#hes a part of my childhood his accent is comforting instead of grating he is dear to me

[ratatatastic]

when i say that forsblad ring picture has law firm vibes this is what i mean

[dusky-dancing]

Formal

Summary: Radiant Garden is holding it's first formal ball to celebrate its restoration, and Kairi and the other Princesses of Heart are guests of honor. The event brings about a reunion that Kairi wasn't sure she was ready for yet.

Rating: T

Genre: Romance

Length: 3788 words

Fluff warning.

The young woman reflecting in Kairi's mirror looked vastly different from any version she'd known of herself. She supposed it was what she got when she let six other princesses and three fairies dress her for her first ball.

The fairies demanded that they make the dress after the princesses decided on a design, and the narrow A-line gown fit her shape perfectly. Its length reached her ankles, and her back was covered only by lace. The sleeves fell softly off of Kairi's shoulders, showing off her collarbone. The light, breathable fabric prevented the dress from feeling fully formal, not to mention it still allowed her to leap and spin to her heart's content.

From the color it was obvious that Flora had the most fun designing the dress, for her dress was almost entirely pink. Not that Kairi complained, it was her favorite color.

Kairi wouldn't have been so self-conscious of her appearance if it weren't for the occasion: the new Radiant Garden's first ball to celebrate its restoration. The committee - Leon, Yuffie, Aerith, Cid, the Gullwings, and Tifa - they had all worked so hard to make this world the beautiful land it was before the Heartless attacked. They deserved all the recognition in the worlds, so people from each corner of the galaxy were invited. Each Princess of Heart agreed, of course, and because Kairi was technically from the world, she felt high expectations.

If anyone was going to be guests of honor at the ball, it should have been the Restoration Committee. Though it was wonderful to see the other Princesses again, the Committee members were the ones who put forth all of the effort that rebuilt Radiant Garden. All Kairi did was train. If anything, she distracted them from restoration efforts.

Still, it wasn't just the occasion that put butterflies in her stomach, but also who would be attending. Each Princess of Heart was to be presented before the court at the start of the ball, so they would each receive a partner of their choosing to escort them. Most of the Princesses' choices were obvious, and as for Kairi, she wasn't much different. The Guardians of Light, a group that Kairi was also a part of, were all attending anyways, so it wasn't too far of a stretch, right? It was a formal event, so they must've sent a formal invitation, asking him to escort her. She cringed at what it might've said.

Worst case scenario:

The honorable Princess Kairi dutifully requests that Sora, chosen wielder of the Keyblade, be her personal escort to the Radiant Garden Restoration Ball.

It would've been worse than asking him to prom. He probably laughed himself to tears at how ridiculous it sounded. Regardless, after months of training and waiting, Kairi's heart fluttered at the thought of seeing him again: his bright smile, his deep blue eyes whose gaze could lift any spirit.

"Kairi?" a voice snapped her back to reality.

She turned to see six pairs of eyes staring at her curiously. Each of the other princesses were adorned in their own beautiful, personally customized gowns. They waited together in a large powder room in the west wing of Radiant Castle, putting the final touches to their ensemble.

"I'm sorry?" Kairi replied.

They giggled. "I asked which earrings you wanted," Aurora said. She held out a small jewelry case lain with various options.

"Were you daydreaming again?" Cinderella asked.

"It's okay to be nervous, you know," Jasmine said.

Again? How often had her mind wandered in the last hour?

"Sorry," she replied, smiling bashfully, "I guess I am a little anxious."

She perused the collection of earrings and settled on a pair with dangling peach sea shells.

"That was quick. Why'd you go with those?" Alice asked.

"I may technically be from Radiant Garden, but my home and my heart will always be with my islands. I want all the worlds to know that." She smiled as she donned them. They made a surprisingly nice accent to her wardrobe.

She turned back to her company and rose from the seat of her vanity. "You all look so amazing!"

"WE look amazing," Belle corrected her, "I wish we could be there to see the look on Sora's face when he sees you."

Kairi began to blush. She was about to defend Sora when a knock came at her door. The guard posted to the hallway outside spoke, "Ladies, Princess Kairi has a visitor."

"Just a moment, and just Kairi is fine," she replied.

"We'll give you some privacy," Cinderella said, and each of the princesses exited into the adjacent dressing room.

Kairi faced the door, "Go ahead and send them in, please."

It opened, and a tall young man entered the room, his shoes tapping against the hardwood floor. His scars from the Dark World were hidden beneath a long, buttoned up dress shirt fit for royalty. Everything about him seemed princely, but his silver hair still hung loose, barely covering his aquamarine eyes. This wasn't just any visitor, this was her best friend. His gaze found her.

"Woah," he muttered.

"Riku!" She exclaimed, hugging him, "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

"Um," he held out his arms at his side, still frozen.

"What's wrong?" She stepped back.

"Uh, nothing. I'm just afraid of ruining your..." he paused, gesturing to her whole self, "everything."

"Oh please," Kairi replied, "I'm still me. What brings you over here?"

He leaned casually against the wall. "Just checking up on you. Figured you might be nervous." He smirked at her.

Kairi twirled her fingers together. "Maybe just a little."

"Relax," he said, "you'll do great, and besides, even if you do mess up, you can always count on Sora to do something more embarrassing."

She laughed. He wasn't wrong entirely, but the thought of Sora only being a mere few halls away from her didn't help her anxiety.

"How's Sora doing?"

He folded his arms, "You'll see in a bit."

She resumed her seat, finding it more difficult to breathe when standing. "You're no help," she pouted at him.

"Just don't think too much about it. Instead of a ball, imagine it's just us hanging out back on the island."

He was right. If she took away all recent events, they were still childhood best friends. She needed to remember where they came from.

"Okay, that helped a little," she mumbled, "thank you, Riku."

He nodded. "I won't take too much of your time. See you soon." He stopped himself before leaving. "Oh and Kairi," he said, "you really do look beautiful."

"So do you," she winked.

He shook his head, laughing as he closed the door behind himself.

Later, as she waited in the hallway of the west wing, Kairi's anxiety worsened. Each of the other princesses looked so calm and collected before they presented themselves. Had they felt nervous too?

Kairi took a deep breath as the guard opened the door to the Main Hall.

And there he was.

He stood on the other side, adorned with a white long-sleeved dress shirt, the full collar extending up his neck. A golden sash draped from his left shoulder to just above his right hip, and stringed golden shoulder pads added width to his frame. Unlike his usual style, he wore blue dress pants that hugged his legs, and his calf-high white boots were actually proportional to the rest of his body. His signature crown necklace hung where a bowtie would have been.

From afar, he almost looked like a different person, but there was no mistaking that hair. She'd hoped that he wouldn't change it for the occasion. Kairi had seen him grow, both physically and emotionally, but in that moment it was more apparent than ever. One thing was certain: he wasn't the same boy that had been napping on the beach years ago.

She was sure that her heart stopped when their eyes met. Sora was never good at hiding his thoughts with expressions, but as much as she wanted to tease him for his wide eyes, she was more concerned with remaining calm and walking a straight line to him. It was only a few steps, yet it felt like miles.

"Hey, Kai," he gave that smile that he always did.

Before she could respond, he pulled her close. She melted into the embrace, dismissing the formality that she'd tried to instill within herself for the past hour after only a few seconds. Unsurprisingly, it was easy for him to have that effect. It may not be conventional, but she no longer cared. Months of separation, and a whole year before that, came pouring forth - time spent worrying about where he was, training for what would come, and wishing to return home.

"I'm glad you're okay," she muffled into his shoulder.

For once, he didn't wear gloves, and the feeling of his calloused hands directly on her skin brought a comfort she didn't think possible. She reached for his back, and a tinge of guilt stung her for not being able to return the favor against the thick fabric of his suit.

He gripped her tighter, his hair tickling her ear, "You thought I wouldn't be?"

He'd grown bold, having never hugged her so tightly before. It brought a giggle out of her. She pushed herself back and took in his full form. He was still Sora, she told herself, and always would be.

"You changed your hair."

His eyes widened slightly as he pulled at the brown spikes, "Y-you don't like it?"

"It suits you," she smiled, and her reassurance softened his face.

Their time alone was cut short when the large double doors before them opened wide. No words were needed as the two faced forwards. He extended his elbow out to her, and she slipped her hand into his arm.

It felt right.

The ballroom was already filled with enough people that the whole town might have been in attendance. She curled her fingers into his arm, grateful that she didn't have to face everyone alone.

The guard at the door announced their arrival. "Presenting Kairi, Princess of Heart hailing from Radiant Garden, and her escort, Sora, Guardian of Light."

She cringed at the formal announcement. She and Sora glanced at one another and stifled a laugh at their respective titles. Though she couldn't deny that their names sounded good together.

When they entered, a crowd of their friends moved to greet them. Kairi had the privilege of seeing Radiant Garden everyday, so she knew they weren't rushing over to greet her. Kairi wasn't the only one who missed Sora.

"Sora, lad, it's good to see you again!" Merlin shook Sora's hand aggressively, "And Kairi, you look stunning as always."

"Good to see you all too," Sora laughed.

One after another, people came to greet Sora. He really could make friends anywhere. Despite all the commotion, he'd kept his arm interlocked with Kairi's. She felt safe, wishing she could cling to him all evening. That dream was interrupted, however, when Tifa pulled him into a hug. The sting of letting go was quickly replaced with amusement at Sora's bashfulness.

Kairi scanned the room for musicians and found a string quartet stationed near the balcony doors. It had been so long since she'd taken the time to listen to music, and she grew eager to hear them play.

"Nice entrance, princess," a familiar voice spoke from behind her. Riku stood in the same attire she'd seen him in before. He'd also chosen not to drop his sarcasm for the ball, it seemed.

"Riku!" Sora shouted.

The two clasped hands and patted each other's backs.

"Who knew Sora could clean up this well," Yuffie smirked.

"It's because he can't," Riku laughed, "atleast not alone."

So Riku hadn't only visited Sora before the party; he'd helped him get ready as well? She wondered if he spilled how nervous she'd been.

"Hey!" Sora's face turned pink, earning a chuckle out of the group.

"Anyways," Sora said with an exaggerated tone, "enough about me. Congrats on completing the restoration, everyone! How does it feel to have your home back?"

"I can't quite describe it," Leon said, "it's good to have a safe home again."

"Well, this is to celebrate all of your hard work," Kairi smiled, "you all deserve a long rest."

The strings began to play, their sound bright and sweet to the ears. Short notes stuck, long ones fluttered, and the urge to dance grew. Kairi soon found herself swaying in place. Some princesses were already twirling to their hearts' delight, either alone or with their partners.

The music was pulling her in. Before her nerves stopped her, Kairi kicked off her shoes and joined them. The others were actual royalty, so they knew more about dancing than she ever could.

The violin broke into a playful fiddle, and Kairi quickened her pace to keep up with it. With every second, more people joined in.

As she turned, she caught Sora smiling at her from the sidelines. Both he and Riku clapped to the music. Her nerves returned, wondering what was going on in Sora's head. She pushed the paranoia down. They were her best friends; she'd done much more embarrassing things in front of them, so there was no need to be nervous. She ran to them and grabbed their arms.

"Come on!" she yelled.

Sora nodded with a laugh, but Riku held his position.

"I don't dance," he said.

"You do now!" Sora shouted.

He took a hold of Riku's other arm, and together he and Kairi pulled him to the center. Hand in hand, they danced in a circle. She and Sora earned a chuckle from Riku as he began to loosen up. Trusting that he wouldn't run back to the wall, they released one another and danced on their own.

She watched Sora, who hadn't needed any coercing. He raised his elbows when he spun and kicked his knees high. She matched his energy and loosened her hips. Her dress was light enough that the bottom lifted with every turn, giving her legs more freedom.

Though they danced solo, she couldn't pull her eyes away from him. He was still the same old Sora, laughing and having fun wherever he could. That time it was him who caught her staring, but it didn't stop him. His smile only brightened.

She twirled one last time as the music came to an end and found herself in his arms. She blushed. He looked down at her, just as surprised and out of breath as she was.

She didn't know if it was just her adrenaline, but her heart told her to close the gap between them and kiss him.

The temptation only made her face more flush, but she resisted. If he had seen her addition to his paopu fruit drawing, then he knew how she felt. And If he still felt the same, then he would say - or do - something. She'd made her move already, it was his turn to make his.

"Kairi," he said, maintaining their distance.

"Mmm," she hummed.

"You, uh," he paused, "you dance really well."

She giggled. It was better than nothing.

"So do you," she smiled, "where'd you learn that?"

"Oh you know," he shrugged, "you pick up alot of things while travelling."

Someone behind them cleared their throat, bringing her back to the reality of where she was. He averted his gaze and dropped his hands.

Everyone continued dancing throughout the evening, but Sora seemed to avoid getting that close to her again. He'd be talkative until music would play, and he'd look away if they caught each other's glances. It frustrated her; all he had to do was ask.

She wouldn't allow herself to be brought down, however. After all, the three of them were together again. She'd even gotten to meet some of Sora's friends from other worlds. Unsurprisingly, there were many of them, including some of the other Princesses' dates.

The party lasted longer than anyone could have expected, but the ballroom slowly emptied throughout the night. The Princesses hugged Kairi goodnight, all having long and dangerous journeys home the next day.

Sleep still felt far from Kairi, but the night had to end eventually. Soon the crowd dwindled down to only a few people. The musicians even began to pack away their instruments.

"Hey Kairi," Riku approached her, "have you seen Sora?"

"He was just-" she glanced all around the room, but couldn't spot him, "I guess I lost him too."

"Knowing him, he's probably sleeping. Could you check the balcony while I look through the castle?"

Kairi nodded and made her way outside. She found Sora leaning against the balcony rails, but he didn't seem like himself. He hunched over the railing, staring into the distance with an absentminded expression. When she approached, he barely even acknowledged her.

"Hey," she smiled and leaned beside him, "ready to call it a night?"

"Um," he looked down at his hands, "not quite yet."

The balcony doors closed behind them. Kairi turned in surprise, only to find Riku standing on the other side. He saluted with a wink and backed away into the castle. The pieces began to fall together in her head. Confused, she searched Sora's expression for answers.

Sora exhaled slowly and faced her, "I realized I was doing a pretty terrible job of being your...you know."

Her heartbeat quickened. Was he trying to say 'date'?

He continued, "But you deserve better than that, so here it goes."

Inside, the music picked back up, slower and more melodious than before.

"Kairi," he held a hand out to her, "will you...dance with me?"

She didn't know what came over her, but tears began to form in her eyes.

Taking his hand, she answered, "Of course."

Her free hand came to a rest on his shoulder, careful not to wrinkle the formal attire. He held her at her waist, the unfamiliar touch sending goosebumps to her arms. He led without further hesitation, and they swayed together against the night air. The quiet strings just beyond the door guided their rhythm.

At first, she counted her steps. She caught herself watching her own feet, nervous that she'd miss and step on him. She looked up to find him doing the same.

"Sora?" she said.

His eyes darted up to hers.

"Thank you."

"What for?" He tilted his head to the side like a puppy.

"This," she smiled, "for coming with me. I know the invitation must've been super formal and cheesy..."

He chuckled, "No, it's okay. I actually thought it was kinda cute."

"Oh," she blushed.

Her shoulders relaxed, and his hand softened against the small of her back. Before she realized it, they were dancing smoothly together. No more feet-staring, no more overthinking, she was just allowing each moment to take her wherever it pleased.

His gaze drifted to the side of her face. "I like your earrings," he smiled.

Her head perked up. In all honesty, she'd forgotten she was wearing them, and no one else had made a comment.

"I don't know what it is," he continued, "I guess they just remind me of the thalassa charm you gave me."

Of everything she'd adorned that night, he'd chosen to point out her seashell earrings, the ones that reminded her of home - their home. They'd all been fighting so hard in order to return, but she remembered that her home wasn't just on the islands.

Sora was her home too, and she'd been feeling homesick for too long. She'd wanted to wait for the right time or for him to say something, but her heart didn't want to wait another second.

She pushed herself up onto her toes and captured his lips with her own.

Time seemed to slow down. She thought her nerves would ease, but the sound of her own heartbeat soon drowned out the music. His lips, though tense with shock, quickly warmed and softened against hers. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel him forming a hint of that contagious smile. Just seeing his smile was comforting, but feeling it pressed to her own was heavenly. His hand curled further around her waist.

Slowly, she pulled away and lowered her feet flat onto the ground. He followed her down, resting his forehead against hers. Their dancing had stopped.

It wasn't until then that she fully processed what had happened.

She kissed Sora.

A moment of silence lingered in the night air, and then giggles escaped from them both. He held her hand to his chest, gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. Each minuscule movement sent shivers down her spine.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I couldn't wait any longer."

"Wait for what?" he clutched her hand tighter.

"For you to show me how you feel," she giggled.

"Oh," he raised an eyebrow, "You mean like this?"

He released her hand and caressed her neck before lowering his lips to hers. His kiss was unlike the last. Instead of timid and brief, he was bold and passionate. Butterflies erupted within her chest. Her empty hand clutched his collar. She didn't care if it wrinkled, she wanted him closer.

In that moment, she disregarded where they were, who might have seen them, and what would happen the next day. Even if they had to go their separate ways again, her promise would always remain true.

Wherever you go, I'm always with you.

He gave her one last gentle kiss before pulling back. "Sorry for keeping you waiting."

She knew from his somber tone that he wasn't just talking about kissing. He'd made a promise to her as well.

I'll come back to you, I promise.

She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heart beating away within. She was home, and it was all she wanted.

"It's okay."

There was no need for such formality, anyways.

[frauleinsmaria]

The Village Is a Glow (1/2)

A/N: Merry (belated) Christmas to those of you who celebrate! This was written for my @cssecretsanta2k18 giftee, @eastwesthomeisbest , who expressed an interest in modern au’s with a fantastical element. While this was a bit out of my comfort zone where fic is concerned (and ended up being fairly light on the fantasy), I took suggestions from a few friends and came up with this story based on some of her preferences. This was both fun and challenging to write, and I've so enjoyed interacting with you over the past few weeks! Part 2 should hopefully be up and posted by this time next week.

Special thanks to @profdanglaisstuff for beta’ing, @justanotherwannabeclassic and @forestiyari for helping me think of this idea, and @welllpthisishappening for answering my questions about NYC. (Also, please keep in mind that I’m not a native, so there may or may not be a few things I did less research on that should be taken with a grain of salt.)

Summary: Killian Jones credits moving to the Big Apple for getting his photography career off the ground. He also has it to thank for causing his first run-in with Emma Swan, who makes him question every photo he takes afterward. 

AO3

Three years and a handful of questionable experiences had shown Killian that almost anything was possible in New York.

For starters, there were things like the number of naked people you could spot on a normal day in Times Square, a Storm Trooper getting arrested, and a teenage couple making out while standing in a dumpster. And those were all things he’d seen within the first week after his move. Being a photographer had only given him the opportunity to catch things like this on camera and show them to his friends both in the city and back home in London who didn’t quite buy the odd stories he had to tell on any given day.

Despite the regularity of seeing things that made him wish he had issues with his memory, there was so much Killian loved about his now home that made up for it all. He loved the constant energy and excitement that lived within the city, whether that be in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning. The first few weeks after his move, he’d dealt with the jet lag by wandering around at all hours of the night and taking pictures, trying but never fully succeeding to capture the neon lights, hoards of people, and bumper to bumper traffic guaranteed to be found at every corner.

Killian also had to credit the move to New York for getting his freelance photography career off the ground. He’d gotten some attention back in London from friends and colleagues, but it wasn’t until after relocating when he began posting pictures he’d taken around the city that his Instagram account started to receive a considerable amount of attention. He was able to use the site as a way to both market his work and seek out potential clients. Since coming to New York, he’d received offers to shoot everything from weddings and parties to family portraits and sessions for online companies and influencers. He still took a few shifts a month at a local bar to make ends meet, but he was grateful his photography was able to cover most of the costs and requirements that came along with living in New York.

Killian had grown to love almost everything about his new home and tried to encompass as much of it as possible in his photos, but the main focus on his Instagram account over the past year or so had been capturing the lives of mundane New Yorkers like himself on film. Killian had soon learned thanks to comments from his friends back at home that most outsiders saw the city as the home for the rich and famous, and assumed only those that fit one or both of those categories were able to thrive and succeed there. It wasn’t hard to believe that such ideas existed thanks to the typical depictions of New Yorkers in fiction and the media. But, from his experience, the majority were just common people trying to make a life in the city that never slept.

And, yes, many of these people and the pictures he took of them were a little on the unusual side. But he’d never taken a photo that made him question his own sanity, until he met her.

It started on a Tuesday morning. Despite having the ability to create his own work schedule most of the time, he preferred getting out early a few times a week to take photos and observe the city as the work rush began. He’d been walking around with his camera for an hour or so around Tribeca taking snapshots of people and scenes that caught his eye. There was the elderly couple holding hands while waiting at a crosswalk, a young dog walker who looked as if he could barely keep up with his four legged clients, and one he was particularly fond of, a pair of young twins sisters walking their dog in Hudson River Park he couldn’t wait to share after receiving permission from their parents.

It was just after eight-thirty when he decided to wrap things up before he went back to his apartment to edit this morning’s photos and make a call to a client who he was scheduled to do an engagement shoot for that weekend. He wasn’t far from a nearby cafe when he spotted a distinct golden glow coming up from the side of a building. It was probably just the way the early morning sun was reflecting, but it caught his attention enough that he considered it worth documenting for himself if nothing else.

After taking a handful of photos, he was scrolling through the media library on his camera while still walking (something he should have known better than to do in the first place) when he felt himself slam into something just as he was passing the building in the picture.

“Oh!”

Whoops. Not something, a person. The first things he saw were blonde curls and a pair of bright green eyes that didn’t look nearly as angry with him as they should.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath. “I’m terribly sorry, love. Are you alright?”

“Well, I’m definitely awake now,” she laughed. Killian was grateful she didn’t look ready to strangle him, which seemed fair considering the circumstances. “Just maybe be careful what you do with that thing while you’re walking,” she added, nodding toward his camera. She had to either be a saint or in an exceptionally good mood.

He shoved his camera back inside the bag on his shoulder. “You’re right. I apologize again. Can I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“Emma Swan. Make it hot chocolate instead and you’re forgiven.”

He liked this woman already. “Killian Jones. And I believe I can swing that.”

Killian opted for taking her to the nearby cafe he often visited since he knew they served hot chocolate, as well as his own preferred Americano. It was a short walk from where they were now.

“This is neat,” she said when they arrived and she followed him inside. He had stumbled across Gotan in Tribeca not long after his move to the city, and often dropped in at least once a week to drink coffee while he edited photos or answered client calls. The modern, eclectic feel of the place made it enjoyable for working, and hopefully enjoyable for sharing a hot drink with the stranger he’d just inconvenienced.

There surprisingly wasn’t a crowd considering what time of day it was, so they were able to quickly order their drinks. Emma picked out a table near one of the large windows, wanting to sit by the sunlight.

“Tell me something about yourself, Swan. Do you live in the city?”

She nodded. “As of last weekend, yes. I’ve bounced around different areas on the East coast for awhile now, but it was time for a change, and my friend had an extra room in her apartment. So, here we are. What about you?” she asked. “Although the accent kind of gives your roots away.”

“Afraid so.” As the barista approached the table with their drinks, he briefly explained his childhood and life in London and why he’d chosen to move to the city. “There wasn’t much rhyme or reason behind it. I also wanted a change, and to do something with my photography. New York seemed to be the best option. I’ve been here almost three years now; it’s worked out well, at least by my standards.”

“I hope some of your luck is contagious then.” Emma took a sip of her hot chocolate and gave what he hoped was a satisfied smile. He saw then that she’d gotten whipped cream on the corner of her mouth and tried not to laugh, instead handing her a napkin from the stack on the table. “You’ve got a little something there, love.”

She laughed when she caught her own reflection in the window and wiped the mess away. He liked hearing her laugh. Actually, he liked quite a few things about her, he soon realized as they spent the next half hour discussing everything from rom coms to the best restaurants in New York.

“You’re the first guy I’ve ever met who’s willingly admitted to liking Mean Girls.”

Killian shrugged. “I suppose you could say I’ve been personally victimized by Regina George, love.”

It was a bit of a disappointment when she announced she had to leave. “Job interview,” she explained.

“In that case, I hope some of my luck you mentioned earlier is contagious too.” Killian considered asking for her number but decided against it; it seemed too forward and there was a good chance she wouldn’t be up for sharing personal details with someone who was still virtually a stranger in many ways. “Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to run into you again in the future? Although I’ll try not to make it literally next time.”

“Thanks. And I appreciate the consideration.” She smiled and disappeared around the corner a moment later. Despite being in a city with millions of people, a small part of him couldn’t help but hope he hadn’t seen the last of her.

He spent most of the afternoon uploading the morning’s pictures onto his laptop to see which ones were worth holding onto. Most of them turned out well, aside from a few that were out of focus and one unintentional shot of the sidewalk he’d taken while trying to avoid being hit by a pigeon. The few that stood out the most, though, were the handful he’d snapped of the sun coming around the side of the building where he’d come across Emma Swan. They weren’t particularly great in comparison to some of the others he’d taken earlier, but what he hadn’t seen before was a strange golden glow that seemed to cover the scene like a filter. He must have hit something on his camera that changed the color settings when he and Emma collided. That was the only reasonable explanation.

Even though it was unlike the others and wasn’t his normal style, it was the one he posted on Instagram first after making a few minimal edits.

Kjones87: I’d call it a successful day.

If he noticed the number of likes and comments were higher than on any other photo he’d uploaded recently, he chalked it up to coincidence, or maybe what Emma Swan thought was his good luck.

The scheduled engagement photoshoot plus a local business event he’d been asked to photograph at the last minute kept him busy enough that he wasn’t given a chance to repeat his habit of wandering around the city with his camera until the following week. It was Wednesday when he found himself exploring Tribeca again. He liked the area, and it was close enough to his apartment that avoiding public transportation was typically an option.

His routine followed the same pattern it normally did, simply walking around to take random snapshots of people or things that caught his eye, until two women holding hands approached him at City Hall Park.

“Hi,” said the taller of the two brunettes, wearing a bright shade of red lipstick that matched the streaks in her dark hair. “I really hope I won’t bother you by asking, but is there any way you’d be willing to take a picture of my girlfriend and me?” she asked, holding up her phone and squeezing said girlfriend’s hand, a shorter woman with dark curls and a stack of books sticking out of the bag on her shoulder. “If you don’t have time or you’d rather not that’s totally fine, we just saw you taking pictures and figured you would know what you were doing better than someone else.”

Flattered by the unexpected request, Killian reached for the woman’s phone and then paused, thinking of a better idea. It wasn’t something he would normally suggest in similar circumstances, but they seemed like a sweet couple and why waste the opportunity to do something nice for them? “I can do you one better. Suppose I take several shots of you two on my camera and just email you the final results?”

“Seriously?” the shorter brunette asked. “How much do you charge for doing something like that?”

“No charge. I mean it,” he continued when they both attempted to protest. “I would probably consider posting one or two pictures on my Instagram, with your permission of course.”

Killian spent the better part of an hour following the couple around the park and taking various pictures of them holding hands and embracing in the different picturesque locations. He found out their names were Ruby and Belle, and they had come to the city from Boston for a few days to celebrate their second anniversary.

“Are you sure we can’t pay you?” Belle asked for the umpteenth time when they were preparing to leave. “I mean, we’ve probably taken up a good part of your day.”

“I was glad to do it,” he insisted. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip.” He got both of the women’s contact information and watched as they left the park hand in hand.

He was just walking away when he heard a vaguely familiar voice. “I hope that camera hasn’t caused any run-ins today.”

Killian turned and saw Emma Swan walking toward him, clutching a well-read paperback he couldn’t make out the tile of and a steaming cup of what he assumed was hot chocolate. “Ah, hello, Swan. And, no, I am pleased to report that I’ve succeeded in being aware of my surroundings since our meeting last week.”

“Good to know. Otherwise you’d probably go broke buying hot chocolates for every girl you ran in to in New York.”

“Aye. I’d rather save those for you anyway. I’d offer to buy you another if you hadn’t already beat me to it,” he said, gesturing to her cup, feeling both amused and reluctant.

She shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s almost lunchtime, and I never say no to a grilled cheese.”

He’d be an idiot to turn her down.

Emma chose the place this time, a small diner called Granny’s located a few blocks away. “My roommate got me hooked on this place,” she told him when they walked in and took a booth near the back of the restaurant. As expected, she ordered a grilled cheese with a side of onion rings, and a second hot cocoa topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. “Just because I can,” she explained when he raised an eyebrow at her odd selection. (She laughed when he caved and ordered the exact same thing.)

Killian learned quite a bit about Emma Swan during the hour they spent sharing greasy food and random tidbits of information. She shared that she’d recently been hired at a local bookstore, hence the interview she’d been headed to after their first encounter, had a liking for eighties teen movies, and usually found herself on Amazon Prime when she couldn’t sleep, leading to receiving a number of random items in the mail that she never quite remembered ordering. She asked a question about his photography, which led to him explaining what he did as a freelancer, as well as his occasional work at the bar.

He had just pulled out his phone to show her his Instagram page (which he realized later probably would have looked like gloating) when she had to leave for her shift at the bookstore. “I have a feeling you’ll see me again,” she said, almost as if she knew something he didn’t.

“I have a feeling you’re right.”

He spent the better part of his afternoon editing the photos of Ruby and Belle in the park earlier that day. When he got to the last of them, it was impossible not to notice the golden glow over the couple in the final picture he’d taken of them kissing in front of the fountain in the park.

The last picture he’d taken before meeting Emma.

Just like the last picture he’d taken the week before...right before meeting Emma.

There was a reasonable explanation behind all of this. There had to be. He just had no clue what said explanation was.

One thing was for sure, he needed to see Emma Swan again.

[everlarkficexchange]

Feast Your Eyes

Written by: @savvylark @lovely-tothe-bone @ra3lynn3

Prompt 91: Peeta as the tatted, ex-rocker owner of bakery chain (like in in DC-Balto area called dangerously delicious pies). Katniss is an attached (engaged or otherwise unavailable) food critic or reporter doing a piece on him but she and P can’t deny the attraction. Angst and such ensue. [submitted by Anonymous]

Rating: M; later change to E Warning: Vague references to child abuse, sexual innuendos, eventual smut

A/N: Through random chance the three of us came together to do this prompt justice and somehow have been on the same wavelength, fueling one another’s ideas. Dreaming up this universe has been such a joy. Having multiple authors, it just made sense for us to beta one another’s work, I am really grateful to @savvylark and @ra3lynn3 for their patience, encouragement, time, and hard work. They’ve taught me so much. Thank you to the lovely anonymous who submitted this, wish we knew who you were! We hope this surpasses your expectations! This will be multi chapter so lots to look forward to Everlarker’s, the first one is by the ever fun @savvylark

Katniss tapped her pencil nervously on the desk, impatiently waiting for her boss. She was supposed to start on this human interest piece which, as a fairly new writer, was entirely outside of her comfort zone.

Katniss was the writer for the dessert portion of foodie magazine, The Feast.

“I would much rather taste and describe the delicate nuances of liver and haggis than write a human interest piece.” She muttered to herself, her face contorted in disgust at the thought of haggis and liver.

Katniss had been in an especially dark mood all day, still fuming over her recent weekend with her boyfriend Thom. It was as if he had done a complete 180 on Katniss. He was once so loyal, and stable with a well paying job; not to mention tall, dark, and handsome. Thom was everything she had been looking for now that Katniss decided to settle down. The discussion of their future, with pretty suggestive hints, seemed to have worked. Their weekend away seemed like it would have been the perfect time, only to be left-

Katniss’s thoughts were interrupted by the knock on her door. Her long dark braid flipped over her shoulder when she stood, she expected her boss. Instead it was Johanna, her friend and superior here at the magazine, who entered.

Small but menacing, Johanna had a powerful stance. Her cropped brunette hair fell just below her jawline in a tapered bob, while shorter and spiky at the nape of her neck.

“Hey brainless, so what happened this weekend? That text was pretty vague.” Katniss’s brash friend asked.

Covering her face with both hands Katniss answered, “Oh my gosh! No! I don’t even want to talk about it. Ugh! I don’t know how to feel about Thom or where our relationship stands.”

Johanna narrowed her chocolate brown eyes in curiosity, so Katniss continued, “It seemed like Thom was going to propose. All the signs were there: romantic getaway, candlelit dinner, an entire weekend to relax. Madge thought so, I thought so, you did too, right?”

Johanna nodded her head in agreement.  

“A few times in the past month I could have sworn that he had a ring box in his pocket. He was not that happy to see me, if you know what I mean?” Katniss suggestively raised her eyebrows with a saucy smirk, her silver eyes were alive with mischief.

Johanna flashed a wicked grin. She was familiar with Katniss’s wild side. Even if she’d kept that part of her self separate, stored away from her clean-cut, straight laced, more conservative boyfriend. That wild side always slipped out in the presence of Johanna Mason.

The look she gave Johanna turned more serious, Katniss spoke vulnerably, “You know what my parents were like… I can’t, I can’t. I don’t know how to feel. I was left alone in a hotel all weekend, while he ran around for his boring job doing… What does he do again? Professional bank paperwork?” The two women were slightly allergic to sappy situations, so before Johanna started breaking out in hives they made light of the topic.

“Being professionally boring… at decrepit banks?” Johanna answered, her eyes narrowed, “but he doesn’t work at the bank?”

Katniss had been dating Thom for nine months. She kept forgetting what he did for work so much so that over time it became a joke. Thom was essentially the grim reaper of banks. He worked for the FDIC shutting failing ones down, the most boring job Katniss had ever heard of. It was all paperwork and involved some travel.

Katniss had an unstable childhood that involved negligent wild parents. She was drawn to Thom because he had been a calm, consistent, reliable presence. To Katniss, Thom meant stability. Thom had no student loans, owned his own home, had no car payment because he was able to buy his car outright. She had yet to see Thom use a credit card to pay for anything. Katniss knew date night would never have been on the 2nd of the month, that night was designated for paying bills. He read about planning for his retirement, reliable financial strategies, and unrisky business investments. Thom’s weeks were structured and predictable. Katniss found it comforting. Just what she thought she needed in her life.

Katniss explained to Johanna that Thom was constantly on his phone the whole weekend, left to fax something, interrupted their conversation during dinner to reply to emails. Katniss was so disappointed when she was abandoned in the hotel room while Thom disappeared yet again, because “Something came up from work, you don’t mind do you?”

His concern was false, he didn’t really ask.

Katniss was not amused and decided she had enough. They cut the weekend short and parted ways with little conversation. Thom flew to one location for work, while Katniss had flown back home.

Madge arrived at the airport and had found a seething, curse-muttering Katniss on fire. Her childhood best friend embraced the scowling dark haired woman and sped off to the nearest ice cream shop to cheer her up. Something decadent always seemed to lighten Katniss’ mood.

Johanna listened intently and shook her head. Not in pity, but frustration with what a terrible weekend her friend had endured.

“Well screw him, let’s go out tonight?” Johanna offered.

Katniss smiled at the idea, but her face fell when she remembered, “I have to work on this big story first, raincheck?”

Johanna nodded.

Upon hearing the familiar footsteps down the hall, Johanna decided to make her exit and headed out of Katniss’s office.

Her boss arrived with an arm full of research for Katniss.

The blond woman appeared every bit the classic professional, put together in a feminine fitted gray pants suit and low heels. Unexpected is the innovative rebel that embodies Cressida’s very nature, that is until she turned her left side into view.

Katniss smiled as she took in Cressida’s profile, ¼ of her head was shaved in a dramatic undercut intricate and beautiful green vine designs were tattooed on her scalp, and the edge of her hair that met bare skin was french braided thinly down her head.

“Right on time.” Katniss remarked sarcastically.

Cressida laughed at her quip, dropping a pile of papers and pictures on the desk.

Katniss scowled, expecting her boss to explain.

Cress, so used to the frequent scowl stared back unperturbed. They called her the boss for more reasons than her talented writing, her shrewd business sense, and excellence in advertising. Cressida could handle any personality type.

Everything dropped on Katniss’s desk included positive and delicious reviews about the bakery owner’s breads, cakes, pastries, and desserts.

Describing food and writing about it was what Katniss excelled at. Cressida knew this.

After reading every word about the most delicious, mouth-watering desserts, all Katniss could think was “I’ve GOT to get my mouth on one of these things!”

One particular review claimed his cakes to be “simply orgasmic.” Her dirty mind contemplated the thought, wondering what a cake induced mouth orgasm was like…

Katniss was left so intrigued by this baker, by the time she had reached the end of the stack she was left salivating, stomach groaning.

And strangely aroused.

Katniss snatched up her phone, immediately dialed her best friend, “Hey Madge, let’s do an early lunch? I’m starving!”

——-

Katniss once again called the bakery owner, Peeta, to confirm their meeting. He had a deep timbre to his voice, a kindness in the way he spoke. Peeta was efficient and quick to the point over the phone, which Katniss appreciated.

It was a short 45 minute drive to Capitol Hill, a small district in the heart of Seattle. Lost in the song Katniss let loose and belted out lyrics along with the radio. Sometimes she missed this side of herself.

She admired the modern updates throughout the area, an artisan bistro, colorful boutiques, various ma and pa shops that had been rejuvenated for a younger crowd. Even the bars were modernized yet still held older, small town elements. Industrial and historic buildings met modern and artistic designs.

She pulled up to the bakery and vaguely remembered wanting to attend it’s opening.  Thom insisted they attend one of his work functions instead. Which, in hindsight, should have been a red flag. He hadn’t been paying attention to the things she was interested in for a long time.

Katniss took in the outside of the bakery before stepping inside. The awning and structure of the building gave a nod to a generational family bakery while the black and industrial accents gave the appearance of a hard edge. The front of the sign was a nod to tattoo artistry and the logo of the bakery was decidedly masculine. For some reason this made Katniss smile.

A bell chimed as she entered. Soft rock music was playing. Studying the photos on the wall she could tell this is no ordinary baker.

[team-fartress-over-crotch-blog]

Oo! How would the Overwatch dudes react to that child prompt! I dunno how many are in there uhhh. Maybe your 5 favorites?

Sorry these aren’t exactly drabbles, but my internet crashed when I was in the middle of writing them! So i had to start from scratch and just basically wrote down the important parts. I hope you enjoy!

Junkrat:

He’d be jumped and rolling on roofs, striking his enemies from above.

His simmering hair flowing in the wind, his smile never fading and bombs ablaze.

He’s a happy boy.

Until he trips over something and lands face first on the hard concrete. Possibly loses a tooth or two.

Once he’s up and ready to bounce back, he sees the source of his spectacular fall.

A child!

“Oi! Whatcha coin’ ‘ere?” He’d shout, squatting to be eye level with the child.

The child only laughs at his funny accent, much to Junkrat’s displeasure.

When there’s no one other than him and the child in sight, he resorts to getting them back to safety.

Junkrat reluctantly picks the child up awkwardly by their arm and cradles them like a baby.

He stands at the edge of the roof, trying to find a soft landing.

He grins evilly and pats the child’s head. “Hang in there, this is gonna be one BUMPY ride!”

That was his only warning before Junkrat performs a perfect swan dive off the building.

“ROADIE, CATCH ME!”

Roadhog is conviently beneath Junkrat and catches them in a split second.

Roadhog is SHOOK to see Junkrat carrying a small human but wastes no time to get them to a safe place.

The child is crying loudly from Junkrats 10/10 swan dive. (Someone draw that PLEA-)

The two adults comfort the child with silly voices and faces, Junkrat even takes off his filthy sock and turns it into a puppet.

Once the battle is over Tracer finds the trio goofing off.

She promptly takes the child into her own arms while Junkrat and Roadhog follow closely behind, watching every step Tracer takes with the child in hand.

The junkers stay with the child until the parents show up. They all give a tearful goodbye.

Roadhog:

He’d just decimated a whole field of enemies.

He was the only one standing in the small section he dominated.

With a silent sigh, Roadhog sat down for a rest.

Damn, killing people took a shit ton of energy out of him.

It was a beautiful day with warm breezes and a shining sun. It was perfect.

Roadhog shifted in his place and gazed up at the cloudy sky.

Just as he got comfortable, a tiny hand tugged at the side of his mask.

Within a quick second, Roadhog was on his feet, his hook pointed towards whatever creature touched him.

He lets out a soft gasp when he sees that it’s only a child.

They stand there for awhile, examining each other, trying to figure out what to do in this particular situation.

However, the child was not at all interested in Roadhog and was instead fascinated by the hook in front of them.

Roadhog grunts and puts away his hook, silently motioning for the child to follow him.

They walk for a while, Roadhog made sure to take detours around the carnage.

The child would stop and stare at butterflies or pretty flowers, making small conversation about them.

Roadhog was very patient, silently nodding along or giving the child names of whatever they were curious about.

Roadhog sighed in relief when he found Soldier 76 running past him.

Thinking on his feet, Roadhog hooked him and caught him by the collar.

Solider 76 scolded Roadhog until his eyes landed on the child, quickly changing his tone.

Roadhog vaguely explained the situation and darted back into battle, knowing he’d get attached if he stayed any longer.

He never found out what had happened to the child, but he knew they were safe as long as they didn’t stick around him.

Genji:

The battle was long and merciless. Everywhere he turned was another enemy attempting to harm him.

He considered himself lucky for finding a small building to seek refuge in.

Through the sweat and heavy breaths, Genji was finally able to relax.

He needed healing, fast.

Genji clung to his side, a long gash was bleeding profusely from a bullet that lodged itself just under his ribcage.

His eyelids slid, threatening to close. Before he could drift off to sleep, a dark figure darted across his blurry vision.

Preparing for the worst, Genji gently held his blade, ready to fight.

The figure darted closer and closer. Just as the shadow slithered inches away from his face, Genji yelled and pointed his sword at the nose of the creature.

An explosion nearby lit up the entire room, exposing the shadow to be nothing but a child. Shivering and scared.

Genji sheathed his sword and sighed. There was no danger, just a kid.

Despite the blade that was aimed in between their eyes, the child sat down next to Genji.

Genji glowed ever so slightly, trying to comfort the child from the dark.

“Don’t you know it is dangerous around here?” Genji softly whispered, letting the child rest their head on his shoulder.

The child didn’t seem to have heard him and began tracing the patterns of Genji’s glowing armor.

The gentle touches soothed Genji, but knew he had to move quickly in order to ensure both of their safety.

With the little strength Genji had left, he managed to lift the child up in one arm and held his blade in the other.

“Close your eyes, little one.” He told the child, not wanting them to see the chaos outside.

Genji took off like a bullet, darting out of the door and straight into battle.

The battlefield was nearly empty and Genji was grateful for that.

It didn’t take him long to find Mercy, she was in the middle of healing a teammate when Genji shouted his lungs out for her.

The moment she saw Genji with the child she quickly covered them.

“Take the child and go! I’ll protect you.” Genji screams, deflecting oncoming bullets.

Mercy nods and leaves for the base with the child in her arms.

After the battle, Genji’s first action was to ask about the child.

He had been informed that the parents came to pick them up, much to his relief.

He’ll probably never forget them.

Zenyatta:

Precious Zenyatta is making rounds around the battlefield, helping wherever he can.

After obliterating an enemy, he notices a small rabbit toy on the ground.

He’d pick it up, examining the dirty plush, wondering how it got there.

His mechanics would whirr in surprise as he feels a tug at his pants from behind. (ROBOT BOOTY)

Zenyatta turns slowly and stiffens when he sees a tiny kid with their palm open.

“Does this toy belong to you, child?”

The child nods and reaches for their precious animal.

Zenyatta wouldn’t give it back and instead lift the child onto their lap.

A smile appears on the child as they hugged their bunny, oblivious to Zenyatta floating away from the bloody scene.

As he approaches the main battle, he’d float above them and with a booming voice, he yells “Child on the field! Cease your fire so this child may have a safe passage.”

After he was sure he had caught everyone’s attention, Zenyatta lowed himself to the ground.

He walked calmly towards Soldier 76, informing the old man that he would be leaving the battle to help the child find their parents.

Soldier 76 was too stunned to say no and let Zenyatta cross the field without any trouble.

Whatever happened after Zenyatta left had not worried him, for he was far too busy figuring out where the child had come from.

He’d ask the child from time to time what seemed familiar and where to turn and such.

The child was surprisingly reliable and seemed to enjoy themselves.

He’d entertain the child with silly conversation, asking them questions and receiving long thoughtful answers. He’d even take the bunny into his own hands and make it talk and move, which seemed to have gained the most applause from the child.

Zenyatta hadn’t realized that he nearly passed the parents until the couple screamed the child’s name.

Upon hearing their name, the kid jumped down from Zenyatta’s lap and ran to their parents.

Zenyatta was enlightened that they had reunited with one another. But knowing that his job was done he started the long way back to battle.

A familiar tugging from behind caught his attention.

It was the child, who wanted to say goodbye.

They embarked and finally, went their separate ways.

Mcree:

Smoke sizzled from Mcree’s barrel but was quickly blown away by the Cowboy.

A smirk of triumph swept across his face, only for his lips to drop into a frown a second later.

Someone was watching him, but who?

Mcree pivoted on his heel, stopping when he caught sight of a child.

“What in Sam Hill…” Mcree wondered aloud, scratching his head with the gun in hand.

When Mcree finally got over the initial shock he walked over to the child sitting on a barrel.

“What do you think you’re doing here, kid?”

The kid kicked their feet and shrugged, making Mcree sigh and shake his head.

What a day.

Without another word, Mcree lifted under his arm and began walking.

He knew better than to leave the kid sitting around in an area like this.

Mcree had managed to dodge, duck and deflect every bullet or flying debris they came across, yelling at everyone and everything to be careful because there is a baby on board.

He’d cuss from time to time, earning a look of disapproval and a scolding from the child tightly clutched under Mcree’s arm.

Finally, they appeared to be in the clear.

Not an enemy in sight, nor any other living being.

But Mcree wouldn’t give up until the child was in the safe hands of their parents.

The both of them walked into an abandoned town, no doubt everyone had evacuated due to the battle.

Mcree felt the stinging sensation of guilt but quickly shook it off when the child started talking.

“Why do I wear this funny lookin’ hat? Well, have I got a story for you…”

The child was thoroughly entertained by the history of cowboys and rodeos, making sounds of awe.

While Mcree may or may not have noticed but he was smiling too, reliving his childhood through the kid’s eyes.

Mcree even went as far to propping the kid on his shoulders and running to feed their imagination.

It had been about 5 minutes of running and goofing that Mcree heard people shouting.

The child perked up and laughed, shouting back at the voices.

Mcree lowered the child back onto the ground, letting them lead the way.

Two adults finally came into view and the child was more than happy to bound over to them with open arms.

Mcree smiled and tipped his hat to the kid as a form of goodbye.

The child smiled back and waved to the cowboy, never forgetting this experience.

*In later years*

The tv droned on. There wasn’t a lot to do. Mcree just sits back and relaxes most of the week.

Mcree took a sip of his coffee and continued to read the daily news, the tv still on and mumbling shit he didn’t care about.

However, the mention of a rodeo made Mcree look up. He hadn’t heard of rodeos in a long, long time, so this was interesting.

The announcer stated that a young person had brought back the old rodeo lifestyle and had raised enough money to make performances in the local convention hall.

Mcree watched on, fascinated and delighted. Although, there was something familiar about the person behind all this.

That’s when it clicked.

When the first performance was over, Mcree recognized the face.

It was the child who he had saved so long ago.

Apparently, they loved his little stories so much that they had dedicated a lot of their life it.

Mcree smiled and tipped his hat off to the tv, writing down every bit of information about when and where the next show was taking place.

“I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

[ghoulluck]

When Nico dreamed, it was a great darkness -- big and vast. It swallowed up every scream, every spell -- everything. After years of trying to fight her dreams, she had accepted it. She would sit in the plane of space, staff of one floating over her and illuminating the very little she could see. The little light it gave her only highlighted the darkness around her. Nico stared out, imagining it would make shapes until she would wake up feeling like she hadn’t slept.

She wiped back her inky blue hair as she sat up in bed, hands in her lap, Staff of One laying next to her in bed and brown eyes trained on the mirror across from her bed. Nico passed a hand over the space in front of her, effectively wiping away what she saw to check on her mother. Tina was downstairs sifting through her physical mail while Robert actively avoided her mother.

“Dad?”

The man looked about himself before carefully whispering back, “Yeah, pumpkin?”

“Is she angry today?”

His eyes found the reflective surface she was speaking to him through and he walked towards it so he could speak more softly, “No. Not yet at least.” Nico’s mouth pursed and he adjusted his glasses carefully, “It’s okay. I love you.” She didn’t say it back and her image faded on the turn of metallic rings.

She dusted her hands as she passed her hands down her legs under her blanket. They were sore from cutting into the soft skin. Nico bent her elbow to inspect her arm and noted that her mother’s grip had left a heavy bruise. She breathed in deeply as she struggled to move. 

She wobbled as dragged herself off the edge of her bed. 

Nico smoothed her night gown over her cuts as she made her way to the shower. It was saturday and if she was lucky she could avoid her mother by going over to Julien’s instead. She plucked her phone from it’s charging port on her dresser as she made a detour instead. 

Julien picked up on the first ring.

Nico couldn’t help the tug of a smile when she heard the blonde’s tiny yawn, “Morning.”

The blonde hadn’t bothered to get off the floor yet. She had fallen asleep playing grand theft auto with her brother who lay asleep on his side, an arm haphazardly draped over his doberman, Lily. She reached out to play with a little bit of his long hair as she shouldered the phone.

“I was hoping you’d want to spend today with me,” Nico stated hesitantly as she picked open one of her drawers cautiously to pick out some underwear. She can almost hear Julien smile as the blonde tosses her long blonde hair back with a nod Nico can’t see, “Yes, but training at --” She checks her iwatch with a sigh, “In twenty.” 

The blonde woman cautiously rises with a creak in her back that makes her grimace in pain.

“Do you want to pick me up after?” Nico’s teeth clasp her lower lip as she waits on the response. She’s almost always afraid that one day Julien won’t like her  as much as Nico likes the cheerleader. 

They don’t exactly come from the same worlds. The Minorus are wealthy -- hell the only reason Julien is in Atlas academy was because she had earned a scholarship. Julien’s adopted Fathers were both part of LA’s police department, Hart in cyber crimes and Antoly as a beat cop and a trainer for MMA fights. 

It was a far cry from the glass dollhouse Nico lived in with her mother and father. The teenager treaded carefully in her own home. Her mother had a nervous break down after her star child -- Amy had killed herself. It was a grim reminder that her own mother didn’t love her as much as she hoped they would. Recently, she had discovered her father’s affair with a childhood friend’s wife and that had driven a wedge between them. He could easily have taken them out of the situation, but chose not to.

“Yes.”

Julien’s answer brought her out of her thoughts and she smiled.

“Can we go to the art museum again?”

She had discovered not too long ago that like Nico, Julien had her own special gifts. Together, their power multiplied beyond what they individually could not do on their own.

“Are you thinking about what I’m thinking?” the goth asked as she looked at her standing closet to see what dresses were still clean. Julien hummed on the other line as she went to her bedroom, “We can go to standing rock.” Being able to read each other’s minds was like a blessing. “Yeah, have that picnic we talked about,” the goth stated as she pulled the perfect black dress from her selection, “See you in like an hour or two, yeah?”

Julien nodded, “I like you.”

Nico smirked to herself a bit, “Yeah? I like you too.”

The blonde smiled to herself a little and she hung up the phone to set it aside. She picked through the mess on her floor to find her doberman curled up in one of her more recently used sweaters. She gave him a kiss and his ear flicked at her face when she did so. Adolf was not a morning pupper. She pulled a pink dress and Nico’s black jean jacket from the floor for later, stuffed it in her bag, grabbed some hygiene stuff and changed into her ever preferred pink sportswear.

She pulled her long fairy blonde hair into a high pony tail to keep it out of her face. She didn’t bother with cleaning up her smeared mascara or removing her lashes. Instead, she strode out with her bag, pulled some shoes on -- ran back for a pretty pair for later and went to kneel by Zedd who was still asleep on the floor. She shook him lightly to try to wake him which only resulted in a very cranky Lily. 

“What?” Zedd croaked as he tried not to glare at her and the sun.

“Can I borrow your bike?”

He looked around, “Why can’t you borrow Dad’s car?”

“Nico smiles more when I bring the bike.”

He grimaced as he shuffled through his pockets noisily for the keys. He passed them over to her when he found them and Julien leaned over to kiss his face which made him smile just a little bit. “Be careful,” he warned his sister as he rubbed her shoulder. Adolf sulked over to Zedd to lay on him. The teenage boy made a deflated sound as he dragged a pillow over his head to keep the light out of his eyes.

Julien greeted the funny looking pit bulldog mix that sat beside the pretty disabled woman. Paulina was a family friend of the West-Moore’s and by all means was always present at her child’s training sessions. She greeted the blonde teenager with a smile and Julien returned it as she dropped her bag next to her dad. Hart still preferred the title of dad, mom still didn’t make her completely comfortable. She put one pretty muscular arm around Julien and made the teenager duck her head to kiss it.

“How was worship?” Julien asked the two women.

“It was good,” Paulina answered, “Ryan and Hart came, we had light breakfast after and we came to practice.” The older woman still had a bit of a Spanish accent, but Julien enjoyed it immensely. “Sounds fun,” the teenager commented as Hart curled her fingers with the little tip of the blonde’s pony tail. “Yeah, you sleep okay? I know you and Zedd stayed up pretty late.” Julien nodded a bit with a shrug. The floor always made her jaw hurt, although she couldn’t think of any good reason why it shouldn’t hurt with all the chewing she had been doing lately.

Her dark brown eyes darted across to her other dad. Antoly was currently in the ring with Paulina’s kid. There was something undoubtedly off about Ryan and Julien did her best to avoid the other. Ryan’s dad and his wife were off to the side talking quietly before she bent at the waist to pick up her kid to go.

“Did my pretty princess eat anything yet?” Antoly’s voice brought Julien out of her mild trance and her eyes went to the big blonde russian. She was always happy that he was blonde like her. He was a little too young to be a dad, so she was constantly questioned on if he was her brother. She was elated to be anything to him at all. Julien also knew better then to lie to her dad, “No.”

Antoly’s face had a look of mild disappointment, his blonde brows furrowing and his mouth pressed downwards, “You know the rules.” Hart wore the same expression, but his was knit in concern when Julien’s breath shuddered in milk panic. Antoly had promised to start enforcing his rules, training on an empty stomach was not allowed. 

Paulina couldn’t help overhearing the pair talk to their child and grasped around her wheelchair for the bag on her handle. She pulled out one of Ryan’s blenders and handed over the pre-mixed mush. She’d just make Indy mix their little dark prince a new one. Julien looked at the massive blender. It wasn’t that big really, but she could imagine the calories alone and that made her feel sick to her stomach.

You have to eat if you want to be a police officer.

Julien shuddered at the memory of sitting on Nico’s lap in the locker room before grabbing the shake with a nod of thanks. She glared at her blonde father who smirked a little and silently thanked the woman for being so kind. He went back into the ring and Julien forced herself to have at least half of the shake before she was allowed into the ring.

The blonde had the courtesy to clean it out of the remaining mixture and made sure the water made her hands red before handing it back to Paulina with an air of gratefulness. She joined her dad in the ring and they got right to it.

When training was over, she showered, got dressed for her date and applied a fresh coat of makeup on her face. She did it extra pale pink and glossy just for Nico. She pulled on her girlfriend’s jean jacket, folded up the arms since they weren’t long enough for her and changed her shoes. She felt bloated, but the work out at least helped.

Julien made her way out to the bike and pulled up the seat to put her backpack in it. In the spot across from her Indy was folding up Paulina’s wheel chair as she sat in the cabin of the truck with her arm over Ryan’s shoulders and her fingers playing with the short dark hair. 

Julien briefly wondered what it was like to be a parent to kids like them. 

She put the seat down and slung a leg over it as she coiled up her hair to keep it from whipping her in the face. She pulled her phone from her cleavage to shoot Nico a text, that it wouldn’t take her more then fifteen minutes to be right over. She pulled out of the parking lot before the truck did and hit the gas to get out the way as quickly as possible.

Julien played often with the idea of getting a red bike better accustomed to her height. She’d have to buy it herself because she didn’t think she deserved to just ask for such an expensive thing from her dads, but knowing them they’d figure out something for her if she just asked. The ride was pleasant, filled with the familiar sounds of LA traffic and people. She parked about a block away from the Minoru house and sent her girlfriend a quick text that she was waiting in their usual spot.

When Nico came out of the house, Julien could spot right away something wasn’t right by the hurried away her girlfriend crossed the street to her. She didn’t give Julien a kiss and instead wrapped her arms around the taller girl’s waist with the urgency to go. The blonde immediately took off. 

It wasn’t until they had nearly reached the Art Museum that Julien stopped.

She twisted around to get a good look at Nico and shuddered when the other girl refused to let her get a good look at her face. Tina had never hit Nico before. Usually Robert would have intervened before things got too out of hand. The goth girl fought the blonde before breaking down into tears, “I broke the trophy. I didn’t mean to. I bumped the corner. I broke--” Julien clasped Nico’s face between her hands to try to get her to look at her, to focus, to breathe. 

When the goth caught her breath, she broke into fresh tears, “She’s never--” There were a lot of things Tina was, a bitch, a cold shoulder, an emotional abuser, but beyond grabbing Nico’s arm too hard and just bruises from a stone tight grip, Tina had never hit her or her Dad. This was a new occurrence. Tina was a kyōiku mama, nothing more nothing less. It was too awful to say. It couldn’t have happened.

Julien kissed the side of the other’s face, soothing the pain and making the evidence go away before Nico caught her mouth to drown it all out. 

[thestraggletag]

La Chacarita, a Rumbelle Revelry Fic

Rating: PG

Word Count: 4,557

Summary: The closer we are to the dead, the closer we are to Death.

Prompt Used: Being Hunted.

A/N: The story is based on an actual urban legend here in Buenos Aires. It is so particular to here and to what really makes Chacarita so... unique that I couldn’t really set it elsewhere. It’s been great getting to write something set in my home city and I tried to give it a Buenos Aires feel without hitting you over the head with references 24/7. Enjoy!

For visuals to help with the story go here.

The weather was the worst of it. Hot and humid to the point that he'd been forced to retire his waistcoats and pull out his less-used suits with more breathable, less weighty fabric but an easy-to-crease finish. He outright refused to wear linen, clinging to cotton instead, but it was unpleasant nevertheless. The heat wasn't a problem as much as the humidity was, an ever-permanent fixture of the city. The people were overly-friendly, knowing little about personal space. Every new person he met, however fleetingly, he was expected to kiss on the cheek, never mind he'd barely touched another human being for years. They drove like mad people, though pedestrians seemed to manage around that fact just fine, and every fucking day there was some sort of street protest that made navigating the city at all an impossible matter. Buenos Aires was, in Gold's opinion, a fucking nightmare. And yet Neal had loved it enough to relocate his entire life there. And to specify he wanted to be buried there, instead of being shipped back to Storybrooke... to him.

They had parted in such bad terms. He'd never forget the look on Neal's face, not of anger but of disappointment. Their relationship had always been strained ever since he'd gone away to college, and gotten the first glimpse of the big, big world. Suddenly Storybrooke wasn't enough, and going back home for the holidays became stifling. The moment he'd graduated he'd gotten work as a photographer in New York and hadn't looked back. He'd been angry at first, resentful of the easiness with which Neal had turned his back on him. Later he'd grown remorseful of having pushed Neal away in his resentment, but by that time their relationship was forever strained. After some years of nothing but tense holiday phone-calls and the occasional text Neal had reached out and Gold thought it was the beginning of something better.

But then Neal had told him of his plan to travel and work his way through the world and he'd grown mad. Livid, even. Neal hadn't gotten angry, as it was usually the case with one of his spats, but he had quietly told him that he couldn't stay put forever. Didn't want to live scared of the world like him.

It was like hearing Milah all those years ago, spitefully calling him a coward. Only it was his son, who used to look up to him so, saying it with quiet disappointment.

After that there had been radio silence for a couple of years. He followed his blog avidly, reading about his travels in Asia and Central America before he seemed to settle down in Montevideo and, later, Buenos Aires. And he made the city look good, with its mixture of French and Italian architecture and its sunny weather. A few months later, when he'd called, he'd been ecstatic. Neal had urged him to fly to Argentina, to take a long-overdue vacation. And though he hadn't said no he'd kept postponing it, never quite booking a flight.

And then Neal had died.

He hadn't known he was sick, hadn't known anything until a friend of his had e-mailed him with the news of his death and burial. After a night of drinking and crying he'd turned his grief into action and tried to get the body back to the US, to bury him at the local cemetery where he'd always be able to take care of the gravestone and the memories. But Neal had left an airtight will and specific, recorded instructions regarding his burial. And for some reason he'd wanted to be laid to rest at the other end of the world... that, Gold thought, was a reflection of how much his son hated him.

He was quick to set everything up with his lawyers and accountant for an extended leave from the US, getting into contact with a reliable Argentine firm to handle his taking possession of Neal's things. He'd been renting an apartment in a trendy neighbourhood called Palermo, near the Botanical Gardens, which appeared often on his blog. He toyed with the idea of staying in the apartment, which was apparently paid till the end of November, but thought it'd be too much, choosing instead to book a nice suite at the Marriott-Plaza, in the posh Retiro, overlooking the sprawling mass that was Plaza San Martín. He had to admit the city was bursting at the seams with green, the kind he'd seldom seen before. Plant life sprouted from every nook and cranny, the street lined with trees. He'd arrived in time to see an event his son had documented in detail: the flowering of jacaranda trees, which lost all their leaves to make room for what seemed like thousands upon thousands of small, bell-shaped lavender flowers, that ended up forming a purple carpet on the sidewalks and streets. It was beautiful, heat and humidity and all, but it rankled at him. Beauty and cheer seemed out of place for what he'd come to Buenos Aires to do, put his son's affairs in order and ship what remained of him to the States. He'd decided he'd pick some personal belongings, put them in a coffin and bury them and Storybrooke Cemetery so he'd have a place to go to, something to visit.

Stepping into his son's apartment was hard. It was full of him, of his personality and quirks. Deciding what to keep and what to donate occupied most of his time, and it was when he was trying to decide what to do with the potted plants on the balcony that he met Neal's neighbour, Belle French. At first it was the delicious luxury of speaking to someone in fluent English that drawn him in- most Argentinians spoke it, thankfully, but their choppy, Italian-sounding accent grated on his nerves, reminded him of where he was and why he was there. Belle French had a charming Australian lilt, a mixture between posh British and something wild, and had been in Buenos Aires for a few years. She was a bit younger than him, in her early forties probably, with brown hair and startling blue eyes. She had a soft yet pushy way about her, and had introduced herself immediately upon spotting him in the balcony, acting like she'd somehow been expecting him. She'd completely disregarded his social awkwardness, immediately inviting him to her apartment for a cup of tea- tea, good tea, was hard to come by in a city of coffee lovers, but Miss French told him of a gem in Avenida Corrientes called El Gato Negro, whose loose tea, he had to admit, was exquisite- and some medialunas- and God, were medialunas good.

From then on, she'd been a staple of his days, sometimes the only person he held a conversation with all day. He knew of her before, of course. Neal had mentioned her often, in her blog and in conversations, to the point that he'd at first thought that he'd harboured a bit of a crush for her. Later he'd started dating a rather stunning blond and so he'd dismissed his original impression.

But it was clear Belle and Neal had been close, from how she talked about him. And as a different picture began to form itself in his head Gold grew resentful and angry. She'd acted as a sort of a guide for Neal, and later on the implication was that she became a sort of mother-figure, a parent to the still-young Neal. Other than Neal's girlfriend, a close-lipped American who seemed reluctant to tell him anything about his boy's last few months, Belle was the only source of information he had about Neal in Buenos Aires excluding his blog, and she seemed both willing and able to help with the details regarding dealing with Neal's will and his personal belongings. There was an air of loss about her that he found both comforting and insulting, a part of him feeling he ought to be to only one mourning Neal in any meaningful way. He had raised him, had thrown his childhood birthday parties, had walked him to school on his first day, had sat by his bedside whenever he'd been sick...

Only that last part wasn't entirely true. Only Belle French had been the one to sit by his bedside the last time, the most meaningful one. She'd shared with him of his son's last days, of the peace that had seemed to envelop him and he'd hated and loved her for telling him, for knowing he needed to hear it.

She became so indispensable to his efforts, and so vital in the way she could account for Neal's last days and could help him navigate everyday life in Buenos Aires that as much as he wanted to push her away he didn't. Or so he told himself every time he sat down in her living-room- or was it a library? Every room in her home seemed like a library- listening to her tell him about her happenings at her job in the AACI library, funny anecdotes about Neal or sometimes more hard-to-swallow details about his illness. She'd always break out some of the nicer patisserie treats when he enquired about his son's last days, as if she sought to soften the blow with cañoncitos and masas finas. And then, whenever he found himself lowering his defences, whenever he seemed too tired to hold on to the inexplicable, unreasonable animosity he felt towards her, she'd say something about Neal, pointing out a preferred masita, a particular taste or habit he'd acquired in Buenos Aires, and he'd retreat instantly, anger coiling again in his gut.

His attraction to her, rather than lessen the dark turn of his thoughts, seemed to enhance it. The way he sometimes caught himself staring at her hair, the way it softened her rather sharp features and contrasted with her eyes, the way he got a little thrill every time she smiled or chuckled at one of his rather dark jokes, it all seemed to only make him angrier at her, more resentful. Neal was his ghost to mourn, his child to grieve, and yet Belle spoke of him as if he was her own too, as if she'd gotten to know what being a parent was like in the measly time she'd shared with Neal as an adult. It didn't work that way, it didn't. For better or worse Gold was Neal's parent, irreplaceable and definite.

He hadn't planned on telling her so, had remained resolute to keep it to himself. And it was strange how he found himself breaking that resolution not in a moment of anger but in a moment of strange tenderness. Belle had offered to show him some pictures Neal had sent to her via WhatsApp, pictures he'd never seen before, and had left for a moment to use the bathroom. Gold, guiltily, had scrolled down the conversation, eager for one more glimpse of Neal's personality, his easy-going nature. And there he'd noticed that Neal called Belle "Mama". And though he knew, he knew, it was likely some sort of inside joke, some horrible, petty part of him roared awake.

What had followed after that felt like a bad dream. He'd cut right into Belle, into what his manipulating, scheming nature had noticed. He'd torn into every weakness, had used every bit of his abilities to forcefully push her away, rip her from whatever place she'd attached herself to, somehow.

"He was my family, mine. Yours is long dead but this is my pain to suffer, my loss. I'm sorry you're alone in the world, dearie, but you had no right to take advantage of my son's nature and weasel your way into a family."

The moment he said it he knew that he'd gone too far, that he'd crossed a horrible line out of fear. Belle's face had gone completely blank in a way that was unnatural in someone so expressive. She had then calmly taken her phone from him, told him she'd see him to the cemetery when he was ready and walked out. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of her since then and tried to tell himself it was for the best, in the end. He'd stayed too long in Buenos Aires, had lingered too long where the memory of his boy's last days was. He needed to say goodbye, a proper goodbye, and be gone.

La Chacarita could not be avoided any longer.

The neo-classical entrance was a pale pink, washed out by the sun and turned into an almost peachy colour. He was almost sure that, like all other old buildings, it had originally been painted with a mixture of blood and lime, but it seemed more than a bit tacky to have done so to a cemetery entrance. The cemetery itself had apparently been created in a rush to house the remains of victims of the 1871 yellow fever epidemic. Unlike its posh counterpart, La Recoleta Cemetery, La Chacarita was... rawer, far less polished. There was an air of pathetic decay about it even if it was well-kept by the city. Some pantheons were veritable works of art and others were old, dilapidated mausoleums crammed together into diminutive, spectral cities of tombs. But by far the most garish sight was that of the "nichos", veritable walls of tombs, small squares with nothing but a plaque to identify the remains. Some looked clean, with small flower arrangements attached, while others looked abandoned and some of them were smashed open, the corpses, hopefully, long removed.

When Belle turned towards one of the sunnier, neater parts of the cemetery he sighed in relief, knowing that seeing his son's name in one of those ghastly niches would have broken him. He'd bought a rather large flower arrangement, a bright collection of chrysanthemums, and he made a big deal of arranging them in the vase he'd brought with them, after Belle managed to find a tap to fill it up. The quiet of the moment unnerved him. Belle was naturally prone to chatter, or to in some way communicate, whether with her body language or otherwise, but she remained closed off from him, either smarting from their fight or giving him what she thought he wanted. What he'd thought he wanted.

It made it real, seeing Neal's grave. It was nice and modest and his name was spelt correctly. It was also heavily decorated with polaroid stills, drawings and posts its with final messages, all the marks of someone who'd been well-loved. And that reminder of how social and outgoing Neal had been, how different from him, warmed him a bit.

After a while Belle left his side, though he knew she was hanging around. It gave him the opportunity to whisper all his regrets into the still-fresh soil of his son's grave, tell him of all his mistakes and how sorry he was. He talked until he was hoarse, until he could not think of anything left to say. After years of pauses and silences he'd finally been allowed to say his peace.

But Neal would never get to say his.

It felt like a job half-done, like he'd almost had that one last conversation with his son, but not at the same time.

At some point Belle came back to his side, and he could tell without much looking at her that she'd soften towards him. He must have looked downright pitiful, the way he'd been bawling his eyes out and kneeling all day, making his limps heavier than ever before. He didn't begrudge her support when she leant it, though he resented her better nature. It was darker than he'd imagined it'd be, and the outside of the cemetery was deserted but for a newspaper stand in which an old couple drank mate. It took the longest time to see any signs of a taxi, even though the crossroads of Avenida Corrientes and Federico Lacroze was one of the popular exists to the cemetery, and they'd almost given up when one appeared as if of nowhere. Usually taxis in the city were new-but-not-much Renault models, with some Peugeots scattered about, but this one was an old Ford Falcon, kept in rather pristine condition. Though it sported a taxi medallion it did not have one of the tell-tale signs that indicated it belonged to a radio-taxi company and he'd been advised to avoid such for fear of robbery. But it was late and the taxi driver looked old, thin and tame and stared fixatedly at him when he pulled up instead of shying away from possible future recognition.

"No, señor, no, no ese taxi. José, José, paralos, por Dios!"

The lady in the newspaper stand seemed to be pitching a fit as they pulled out of the street, calling for her now-absent male companion as if there was some sort of emergency. Everyone shouted in Buenos Aires, for the stupidest sort of reasons. It was a loud city full of crass, loud people. And now that he'd visited his boy he could finally make plans to leave. He hadn't gotten around doing a lot of the things he'd read about on Bae's blog, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He felt... empty. Casting a furtive look to Belle on the other side of the backseat he saw she'd closed her eyes and was apparently trying to sleep. He'd run himself ragged the past few weeks seeing to Neal's things but so had she, every day for weeks after work. And he'd thanked her by reminding her that she had no family to call her own. By taking Neal away from her.

An uncomfortable wave of guilt washed over him, making him squirm. To busy himself he buttoned his suit jacket up, feeling cold creeping into his very bones. For an old Ford Falcon the AC system was state of the line, silent enough that he couldn't pick up on it and dreadfully good at lowering the inner temperature of the cab. He stared out the window at what looked like an almost deserted street, few cars passing them by, getting the strangest urge to fall asleep.

A glance at the sideview mirror on his side, though, caught his attention and woke him up: amid the sleek, usually grey- Argentinian's cars were all diverse shades... of grey- cars there was a smaller, older model, speeding down the street at an amazing, chaotic sort of speed, its lights flashing. A feeling of dread came over him, especially as the cab began to take turns only for the car to follow along, reckless as ever. At some point it began to honk, and fully-fledged fear took over Mr Gold. His harsh childhood and difficult adolescence had geared in him a survival instinct, the ability to sense danger on a deep, primal level. And it had never flared before quite like it was then.

"Belle, I'm sorry, but could you tell the driver... Belle?"

He first noticed one streak of grey hair, then another, until he counted at least five. The change to her fully-brown hair was so stark he didn't notice at first how pale she looked, and how gaunt. When he raised a trembling hand to touch her the skin beneath the pads of his fingers felt icy-cold. He tried shaking her but she didn't wake up or even stir. In a panicky half-English-half-Spanish he told the driver to get to the nearest hospital and though he got no reply the taxi began to go faster and seemed to change course. A quick glance back at the window, though, let him know the other car was still following them, having almost caught up to the backseat window. It was a beaten-up yellow Bug, the kind that he hadn't seen in years. Its colour was faded and looking directly at it made it seem blurry. The driver was a young man with shaggy hair and...

"Papa! Papa! Get out!"

It was Neal.

He wanted to talk, to shout and bang the window and tell the taxi driver to stop but it felt as if someone had drained the vitality out of him. Glancing at his reflecting in the window made him aware he, like Belle, was deathly pale, and gaunt.

"Papa, get Belle and get out of the cab! Jump out!"

Hearing his son panicking jolted Gold into action. A quick look at the rear-view mirror showed him what, for some reason, he'd not noticed till then: the cab driver was almost skeletal in appearance, eyes wide and black and skin tight against his bones. Whatever it was it didn't seem like it planned on slowing down, so he gathered his courage, unlocked the door on his side and held on to Belle, throwing himself and her out of the moving vehicle with as much care as possible. Even so the impact stole the air from his lungs, and all the strength he had left, leaving him with only enough to roll them both towards the safety of the sidewalk. A sharp glance around showed no sign of the taxi or the Yellow Bug, and it was only then that Gold allowed exhaustion to overtake him.

When he next opened his eyes, Belle was staring down at him, one of her hands gently combing his hair back. She looked pale still, but awake and smiling at him, relieved. With a bit of effort, having left his cane on the taxi, they got themselves on their feet, realising that, for some reason, the taxi had lead them back to the cemetery. It only took them a few steps to encounter the old couple in the newsstand again and the woman rushed to their side as soon as she saw them, shouting in Spanish and herding them towards where the older man was. He looked relieved and friendly enough, vacating his chair for Gold just as the old woman gently sat Belle down in hers. They said much, though most was lost on him. Belle listened, though, and slowly began to give him an idea of what the couple was saying.

"They tried to warn us about the taxi, apparently. It's... it's notorious here in Chacarita. Takes people from the cemetery, drives them around, and the next morning they're dead on the grave of whoever they were visiting. The cab... it senses... grief? It's attracted to it, somehow. They're surprised we're alive."

The couple shoved small glasses of a brown liquid smelling strongly of herbs in their hands. A sip told him it was Fernet, and though he hated it with as much passion as the Argies seemed to love it he had to admit it did a wonderful job of warming him up and soothing him. Belle sipped gently at hers, still intent on whatever the couple was saying.

"They want to know how we escaped... How did we? How did you know, how did you not fall asleep?"

Slowly, brokenly, he told her about what he'd seen. Told her of the yellow Bug, and Neal shouting for them to get out of the cab. When Belle went to hold his hand, he grabbed tight to hers, surprised when he noticed telling her about seeing Neal hadn't left him as raw and exposed as he'd feared. It was different with her, different for reasons he'd been trying hard to rage against. With his permission, she told the old couple, who seemed to nod wisely, as if unsurprised by the notion.

"Los de La Chacarita cuidan de los suyos. Su hijo debió haberlo querido mucho para poder manifestarse como lo hizo."

Belle's eyes went soft as she translated.

"She said the people from the Chacarita Cemetery... they look after their own. She said that your son must have loved you very much, to be able to manifest like he did. And he did. He told me so over and over, I want you to know that."

He managed a tremulous whisper of a smile at that.

"He was such a loving boy, always. I'm sorry for wanting to jealously keep it all to myself. I'm glad he knew you, I'm glad he loved you. And how could he not?"

Whether it was the near-death experience or the ghostly apparition of his son come to save him, something felt like it had changed on a fundamental level. He felt... freer than he had in a while, daring and open. The old couple fussed over them good-naturedly, showing the classical Argentine dislike for space that this time he found comforting. When they felt healthy enough they called a radio-taxi, checking twice to see that the cab driver looked normal and the taxi itself did as well. Gold gave the old man directions and for a while there was comfortable silence in the backseat, only interrupted once when Gold inhale deeply at having Belle's hand sneak into his and hold tight. He wondered again about all the times Neal had mentioned Belle, how he'd talked about her quirky humour, her love of books and antiques and her good looks and a new, funny idea occurred to him: Neal was playing matchmaker. And though of course it seemed to him utter foolishness to think someone like Belle would ever look his way he couldn't deny the way she looked at him sometimes, as if she wanted to explore him all over. With a sign such as that it felt almost easy to be brave for a change.

"There's a lovely ice-cream shop near my hotel, Rapanui. It's open until ungodly hours, and I think we could both use some sugar in our systems. Would you... I mean, would you let me treat you?"

Belle's smile was radiant, though it turned a bit shy as she tucked a few locks of hair behind her ear.

"I'd be happy to, if you don't mind being seen with an old lady. I will have to start researching hair dyes, though it certainly beats the alternative."

In for a penny, in for a pound, Gold traced some of the silver streaks, pleased when she seemed to lean into the touch.

"I rather like them, myself. They suit you."

He'd tell her so again over ice-cream, and in the days to follow. And she would finally believe him one night while out on the balcony of his hotel suite, him wearing a bathrobe and her the bedsheets, looking a bit like some untouchable Greek goddess. And below them the city would be noisy and bright and strangely beautiful, and they'd talk about buying seasonal tickets for El Colón and doing Gallery Nights on Friday, and Gold would tuck away the secret of having looked into the paperwork involved in staying in Argentina. Retiro had a sprawling, thriving antiques business, the food was heavenly and he'd begun to take Spanish lessons. The World Cup was fast approaching and as a true Scotsman he'd grown up rooting for whoever England hated the most, which usually meant Argentina. It was a horrible place, but it was also wonderful and he had lots of things from Neal's list still pending.

He still had a lot of life to live. Death would have to drive around the city and wait.

[swanderful1]

A Cold Awakening: Ch 15/?

Summary:  Modern crime AU. Twenty years have gone by since Storybrooke was shaken to the core by a gruesome crime that went unsolved. Sheriff David Nolan and his partner, daughter Emma are forced to revisit the crime. At the same time, Killian Jones and his older brother Liam have been drawn back to the town they had longed to never see again, struggling to find their own answers. As taunting notes and clues show up they are taken on a journey to finally bring justice for the Jones family. And Emma Nolan finds herself caught in a situation more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.

Notes: So the past couple of weeks have been a lil crazy. I finished college on Friday so the weekend was not a productive time for me. A lot of celebrations and a lot of champagne. The chapter took a bit longer than anticipated but here it is!Thank you for all of the support, as always the kind words in the comments and reblogs and messages are amazing. So please continue to let me know how you feel. I love hearing!

Disclaimer: as always I own nothing, all rights to OUAT.

Rating: M

Word Count: ~6400

Read the rest on AO3 and ffnet 

Emma hardly processed her next moves before she realized she was driving. Her bug flying through the streets as the sun set on the horizon. The sky painted in hues of pink and orange. The day had gotten away from her. The gears turned in her head as she pictured the drawing. The careful strokes and shading of the hands, the ring that had once belonged to Moira Jones was still on her finger. Her skin crawled at the thought.

As she made the final turn to her destination her phone rang. Without looking at the caller ID she swiped to accept the call.

“Hello?” she said into the speaker.

“Hi, Emma.” The familiar lilting English accent wrapped around her name caught her off guard.

“Killian.”

“I told you I would call, love. You sound surprised.”

“Not surprised, just… in the middle of something.”

“Anything I can help with?” the tone of his voice changed. Maybe he picked up on the animosity in her own voice, she wasn’t sure. But there was more behind his question than just general curiosity.

Her car was parked now. Stopped in front of the old Jones mansion. The task seemed more daunting than it had when she had left her own home. “A big piece of information fell into my lap today… about your mother...” Emma was unsure of whether or not he would even be comfortable coming to his old house. “I need to go with it and just see what else I can find before I take this to the rest of my team.”

“Emma, darling, where are you?”

“I’m at your parents’ house.” She could have stopped there. She could have. “If you want to meet me.”

There was a long pause. No doubt weighing the emotional implications of what returning to his childhood home would do.

“I’ll be right there.”

Emma sat in her car. Staring up at the crumbling grandeur of the Jones mansion. The fading beauty of a once affluent family. She wasn’t sure what she was coming here looking for. But she knew she needed more to go on. Robert Gold was her son’s grandfather. Her ex-boyfriend’s father. If there was any possibility that she was wrong about her gut instinct, it could hurt two of the most important and steadfast people in her life. She had to be certain. And now that she knew the compass was pointing in the direction of Mr. Gold, it would be easier to decipher what was relevant and what wasn’t.

When she saw headlights behind her in the circular driveway she felt a bit relieved. Because neither one of them would have to enter this house alone. She unbuckled and righted herself to go see Killian. This was far different from the most recent evenings they had spent together. But there was a part of her that was comforted by the fact that he was here anyway.

“Hi,” Emma said as Killian walked toward her, locking his car.

“Hello.” His voice was terse, and his eyes locked with hers instead of the staggering house behind her.

“If this is too much for you, you don’t have to be here.” She took a chance and stepped closer to him. Though the nature of this encounter wasn’t…. sexual, she wondered if he minded her proximity. In a way Emma was testing the waters. But he didn’t pull away, instead leaning into how close she was. Brushing hair from her shoulder. A move he had all but trademarked at this point.

“I want to be here. I want to help.” His eyes were light, a soft expression on his face. But all the while a sadness behind it. This was a monster he was finally confronting. And he was trusting Emma to be the one he did it with.

Silently she took his hand. The strong lines meeting hers. The electricity melding them together. But it wasn’t the same current of passion, or lust… or whatever it was between them. There was an anxiety that came from going into this house. And she was willing to take some of that on for him. As much of it as she possibly could. They stepped into the house and his hand squeezed hers ever so slightly, she realized in some remote way he was grateful.

"I haven't been back since that night." His eyes didn't meet hers when he said it, instead they drank in the sight around him. The total disrepair of the Jones estate, his old home now crumbling around them. They shouldn't be here. Not with the investigation still at large. However, the house technically belonged to Killian and Liam as they were the heirs of the estate. She couldn’t imagine either of them wanting much to do with it. He took a few steps forward releasing her hand. Emma bit back a slight intake of breath when he let go. She missed his touch almost immediately.

“If this is too difficult, you don’t have to help, Killian. I know you want to but this…” she looked at him, trying to gauge his level of discomfort. “This must be so hard to be back here.”

Killian stepped closer to her. His feet shuffling through the debris littered on the tile. His hand reached up and brushed hair off of her face before taking his thumb and wiping the single tear from her cheek. She stood still as this man, this beautiful and broken man who had lost nearly everyone and experienced such tragedy could still touch her like there was light left in his heart.

"Don't cry, love. It was all a very long time ago." His hand cupped her cheek and pulled her so they were eye to eye, "You've helped me more than you could ever know."

Her heart fluttered from his words. She believed them.

“In a way, it’s good this has all resurfaced again,” he said, standing inches from her. The fabrics of their clothes almost touching. “It’s a demon I haven’t dealt with, really, ever.”

“You were sixteen when it happened, of course you didn’t.”

“I know. And perhaps this all is a way for me to gain some sort of closure. Whatever that means.” His hand went up to scratch behind his ear. The vulnerability filling the room. “Now, why are we here?”

“I think I found something… someone actually who may have been responsible for the murder.” Emma knew it was entirely wrong to be divulging this level of information to him. But she also knew he would help her in anyway that he could.

“You’ve figured it out?” He looked utterly shocked. The cat and mouse game being played during this investigation had affected him differently but it was still there.

“I think that I have but I need more to go off of.” She didn’t want to tell him everything, at least not in so many words. The kind of accusations she was making against her son’s grandfather made everything that much more delicate. “It’s complicated.”

“Are we looking for something specific?” His brow furrowed. Fair enough. How was he supposed to help if he didn’t know what they were looking for?

“No… but I have a general idea of where we need to be.” She bit her lip. “First of all does this ring look familiar to you?”

Emma held the ring up to Killian’s line of sight. He lightly grabbed her hand, she tried to ignore the pull toward him. Hoping they could move through this without getting carried away… physically.

He rotated the silver band within his fingers. Pensive. “Not that I’m aware of.”

She read him. It was easy enough, he was telling the truth.

“I have reason to believe it belonged to your mother… that it was a sort of symbol of her relationship with the man she had an affair with.”

“I see.”

“I’m looking for any other kind of memento she kept around the house. Anything that would support this hypothesis of mine.”

“She kept all of her things in her closet… jewelry and such would probably all be in there.” He knew she would be aware of that. He knew Emma was obviously intuitive enough to put that together, but she would never mock him for offering the statement anyway. It sounded more so like he was reasoning it in his head as he said it, an attempt to process his first time being here in so long.

“Of course.” Her hand went from his, to the side of his face. He was tearing up. His blue eyes even more so from the tears.

“Liam and I, we um, we used to play in there. All of the clothes, and shelves… it made for a nice playground.” A smile played on his lips, a sad one, but nevertheless it was there.

“You don’t have to come into their bedroom if you don’t want to.”

Her closet would have been off of the master bedroom. The same place where Killian had walked in to find his parents murdered nearly twenty years prior. It was the place his crumbling world had finally shattered to pieces. And Emma did not want to be the one responsible for dragging him back in there.

“Thank you,” his voice came out in barely a whisper and he didn’t pull away from her touch. It was interesting how just twenty four hours before they were laying together in bed, reveling in the afterglow of passionate sex. Now they were engaging in something just as intimate but far less pleasurable.

He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a hug. One that warmed her entire body as he encircled her. It wasn’t amorous or sensual in any way, just… grateful.

“But I think I’m ready to see… their room,” he mumbled into her hair. Emma pulled her face back, a bit surprised. “Come. I would like to see some of the rest." He reached for her hand again and began pulling her toward the stairs, his choice of the word "some" did not go unnoticed by her in the slightest.

The room was overrun with leaves and twigs and branches. The skylight above had broken, leaving the master suite vulnerable to the elements. The floors warped from a leak in the roof that had gone unrepaired. She could barely make out the presence of furniture. A four poster king size bed was against the far wall by the windows. A dresser was to her right, moon beams from the window.

Emma looked over at Killian, who stood next to her in the double doorway. Her eyes caught the space on the floor where she knew the bodies had been. The bodies on his parents. The darkness of the moment crawling through her skin. She could not even imagine how he was feeling.

“The closet’s to the left, darling.” He finally broke the silence. Obviously not wanting to linger in the space.

Her eyes found the door to the closet and she walked toward. Killian on her heels. There was no guarantee she would even find anything helpful. The amount of time that had gone by combined with how messy everything had been with the investigation could have wiped away anything concrete Emma hoped to find.

The closet was in slightly better shape than the rest of the house had been though. The lack of windows and privacy making it almost like a vault from the outside world. That being said it was completely dark so the door had to be left open. Emma had also brought a flashlight because she had a feeling electricity would not be available. From what she could see there were still clothes hanging on the racks. Moira’s on one side, Brennan’s on another. Shelves of shoes was on the far wall. Everything preserved like a tomb.

“You guys lived rather large, I’ll give you that.” Emma noted. The rack of thick fur coats untouched and ostentatious.

“They had an awful lot of money and weren’t afraid to spend it.”

A vanity was set up between a few racks of clothes. The wood surface dusty from years of neglect. A framed photo of Moira and Brennan on their wedding day. Young, loving, naive. A bouquet of lilies in Moira’s hand. Brennan’s hand around her waist. A handsome man in his day. Say what you want about them, but they were an attractive couple.

“Your mother was very beautiful,” Emma offered peacefully.

“Aye, she would have liked you, you know.”

Emma looked up at Killian in the dark. But she could still read his face. The statement was heavy. The mere thought of meeting his parents overwhelming. But instead she wondered, “why’s that?”

“Because you’re smart, and driven, and selfless…” He looked down at his feet, seemingly gearing up for whatever was coming next. “Because you make her son happy.”

The honesty in his eyes was paralyzing. But the whole experience was cathartic for him. And she was glad he was here, able to even speak of his mother. Emma wanted to kiss him, she wanted to reach up and touch him. But this was a sensitive place. He wasn’t being flirtatious when he told her he made her happy.

Like he was almost reading her mind he leaned down and pressed the barest of kisses on her lips. A small reminder that, though they weren’t in bed together, there was still something between them. Reeling from the chaste kiss, Emma turned and began digging through the contents of the vanity.

There was some jewelry, an old brush, a sleeping mask. Nothing to raise an eyebrow at. Drawer by drawer she went through, Killian behind her holding the flashlight so she could see. Emma smiled finding a remaining picture of a young Killian. Though it was covered with dust she picked it up and cleaned off the frame.

"What have you got there, love?" he inquired shifting to see what she had picked up. A smile spread across his face as well. The picture was of him, probably no more than five or six years old, with a big grin on his face (missing teeth and all) in the big circular driveway out front standing next to a bike. "That was my first bike. I begged my parents for one and I finally got it."

"You were adorable." Her hand affectionately touched the frame.

"Were?" his eyebrow popped up as if to say 'I'm still fucking adorable'.

"You didn’t turn out so bad."

Emma peered closer. Moira Jones was behind him. Her arms around her son’s shoulders smiling just as big as Killian was. The sentiment was adorable. That it was something his mother kept so close to her. But then Emma’s eyes caught something. The faint outline of it in the background. A cane.

“Oh my god,” Emma gasped. The distinct presence of black pants, the body of its owner held up by a cane.

“What is it, love?”

“Killian, do you ever remember a man with a cane coming to your house?” Emma pointed to the fraction of a person in the background of the picture. Killian held the flashlight toward the photo.

“One of my mother’s doctors had a cane… he used to come to the house.”

“So he would just come to your house for checkups?” This wasn’t adding up in her head. Why would Gold pretend to be a doctor? Just to come over?

“He was my mother’s therapist. For a while actually. But then one day he stopped coming over. So I assumed she was better.”

Now it made sense. The reason Killian had told Emma his mother had been in therapy as long as he could remember. Because Gold had pretended to be her doctor. It gave them the perfect excuse to see one another. And the reason Killian had spent so little time in the town of Storybrooke. He had never been to Granny’s. He had no connection with anyone in town. Why his family never went there, because his mother was keeping them away from realizing Robert Gold wasn’t actually a psychiatrist but the owner of the local antique shop. Where the ring had made its way back to, because he had been the one to give it to Moira Jones.

“Killian, this man… he wasn’t a doctor.” She braced herself. This was enough, it was enough to go to her father with. Emma was certain Gold was behind this, all of this. But she couldn’t tell Killian right now. There was only so much she could reveal to him ahead of the investigation team. “My intuition was right, about the person I think it was.”

She was eye to eye with him now. “I need to talk to everyone at the station… it’s just what needs to happen. But I promise, as soon as things are more concrete I will tell you.”

“Okay, love.” He knew they were already dancing on a fine line just being here. There was a level of understanding between them that allowed this to even happen in the first place. “I trust you.”

A few moments later they were standing out front, Killian ready to get in his car and drive away. Which was the last thing she wanted, she wanted to just spill the whole thing and tell him what she knew. But she had already broken so many rules, so much protocol by even being here with him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait here with you until your father arrives?” Killian asked, backing her against his car. She wished she could just get in the passenger seat and ride away with him. But she had called David, he was on his way with Graham. They would be here soon and she would tell them everything.

“This is something I need to do… and I’ve already told you more than I should have.”

“I know, and for that I’m grateful. The last thing I want is to get in the way of you and doing your job.”

“Don’t think I’m not conflicted. Because I am.” She was. Even still as she looked into his eyes she knew they were on borrowed time but part of her didn’t care. “This time, let me call you, Killian. As soon as things are underway I promise I’ll call you.”

“I’ll miss you tonight, darling. But do what you must,” he whispered against her lips before bending to give her a kiss that was far more intense than the last. His soft mouth, now hard on hers. She opened her mouth to grant him entrance. And too quickly it was over, because their reality was strong. He wasn’t supposed to be here and her team would be here any moment.

“That’s one hell of a good bye.” Emma’s fingers went to her lips, the repercussions of their kiss vibrating through her.

Killian smirked, the first light moment of the entire time they had been here. He opened his car door and began to climb inside as he said, “And you’re one hell of a woman, Emma.”

Without another word he put the car in drive and rode away, taking any resolve Emma had left with him.

David and Graham arrived a few moments later, the timing could not have been more perfect as they pulled into the driveway. She immediately began explaining to them the context of the visit. How she had found the drawing, showing them the ring, and where it had come from. Emma told them Gold had acted strangely even for him ever since the case had reopened. And explained her reasoning for not wanting to come to them immediately with the information until she had more. The fact that Robert Gold was her son’s grandfather, Neal’s dad. It was messy. It could get sloppy if she didn’t have her facts correct.

Emma walked them through her snooping in the house, conveniently leaving out Killian’s presence in the whole thing. And showed them the picture she had found in Moira’s closet. The last piece of the puzzle would be having Killian and Liam identify a picture of Gold. The fact that he had been posing as their mother’s therapist further proof that there was malintent.

David was disappointed in her, she could tell. But to a certain extent he understood. There was no part of Emma that wanted Gold to have been behind the murder but a lot of signs pointed toward him.

“We’ll get the rest of the team out here first thing in the morning. To do a full sweep,” Graham looked over the picture frame. “If there’s anything else linked to Gold we’ll find it. I’ll call in Boston for back up. This is a big place, we’ll need more than just the three of us. And the light of day.”

“Neal and Henry get back tomorrow from their fishing trip…” Emma thought out loud. The idea of them coming back from such a nice weekend together to something so awful and drastic made her stomach churn with anxiety.

“We’re gonna have to bring Gold in for questioning, Em.” David’s voice softer now.

“I know.” This was just so difficult. The irony of the fact that Emma had at first avoided becoming more involved with Killian because of how personal that would turn the investigation, was not lost on her. Because now the case was somehow managing to hurt even more people she loved. Not that she loved Killian. She didn’t. Not at all.

“And if either Killian or Liam can ID Gold as someone they recognize then…. It’s pretty much a done deal,” David continued. At least he and Emma were on the same wavelength. He had taken the words out of her mouth before she could actually say them.

It was late now. David, Emma, Graham and a few others had taken into account the newest developments. Yellow caution tape had been restored to block off the property. A search team was in place for the first light of the morning. Gold would be called in as soon as the search began. A warrant to search his shop and house would be ready by the morning as well. They had to be careful. Gold’s wife worked with them. If Belle caught wind of them gearing up to question her husband there was a chance she would tell Robert and he could have time to get away. So silence fell amongst the team in order to preserve the information until go time.

David had told Emma to go home, rest and prepare for the next day. It would be brutal, he warned. As much as it was important to remain unbiased in an investigation, it was hard to do that when the ties of a small town ran so deep. There wasn’t a fiber of Emma that wanted Gold to have been the one who murdered Brennan and Moira Jones but more likely than not he was the one responsible.

Emma forced her body into the car, so tired and ready for sleep as she looked at the clock to realize it was 12:30 in the morning. How had time gotten so far away from her? It was barely nightfall when she had arrived and now it was already the next day? The day where everything would change, hearts would be broken, and families would be destroyed yet again. This was difficult. And she didn’t want to be alone.

She drove. Outside of the town line. In search of some sort of companionship. Emma didn’t know if Killian would be awake. It was the middle of the night. But she hoped that he was, and that he wouldn’t be angry with her from keeping her latest discoveries from him. She hoped he would understand that she had a job to do above all else and the personal developments of their relationship could only break so many rules. The less people who knew about tomorrow the better, but Emma still didn’t want to be without him when the morning came.

The penthouse was quiet. Dim with nightfall. Maybe this was a bad idea. The poor guy was probably fast asleep in bed with his dog, who the fuck was she to walk in and disrupt even more of his life? But just as she was about to turn to climb back in the elevator, she heard the padding of bare feet across the marble floor.

“Emma… I thought you said you were going to call, love.” In his hand was a mug of something, judging from the steam Emma suspected tea. “Not that I’m complaining.” He was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt. The most she had ever seen him dressed at this hour in recent memory. His hair was disheveled from sleep in the most adorable way, sticking up in all directions and reminding her of earlier that day when she had awoken next to him.

“I just felt like…” she could feed him a story, about some excuse that would give her reason to be here right now but there was none other than, “I didn’t want to be alone, Killian.”

“Neither did I.” He raised his small mug in front of his face, “I’ve just made some tea. Chamomile. Care for some?”

“I would actually, yeah.” She smiled. And then he did right back. Because despite everything else going on around them, the heaviness of what had transpired and what was to come, there was a solace in each other that made everything feel lighter.

Emma and Killian sat on the couch, sipping their tea and talking. She had been jittery when she arrived, the adrenaline combined with the lack of sleep turning her body into a temple of anxiety and stress. Killian’s eyes became more clear the longer she was there, it was obvious he had been crying just a bit. No doubt the reason for his tea making in the first place. The sleeping trouble. The emotional trauma. But now he seemed better, like he was only focused on what was happening just then.

After a while Emma yawned, and Killian offered her his bed for the night. As much as she should probably leave, go home and rest for the inevitable. She didn’t. She took his offer, and followed him up the stairs. Her hand in his. A hum of current flowing through her skin where he touched her. She wanted more, the yearn for him rarely ever truly ceasing, but at the same time the simple thought of sleep was so tempting.

Emma had been in his room before. Their time together here had been intimate… passionate… rough. But now the room appeared different to her. The gray hues of the curtains and comforter and cushioned headboard were soft and calming. The high ceilings were grand and made the space feel huge. A low hum of classical music played in the background. Princess lay at the foot of the bed in a peaceful sleep.

“Do you have a side of the bed you prefer?” Emma asked breaking the silence. This would be her first time sleeping here, even if it were for only a few hours.

“No, whichever you want is fine with me.” He looked at her, they were feet from the bed, a bed they had been in before for different reasons. So why was she so nervous?

“I’ll take the left.” Emma smiled. It was a bit forced. But not because she wasn’t happy to be here… and next to him. Because this would be their second time sleeping in the same bed in two nights. And that wasn’t really ever something she had done.

“Emma, if you don’t feel comfortable, I can sleep in the other room, love.”

“No,” she said almost too quickly. “I want you here. With me. Okay?”

“Alright.” She didn’t realize they had still been holding hands until he lifted hers to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to her wrist. Butterflies erupted in her body. But she fought them off and she shed her clothes and climbed into bed. She left on her underwear and tank top, since Killian wasn’t exactly nude. She didn’t want to assume anything. Even still her underwear left little to the imagination and as Killian settled in behind her she felt just how far his imagination had wandered.

Emma wanted to feel him, to touch him, she really did. Pretend the sexual connection was the only thing between them but it wasn’t. And she lacked the emotional stamina to dive into it now. She was so tired that the second her body settled into the plush mattress the only thing she could imagine doing was sleeping. Though that didn’t keep her hand from wandering. Slowly stroking the top of his thigh, getting closer to the affected area.

But she felt the grasp of a strong wrist on hers, the presence of the man behind her. “Emma, darling, it’s alright. Just sleep.” He removed her hand from his leg and wrapped it with his own. Enclosing his arms around her in a comforting embrace. Her whole body felt warm with his touch. Like she was wrapped in a cloud. Before she knew it she had drifted off, eyes closing, her last memory being the gentle press of kisses to her the bare skin of her shoulder. And she could have sworn she heard him whisper the faintest, “we have each other.”

Emma couldn’t have been asleep for long. When her eyes opened the sun wasn’t even up yet. She looked at the clock on the nightstand. 3:30 am. Her nerves wouldn’t let her sleep again. As she laid there in the dark she realized the dog had gone and it was just she and Killian in the bed. His warm body still pressed to hers. This was complicated. 6000 layers of complicated. When they had been sitting on the couch sipping their tea before sleeping, he had asked her if he would know today who had killed his mother. She had answered honestly, yes, he would. There had been so little she could give him in the past few months that was certain, but of this she was sure. By the end of today he and Liam would know. And hopefully they could finally begin their healing process that had been delayed so long.

Killian stirred in the bed behind her. A low groan coming from him as her body instinctively pressed closer to his. Emma didn’t know if he was awake until his lips were next to her ear and he quietly said, “having trouble sleeping, love?”

“A little,” she said back. Not sure what her next move should be. The night had been so emotional, so difficult for him… and her. She didn’t want to press him. But that didn’t stop her from wanting him. Or the adrenaline in her body channeling itself into something more raw and animal-like at the sound of his morning voice in her ear.

He didn’t say anything back though, instead moving the hair from her shoulder, exposing the skin to his lips, trailing them down her neck and shoulder. Setting a slow and tortuous pace.

“Mmmm…” he moaned, leaving little bite marks at the surface. Emma’s entire body alight with need. Her energy transformed so suddenly from anxious to wanton. She squirmed beneath his touch as his hands made their way to her breasts from behind. Massaging over the fabric of her shirt, her nipples hardening from his movements.

“Killian…” she managed to croak out. Her eyes falling shut and her head leaning back against his chest. “Are you sure….?” The weight of the day and what was about to happen with the case presenting a bit of an emotional roadblock. Though her body was completely betraying her thought process on that level. Because deep beneath her thighs was the pooling of heat and tingling of skin. Waiting for him to be where she needed him.

His voice was in her ear again, the hairs of his beard scraping the space just beneath. “Emma, love, please don’t deprive me of the one thing that I want…” He bit her earlobe, knowing he had her hooked. The confidence in his voice so erotic.

“What exactly do you want?” she barely got out, grinding her ass into his erection. The deepest, basest parts of her taking over.

His hands moved from her pert breasts to the sides of her face. Turning her head toward him to meet her eyes. So blue. They were so so blue and stunning. Her breath caught just looking at them, even for the one thousandth time. He still affected her.

“I want to make love to you,” he said. Breath heavy. Eyes hooded. Brows dark and prominent. But beyond all of that he was serious. The choice of words wasn’t a mistake. Nor were they a lie.

He waited for her to say something back. To acknowledge the gravity of the statement in its deliberateness. Her hands resting on his t-shirted chest. His thumb stroking the vein in her neck.

It didn’t frighten her like she thought it would. Surprised her, definitely. So much so that she didn’t know what exactly to say. Instead she leaned into him, pressing herself along the lines of his lean body. Shivering with ache. And kissing him until she couldn’t breath and had to pull her lips away just barely to catch herself.

“I would never stop you,” she urged, against him. Kissing him again once she said it. Hoping he understood what she couldn’t actually say. She took it as he did when his arms pulled her into him, deepening the kiss. His one hand cradling her head, his other moving her leg to hitch around his waist. Her center meeting his, their clothes between their most intimate parts but the heat was still there.

She tugged on the collar of his shirt. Needing to feel his skin. “Off. Now,” she commanded desperately. And he obeyed. Stripping bare of his clothes. All the while keeping some part of him on top of her. Emma removed hers as well, wanting to be as close to him as possible. Her lips finding there way to trace from his mouth to his sharp jaw to his neck to his throat and his chest. The thick, dark hair tickling her chin as she moved. She heard a low moan escape his throat, her hands doing their own explorations of him.

After a few moments he grabbed hold of her chin, pulling her face up to meet his yet again. He wasted no time before kissing her, his tongue invading her mouth in the most slow and careful of movements. Her head craned back to allow him deeper. Hands roving over her flushed skin.

Slowly he rolled on top of her, his weight causing their hips to meet. Emma gasped, giving way to some of the friction she needed. She arched her back, in hopes of feeling even just the tip of his length. She could already tell her center was impossibly wet for him. He knew as well. As one of his hands made its way to her slick folds, teasing the bundle of nerves ever so softly.

“How is it that you’re always so ready for me?” he asked and Emma felt him begin to line his cock up at her entrance. His warm tongue met hers. Claiming her mouth.

“I-I,” she groaned as his lips pulled from hers. The confession so close but instead she settled for, “I want you.”

Whether he knew what she was going to say or not he didn’t question her. He kissed the insides of her legs before he eased his large member inside of her. Allowing her to adjust to its size this time. Emma felt full to the brim as he bottomed out. Killian’s lips fell to her neck and chin, breasts, slowly, wet, delicate. Such a contrast from before. He moved his hips in time with hers, an unhurried pace. His forearms holding his chest above her.

Emma spread her legs wider, welcoming his hips, urging him to grind with her. Thrusting, as the heat inside her veins turned electric and she was gasping for breath. She could see sweat begin to form in the darkness of his hair. She tugged on it, the shaggy ends, to pull his face closer to hers.

“You’re so tight, darling, every time,” he bit out. “You feel amazing. So gorgeous. Not a single part of you I don’t want to devour.”

Her arms went from his hair, lower and lower, to his ass. That she had grown to love grabbing on to while in the throes of passion. And judging from the way he picked up his pace when he felt her hands there, he loved it too.

“I can’t make it much longer, love,” he whispered. She knew he couldn’t. The way his cock throbbed against her walls she knew he was about to spill. And so was she. Immersed in the bliss of his every move. Her toes curling into the sheets, holding tight to him, fingernails in his skin, warmth in her center. Her peak was building, nerves on edge.

“Come. With me, Killian,” she spoke. She rarely ever did when they engaged in this. But the way his cock drove her to her climax she wanted them to fall together.

“As you wish, my sweet.” His lips quickly caught hers. Tugging her to a passionate kiss as they both finished in tandem. His seed coating her thighs and the inside of her thighs.

Their breath heavy, the only sound in the room, Emma held his head to her chest as he suckled her bare chest in the aftershock of her orgasm. Slowly they both calmed themselves. When he finally lifted his dark head, and pulled her to his chest, she looked up at his angular face. She knew with certainty a terrifying truth.

Emma was falling in love with Killian. And things were about to become far more complicated.

[dashafromrussia26]

Toutes les bonnes choses ont une fin. Part 4.

“Is that’s it? I thought you have much more things to unpack. It looks like my baggage for one-week trip would be much larger than this. Do you have any decoration? Are you planning to decorate the flat at all cuz that’s too... DYAD looking?” – Cosima grinned.

“I have everything I need in the apartment so there is no need to carry old stuff. And no, I don’t have any decoration” – Delphine replied frowning.

“Hey, are you… are you okay?”

“Yeah-yeah, I’m just… hmmm… tired. I am fine. Relax”

Cosima looked worried – Delphine have never been this quiet before. But there is no way she could make her speak until Delphine decides to tell her what is going on. The smaller woman slowly approached with an intention to hug her even though she saw Delphine was not in the mood for that. At first Delphine’s body was straight as an arrow and tense as a bundle of nerves. She didn’t even respond to the hug in a proper way but Cosima wasn’t going to let her go and she squeezed the Blonde even tighter because she wanted her pain to go away no matter what is that about.

Cosima read somewhere that hugging and slightly swinging someone at the same time might relax the person because of some psychological patterns from childhood and thanks to the anonymous author this actually worked but not in the way that Cosima expected.

Suddenly she felt the Blonde’s shoulders started to uncontrollably shake. Only after she heard quiet weeping she realized that Delphine was crying. Her grip became firmer as she was trying to hold onto Cosima like a drowning man desperately catching at a straw. The brunette felt so useless. She didn’t know what to do so she just was standing there caressing Delphine in a way saying “I am here. I won’t leave you” and letting the pain flow through her and out.

“I am sorry. Family issues you know. Oh merde! I am such a mess” – Delphine whispered after she could finally breathe calmly.

“No-no it is okay. You need anything? Anything really?” – Cosima replied trying to hide the tremble in her voice.

“Let’s just watch something ridiculous and just lay here, d’accord?”

Cosima realized that it is really serious when Del ignored her favorite “Don’t stop me now” scene from “Shaun of the dead”.

After couple hours of cuddling Cosima fell asleep. It was 2 a.m. when Delphine unintentionally woke her up by pressing her head to Cosima’s so that her warm breathing tickled brunette’s neck.

“Del, are you awake?” – she whispered tenderly.

“Yes, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you”

“Well I am not scared – just awake” – Cosima tried to make her smile

“That’s not what I meant. I am sorry for my hysteric. I am not usually like that”

“Hey, stop saying you are sorry. You talk to me?” – said the smaller women trying to make her as comfortable as possible holding Blonde’s hands in hers.

“Please don’t say anything until I stop, okay?”

“I promise”

“Today is 20 years’ anniversary of my father’s death. It was a car accident but my father chose to turn the wheel in the way that put him in danger and in order to save me.  And this…” – Delphine said trying to hide the scar on the right side of her chest – “The metal pipe from the car stuck into my body deep enough to prevent me from moving but not enough to kill”.

Cosima slowly draw circles on Delphine’s shoulder using only top of her fingers watching as the Blond were turning her face away to avoid looking at Cosima – it was easier to control herself that way – but every inch of her body was pressed tightly to Cosima’s. That was vital. Delphine felt like she was going to fall apart as soon as they are divided. She needed the smaller woman tonight. Tonight she was the weak one.

“There were this two minutes of clarity before the agony started. Papa was trying to express his last will. He asked to forgive and love my mother despite her inability to love me back. This bitch was cheating on him from the very first year of their marriage. But he loved her too much. I guess he also knew that she is not really into the idea of having a daughter - her potential lovers could count her age. The bitch is too French to let a man see her standing one foot in the grave already. So my father made a deposit - his lawyer should’ve use it to pay in advance for my education in the boarding school if something bad happen to papa.  Probably he realized that I wouldn’t be able to live with that woman because she wasn’t the one who raised me. He was” – Delphine smirked.  “It looks like I have not only my mother’s face but also this freaking lying nature” – Delphine thought sadly. Every girl sooner or later becomes more or less the same as her mother. But Delphine couldn’t stand this woman too much and being her copy causes only extreme self-hatred and disgust.

“He wanted me to be strong” – Delphine continued – “His last words were to save our tree house. I visit it every time I am in Lille” – she whimpered – “But today my mother asked locals to tear it down because she wants to build a gazebo”  - Blonde said with abomination - “So basically it means I failed everything” – Delphine whispered choking down the tears. Her voice broke and she looked painfully defenseless.

“Love, I am so sorry” – the brunette said pressing her face to Delphine’s in order to look her right in that beautiful hazel eyes and dryed her tears with a warm kiss – “It is not your fault. There was nothing you could do. It is just… What I am trying to say that I am sure your father knows that you tried hard enough and he is proud of you”. The brunette has never thought that this powerful woman has her own deep drama. Cosima felt ashamed of being egocentric and selfish all the way through. Her lips became salty from both women’ tears.

“I don’t really believe in heaven and hell, Cosima”

“I don’t mean that. I just think that the energy, the soul never slips away actually. So maybe after death we reunite with the people we love. And maybe there is nothing but acceptance…forgiveness…”.

Delphine never said anything back. She didn’t have to. It was obvious from the way she flung her arms round Cosima’s torso that she doesn’t feel better but she is grateful that Cosima is here to share this sorrow with her.

–//–

“Wakie-wakie, sunshine” – Cosima exclaimed cheerfully opening the drapes. It was definitely too bright outside and the penthouse glass wall makes it even more uncomfortable as it is. Delphine mumbled trying very hard to open her eyes and wake up. She could feel Cosima’s dreadlocks smell cinnamon and coffee.

“Did she make a breakfast? Did SHE make a breakfast?” - was the first thing that came to Delphine’s mind this morning.

That was weird. Delphine’s been the one who gets up earlier to make a breakfast and wake her Cherie up. But damn, being cared this way felt incredible. No one does that to her for such a long time.

“Cosima-ah” – Delphine yawned. This made Cosima’s name sounds even more French than it’s usually pronounced by Delphine with that slight accent on the last syllable.

“I hope you are hungry. I don’t know if you like what I’ve done but if you don’t we could order some pizza instead” – the brunette started to fidget.

“Calm down” – Delphine giggled – “How much coffee and pot you took already?”.

The smaller woman climbed into the bed to join Delphine as she was sitting up in bed between pillows and put her face in her girlfriend’s gorgeous blond curls just inhaling this sweet smell of her tender skin. They would sit like that forever but “I think something is burning, mon amour” – Delphine whispered slowly pressing her lips to Cosima’s collarbone.

“Oh fuck!” – Cosima completely forgot about the oven. Ordering pizza seems to be the only way to keep this place in one peace.

Food was everywhere. This kitchen looked like there was an emergency preparation for a huge wedding of gnomes. Surprisingly Delphine took this mess very calmly probably because of “Don’t kill me” look on Cosima’s face that made the Blonde laugh so hard and loud she made Cosima jump up. 

Delphine usually don’t do that for some reason but she couldn’t resist capturing their laughing faces with a huge mess and a fire behind them.

This photo looks a lot like their relationship. Mess. Fire. And their souls bound by their incredible, infinite, inevitable love.

[papermoth-bird-blog]

Austin: Tan lines in Texas (and an introduction to an Ashram in Arizona)

(okay, so I’ll note I’m actually writing this from Arizona, but the last few days have been a blur & it was hard to find time to write. Love to whoever is reading this.)

Austin was a great idea. Again, would have been made easier if I had a car, but it’s a good thing I made friends here. Or I should say- It’s a good thing my friends hooked me up with their friends that still live in Austin (particularly Kyle!)

Still been eating really good food. And by that, I mean in large part American comfort food. I have fully become addicted to tacos and have at least one a day.. (okay yeah, I’ve always had a burrito problem). I’ve pretty much conquered/eaten all the southern/tex-mex/austin staples. On top of that I had that I had the best bowl of Ramen I’ve ever had. I’ve also had a lot of juice/smoothies.. cause they love that here, for whatever reason. The sun came out & lifted my spirits tremendously. I spent so much time ‘playing’ outside. Barton creek is a really beautiful water body- Mediterranean blue! Right in the middle of the city. I’m glad that I started a morning pilgrimage to Zilker’s park to have tree-time. Some of my best memories from Austin were made there.

Kyle’s friend Marlon (who performs under the name Tasi) invited me out to a kinda institution/dive venue (a la Gus’ Pub but much bigger) to watch some people perform who were in the local indie scene.Turns out, one of the performer’s was Charlie from Hovvdy- a band I’d seen play earlier in the week. That was a really great night out. I feel like I was finally around people that reminded me of my friends back home- musicians, leftys, artists. It was really nice chatting to them all & making friends. It was grounding at a time that I felt a little more adrift. Marlon was super kind & totally hooked me up with a bunch of art shows & music shows for the rest of the week- not to mention introduced me to a lot of cool people.  I told him I’d repay the favour if he ever came up to Canada- and I hope he takes me up on it (I feel like he’s the type to). I also made friend’s with the bartender that night because apparently I am the doppleganger of her childhood best friend Katie. She even showed me pictures... it was a little weird, we did look oddly similar. If anything, it just made me feel that string-like guide of strange circumstances that has lead me along this wandering journey. So I kinda nodded my head instead of getting actually weirded out. Stranger and stranger everyday- and so, less strange overall. ‘Tis the life of a witch, I suppose.

The following evening was the BIG night I’d been awaiting since I started this trip- I went to see Jonathan Richman. It was a short set, which, not gonna lie, induced some skepticism. HOLY MOLY it was a great show. It filled me with so much joy and I danced through the whole set all by myself. He was so silly & playful- which made for a really engaging & flowing performance. Despite the overtone of hipstery-indifference, he pulled a lot of audience participation out of the crowd. We worshipped the sun together & sang praises for the summer feeling that arrived in Austin earlier that day. He also played a couple of his older hits (which I didn’t except, cause I was told he didn’t really play those anymore). The whole time there was this one guy full-fan-girling next to me. I kinda think he was freaking Jojo out. I’d probably have been weirded out to. By virtue of us being right beside each other in the front row, it meant that that Jojo was looking at me in the eyes (and boobs) all night. Which felt kinda weird, but kinda special. (haha). He also pranced around the stage with maracas which put me in a good mood. Strangely enough, he wasn’t the only one to whip out the maracas. Later on that night, I went to see another country band. The lead singer was decked out in Rhinestone Cowboy apparel. Sure enough, he whipped out the maracas eventually too. I guess something is in the air- mostly Maracas. 

My final day in Austin reached a high of 31 degrees. I walked around in shorts and a bathing suit all day- whispering to myself reminders that it was february. It put a lightness in my heart. I skipped around town, eating my favourite foods & got ice cream. I met up with a friend too & went swimming. We basked in the sun & talked about the future & travel. He just came back from hiking the Appalachian trail (which took 6 months). I quizzed him endlessly about it. It certainly sounds intimidating, but incredibly rewarding. It’s definitely something that’s doggy-eared on my travel wishlist. I mean- walking from Georgia to Maine! Can you imagine!! All throughout some of the most beautiful sections of mountains the world has to offer. Reading ‘Wild’ has certainly been encouraging me along this thought plain too. 

Later that night I went to a friend’s birthday party at a really boogie secret bar. I felt out of place, cause I was wearing cut off jean shorts & a ripped t-shirt & a bandana- definitely not exactly the vibe. It was a good time anyway & all the waiters had cute Irish Accents. Later in the night Brandon & I took off to go to another party across town, after picking up some more of his friends. I was flying to Pheonix the next day & mentally preparing myself for Ashram life. It felt a little odd to be around so many people doing coke- but if anything, it just confirmed that I feel really good about staying sober & living my life on the path I am travelling on. All the people there knew each other from high school (mostly Anderson high... which if I’m not mistaken is the high school in Dazed & Confused). It definitely brought me back to high school in a way- not that the conversations were particularly high school like (well maybe), but more so reminded me how I felt in high school. That just because I could get along with everybody & find things to talk about, doesn’t mean they are “my people”. I was just filled with pangs of gratitude for the people I have back home that make me feel so fulfilled & supported & loved wholly. It makes it easy to be away & explore knowing that. 

In some ways, I’ve seen flashes of every version of myself I’ve ever been. I’ve had moments that reminded me of my childhood. I’ve had moments reminding me of my adolescence. And along the way- I’ve found ways to make peace with the trouble some of those memories bring to me. Soothing me, teaching me, giving me room to grow. It’s like I’ve been repotted- I’m going through the lessons I was faced with before, but this time, I have many more tools & experiences to support me through them. It’s helped me spark a bit of excitement to spend time in Ontario again. 

The next morning, Brandon drove me to the airport. I’m so grateful to him for doing that too- because we slept in & I wouldn’t have had enough time if I had to take an uber. I tumbled high-speed through the airport & next thing I knew I was in Phoenix. (okay, there was a weird bit about the lady at TSA getting mad at me & patting me down because she didn’t like how many notes I had shoved in my overall’s pockets. I didn’t get it really. I looked more like a toddler that a smuggler, but whatever). My jaw practically hit the floor when I saw the landscape I dropped into. Such a big sky! and so blue! And mountain in the distance- that looked more like hardend sand dunes. The cactus’s are huge & fill the landscape, instead of an abundance of trees. It made me regret taking the plane, instead of the bus. Despite what everyone was saying, I really think I would have loved it. Now I just know I will have to trust my own feelings ever-forward when it comes to those things. 

----------------------------------------------------

Sedona, too, is more beautiful than I could have expected. I mean, I’ve seen pictures of course, but seeing the monuments & their contrast with space & sky is something else. I took this huge breath here that I feel like I’d been holding for months & months. I can tell I have work to do here. Routine to entangle in, feelings to purge. I will be here for two or three weeks- doing yoga & meditation & chanting everyday. I can already feel the shift in me. (and in some ways, a shift back to a way I was in the past too). Being part of a land co-op certainly does allow for a lot of outdoor work & collaborative living. I do love all that, and it definitely exists as a main part of the ashram. There is a different feeling here, though. Definitely less silly. It’s full of intention. I don’t know how to explain it right now- except it’s like your spirit makes eye contact with everyone else’s spirit. You can’t hide from your weaknesses. It requires honesty & commitment to make life work here. I’ve always been ready for that- but you don’t find too many places (especially in modern cities) that allows you to live that way. My body, too, is being challenged. Everyone here is a relatively devout yogi (karmic & asana). I myself have to catch up in ways. I already have the chants stuck in my  head as I work in the garden.

One think I’ve found challenging so far is what I am doing for my Karma Yoga practice. Rukmini can be a little nit-picky (although I know she’s working on that). She is also taking over for Swamiji while he is away, which I realize has it’s own stresses. She hopes that I will help her in the kitchen and help her with “momma chores”. The thought of that is challenging for me, however, because I’ve never been particularly inclined towards those things. Gopala is leaving the ashram soon. He has done a lot of the cooking & I think she really wants me to help with that..... my ultimate challenge. I mean, I told her I love farm work and building projects. Dharmagan & Charles are building a little temple by the bar. Really, I am craving to work on that. I think, Rukmini would prefer me to work with her, though. We did have a special moment earlier in which we were both totally geeking out about plants and gardening. That felt really nice. I’ve been thinking a lot about “my path” of course. I still feel intentional about doing some sort of healing practice. In clearing away all my obligations, I have thought every morning “in a perfect world, what would you do with this day). In almost all my answers, it has something to do with being outside with plant friends & sharing the gifts of plant medicines with my dearest people friends. I do really want to be a farmer- but in nova scotia that is certainly hard to make your full income. I love the idea of doing massage to fill out the rest of my time (as I’ve discussed for years), but it doesn’t spark the same immediate joy that plants do. I think it would still be something I’d be good at though & would open so many doors for me. (anyways, I digress... and most of my good friends have heard me repeat this conversation over and over again).

I can’t help but feel doubted (which is an ultimate pet peeve of mine) in areas that are a little more physical or perhaps typically male roles. She did allow me to help her garden today. We planted Onions & lilies & garlic as flakes of snow fell from the sky. It’s about 5 degrees- which for me, feels reasonable to be working outside. Everyone else keeps mentioning “THE COLD!” I just smile to myself, because it’s familiar to me & I love being outside. It did mean that Gopala brought me a big mug of Cocao while I planted. Which was kind and really thoughtful. 

Saraswati is the patron goddess of this ashram. Her colour is yellow (my favourite) and she is the goddess of wisdom & knowledge. She is actually one of my favourite Hindu Gods- so it was a happy surprise when I found that out. The library, where her shrine is, is beautiful & filled with yellow & gold. It’s a very happy place to be. All the book titles have filled me with a thirst to read as much as I can. Rukmini gave me a book about Peace Pilgrim. On my first day I sat down by the river with my feel sunk into the mud (next to the many raccoon paw prints) and read in the tree for a few hours. Peace Pilgrim is a favourite of the Swami here. He, like Peace Pilgrim, also journeyed around America, relying on faith & the kindness of strangers to help him on his way. I am looking forward to meeting him. Mare has told me wonderful things about him (mostly that he reminds her a lot of Dumbledore-- which is probably the highest praise any teacher could get). He arrives tomorrow- so I’m sure there will once again be another shift in energy. We’ve gotten a little lackadaisical with the timing of the schedule. I’ve heard Swami keep the household a little strict- but I suppose you have to when there is a bunch of people in & out (in addition to it being a serious spiritual centre). 

This is a small Ashram- with only about 7 of us here now. It is less than a year old, however, so it is still being established in many ways. The other ashrams have 50, maybe even 100 people living there. I feel good about this ashram though. Especially when it comes to learning, I feel like it will be more effective in a small group. Although I suppose larger ones would be nice because there would be lots of people to work with & talk to. It feels right to be in this one though. 

There was a girl who left the day before I arrived & her name was also Zoe. Apparently there was some confusion because we had the same name. I personally am just taking it as another sign that I’m supposed to be here. Something that I didn’t really expect is that I am feeling a lot of gratitude for my name- Which means life. There has been a lot of chants exploring that theme- being alive. I guess that could be expected, but it’s been standing out to me. My thoughts keep circling back to that mysterious phrase that lead me to this journey on the first place “go to New Orleans to learn about death”. I think I let a lot of things die when I chose to leave Halifax. There was death in that, surely. In a re:birthing context. I think what I learned most is that life exists concurrently with death. 

I struggle quite a bit still with thoughts of Ellie’s death. I found myself crying unexpectedly in Satsung yesterday, and then again when talking to Rukminiji. I find it hard to laugh and smile without it making me feel guilty in some way. As if keeping sadness close to my heart is penitence, or proof in someway that I loved her. New Orleans, certainly conjured the ideal of how deeply & brightly both the concepts of death & life can coexist. And so, still with thoughts & appreciation for death, I’ve been able to live a little more freely. Which is not something I thought I’d ever fully be able to move towards in sincerity. But I feel it. My prana is having the dust shaken off along this dessert journey. I am grateful for every moment of it- all the challenges & moments of peace that is being gifted to me.