earrings and freshen my gloss now that you've ruined it," she smiled, trying to reach around him for her diamond studs on the dresser. “Go say goodnight to Henry and I'll meet you downstairs."

Had she been paying more attention, she would have noticed the frustration enter his eyes, but she didn’t want to see it and she wouldn’t until later.

Leopold left, his gait a bit stiffer than when he had come in, but he left quietly. To her delight, she found him in Henry’s playroom when she went to say goodnight to her son. It was a rare sight, but there was Leopold, in one of the small wooden chairs next to the Lego table, aiding in the construction of some grand fortress.  Henry stood next to his dad, showing him where the watchtower should be built. Regina’s heart couldn’t help but swell as she observed from her place in the doorway, wishing that these little bouts of bonding weren’t so few and far between.

Before leaving for the night, she reminded Henry’s nanny Ivy to have him in bed by eight; he’s a sweet talker and they both know he will try to stay up past his bedtime. Ivy’s messy blonde topknot bobbed along as she nodded and promised that Henry wouldn’t give her any trouble.

Regina hugged her little man tightly, leaving a quick kiss on the top of his head as he jetted across the room, tugging on Ivy’s hand and pulling her with him.

“We have to play Peter Pan!”

She backed out of the playroom, smiling at the sight of Henry standing on top of his toy chest with a foam sword, getting ready to leap into the air, Ivy reminding him to “think happy thoughts” and pretending to sprinkle pixie dust above him.  

She was laughing as she and Leopold descended the stairs, commenting on Henry’s wild imagination.  If only she hadn’t stopped. If only she didn’t turn back to get her forgotten clutch from the entryway table. If only she hadn’t taken a minute to double check that she had everything she needed. If only Leopold hadn’t picked up that day’s newspaper, which had been waiting for him on the same table in the entry hall.  

But she did and he did. He picked up the newspaper and kept walking, leaving her checking her bag just inside by the front door, his eyes scanning the columns for his own name as he ducked into the back of their waiting vehicle.

The early evening air had cooled with the setting of the sun, remnants of winter not quite giving way to the warmth of spring. Regina breathed in deeply as she stepped outside. Something about the change of the seasons made her giddy, had her looking forward to weekends spent biking and playing baseball with Henry. It would be crucial to give him that sense of normalcy in the upcoming year, especially if the elections were to go in Leopold’s favor. When she climbed into the back seat of the SUV to join Leopold, she sensed that his disposition had shifted. He wasn’t happy. She could see it on his face, and there was nothing she could do but steel herself and try and distract him.

“Did you remember to bring your speech pages?” Her voice remained light and even, but they both knew it was a well-practiced approach to avoid setting him off.  

She couldn’t imagine what had happened to sour his mood in such a short span of time, until she saw the newspaper crumpled on the floor of the car. The headline was creased right through the middle, but the face in the photo beneath it stared up at her with a smile she would recognize anywhere – Daniel Colter.

“Did you know that he was back in town?” Leopold breathed out forcefully, his question sounding more like an accusation.

“How would I have known? I’m as surprised as you are.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

Her brow creased. “Why would I? I have no reason to see him.” She smoothed her dress down over her legs to keep from clenching her fists in the same way Leopold was clenching his at his sides.

His voice lowered. “Don’t play dumb with me, Regina.”

“If you insist on bringing this up again, can you at least wait until after I’ve finished promoting you to the public?”  

In those dragged out moments between her snapped retort and Leopold’s response, she felt caught somewhere between brave and cowardly, and she hoped he didn’t see her slight flinch when he raised his hand to brush her hair away from her cheek.

His hand moved to cup the back of her neck, fingers pressing recently cut fingernails into her skin as he held her in place. “I’m sure you’d still win the Academy Award for tonight’s performance, my love.”

It was a venom-laced compliment. His thumb stroked her exposed collarbone.  Regina wasn’t quite willing to back down, didn’t want to allow him the satisfaction of having the final word.  She knew that Leopold wouldn’t want to push things out of proportion - not right before they were going to be put on display in a communal setting in less than twenty minutes. He’d save it for after the public appearance.  Still, this little routine of theirs required a certain level of choreography and it was time for her move.

“Years of training, dear husband, and I only have you to thank.”

 The clicking of camera shutters broke through the silence that had descended on the car.  Arriving at the Civic Center in Augusta, a row of flashing lights greeted them. Regina was already annoyed by the pomp and circumstance surrounding the event. Thankfully, Leopold was in no mood to pose for the press either, so all Regina had to do was take his arm and smile until they managed to bridge the gap from the SUV to the open doors of the auditorium.  

Inside, she was seated with Mallory Spencer, whose husband Albert is a House Representative and one of Leopold's biggest supporters. A well-kept trophy, Mallory worked just as hard as Albert during campaign season, and she was working her tongue tonight, wagging it incessantly with the latest gossip about each politician.

Her bright red lips hadn't stopped moving from the time Regina sat down at their table and as much as Regina adored her friend, she was not really interested in hearing the latest rumors flitting around their social circle.  She humored the chatty blonde for a while, raising her brows and quietly gasping when reaction was warranted.  Too often, she glanced at her watch to check the time, fully knowing that the night was far from over. She felt a small bit of relief when Leopold was introduced, but when his speech was rounding to a close she knew the floor would be open to sponsors and residents once he surrendered the microphone.  

At 7:56, she discreetly sent a text to Ivy, asking if Henry was in bed yet.  Ivy replied back with a photo of Henry and herself propped against the bed pillows with a book of fairytales.  Seeing Henry’s droopy eyes served the purpose of putting a genuine smile on her face.

The conference ended two hours later and she was able to kick off her shoes in the back of the Tahoe and relax into the seat, too tired to remember why she had been on edge the whole time. Leopold’s arm slipped around her, pulling her to lean against him, had her remembering, but she couldn’t recall which one of them had left the car earlier with the upper hand. She’d have to play it safe. He tilted his head down to look at her.

He spoke softly. "You're not still angry with me, are you?"

Her guard was up. He didn’t care whether she was really angry or not, but she was so tired and the last thing she wanted was a fight.  Her lips stretched into a weary smile before she answered, "all is forgiven. I know how much you love me, and I love you too.”

It was a well-practiced line, nothing more. There was no truth in it. Tears stung her eyes, and she prayed he hadn’t notice the way they glistened when the headlights of a passing car shined into them.

"That's so good to hear, my darling." He was still holding her, almost possessively, and slowly tracing figure eights along her upper arm, "I really need you to be on my side right now.  I don't think I would be able to focus on my work while I’m away in Washington, if I thought you needed supervision that I could not provide myself."

"Supervision?”  Regina jerked against him, eyes burning as she looked at his smug face. “I’m not a child, Leo."

"No, you're not, and that's why I'm surprised you don't know better sometimes."

Anger blurred her vision. She was hyperaware of her pulse hammering against her skin. She counted to ten before blinking him back into focus. She hated how he was looking at her and she forced her gaze away, leaning back against the seat and crossing her arms over her middle.

Leopold's voice went hollow. "I gave up wondering, a long time ago, if Henry is really my son, Regina, but it still hurts me ... It hurts me to think that he may not be."

"And there it is.” She gnawed on the inside of her cheek, eyes fixed on her reflection in the dark tented window.

"I only want reassurance that I have no reason to worry about your old,” He paused, wanting to choose the most neutral word to define her relationship with Daniel, “Acquaintance ... while I'm so far from home, that’s all."

"You have nothing to worry about." She’d ground out the words through clenched teeth, wouldn’t look at him, hated him again for the way he held this single count of indiscretion against her yet unable to blame him anymore then she could forgive herself.

 They shared twenty long minutes of silence and staring out into the darkness, eyes catching blurred dashes and orange reflectors along the highway.  When the SUV finally came to a stop in front of their home, Regina looked over her shoulder to find that her husband had fallen asleep.

The driver opened the back door for her and she stepped out, not bothering to wait for Leopold.  Once inside, she'd ventured up the stairs to check on Henry.  He looked so angelic, sleeping on his side with his palms pressed together and tucked under his cheek.  She’d slipped out of his room quietly, moving two doors down to find Ivy curled up on the lounge in the study.

“Hey,” her voice was barely above a whisper while her hand gently touched the girl’s shoulder to rouse her. “We just got in.  Would you like a ride home?”

Ivy smiled and stretched until she was sitting upright and gave a long yawn before she could answer, “No, I’ll be okay, thank you. Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.  Henry was out like a light by 8:03.”

Leopold stalked in with a drink in hand, thanked Ivy for staying so late, then told Regina he would wait up for her.  He’d clutched her arm a little too hard when he leaned in to kiss her temple and she knew that meant he wasn’t going to let her off the hook tonight.

By the time she escorted Ivy out, set the security alarm, and made it back upstairs, Leopold had finished his first drink and was refilling his glass to the rim with more bourbon.

She closed their bedroom door and began removing her jewelry. Next, she slipped out of her heels and scooped them up to put them back in their place in the closet. Leopold put down his glass, already empty for the second time.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” He asked.

She stopped and turned to look at him only long enough to say, “No. I’m tired of talking in circles,” before retreating into the closet.

“Perhaps you’d stop going in circles if you just admitted the truth.”

Her hands squeezed angrily at her shoes and she whirled around so quickly her hair slapped against her face. “Why don’t you just demand a paternity test if you refuse to believe me?”  She met him in the middle of the room, standing toe-to-toe, her face pushed up to his. “Why keep holding it over my head the way you do?  Would you love Henry any less if he didn’t share your DNA? Would you ask for a divorce if you found out I’d been lying to you all this time?”

Her voice began to crack as she used up more and more oxygen with her lengthy outburst. “Let’s just get to the bottom of this right now, Leo, because frankly, I don’t care about the public’s opinion of my character being destroyed, not nearly as much as you do.  So why don’t we just settle it with a blood test?”  Her lungs had run out of air by that point and she gasped to catch her breath.

He had pulled back while she ranted, but now he closed in on her, raising his voice as he yelled back. “Unlike you, I have integrity.” His hands grabbed her arms, clenching tight enough as he pulled her flush up against him that she dropped one of the shoes she’d been clutching. “I want to believe it when you say you’re sure he’s my son.”

The smell of bourbon was heavy with each of his expelled breaths, the stench made Regina turn her face away in disgust. His right hand seized her jaw, pulling her face back toward him.  Regina squeezed her eyes shut, twisting her arms to press against his chest, trying to pull back, but he managed to hold on, bringing his arm around her waist.

“Look at me, God damn it!” He’d bellowed with no regard for their son sleeping down the hall.

“Keep your voice down,” she warned him, “or you’ll wake Henry.”

His arm held her against his torso with enough pressure that she could barely take a breath and it scared her. She knew what that look in his eyes meant. It appeared there quicker now than it had any time before.

She tried to push against his chest again and wiggle out of his grasp. They pushed and pulled against each other, both grappling for leverage, both struggling to get the upper hand. Leopold’s face was red, his cheek sweaty as it pressed against her forehead.  They were both shaking with the rage coursing through his body.

“Take your hands off me, or I swear to God-” The threatening bite she'd hoped to deliver this statement with wasn’t there. She thrust her head up and locked her eyes on his, trying to stare him down and show him she wasn’t as afraid as she felt.

“You swear to God, what?” He latched onto a handful of hair at the back of her head and pulled so hard it caused the bones in her neck to crack audibly.

That was her cue. “Please, just let me go.  I’m sorry.  Please, don’t ... please ...” Her voice faded, turned into soft whimpers as she started to cry.

When he did let her go, it was with a hard shove.  Her foot landed and rolled on the shoe that had fallen from her hand at the start of their scuffle.  She stumbled away from him, body twisting, and there was nothing she could do to stop herself from falling face-first onto the armrest of the settee in front of their bed.

Her brow bone caught the brunt of the impact on the wooden edge. She cried out and hissed, impulsively clamping her hands over her eye to apply pressure to her throbbing face.  She stayed on her knees, hunched over, until she felt Leopold put his hands on her shoulders.  At his touch, she jumped and quickly crawled around the side of the bed.

His voice was still harsh when he said, “Regina, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?  Let me see.”

She swatted him away, “Don’t touch me.”

“Let me look at you.  Are you bleeding?”

“I’m fine. “ She scuttled backwards, reaching to pull herself up with one hand grasping at the sheets of the bed.

“Goddamit Regina! Just let me look!”

He grabbed to pull her hand away from her face

“Just leave me alone!” She shoved him away from her.

That’s when he grabbed the vase off the dresser and flung it at the wall in anger.

 >< >< >< >< ><

  She’s still in the bathroom, bracing herself against the edge of the sink, looking at the fogged up glass, her reflection gone completely. It breaks the trance and she abandons the mirror to go dip her body into her waiting bath.

There’s a soft knock a few minutes later. She hears the door click open and a rush of cold air forces its way in behind Leopold. He leans against the countertop next to the sink. He looks so tired, so guilty, so weighed down by regret. At least that’s what she tells herself.  

He’s staring at her eye. “Please forgive me.” He breathes, shoulders hunching forward and he looks down, head hanging low. His eyes are now focused on his own hands.  “I never wanted to hurt you.”

She holds a hand out to him, squeezing his fingers in hers. He won’t do it again, she promises. She can wash this one away and be clean. One way or another, he won’t do it again.

Read on ff.net   Chapter 1   //  Chapter 2

[kismetandkindred-blog]

Parabellum Chapter 1

From the driver’s seat of the pearly white Mercedes, she studies the brick structure across the street. Behind the dark lenses of her large-framed sunglasses, she channels the essence of Jackie O, but the way she keeps glancing in the rearview mirror and her choice to park between two buildings with an alleyway behind her shows that her fashion choice is more than a disguise – She wishes to go undiscovered.  

She’s staking out the establishment, contemplating her next move and trying to gain the courage to go inside. The sign hanging lopsidedly on the storefront tells her in peeling red letters that she’s looking at ‘Lucas Armory & Gunsmith’. The place looks rundown and is set in a less desirable location than the shops she has grown accustomed to, being the wife of a Senator.

Her husband, Leopold Blanchard, is a greedy man with deep pockets and ties to the community that reach far and wide. His peers describe him as a persistently driven man who works hard for what he wants. Regina is more familiar with the man who takes what he wants and lashes out at the nearest target when he doesn’t get it; a man very different to the one she married seven years ago. That man drowned in too many decanters of bourbon while trying to climb to the top of Capitol Hill.

With a steeling of her nerves, Regina reaches for the handle on her car door, gently pushing it open. The clip-clop of her Prada sling backs on the pavement are drowned out by the beat of her heart in her ears as she makes her way across the street towards the entrance of the shop. The jangling of a bell as she pushes the door open startles her, but she recovers herself quickly, playing it off as she adjusts the strap of her Chanel tote.

There’s an older woman behind the counter, with gray and white hair tied back in a loose bun. A TV is turned on in the corner, a local news station rolling that morning’s reel. The old lady looks up from a clipboard, peering over the rims of her glasses. She stares, eyes narrow, at Regina with her designer chiffon blouse, slacks, shoes, handbag, and face-ware. She knows what this woman is thinking, has perceived it on the face of all the other gun-store owners she’s seen over the last few weeks.

Holding her chin high, she makes a beeline for the register, noting the presence of a large man in a storeroom off to the right. Her heart is beating wildly in her chest and her voice does not sound like hers when she speaks, which Regina finds a rather good thing considering what she was here for.

“I’d like to buy a gun.”

The old woman is still watching her, sizing her up. “I need to see two forms of identification and a proof of residency.” Her tone is straightforward yet wary.

“I’d like to buy a gun anonymously,” Regina says, her hand clenching around her handbag strap.

The old lady raises an eyebrow. “No ID, no gun.”

Regina clamps her jaws together tightly and tries to take a long, deep breath to calm herself. She debates removing her red and black tortoiseshell shades, revealing the unattractive hues and busted blood vessels around her eye that she had failed to cover up that morning before leaving the townhouse. She reaches up, fingers resting against the shades. Her eyes flit to the TV. A reporter had come on, talking about the candidates for the upcoming election, and she sees a shot of Leopold giving a speech. It was from last Friday. She sees herself, in the corner of the frame, and her hand drops from her shades.

The old woman glances behind her, eyes following Regina’s gaze, and sees the TV. She looks back at Regina and Regina knows that the old lady knows exactly who she is.  For an uncomfortable moment, she doesn’t know if the woman is going to help her or kick her out.

It was a long shot coming here in the first place, risky enough to be recognized out and about in a part of town like this, especially during this time of year when they’ve been launching televised campaigning. Her face has been in the papers, plastered all over the local news, on color print flyers for various charities and functions. It wouldn’t do for the media to catch her trying to buy a gun from a derelict place like this.  

“Doesn’t your husband have guns you can use?”

Leopold had lots of guns. He had always been pro-gun, favors the Second Amendments rights as they stand. He owns his own collection of hunting rifles and pistols that stay locked away in a gun closet until the start of hunting season. Each gun was purchased legally, declaring them easily traceable. Exactly what Regina didn’t want.

“I can pay.” It’s a stupid attempt to try and change a mind Regina is sure is already made up, but try she does. “Pease.”

The old lady taps her finger twice on the glass counter in front of her. “Give me a minute.” She sidles off to the large door situated to the right of the cash wrap. She motions to the man in the storeroom, crooking a finger and signaling for him to follow her. He does and Regina is left alone in the showroom.

She takes in the neatly lined stacks of various ammunition, the case of mean looking knives, the tall display cabinet with long barrel rifles, and the wall that holds the more garish items that you’d only see in modern war movies. A large display case near the counter holds an impressive looking crossbow.

Glancing at the weaponry around her, she realizes she really shouldn’t be here, doesn’t belong in a place like this, and what the hell had she been thinking? Senators’ wives don’t buy guns.  She knows her judgment had slipped too far in the past few days, she knows, and she wants to turn and run for the door. Her heart is racing again, thoughts scattering as the old lady comes back into the showroom and tells her, “Go on and see John in the back.”

There isn’t much to see in the backroom, just a mess of gun parts, tools, screws, table vices, and the large man from the storeroom. Her mouth goes dry as she tries to swallow her nerves, but she locks onto his eyes from behind the shield of her Versace shades and somehow regains her composure.

The man is giving her a half smile that shows skepticism and she's fighting the urge to cross her arms over the front of her body in a protective effort. Her knuckles must have gone white from where she's squeezing them around the chain strap of her purse.  Her tongue pops out for just a second to wet her lips and she adjusts her weight from one hip to the other. The man – John – looks her up and down, assessing her the same way the old woman had when she first walked in to the store.  

“Granny can’t sell you a gun.”

“Then why –“ She points to the door, wondering why she had been sent back here if she wasn’t going to be able to purchase what she wanted.

“But I know someone who can,” John says, handing her a card. “Can teach you how to use it properly, too.”

She takes the card from him, crumples it in her palm, and turns to leave. She doesn’t glance at the woman – Granny – behind the counter as she goes, doesn’t bother saying ‘thank you’ or ‘good bye’.

She doesn’t look at the card John had given her until she’s back in the safety of her car, tinted windows rolled up and the world shut out. There isn’t much on the card, just a phone number and a name handwritten in a spiky font.

Robin Locksley. Read Chapter 2 Parabellum Ch 1 on ff.net Parabellum Ch 2 on ff.net

[kismetandkindred-blog]

Reasons why I (still) watch Once Upon a Time:

Young Regina

Bandit Regina

The Evil Queen

The Evil Queen and her outfits

The Evil Queen and her hairstyles

Evil cleavage

Evil boobs

Regina Mills + spoon

Regina Mills + apples

Regina Mills + pie

Regina Mills + floor

Regina Mills + magic

Regina Mills + her carriage

Regina Mills + her fireball

Regina Mills + her pantsuits

Regina Mills + her ass

Regina Mills + her smile

Regina Mills + hair porn

Regina Mills + her porn eyes

Regina Mills + puppy eyes

Regina Mills + eye squinting

Regina Mills + that things she does with her tongue

Regina Mills + scrunchy face

Regina Mills + black stockings

Regina Mills + dresses with long slits

Regina Mills + sweaters

Regina Mills + inside jokes with herself

Regina Mills + her obsession with unicorns

Regina Mills + horses

Regina Mills on mama bear mode

Regina Mills saying ‘bitch’

Regina Mills saving everyone’s asses

Regina Mills sitting on desks

Regina Mills wearing red

Regina Mills wearing blue

Some dwarf named Evil-y

Sassgina Mills

Regina Mills

Lana Parrilla

Regina Mills

Lana Parrilla

Regina Mills

Lana Parrilla 

REGINA MILLS

LANA PARRILLA

Did I mention Regina Mills?

Also, Lana Parrilla

And lastly:

R E G I N A M I L L S

[kismetandkindred-blog]

[kismetandkindred-blog]

Dimples Queen: 20. things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

There’s No Place Like Home

“I miss the forest, Daddy.”

She stops, frozen in her tracks, hearing a conversation clearlynot meant for her ears yet unable to walk away from it. Her legs mutiny in timewith her heart, yet she stands her ground, the need to eavesdrop outweighingthe dread of what she may hear.

“I thought you liked staying here with Regina and Henry.”

“I do.” The boy’s voice quivers, and she leans against thewall, careful not to allow herself to be seen. “It’s just…”

“It’s just what, Roland?”

She marvels at the patience in Robin’s voice, wondering howthe man can be so calm after the hell they’d just walked through—literally.

“Bad things happen here. In Storybrooke, I mean. And you gettaken away a lot.”

Her heart clenches, her arms wrapping around herselfinstinctively. God only knows the horrors that little boy has seen and survived—it’sno wonder he’s been having nightmares and can barely be persuaded to leave hisfather’s side.

“You think we’ll be any safer sleeping in the woods?”

“Not these woods,” Roland corrects. “Our forest. Back home—you know.”

The Enchanted Forest. Ah. Now things are making sense.

“This is our home now, Roland,” Robin reminds him. “Storybrooke—herewith Regina, Henry and Elena. Wouldn’t you miss them if we went back our forestand left them here?”

The silence is broken only by the shuffling of small feet.

“I was kinda thinking we could take them with us—maybe makea bigger tent, or something.”

Keep reading

[kismetandkindred-blog]

Fate | OQ AU

This manip was created by the talented @starscythe. For full version go here.

The girl grows up a Miller’s daughter; kindness and care are replaced by Mother’s lust for status and finery; and Father’s life is lost to greed and foolery. Shingles splinter on a sun-baked rooftop; rodents run beneath rotted floorboards; and Father dies, leaving her and her mother with nothing.

The girl learns a lesson about the cruelty of life. Faith fails her. Her best friend disappears. And Mother whispers, “Love is weakness, my dear. Remember that.”

She’s sold into slavery, the day she becomes a woman, tears carving paths through the grime on her cheeks. Abandoned. Left to live out her days with lecherous men, groping hands, and a greasy proprietor.

She blooms inside four walls like Evening Primrose. Out of sight. Out of mind. Beauty shrouded in darkness.

But the thing is, not everyone walks through life obtusely. Not everyone is blind to the light.

Some see what others don’t.

Fate intervenes.

:.:

He grows up a Drunkard’s son; purple bruises and split lips are his friends; and a youth without food on the table teaches him to have sticky fingers and quick feet. His parents die before he’s nine and ten; the Sheriff comes to collect; and he flees for fear of the whip.

The boy learns a lesson about the cruelty of life. Faith fails him. He disappears. No letter. No note. And Guilt mocks, “Look what you’ve done.”

He turns to the streets, robs from the rich, shares with the poor. Afraid. Left to live out his days running from lawmen, a price on his head, and no place to call home.

He learns to live without like a candle sans flame. Unfulfilled. Uninspired. Ready, but no spark.

Things change. He sees her again.

Fate intervenes.

:.:

He’s different. He’s not like the rest of them. He stayed because he wanted to talk, catch up. Find out what she’d been doing for the last decade, and well, that much was obvious. Or it should have been. She’d been here. Thighs spread. Walls up. Rouge on. Putting on a show, selling her talents, using her feminine mystique to make Lord White rich and lure drunken, gambling fools from off the streets.

They’d empty their pockets; she’d let them in.

She’s a whore, or she usually is. But he’s different. He’s not like the rest of them. He sees beyond the corsets and her painted face.

He’s her lover, her Robin, her best friend.

He sees her for who she really is. He never asks about the men she takes to bed, and she never asks about his inked-face on posters.

Days turns into weeks, weeks bleed into months, coin leaves his pocket – but she’s not a whore, not for him – silver for words, silver for time, and he doesn’t touch her without her permission.

Not until she lets him.

And oh how she lets him.

:.:

Her breath catches in her throat, kisses flush her skin, and he’s buried so deeply inside her she doesn’t know where he stops and she begins. His soul presses into hers, and she feels, for the first time she feels safe. It tastes like copper, and salt, and sunshine on his skin. Smells like leather, and pine, and paradise found as she comes, and comes, and comes, unraveling beneath him, legs wrapped around him, sweat glistening between her supple breasts, body trembling as he ruts against her, drawing out her pleasure and tensing as his follows.

He falls to the side, arms pulling her against his chest, fingers lightly brushing strands of hair away from her face. His touch is different, soothing, home.

He’s home.

They breathe, sleep, wake to Starlings singing outside thin stained-windows, and then they fuck again.

Reality bitterly bites two moons later.

:.:

“We can’t keep doing this.”

He’s right. She knows he’s right. But. “You weren’t complaining a moment ago.” Her heart races, chest heaves, come still on her belly.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He wipes her clean with his balled up tunic, presses a kiss to her brow. “Regina, I love you.”

“I know.” His brow furrows; his face falls. She sits up, straddles his waist, threads her fingers into his hair. “Robin. I love you, too. Of course I love you.”

Her fingers scrape gently at his nape, and she leans in, about to kiss him when he whispers, “We need to talk about it.”

She huffs out a breath. There it is. Anxiety and fear bubble up, churns bile in her stomach. She’s been foolish; this is foolish; they were foolish.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He’s a thief. She’s a whore. This was never going to work out. Why did she think this could work? Why’d she think this was safe?

“You need to quit.”

“You know I can’t.” She shakes her head, leveraging herself up and grabbing her robe.

“We could run. Nothing’s keeping you here.”

Her nostrils flare, her shoulders rise and fall with every breath. “You’re a fool if you think he’d just let me walk out of here.”

“Maybe.” He gets up, pulls on his trousers, brushes the back of his fingers against her cheek. “But there’s a ship that’s leaving for Port de-Paix tonight. I think we should be on it.”

“And what then? Where will we go then?” She gathers her hair to the side with a ribbon. “We’re orphans. Practically penniless little nobodies.”

“Precisely. We could disappear. Start over. Be anyone we want to be.”

Someone knocks on the door. Time’s up!

“Robin, this is crazy. We can’t–”

“Do you trust me?” He’s standing in front of her now. Palms coasting down her arms to weave their fingers together.

She sighs. “I do.”

She does.

:.:

The girl grows up a Miller’s daughter; kindness and care are replaced by Mother’s lust for status and finery; and Father’s life is lost to greed and foolery. Shingles splinter on a sun-baked rooftop; rodents run beneath rotted floorboards; and Father dies, leaving her and Mother with nothing.

The girl learns a lesson about the cruelty of life. Faith fails her. And Mother whispers, “Love is weakness, my dear. Remember that.”

But it isn’t.

And she finds her best friend.

Fate intervenes.

And love, well… love is strength.

[kismetandkindred-blog]

She blooms inside four walls like Evening Primrose. Out of sight. Out of mind. Beauty shrouded in darkness. But the thing is, not everyone walks through life obtusely. Not everyone is blind to the light. Some see what others don’t. Fate intervenes.

- read the companion fic ‘Fate’ by @belleoftheballpoint​ here. 

[kismetandkindred-blog]

Black.

Robin takes his coffee black. Black, and thick, and bitter – the kind of coffee one makes over a campfire, the kind that keeps one alert through long night watches or fuels one awake for an early morning hunt.

Regina takes her coffee like a royal, lightened with cream and sweet with sugar, the top airy with foam. He’d noticed it in the Forest, thought it frivolous and a mark of being high-born, had teased her over it in her kitchen that morning after they’d first kissed, when he’d walked her home after a night spent pressed together in the woods, trading soft words and warm kisses. He’d seen her home, and she’s set a pot of coffee to brew, gone upstairs to change her clothes, and returned to find him sipping his straight. She’d doctored her own, and he’d made remarks about her upbringing, about the delicate tastes and sensibilities of the ruling class, and she’d scoffed and he’d kissed her. She’d tasted like her drink, both bitter and sweet, her mouth warm and soft. It had felt right – the flavor of her, this tempestuous Queen with her cloaked vulnerability, her lovely smile and burning glares, her pliant mouth and sharp tongue.

Now, as the days without her stretch into weeks, Robin finds himself missing her. An ache in his chest, a palpable, heavy thing that makes breathing feel like work. He hears her words, an echo, a man she said I was destined to love. He sees her face, the elation that what they’d had was true, and the devastation that he was leaving it behind anyway. Every memory twists the knife a little sharper. Every night that he dreams of her, of her smile, of her touch, of her lips, has him waking in agony, choking on regret. But he cannot stray from his wife; he cannot betray his honor.

But he longs for her, oh, how he longs for her.

Storybrooke has grown cold, bitterly so, and he has taken refuge with Marian in one of Granny’s rooms, in exchange for whatever odd jobs she can find for him. He descends early this morning, before the morning rush, and Ruby stands behind the counter. He orders coffee, and Ruby parrots his usual, “Black and extra hot, right?”

But today Robin shakes his head, shame burning his cheeks, his heart strangling his words as he manages a quiet, weak, “No. No, make it like hers.”

He looks at her, and expects judgement, but what he gets is something surprisingly akin to sympathy. She doesn’t ask him who he means by the statement; she simply seems to know. But then, she’d been there that night in the diner, and every day after. It’s common knowledge now, their sordid tale.

The cup she hands him is pale and frothy, and when he sips the sweetness is almost cloying. But it tastes like Regina, like her kiss. Bitter, and sweet. Warm and rich with cream. Robin drinks slowly, and he savors her with every sip. Imagines her mouth, the way it feels, the way it tastes, the softness, the eagerness. His heart feels like a heavy leaden thing, and he feels shame and comfort all at once. 

By the time he reaches the last drop, it is nearly cold and Robin thinks it fitting. Warmth is gone from his life just as she is, and it is only he to blame. 

[kismetandkindred-blog]

Roland dancing with Regina.

A ball, a Queen and two thieves vying for a dance. Enchanted Forest, Missing Year.

She’s loitering by the banquet table, the Queen, with her back to the rest of the ballroom as if the sight of dancing and merriment is one that makes her terribly uncomfortable. The grapes on her plate remain untouched as she glares and glares at them, looking up only to say an occasional something when Snow White and her prince lean forward in turns to engage her in conversation.

This won’t do, Robin finds himself thinking; it’s absurd that the Queen, ornery and oft unapproachable as she is, should be made a wallflower on this night of celebrating their latest victory over the Wicked Witch—a victory that, as the Queen herself would be quick to point out, could never have come to pass without her knowledge of magic, or of the castle’s secret defense systems.

He’s wondering how best to come closer without frightening her off when he sees his son, dressed in a magnificent, tailored tunic and vest (the origins of which the boy has remained carefully mum about, only saying “It’s a secret!” every time he’s asked), cantering up to linger most charmingly at the Queen’s heel, and there Robin spies his opportunity.

She’s playfully straightening Roland’s mini-cravat when he reaches them, greeting her with a bow and a “Milady, if you would do me the honor of—”

“No,” she says.

Robin pauses. “No?” he repeats innocently, face gentling into a confused frown.

“In your dreams, thief,” she sniffs, already turning away from him and piling more fruit onto her plate, which has been mysteriously cleared of all its grapes.

“Oh, I would never,” he tells her seriously, with a hand to his heart as though she’s just gravely wounded it with her willingness to assume the worst and cast such unsavory aspersions on his character.

“So you would be so cold as to refuse my son in a dance, then?”

“I—what?”

“I thought I’d inquire on his behalf, as he is much too shy to ask you himself.”

Roland, with grapes pooching both cheeks outward, can attest to neither the truth nor the falsehood of such a statement, and Robin smiles pleasantly as Regina stares in open bafflement at them both.

“Of course I’ll dance with him,” she says in a rush, and if the evident relief in her tone stings a bit more than Robin would like it to, he doesn’t let it show.

“Swallow first,” he instructs Roland when the boy eagerly reaches for Regina’s outstretched hand, and his mouthful of grapes vanishes in record time before he’s skipping them toward all the merriment Regina had been so intent on avoiding.

Her face is flushed prettily by the time the song has slowed to something more manageable, having clearly underestimated the stamina required of keeping up with this particular four-year-old boy.

“It’s Papa’s turn,” declares Roland, pulling the Queen out of the crowd and eyeing the platter of cheeses Robin had been working through while trying not to watch them too obviously.

“Oh,” and here Robin feigns a look of exaggerated reluctance, “that’s very thoughtful of you, Roland, but Her Majesty has already declined my offer, and we must respect her wishes.”

Roland looks expectantly up at Regina. She appears torn between letting the boy down and swallowing her pride in order to dance with a man that she can’t stand, and Robin feels an overwhelming amount of affection for this woman, who seems to detest him so plainly but can never say no to his son.

“A trade, then,” Robin offers magnanimously, holding out his plate of cheese in exchange for Regina’s hand, and she stands there, caught, helpless to resist as a mischievous boy hands her over to his equally mischievous father.

[kismetandkindred-blog]

Hope of Morning: Bad Day (1/?) | Modern OQ AU

For @joym13, who asked for a fic where friends become something more. Like, back in April. Sorry this took so long!

NOTE: While not graphic, this story contains descriptions of domestic violence. They are all contained within the italicized portions near the beginning of the story (before Robin is introduced) and may be skipped without losing anything. When in doubt, though, do without.

Regina Mills is not a bad driver.

She’s a tired driver.

There’s a (slight) difference.

She rolls her window up as she turns into the entrance to her apartment complex, twitching her fingers over the stereo’s volume knob until the music trickles from the speakers instead of booming. Last thing she needs to top this day off is a noise complaint from a neighbor.

“Radio to 8410, copy a 10-57 at Sherwood Apartments,” Regina murmurs to herself as she waits for the security gate to lift. “Check for an older model dark Mercedes playing Meatloaf at excessive levels in the parking deck. No further at 0634hrs.”

At least now that she’s off the roadway she can autopilot her way into a parking space. (Not next to the green Highlander; they put a dent in her passenger door last week.) She drives around and around the parking deck until the concrete swims before her eyes like oozing sand, slipping into a vacant slot near the stairs and twisting her keys in the ignition.

Echoes of the emergency line’s shrill warble clatter between her ears, rising to the surface in the silence and stillness. Regina’s fingers curl tight around the steering wheel.

No, I’m not doing this now. I made it all the goddamn way home without thinking about that call. Keep it together, Mills.

But the memory of her last 911 of the night strikes at a chink in her armor anyway, swallowing her like so much quicksand.

Keep reading

[kismetandkindred-blog]

I love this funny little Hood-Mills family! They make my heart smile. Thanks to whoever put this into existence.

This made my day!! Whoever made these was genius! I can’t stop laughing at Reagan and Roland!! 😂😂😂😂 (Photos are not mine, credit to owner)