#expect a pirate accent from this funny lady

[kheprriverse]

Hero of Winds, Delta.

Finally got myself to restart on my redesign of WW Link. She's been on my mind for so long now and I can't wait to draw her more!

-> Support me on ko-fi!

[spartanguard]

you ain't gonna be lonesome anymore

Summary: Emma discovers that there's more to the guy who lives alone in the woods than the town would lead her to believe—and may have just found a kindred spirit. (Modern AU inspired by "Joshua" by Dolly Parton)

A/N: In the spirit of Dolly Parton's Heartstrings, this piece was inspired by her song "Joshua", which I heard and immediately knew needed to be an AU. I had intended to wait until closer to the release of the series but...I couldn’t. Hope you like it!

rated G | 5.6k | AO3

On her way into town, through the narrow forest road that just barely held two lanes of traffic, Emma Swan saw it—a tiny little cabin hiding among the trees. It probably wouldn’t have caught her attention were it not for the light coming through the windows, practically a beacon in the dimming dusk, and the bit of smoke coming from the chimney.

And she probably wouldn’t have given it another thought were it not for the people of Storybrooke being the way they were. She just assumed it was normal for hermits to live in cabins in the Maine woods, but once she realized this town was full of busybodys who knew everyone and made everyone’s business their own, she saw the oddity of it.

Not like she was much of anything normal herself; this was just another stop on the road to wherever. Neal may have left her with a broken heart and jail time on her record, but she also couldn’t forget his words: “Home is the place, when you leave...you just miss it.” So far, she hadn’t missed anywhere; not Arizona, not Tallahassee, not Minnesota, New York, Boston—anywhere.

And she was pretty sure she’d be able to add Storybrooke to that list. It was almost too quaint to be true, and the people, while hospitable, were one step away from cloying. But winter was approaching, and this seemed as good a place to hibernate as any other before moving onto the next.

So she got a job at the diner and began putting names to faces of just about everyone in town. The grumpy miner, Leroy, liked his bacon; the cute sheriff, Graham, stereotypically enjoyed doughnuts. And so on. She got the gossip about the romance between the teacher and the recently divorced manager of the animal shelter, and the equally scandalous teenage pregnancy that prompted the young lovebirds to elope.

It was on a quick trip out of town—because Storybrooke had a terrible liquor selection and she’d be damned if she spent her birthday drinking the swill at the Rabbit Hole—that she saw the cabin again, looking just as cozy yet standoffish as it had a month ago, and it got her wondering. Now that she knew everyone, just who lived there?

“Hey Granny,” she asked a couple days later (once she was over her hangover). “You know that cottage in the woods, out by the highway?”

“What about it?” the diner’s owner barked impatiently, even though they were in the middle of the afternoon lull.

“Who lives there?” She could see Graham tucking away out there, or maybe it was Belle, the sweet but reserved librarian.

“No one worth knowing,” Granny grumbled. “And you won’t see ‘em around here, anyways. Good riddance.”

Emma frowned; that was antithesis to just about everything she’d learned about this town. Everyone was so keen to make sure she knew everyone else—so what was going on there?

“You talking about the Jones place, out on the ridge?” Leroy asked, the only other person in the diner.

“I guess so.”

“Yeah, don’t bother. He’s a dick.”

“What did he do?” she asked, making a move to refill Leroy’s coffee mug.

“He just...is. Anytime anyone has gotten close to his property, they’ve been run off. The one time I saw him, he was glaring at anyone who dared to get too close. There's all sorts of weird sounds and smells coming from his property. He’s just a nasty piece of work. Don’t you worry about him, sister—just keep your distance and you’ll be fine.”

Well, Emma had a terrible problem with doing what people told her. Now she was curious.

She tested the waters. She started to ask people when it was slow if they knew anything about the cabin in the woods, and got all kinds of responses.

“Stay away from him, dear; his heart’s as black as his hair.”

“My cousin got lost hiking and ended up near the property; guns started ringing out and he ran the other way as fast as he could.”

“I ran into him down at the docks one night. No clue what he was doing there but it didn’t look like anything good.”

“I heard he’s a werewolf, and that's why he lives all alone!” (That one was from one of the kids in town.)

“No, silly; he’s a pirate, with a hook for a hand! He’s got his treasure out there so that’s why he protects it!” (And that was said kid’s friend.)

“He’s evil, plain and simple,” she was assured by the pawnbroker—but given that man’s smarm and apparent Napoleon complex, she didn’t take his word as gold.

Emma had seen a lot more of the world than the residents of Storybrooke, and a lot more people; while she hadn’t had the best interactions with all of them, she knew that no one was as terrible as they all made this Jones guy out to be.

She also knew a thing or two about keeping your distance from people and the reasons one might have to do that—especially the people here; there were some days she figured he had the right idea, particularly after she’d heard some nasty things about the teacher said by the prudish old ladies. God forbid they ever learn Emma’s romantic history; it might kill them in their vinyl-covered seats.

And Emma had always been a bit of a rebel; that streak had gotten her kicked out of more than a few homes growing up and into several scrapes, but even at 28, she had no desire to tamp it down.

So on one of the last crisp days of fall, early in November, she decided she’d see what the fuss was about.

She packed up a few pastries purchased with her employee “discount” (otherwise known as “take them out of my paycheck, Granny”), a thermos of hot cocoa, wrapped herself up in her leather jacket and a scarf, and then headed off on what she told people was a “fall colors hike”. Which wasn’t entirely a lie, even if more leaves were on the ground than the trees at this point.

“Don’t go poking around that Jones place, you hear?” Granny called as she was leaving. “I’m not gonna drag your carcass home.”

Emma just rolled her eyes. She’d be fine.

Wouldn’t she?

She couldn’t lie—some of the stories started sending shivers down her spine the closer she got to the property. She’d never really been an outdoors-y girl, at least not by choice; there may have been a few nights spent on park benches, but only in the summer. And she generally preferred to stick to marked trails, but this forest didn’t have any—at least, not that went where she was headed. So it took all her concentration to make sure she didn’t slip on a slick patch or some protruding tree root.

Or maybe it was the trees themselves; they were tall and a tiny bit foreboding, as if they were telling her she wasn’t supposed to be there. (Maybe she wasn’t quite as rebellious as she thought.) Somewhere, in the recesses of her mind, the voice of Legolas was telling her how old the forest was. But then she laughed aloud when she remembered a meme that changed it to “old as balls”.

Her laughter was quickly cut off by a growl, though. Up ahead was a large, shaggy black dog—and he was standing his ground. Emma saw the clearing—and the cabin—beyond, and realized she’d arrived. Crap, had that kid been right about the werewolf thing? This dog was huge.

She remembered something about not looking a crazy dog in the eyes and was trying to avoid contact, but then a voice called out that drew both of their attentions.

“Who are you?”

Standing in the entryway of the cabin was who she assumed was the owner and—damn. She was not expecting a guy who looked like that to be living out here. The old lady in the diner had been right about black hair, but where she’d been expecting long and messy, it was short and slightly tousled. He had a bit of scruff and even from far away, she could see the way his piercing blue eyes and furrowed brows were studying her. And a strong nose, sharp jaw, and high cheekbones left him with a face much prettier than anything she expected.

He was dressed for rugged living, in a dark plaid button up and worn jeans, but the way they hugged his biceps and legs couldn’t possibly be practical. She wasn’t complaining, though—whatever he was doing out here was clearly good for him. He was probably the most attractive person she’d ever seen in person.

“Lass?” he called out again, and took a step out from the house. He had an accent that definitely wasn’t from Maine—probably from the other side of the Atlantic—and his voice was more than on edge. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t sound mean, though—just wary. She couldn’t blame him; she probably would be, too, if some strange person was standing in her front yard and staring.

Oh, right—she was the strange person.

“Hi! Sorry, I, uh, I’m Emma. Emma Swan.”

The dog was still growling; she hadn’t noticed in her ogling. “Easy, Smee,” he said, and the pup finally relaxed, then trotted back to the man. He gave the good boy a scratch behind the ears before ushering the mutt inside and turning his attention back to Emma. “Can I help you with something?”

She could think of a few lusty somethings but it was then she realized that she had no real plan for actually finding anyone out here, despite the fact that she knew the place was occupied. “Oh, no, not really; I, uh, just—”

“Just thought you’d come out and see if the one-handed old coot was real?”

Busted. Her eyes darted away, focusing on an old barrel standing in the yard—though not missing the prosthetic hook at the end of his left arm—and she was pretty sure she was blushing in shame. God, why did she think this was a good idea? He probably had enough gawkers and clearly didn’t like people and—and he was laughing. What?

She looked back up and he was chuckling at her, giving her a bit of a wry grin.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, starting to get worried that he really was crazy.

“You’re the first person who’s had the guts to do that in broad daylight,” he replied, still amused. “Do you want to come in?”

She could feel her eyebrows disappear into her beanie—that was not what she expected at all. There was still part of her waiting for him to produce a shotgun and run her off the property, or wondering if she was about to be chained to a radiator Black Snake Moan-style.

That said, this was also the most entertaining thing that had happened since she arrived here, and she’d certainly made it through shadier situations. That and there were zero creeper vibes from this guy—something she was all too good at noticing. “Sure,” she answered casually.

He smiled—a brilliant thing, really, brighter than the autumn sun shining through the mostly bare branches—and beckoned her to follow him into the house. Leaves and twigs crunched under her boots as she followed.

He paused at the door, though, and turned back to her. “Oh, you can call me Killian, by the way. Killian Jones.”

“Nice to meet you, Killian Jones.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Emma Swan.”

He led the way in and she was right behind him, stopping only to swipe her shoes on the doormat; she may be awkward, but she didn’t want to be rude and track mud in—especially once she got a look around.

It wasn’t a large cabin, she knew that, but it was surprisingly spacious inside and clean—much cleaner than the rural setting would suggest. The wood floors were immaculately waxed and there wasn’t even the haze of dust motes swirling in the light from the windows; she couldn’t say half as much about her cramped apartment.

There was a tidy living space with a couch, a recliner, and an inviting fireplace with a large TV mounted above it; a small kitchen area to one side; and a couple doors on the other that she assumed headed to bedrooms. Smee was draped over one end of the sofa, his furry head resting on the arm as he watched her—still judging, but not aggressive, at least. Then the sound of wood scraping against wood drew her eyes back to the kitchen, where Killian was sliding another chair up to the small table. “Take a seat,” he said with a nod.

“Thanks,” she answered, and complied; the furniture was well-loved but also in good shape.

“Rum?” he asked, but he was already pulling glasses from a cupboard.

“Only if it’s good.” If anything, she’d be glad to leave Storybrooke for somewhere with better booze.

“Trust me, it’s the best.” He set the glasses on the table and then went back to grab an old-looking bottle off the counter; vintage was putting it lightly: it was scuffed and scratched and had no label, only a cork in the top to protect the amber liquid.

She had to bite her tongue when he deftly pulled out the cork with his teeth, because the extra attention on his mouth just highlighted how supple—and likely kissable—his lips were. He poured a generous amount for both of them before setting the bottle down and taking the seat next to her.

He lifted his glass, but then paused. “I feel like I should toast to something, but I’ve no clue what.”

It did feel odd to be making a toast with an almost-total stranger, but Emma agreed; that and it felt rude to not make one, and she’d already been that enough today. “To good rum?” she offered.

“Works for me. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” She took a sip and— “Damn,” she sighed as it slid down her throat. “You weren’t lying.” It was the perfect blend of sweet and spicy, with a light amount of burn that warmed up the bit of her that had been starting to numb in the chill autumn air.

“I make a habit not to.”

“Good to know.”

They took a few more sips in companionable silence, until he set his glass down and stared into it. “So, um,” he started, then scratched nervously behind his ear. “What, uh, what are they saying about me in town?”

“Nothing true.”

He arched an eyebrow at her in disbelief. “You hardly know me, lass.”

“No, but I can tell that your heart isn’t as black as your hair.”

“Someone said that?”

“Yup.”

“Well, it’s poetic; I’ll give it that,” he chuckled. “Anything else?”

“Mostly that you’re rude and combative, although the kids tell some tall tales.”

“Such as?”

“Werewolf, vampire, pirate—take your pick.”

He laughed again (a sound she was finding she enjoyed quite a bit). “I suppose pirate is the most apt of that list.”

“You do have good taste in rum.” Damn good; this reminded her of the stuff she bought on her birthday. “But I thought pirates lived on the high seas?”

“I do have a ship.”

“Okay then.” That explained why people saw him at the docks. “But then why would you live up here?”

He shrugged. “I imagine you’ve seen what that town is like.” She nodded; that she had. “I wasn’t in much mood for company when I arrived here, so they took that as a slight on their perceived hospitality. They wrote me off from there, and if that was how they were going to treat a newcomer, then I wanted no part of it.” He took another long drag of his rum. “And given that I wasn’t much in the mood for company, this place seemed perfect. So I bought the property, fixed it up, and...here I am. Well, me and Smee.”

She understood that; it was easier to keep people at arms’ length than to let them in and risk them hurting you. Casual, passing relationships were fine; intimacy was off the table, even platonic.

The thing she couldn’t figure out, though, was what was happening in the present.

“And what about now?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you in the mood for company...now?”

He was still studying his drink, but glanced up at her through his long lashes, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “I suppose I am.” He paused a bit, then added, “Are you?”

“Not usually,” she answered quickly. “But it doesn’t seem so bad at the moment.”

The fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he gave her a sideways smile that, to her astonishment, made her heart skip a beat; she couldn’t remember the last time that happened. And—was it just her, or the rum, or were his cheeks pink? Was he blushing?

How did she stumble upon what might be one of the most adorable people on the face of the earth in the middle of the woods?

“So,” he continued casually, as if he hadn’t just possibly taken up residence in a part of Emma’s heart that she wasn’t sure worked anymore, “just how did you end up in Storybrooke?”

“I drove here,” she said nonchalantly.

“Ha. But really.”

She initially blamed it on the rum when she poured out her whole sob story to him, but in hindsight, the reality was that he was the first person she didn’t think would judge her too hard on it—which was confirmed when he relayed his own, which wasn’t terribly different: unstable homes, absent family members, and then broken hearts. When he found out about her nomadic lifestyle, he asked about the places she’d been; she followed suit when he told her he’d been in the Navy, which was where he lost his hand.

“Okay, but really,” she demanded, voice a bit louder than normal thanks to the influence of the rum. “Even if you’re not in the Navy anymore, you could go anywhere; why the hell are you here?”

He shrugged and licked his (delectable) lips. “Everyone has to make port somewhere at some point.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Yeah, but...Storybrooke? What even is there to do here? Why not go to a place like New York or Boston?”

Staring into his now-empty glass, he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then cast her a sideways glance. “Let’s just say...some ventures in life demand a fair bit of privacy, which is also something I quite value.” He was silent for another moment, but then continued, “If I show you something, do you think you can keep it secret?”

She held up her right hand in a Vulcan salute. “Scout’s honor.”

Killian’s jaw hung open at whatever the hell she was doing (frankly, she didn’t know herself, either), before chuckling, shaking his head, and coming to his feet. “Follow me.”

They headed back outside, Smee trotting behind them, over to the far edge of the property, opposite the way Emma had come from. Hidden between some trees was a small shack that was just as clean and pristine on the outside as the cottage was on the inside. As they got closer, she picked up on a smell that wasn’t the forest, but did seem familiar—and, she hated to say it, Leroy was right: there was a weird noise coming from it.

“What is this?” she had to ask.

“You’ll see,” he answered casually, pulling a key from his shirt pocket to unlock the door.

Inside wasn’t very big, and it was crowded with equipment on one end and bottle-covered tables on the other. The spicy scent overpowered her and almost stung a bit; it reminded her of her brief career as a bartender in a strip club and the smell of stale alcohol that wasn’t properly mopped after a spill. Wait—was this? “Rum?” she said, almost in disbelief, turning to look back at him.

“Aye.”

She assessed the operation once more; it looked more like the inside of the chemistry lab she was supposed to go to in high school than a moonshine operation. It was impressive, honestly. “So I guess you really are a pirate, huh?” she teased.

He gave a mock bow. “Captain Hook, at your service.”

She giggled, but then it was like a lightning bolt or whatever went off in her head. “Wait—Hook’s Rum?”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of it.”

She snorted. “I got drunk on it on my birthday. Best rum I’ve ever had.”

“It’s always nice to make an impression,” he said with a smirk. God, he was a dork.

“How many times have people tried to break in?” she wondered as he slipped past her inside and grabbed an empty bottle.

“Are you trying to rob me?” he countered as he fiddled with something on the still, flipping a lever with his hook and letting amber liquid pour into the bottle.

“Nope.”

“Then none.”

She leaned against the doorframe as she watched him work. “So, using your legend of infamy to keep your illicit business practices under wraps. I like it.”

“I have a license,” he tossed back as he shut off the flow once the bottle was full, then turned to another surface where an odd machine laid. “How else would you have bought it in the store?”

“Fair.” He twisted the handle on the contraption, which turned the bottle. “But is that how you’ve managed to keep this secret out here?”

“Indeed.” Carefully, he wiped the bottle down, then turned and handed it to her; now it bore the semi-familiar label that had caught her eye in the liquor store on it. “I can autograph that, if you want.”

“But then I can’t drink it.”

“Guess I better give you two, then.”

He did—somehow raising his dorkdom to adorable (adorkable?) levels—and directed them back to the house. The sun was definitely lower than it had been when she left and her stomach was starting to grumble; hopefully, those pastries weren’t crushed. But hunger wasn’t the first thing on her mind, oddly enough. “So,” she started, “if you keep that hidden, why did you trust me with it?”

He didn’t answer until they were back in the house. “You’ve been honest,” he answered simply. “And you have that look about you.”

“What look?”

“The look you get when you’ve been left alone.”

“Pretty sure we established that.”

“Yeah. But it means...I knew you’d understand.”

She swallowed and suddenly felt like his intense blue gaze on her saw every thought she’d ever had. “Yeah, I do,” she said softly.

And then her stomach rudely growled, interrupting what had been a soft but heavy moment.

Killian’s low chuckle eased her mortification, but only slightly. “I was about to make some grilled cheese, if you’d like; unless you need to get back to town.”

That look he’d just been talking about creeped into his eyes, and she saw it for the out it was. But what kind of monster turns that down? “Grilled cheese is my favorite.”

“Excellent. Pick out a movie and I’ll get that going.”

His collection was extensive, but she found herself more drawn to his book selection. Most people were surprised to know she was an avid reader, given her life, but she’d learned long ago that libraries were an excellent place to get out of inclement weather, and when you were strapped for cash, it was cheap entertainment.

Something he must have figured out, too, given the stack with Storybrooke Public Library stamped on the edges. “Really? You go to the library?”

“Is that really so surprising?” he called back from the kitchen, where she could hear the familiar sizzle of buttered bread on a griddle.

“Seems odd that the town hermit would go to the second-most welcoming place in the city center.”

“Only second-most?”

“After Granny’s.”

“Ahh,” was all he said, but then she heard the sound of dishes.

A minute later, he was back in the living room with a delicious, gooey sandwich on a plate just for her. “Well, there’s little that can keep me away from a good book, and Belle is the only other person in town that I like.”

“Other than…?”

“You, obviously.”

“I moved up your list that fast?”

“You’re second of three; let’s not get too cocky, love.”

“Yeah? Who’s third?”

“Belle. Smee is first.”

“Oh, I see,” she threw back, amused. It was kind of insane how easily they fell into banter after only...wow, had it really been 4 hours since she showed up here?

He invited her to take a seat on the end of the couch opposite Smee while he settled into the recliner and they started to talk about books. Then movies, then TV a bit, but it moved onto their respective educations (Emma: GED; Killian: the equivalent of a master’s or something crazy that he got from the naval academy and was decidedly not using).

He got another bottle of rum out once they finished eating and continued to drink and talk through the night, about...oh, everything. Emma knew she had been talking a long time because she was trying to use the rum to rehydrate (which probably wasn’t working all that well) but it was hard to remember what all they had discussed when it was literally everything. And when she was honestly enjoying herself more than any time in recent memory. Even Smee had finally warmed up to her, resting his head in her lap as she scratched behind his floppy ears.

Had she ever fallen into conversation this easily? Probably not. But then again, no one else was like Killian.

She’d been vaguely aware of the changing color of the sky outside his windows as the night wore on—orange to blue to black—but when lavender crept in, she finally took a glance at her phone and was shocked to see the time.

“Oh shit—I have to get to work,” she cursed.

“At this hour?”

“Breakfast rush,” she explained, showing the clock on her phone.

Killian’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t realize...I’m so sorry to have kept you, Swan.”

“Quit being such a gentleman; I didn’t notice, either. The only thing is…” At this, she giggled for some reason. “I haven’t slept a wink and I’m slightly tipsy. This will be real interesting.”

He made a beeline for the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on while she gathered her things and shoved one of the day-old pastries in her mouth; she had enough time to walk back into town but she’d have to head straight to the diner. Assuming she didn’t stumble and hit a tree on the way. No—she was NOT giving Granny the satisfaction of knowing her warning had come true and actually forcing the old lady to drag her body from the woods. (She’d rather Killian do that, anyways.) (Or, you know, do her, but she got the impression he wasn’t the one-night kind of guy—or maybe she just didn’t want him to be that with her.)

She’d just zipped her coat when a thermos was being shoved in her hands; by smell alone, she could tell this was better than the cheap stuff Granny served. “Hope that helps,” he said softly.

“It already is,” she answered, then took a sip, not caring if she burnt her tongue. “Damn—is everything you brew amazing?”

“I try,” he shrugged arrogantly, but then the cocky facade washed away in an instant, replaced with something bordering on sheepish. “You know, if you wanted to come back later, or any other time, my schedule’s pretty clear.”

“Well, hopefully you’re going to get some sleep.”

“Well, yes, that. But, um,” he stammered, nervously scratching a spot behind his ear. “Don’t be a stranger, is what I’m trying to say. I’m...you’ll always be welcome here, if you want.” He was definitely blushing, the color visible even in the faint pre-dawn light.

“I might take you up on that,” she answered, trying to be casual but ending up much closer to sincere—because she had a feeling she would. She was already kind of dreading leaving, even if it was just because she didn’t like the idea of working on no sleep and with a questionable BAC.

“I hope you do.” The weight of the sincerity of that statement settled over both of them for an intense moment that in itself was enough to bring her back to sobriety, if the coffee wasn’t doing it, too. But then he was overtaken by a jaw-cracking yawn that effectively killed it.

“Go to bed,” she commanded, with a light shove on his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I will. Be safe.”

“I’ll do my best. See you later,” she farewelled, hoping he could tell she meant it.

“Until then, Swan.”

She let herself out the door and headed back the way she came, at first afraid to cast a glance behind her because she thought if she did, she might not want to leave ever. But she finally did when she was back on the edge of the clearing, and saw him watching her through the window on the door. She smiled and waved, which he returned, but she didn’t miss the bit of loneliness in his gaze as he watched her walk away.

It took considerable effort, but she managed to put one foot in front of the other and continue on her way. The sun wasn’t visible yet, so she still had time, but she needed to hustle if she’d make her shift.

Between the coffee and the gorgeous sunrise, it was definitely a pleasant hike, and was definitely helping her in the staying-awake department. Still though, there was a feeling she couldn’t shake—something completely foreign, yet vaguely familiar, and she couldn’t lie—it kind of stung. What the heck was that?

She took another sip of the coffee as she tried to figure it out, letting it warm her as it slid down her throat. She’d almost forgotten what good coffee tasted like, let alone when it had been made fresh and just for her. It was going to suck going back to Granny’s mass-produced bean water; she’d miss this stuff.

Wait—miss it?

Was that what she was feeling?

Not just for the coffee, obviously (though that was certainly part of it). Did she already miss Killian?

“Home is the place, when you leave...you just miss it.”

No. That was insane. She’d only been there for, like, 12 hours. You can’t find home that fast, can you? (Not like she’d really know.)

But she couldn’t deny that it felt like part of her had stayed behind in that cottage. Or that she was already counting down the hours until her work shift ended and she could come back. Or that the ache got just a little bit worse with each step that took her away.

Damn. That had to be it.

Who knew she’d finally find what she’d been looking for in the middle of nowhere?

The sun finally broke the horizon as she reached Granny’s front steps and downed the last drop of coffee. She still had a couple minutes, so she quickly stashed the thermos in her backpack and used the selfie camera on her phone to make sure she didn’t look too haggard, lest Granny get some uncouth ideas.

(Actually, Granny was probably dirtier than Emma was, in that regard; and she had the oddest sense that the old lady might be able to smell the forest on her, or at least the rum.)

With one last deep breath, if only to make sure she didn’t reek too bad, Emma smoothed her hair and headed inside, for what was sure to be an arduous shift.

But, unlike most days, she actually had something to look forward to at the end of it.

Hours later, she pulled her little old Bug up the semi-hidden driveway on the other side of Killian’s property, bearing sandwiches and onion rings. Killian came out to greet her, but she didn’t let him get a word in before she’d pressed up on her toes and stole his smile with a kiss. (That he quickly reciprocated. Until Smee interrupted with a friendly bark, looking for his own hello.)

A few weeks later, her belongings, stuffed into a few age-worn duffel bags, accompanied her on her now-daily trip to the cabin in the woods; she was spending all her time there anyways, as Killian had pointed out—may as well just make the move permanent.

It took a bit longer for either of them to admit it out loud, but they both blurted it one night while cuddled close, watching The Princess Bride with Smee at their feet: she loved him, and he loved her. There was no denying it. And then they couldn’t stop saying it.

Eventually, they grew tired of Storybrooke and its whispers. Eventually, Killian’s not-so-discreet rum business got more notice. So they went onto the next place without much fuss.

She felt a bit sad when they first left the cabin, mainly because it was where they fell in love. But her home wasn’t those four walls. No, it was with Killian—and Smee, and whatever other animals or tiny humans eventually joined them—wherever that might be.

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thanks for reading! tagging some friends: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich​ @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis

[neshabeingchildish]

22. Mr. and Mrs. Jasper Dunlop

I’ve been away from this story for a long while, because of my mental health, but definitely have decided that I will complete it, no matter what. Since I figured I wouldn’t be writing a ton of Chasper stories, I knew this one would be long, because I’d wanna include all my Chasper indulgences in it. It’s gonna be coming to an ending soon. Hopefully, the way I have been feeling won’t bleed too much into the mood of the story. I know it definitely did at a few points, but I’m just praying that overall, the story will turn out in the tone that I intended for this story and this ship. Thanks for reading. 

OH! And since I mentioned them a few times and I have them with lines and such, my FCs for these OCs are Fisher: Tanner Stine and New Henry/Craig: Davont’e Franklin.

Also, I gave up on editing at some point, so... that’s what that is. And wedding aesthetics will be out at some point soon.

Mr. and Mrs. Jasper Dunlop

Piper was bummed that she would have to miss Henry’s college graduation, but she made sure to threaten to beat him senseless as soon as she recovered if he didn’t proceed with his plans for the evening. He hadn’t planned much. Graduation ceremony, dinner with the family, and chillaxing with Charlotte and Jasper. It was good to have Jake and Siren in a room together without it being terrible. They both felt so bad about Piper that they forgot their issues for a while and just got along and supported her. In the break up, both had sort of put her in the middle and made her feel like she had to choose. She’d chosen Henry, because he was the only person that she felt could relate. Now, she was in the hospital, fixing her makeup to address her followers, and wishing she could be at her brother’s graduation.

Henry was fine. With Piper assuring him that his presence could have in no way helped her outcome, he could finally relax. He could just enjoy the moment… sort of. It was weird to not have her there. They’d spent a lot of time together since she found out that he was Kid Danger and they spent even more time together since their parents broke up. She was supposed to be here. Charlotte agreed to make sure that she captured every possible moment of Henry’s special evening, so it could be like Piper was there the whole time. 

Afterwards, he, Jasper and Charlotte went to hang out at the hospital with Piper. She was stuck in there for about 3 days and whenever she was released, she had Henry bring her to Jake’s place. She was going to need some nursing back to full recovery and she didn’t want to get in Henry’s way of Kid Danger things.

Henry, instead was immediately throwing himself into revamping the store. Nate had been working on things for over a year and they were ready to reopen the place, remodeled. Some of the former junk and stuff things were on the upper floor and arranged to look more like a gift and antique shop than junk. Anything that looked too “junk-like,” Piper and Henry had cleared out during a garage sale in front of the store. Everything else, she took charge of organizing on that floor and they plastered the old Junk N’ Stuff sign on the back wall, sort of like a novelty, honestly for their own nostalgia. Because, outside of the place was a new sign, with lettering that Piper had picked and a name that they had decided on together, “Heart Eyes” with a heart symbol for the “E,” so technically, “Hart Eyes,” and the tagline, “You’ll see something you’ll love here.”

Entering the store, it was like a little department store in that it had various stations - a fabrics and frames, jewelry and accessories, juice and smoothie bar and the florist center. They were near the walls, the florist being to the right, whenever you first came in, bar to the left and the others towards the back. The middle of the store was a boutique of formals and gifts. 

“This is actually really great, right?” Henry asked Piper. He knew that she would always be honest.

“Yeah. It’s amazing Henry. I’m super proud of you.” She clapped him on the shoulder and they both smiled. They were gonna be alright. They were gonna do well. He was sure of it. The worst had to be over… They turned towards the door hearing some laughter, ready to greet a guest. It was just Jake and Ray. Piper sighed and rolled her eyes. She and her dad were working on their relationship, but this new friendship with Ray of his was weird and uncomfortable for her.

“Yo!” Henry cheered. “If it isn’t my two dads…” He joked. Both men began to laugh very vigorously. More than he knew that joke was worth, so he asked, “What am I missing?”

“What? That wasn’t in reference to the comedy series with Paul Reiser?” Ray asked. “Because, if it wasn’t, I don’t get it.”

“Of course it was!” Jake said. “Oooh, I wonder if that show is streaming on anything.”

“Probably not. It was too good. But you know… Piper can probably pirate it for us.”

“You… would ASK my daughter to break the law?” Jake asked, folding his arms.

“No. I’d just tell her to do it and she’ll likely jump right in, because it’s fun for her to break the law. She loves that kinda stuff.”

Jake laughed, “You’re right.”

“Where are you two going?” Henry asked, knowing that Ray wasn’t going to share the Man Cave with Jake! 

“I’m getting my bag. Jake and I are having a sleepover at his house, if that’s okay?”

Henry folded his arms and said, “Well, you two better not stay up all night. Both of you have work in the morning. Also, I just checked every streaming service and no, My Two Dads is not on anything.”

Ray shook his head, “Figures.” He headed towards the back and screamed, “PIPER!!!” Jake waited with Henry and whenever Ray came back, with his bag, they left, shoulder to shoulder, talking about how funny My Two Dads used to be. Henry would have thought that was a made up thing, but he searched and it did come up. Totally real late 80s, early 90s show… though not about what he’d thought… 

He was thinking more along the lines of how he and Jasper used to say that they were gonna grow old together. If they were gonna have a kid, they’d get Charlotte to be a surrogate and Jasper would be a house dad while Henry supported the family on a hero’s salary. It was a perfect plan. At the end of high school senior year, that plan was picked apart. At the end of college, that plan was dust blowing in the wind. And a year later, that plan was replaced completely with the new and improved plan.

.

Welcome to the Wedding of Charlotte Ambrosia Page and Jasper TBD Dunlop...

Two years of planning made the wedding come together perfectly. While Jasper did have an additional year of college to complete in that duration, he landed a job at the firm where he was an intern, sooner than he expected and had been working there for half a year by the time of the wedding. And the wedding? Everything Jasper could have dreamed up and more! Henry was obviously amazing at this. Charlotte had gotten everyone that she knew who had a skill or product to offer involved. Piper was there, at her happiest and healthiest since the wreck.

Henry had told her, “Just worry about your little dress,” whenever she was asking about what kind of extravagant plans he would be entertaining for Jasper. That just made her worry more, when she really had nothing to worry about. 

The day of the wedding, she realized that the moms, Henry and Piper were on every little detail. They had Jasper’s frat bros and pledges to assist or serve, with the exception of the three that were actually a part of his wedding party. He would have had more, but Charlotte only had three friends, INCLUDING him, so even having three made her side unleveled. Fortunately, Schwoz was willing to stand in as a body to make things more symmetrical. He, Henry and Piper to Jasper’s Coogie, Snek and Fisher, with Henry handling Lady and Tramp, who kept the rings on their collars for safe keeping. 

Jasper and Charlotte had decided that the last entry in each of their affirmation journals for each other would be their wedding vows. Whenever they would finish reciting them, they’d finally give those to each other. They would also show each other their new affirmation journals during the gift exchange.

Processional

The wedding party all had on pastel yellow or orange with bright red, orange and yellow accessories. Jasper had a suit with a red floral jacket and red pants with gold accents. Technically, it was a women’s suit, but it was what he wanted, so they got it tailored to him and Charlotte had to admit that he not only pulled it off, but it was a LEWK. It was doing it for her. She was able to see him long before he could see her, and not because of bad luck or any other such nonsense. Because of good old fashioned, she was extremely busy trying to finish up everything at work before her small break, she had to squeeze in a party that was forced upon her, and the day of the actual wedding, her mother and Aunt Cohort insisted on keeping her apart from everybody, because her entrance had to be the most memorable part of the ceremony. Fucking Bolton women… Well… Cohort… was by marriage, but STILL. 

Luckily, Piper was posting in her stories and Charlotte’s phone hadn’t been taken away. She was SO GLAD whenever it was time for her mom and aunt to go have a seat. Then, whenever Henry came to retrieve her, give her the bouquet that he didn’t trust ANYONE touching until it was go time and let her pet her doggies before her dad had to walk her down the aisle.

Bride’s Entrance 

Henry went in first with the dogs in their miniature outfits that were made to look like a bride and groom, though they didn’t quite match Jasper and Charlotte. Tramp’s suit was red and she had on a floral crown, while Lady had on a white dress, nothing like Char’s and a veil. She had these little leg cuffs and people went crazy to see the doggos look so adorable, but it was time to stand for the bride and Jasper was excited, nervous, anxious, and eager, all at once. 

His pledges opened the doors and on Mr. Page’s arm was Charlotte, tiny and glowing -  not wearing heels, because she didn’t want to possibly fall today and not wearing her usual thick soles, because she simply didn’t have any that were wedding appropriate. “Oh my God,” Jasper said, along with a chorus of his frat bros. The dress that Charlotte had made was short in the front, long in the back, frilly kinda like a tutu at the bottom, but cascading behind her and had iridescent highlights in it that made it kind of twinkle and crystals on it that made it kind of sparkle. She was SUCH a sight, he didn’t even know what to do but try not to cry at this vision. 

She wore a luminous highlighter and a light shimmer on her skin, which was moisturized and radiant. Adanna made her jewelry of jasper, mock rubies, crystals and gold. And the bridal frohawk that she wore was adorned with sparkly gems and small flowers on the knotted twists. As she got closer, he could see that she put a heart in rhinestones around her “Yes” tattoo, and his heart could hardly handle any of this. The frat brothers began a chorus of big dog barking - that always put his head back in the game, but he figured that today was probably not a good day to go that route. He was appeased with Little Dog joined in with her tiny barking, and he was able to compose himself again.

Whenever Mr. Page passed her hands over to Jasper’s, he was all choked up, they both were. Charlotte was actually, surprisingly calm, considering that her heart was beating and her hands were sweating and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from this man in front of her that she NEVER EVER thought she would EVER be standing here with, feeling this way… Just 6 years ago, she wouldn’t have even kissed him on the cheek! “You look amazing,” he managed to say. She couldn’t speak. He looked… UNF. She just couldn’t. She tried to catch her breath, but he moved so close that she thought he might kiss her. Instead he smiled, giddy, and brushed his nose against hers. He kept his face very near her face and neck and probably was going to wind up sore from trying to be so close to her. He kept whispering things like, “I can’t believe this is really happening,” and “I love you so much.”

Words from the Parents...

Instead of “readings,” they’d asked their parents for tiny speeches of advice. There were no poems or lyrics that were going to sum up what they felt. Better to bring this new adventure in with the most important people giving them the most sacred advice on their special day. 

Mr. Page said, “From the time Charlotte was a little girl, she always knew what she wanted and she never had trouble working hard to get it. So much, that by the time she was 6, I pretty much knew I could trust that she meant whatever she would say. So, whenever she said that you two were together, I honestly didn’t think twice about it. I’ve always wondered, will she make the right choice in a man, or a woman, if that would have been where she would have gone. I always thought if she came home one day with someone that I didn’t understand being for her, would I be able to accept it. Jasper… We’ve known you for years and I didn’t think you and my daughter were right for each other, but I knew her and I trusted her, so whenever I saw that it lasted and that it would come to this, I expected that. Because Charlotte might make mistakes, but she’s never made any that I’ve seen. So, you just better trust her. Trust her to do what she wants and needs to do for herself and trust in whatever she vows to do for you. She always knows exactly what she means. Always have.” Henry patted an emotional Jasper on the back. 

Recognition, advice, guidance from men was always a soft spot for him, having not had his dad around most of his life, and coming from his soon to be father-in-law, on a day already crammed with emotions, he just had to let a few happy tears fall. 

Mrs. Page said, “To add to that, make sure that she can trust you! One time when she was like 9 ot 10, my brother played what he felt like was a little prank on her. I don’t even remember what it was…” Charlotte almost interrupted to explain the prank, but didn’t want to derail her own wedding. “And whatever Coco did, Charlotte didn’t forgive him for YEARS and she still hasn’t forgotten. Look at her face.” They all laughed. “She’s slow to forgive and never forgets, so you need to be sure that you remain honest and trustworthy, Jasper. And Charlotte, you know I’ve been giving you bits and pieces all throughout this engagement, to the point that I don’t have much more to say but to just say this in summation: Be soft with him. He’s sensitive and you can be hard and cold sometimes. It won’t make you weak to be soft with him.” Charlotte furrowed her eyebrows. I AM soft with him. Him and him alone. Jasper squeezed her hand and pressed his cheek against her bridal frohawk. His mother simply offered congratulations and said, “Even I’ve learned a lot about her from you, so I can’t give advice, but I freely give my blessing and hope that she continues to love you as much as she’s shown me that she has.” 

Jasper was crying and wondering again why they didn’t have this happen at the reception, instead of as part of the wedding, but Henry had explained to him before - the WEDDING is supposed to be an emotional event. The reception is supposed to be a party with photo ops. Besides, only person qualified to give a speech at you two’s reception is ME.” 

Jack Leigh took the microphone from Pansy… not aggressively or anything, just eagerly. She stood, somewhat uncomfortably next to him as he announced, “Some of you probably don’t know me, but I am Jasper’s bio-dad. We didn’t really have a long history together, but what interactions we did have were definitely among the most significant ones in my life. I wasn’t the kind of father that Jasper needed and wasn’t the kind of husband his mom needed. So, my advice today would be - always put this relationship first. When you’re married, when you’ve decided in your heart that this is the one, nothing should be more important to you than your wife and your family. Whenever we met, I was SO PROUD that you had done so well. I was always worried that I would’ve screwed you up so bad that you’d hate me and not even believe in love, or worst - that you’d turn out like me. You managed to be a good kid, find a great woman and be smart enough to learn to love her and know her before making a huge decision. And you two just… work. So, my advice is to keep trusting and believing in yourself. You’ll do right by her and by this marriage. Because, whatever is inside of you has made you that kind of man.”

Henry preemptively handed Jasper a cloth handkerchief, which he sobbed into, with Charlotte rubbing his belly, affectionately and soothing him with her voice. It wasn’t until Uncle Roscoe yelled out, “Let it out, Lil’ Nephew! Big Dogs cry too!” And everyone, including Jasper started laughing. Things became a little less tense and the rest of the ceremony carried on beautifully. Uncle Rox was the man! Jasper reminded himself.

Reciting of Vows

Since Henry had the dogs, Piper held on to Charlotte’s affirmation journal for her and Fisher has Jasper’s. Henry had decided that it was better for them to stand behind and a little off to the side and extend their arms forward with the books, as to not get in between the officiant and the couple, and not to block too much the couple from the guests, but also to not have Charlotte and Jasper release hands to hold books. Just as well, he encouraged them to try to memorize the vows, but knew that Charlotte, while she might be able to memorize it all word for word, would feel more comfortable with having them there. But, she had already talked to both of them and instead of them awkwardly holding them for them to be read, both Piper and Fisher simply held the books and stood beside them, with them open. If they had a pause or something, they could just whisper the next line. Henry was salty that he hadn’t thought of that, but Charlotte WAS the brains of that operation. 

Jasper spoke, “Charlotte, whenever I first fell in love with you, I knew that I wasn’t what you would have looked for in a man, but I was up to that challenge, because I knew that you were worth more than any person that I would ever know or meet in my life. And I’m still up to that challenge, as you continue to evolve and grow into a greater person, I will continue to push myself to be worthy of being at your side. I will be strong for you, even though I know that you’re strong enough. I will be brave for you, even though I know that you’re brave enough. I will be every definition of a man that you could ever possibly dream of and if I can’t, I’ll determine that I just have to work harder. You’ll never be alone, as long as I’m alive and you’ll never be without as long as I have breath in me. I don’t care what it takes. I’ve been determined to be what you want, need, and love, and I will never stop being and doing that, as long as I live and as long as we’re together.”

Charlotte’s face twisted in emotion and Piper quickly tucked the journal and clapped her hands twice. Schwoz wiped at Charlotte’s eye corners to catch the tears in the tear cloth, Henry fanned her to keep her from being too warm and Adanna passed a refresher rose water spray spritz to Piper, which she sprayed a couple of times on Charlotte’s face as Henry fanned, and Schwoz blotted. Charlotte nodded once and the three whispered, “Break!” and resumed their positions. The guests laughed a little at the proficiency and dedication, but Charlotte took a deep breath and motivated herself, “You’ve got this, Charlotte. You’re good.”

“You’re the best,” Jasper corrected her, with a teary smile. 

She smiled at him and nodded her head. “Jasper. Before us, I knew what I wanted and who I wanted to be - just like my dad said earlier -”

“Good improv,” Piper whispered and Charlotte just winked and continued.

“But, whenever you made your presence known in my life, I had to rethink my entire future. I wouldn’t just do that for some guy. I would only do that for a man that I knew that I could trust, love, and respect for the rest of my life. Neither of us is perfect, but we still manage to make it work out perfectly, and surprisingly and refreshingly, that’s never all on me. I’ve known a lot of people to get married and lose themselves in each other, or even become an unmarried couple and begin to live their lives revolving around the other person and a lot of times neglecting themselves and I was worried and scared that it might happen to me. But, you’ve remained my best friend and you’ve become my life partner. You motivate me to be more of myself and you inspire me to be a higher me… That’s so goofy, but it’s true. I just want to be able to reciprocate that determination and dedication that you show. Not to lose myself in you, but to continue to find myself, with you and for you to continue to find yourself with me, and you are the only person that I could ever imagine it working so perfectly with. The only person I would be willing to call myself “Mrs.” for. From this day on, that’s who I am.”

Jasper ugly cried and Fisher asked Piper, “Can we get one of those ummm…?” Piper clapped her hands twice and they fixed Jasper right up, too. She smiled at Fisher as they three said, “Break!”

Gift Presentation and Ring Exchange

Charlotte and Jasper gave each other their affirmation journals, which they passed back to Piper and Fisher, who put them away where they had kept the previous ones, before the vows recitals. Henry took that time to collect the rings from the dogs’ collars and pass them to Piper and Fisher, as he made a little announcement for the guests, “I know that this ceremony hasn’t been exactly what you’ve come to expect in a wedding…”

Roscoe, who was sitting by Ray and Cohort cheered, “It’s the best wedding I have ever seen!” He and Jasper pointed at each other with huge smiles and Ray rolled his eyes. 

“This guy is the worst, right?” He asked Cohort.

“This is my husband,” she said, annoyed. 

Ray chuckled and added, “The worst at being a bad guest, am I right?”

Jake put a hand on Ray’s leg and said, “Just… Shhh. Our Henry’s speaking!”

Henry continued, “And now, the bride would like to make a small gift presentation before the rings exchange.” Jasper furrowed his eyebrows in surprise. He thought that HE was the one who knew most about this ceremony, but apparently Henry and Charlotte had managed to keep something from him… New Henry and another frat boy brought in a fancy looking chest adorned in red and gold, and Henry opened it.

Charlotte said, “This is more like an extension of my vows, so you don’t feel a way about not getting me anything. I just wanted to make today extra special for you and take this time that I knew that I would have to declare in front of all of our loved ones stuff that they might not ever really get a chance to hear or see me profess again.” Jasper placed both hands over his heart and smiled. Charlotte was great at gift giving, whenever she made the time and took the effort to gift people. 

“First, there’s this,” she pulled out a trophy that looked enough like Jasper hitting a flex pose, but golden and he gasped in excitement. “This is because you’re very competitive, sometimes, even when there is no competition for you! And for this, there is none…” 

She handed it to him and he looked at it and practically screamed, “MOST PERFECT MAN FOR CHARLOTTE!” She laughed and he turned to show it off to everyone as she reached into the gift box again. 

By this time, Uncle Roscoe had gotten up and was taking photos. Jasper and his groomsmen were posing with and around the trophy like he’d really actually won something and Charlotte was tickled, because she knew that in Jasper’s mind, he really had. She cleared her throat and he passed his trophy to Fisher, “Don’t let anything happen to that.”

“We’re at your wedding. What could happen?” Fisher wondered.

Charlotte said, “This next gift is something that I had made for you to represent who you are to me and let you show that off to everyone else.” She pulled his crown from behind her back and he jumped up and down and fanned himself, then reached for it with gimme hands. Henry had forgotten how childlike and full of excitement that Jasp could be whenever he had something great in front of him, but Charlotte seemed to be super warm and soft to his less than classy reactions. Well, she knew who she was marrying, Henry guessed. It would have been silly for them to expect him to act any other way. 

“I am the KING!” Jasper declared.

“We really should’ve gotten this presented to him in the dressing rooms and let it be a story instead of part of the ceremony,” Piper told Henry.”

“Naw. It’s his special day and Char wants to really make him feel it.” Piper shrugged her shoulders.

“I guess.”

Charlotte told the guests, “In case any of you are wondering, Jasper buys and makes me really awesome gifts all the time, and I don’t usually get to have a huge show of affection for him, regularly…”

“Don’t worry about them,” Jasper said and waved a hand at the guests, “No offense,” he tacked on. She pulled out something small and red and he didn’t know what it was, but his spirits were so high, it wouldn’t have mattered what it was, because nothing could change his energy right now.

“This is an exact replica of my heart that I made with the project that I’ve been working on in my free time, for those custom made 3D printing organs? I scanned my own heart, made this replica, and then jazzed it up a little with some red crystals and a “tattoo” of your name… Because my heart is yours. You’re definitely king of that…” 

He stood corrected. His energy COULD change. He was in a dangerous state of euphoria. An indescribable overwhelming joy that rendered him motionless and speechless. She extended her hands and he saw the scripted “Jasper” on the center of what was basically her heart… He accepted it with shaky hands and moved in to kiss her. 

Henry tiny shreaked and said, “It’s not time for that! RINGS!” He called out. 

Piper collected the gifts back into the box and told Fisher, “You’re responsible for these now.” He grabbed a frat member and repeated the same thing to him. 

The ring exchange was pretty uneventful, considering, but whenever Jasper was told he could kiss the bride, he let it all out. It became uncomfortable after a while, with their friends and family all looking away awkwardly, like her parents and his mom, or morbidly obligated to stare, like Ray and Jake. Uncle Roscoe was taking photos and cheering, “THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ BOUT LIL’ NEPHEW! TRIED TO TELL Y’ALL!” 

Recessional

A crowned Jasper happily walked his new wife back down the aisle, to the chorus of his friends barking and this time, others joined in, Henry followed with the dogs, eager to get out to use the bathroom, Schwoz followed behind Coogie and Snek and Piper shook her head and took Fisher’s arm. “You didn’t keep ANY of them in proper order,” she said. “And where is the gift chest?” 

“Shhhh… This is a celebration, Old Henry’s sister,” Fisher said. They walked out with fake smiles plastered on. Then, he immediately rushed to go find the gift chest. Big Dog would MURDER him if he lost that thing!

The Reception

Henry paid for a wedding cake, because Charlotte’s Charlotte cake could simply be her bride’s cake and Jasper’s groom cake was a realistic looking lion, because both he and the wedding “are Leos,” but there was no way that Henry’s first wedding was not going to have a memorable cake whenever a lot of people ONLY accepted wedding invitations FOR the cake. So, Jasper had his, Charlotte had her Charlotte cake, and Henry ordered a multiple tier wedding cake with red, orange, and yellow edible flowers and similarly colored fruit cut and shaped like flowers or hearts. “I am so good at this!” he told himself.

They did all of that reception stuff - the garter, the bouquet and such. Henry was finally ready to relax, while Jasper and Char looked ready to… take on the world! “Good for them,” he said to himself.

“Yeah, they make it seem possible for everybody, right?” He heard a voice that he had come to recognize as “New Henry’s” voice say. He turned around and the guy smiled and asked, “You gonna get some cake?” Henry looked down to see that he was just standing there holding the cake cutter and he set it down. New Henry said, “This was good. Charlotte gave me a taste of her bridal cake and it was delicious! Gourmet, even. But nothing beats a well done wedding cake. That’s basically what I come to weddings for.”

“EXACTLY!” Henry finally found his voice. “Can you believe that Jasper wanted me to cover a table in Charlotte cakes and have THOSE be the “wedding cake?”

“I know Big Brother Big Dog, so yes. I can believe that he wanted that.” He laughed. “Good thing you changed his mind. This is one of the best wedding cakes I’ve ever tasted. I’m kinda an expert too. My mom made wedding cakes to pay for my college.”

“Really? Does she still make them, because I don’t really have an official cake person for my business references.”

“Yeah, she does. I’ll give her your number,” New Henry said. Henry nodded, excitedly and pulled out his phone. “Also, I’ll take it too… If… You want to ever… I mean, I know we’ve only hung out doing the wedding stuff and only know each other through Jasper and Charlotte, but…”

Henry’s eyes were wide and he wondered, Is this super hot dude hitting on me right now??? Because, he had not been on a date or anything in ages and even whenever he used to, it was exclusively with girls/women, but he had never really thought about a guy before and… who knows? Maybe he was into that…

“It’s okay if you don’t!” New Henry said, seeing his hesitation.

“It’s not that. I just didn’t know if you wanted to hang out as bros or if you were like… wanting to… hang out…” Henry bit his lip nervously.

“Are you interested in hanging out with a guy?”

“I’ve just realized that I’m not against it. Never really came up before. I mean, outside of Jasper, I hadn’t ever really thought of dudes in that way. But, you’re… like super attractive and if that IS what you meant, yes. And also, if you just wanted to hang out as bros, yes too. I never get to hang out. I need a life.” Henry laughed uncomfortably. 

“Cool…” New Henry smiled and asked, “You wanna dance?”

“Yes. Yes, I do!” Henry practically cheered. 

“Okay. Also… My name is Craig… You… know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” Henry said.

“Because I just told you?”

“Correct!” 

.

Jasper wore his crown for the rest of the night and Charlotte felt like he was never going to take the thing off. He kept calling her Mrs. Dunlop, then saying, “Excuse me, Mrs. JASPER Dunlop,” to which she’d think, Excuse me, Mrs. Charlotte Dunlop! But, she let him have these moments of joy. They had about a week to get settled into married life, wouldn’t be able to have a honeymoon yet, and both would have a TON of work whenever they got back to the lab and the firm. So, for now, it was just all that they could do - enjoy each other for what they were and what they had just become, together. 

[homesteadchronicles]

Meet the Kingdom Come Cast: Carmila Ramos

Tell us a little bit about yourself!

“You have heard of me, have you not? Carmila Adela Ramos? Merchant Princess of Via Evelis? ...no? Then you need a proper education. My fiancee, Emerico, and I spearheaded the founding of a national enterprise whose success has escalated to unfathomable heights. Along with my older brother, Cesar, we co-founded the Goldforged Trading Fleet: an armada of arms dealers that spans the South and beyond. Our company supplies both the peasants and the prestigious with weapons, armor - and accessories, for our less bloodthirsty but more attention-starved customers. Remember my name, darling - you will hear much more of it soon enough.”

How would you describe your family dynamic?

“You must know about the Ramos family scandal, don’t you? Half the swamplands know the story by now! You don’t? My, my. Lucky you. Understand that we Ramos’ come from a line of well-respected nobles, the wealthiest in all the isles, or so Papá told me. That changed when Papá crossed the pirates, of course. Stole our legacy out from under us - along with all of our money! That and his life, of course.

Mamá scraped together enough for some farmland out in the swamps. Cesar and I supported her however we could, but a stocked wallet cannot heal a broken heart. Still, for a time, family was all Cesar or I had left. We clung to one another...perhaps too tightly, at times. But what else were we to do?

Even now, we still hold onto strands of dependency. But I am a grown woman now. I do not need to hide behind Mamá’s skirts or send Cesar to sic my enemies. I love them, I promise, but I do not need them, either. Not with Rico at my side and an empire at my back.

Where did you grow up?

“That depends on the ‘when’. ‘When’ my mother still had me swaddled? I called Meridia, the jewel of Evelis, my home. I still miss it, even if only from memories and myths. Most of my life, however, I lived out in the swamps of the southern mainland. One little shack to call our own, all alone with our cows and coops. Lonely little existence, it was. We spent all our lives hoping to escape it, only to find ourselves back at Meridia. Funny. Life truly comes full circle, does it not?”

What do most people say or think about you?

“You know how nobles can be. You can’t believe a word that comes out their mouths! All those women, whispering away behind hand fans about how Duchess Gisela has been making eyes at the Duke of Santa Ría instead of her husband all night long, or how the Marquess de Pobrepuerto lost his fortune on hookers and hooch! All lies, every single one. They only speak ill of Gisela because she’s never looked more stunning, and the Marques has made half a million gold just by canoodling with the connections made here tonight. Lies fueled solely by jealous. I suppose they speak the same of me.

Certainly not to my face. They wouldn’t dare! No, they tell me how well my dress fits curvy women like myself, or how much better my makeup looked tonight than at the last gala. Can you hear the truth beneath the lies? Fat. They called me fat. Fat and ugly. To them, I have always been, and always will be. It is why I don’t need them, don’t bother associating with any outside of business. They can sneer and slander all they want, so long as they stay away from my money.

And the others? Mother and I have always been close, despite our differences. She swears I am her husband’s daughter, though I wouldn’t know what she means. We butt heads, true, but I do with everyone. It’s only natural. Cesar endures my temper the most. He rarely complains, soft-spoken as he is. Mayhaps he’s used to me after all this time. Maybe he grew tired of fighting - especially since I always won, anyways. The only one I’ve ever lost to is my dearest, Rico. A noble he may be, yes, but he wouldn’t dare speak ill of me! Not like the others. He could never be like them. I know he loves me. I know it, I trust it, and I don’t believe anyone who tells me otherwise.”

Do you have any significant aspirations?

“For years, my only hope had been to restore my family’s noble standing. With Cesar and I now on the cusp of securing our dreams, I...well, I am not quite sure, to be blunt. Where does one go when they have reached the top? Higher, I assume. There are few levels higher than this: rulers of an island? A seat on the Merchant’s Syndicate? A throne, a crown, and a kingdom? Only time will tell.”

Name one event that changed your life forever.

“Nothing could have prepared me for finding the hidden treasure underneath of our property. When Mamá purchased the land, I thought she had the most horrid judgment in the South. A swamp! For nobles? We ought to be walking on gold! Who would have thought that we were? For deep underneath of that poisoned soil lay a literal gold mine of untold wealth. Fame and fortune, once a far-off dream to us, now seemed as imminent as death had only hours beforehand. In a single moment, we became capable of anything and everything we set our minds to. And so our work began.”

State one interesting or unexpected fact about yourself!

“Oh, very well. If I must. Cesar keeps prodding me to tell you that, I...I have an accent. No, don’t gasp, that will only make it worse. It’s completely contained, I assure you! It just...slips out from time to time. When my emotions run away with themselves, I tend to forget how to keep my composure - something the other nobles never let me live down. What else can they expect from someone raised in the swamplands? Then again, that is all that they expect from someone like me. Someone like me should never speak to them in the first place.”

Why do you want to open the Seven-Sealed Vault?

“That old legend? You can’t possibly believe that, can you? It’s nothing but...a fairytale. Yes, well, I suppose I wish it existed, too, when you phrase it like that. I wish more fairytales came true. I know mine will. I will make my happy ending for myself. But what of all those people I grew up with in the swamps? What about the other little girls, trudging their only dresses through the mud day after day while they work to afford dinner that night, without any hope of escaping their everyday distress? If this so-called vault ever existed, I would used it wish to ensure that no girls ever ended up like that - like me - ever again. Everyone deserves their happily ever after.”

(Tagging: @khymnal, @novelistcore, @incandescent-creativity, @cog-writes, @madmooninc, @annabetchases, @lady-redshield-writes, @ivettaviolet, @aschenink, @taz-writes, @ava-burton-writing, @ally-thorne, @mustekissaotus, @theguildedtypewriter, @brimorganbooks, @firewritten, @pen-and-sword-writing, @breakeven2007. If you wish to be added to or removed from this list at any time, please let me know in the comments!)

[travelling-trooper-blog]

We arrived in Lerwick at 7:30 am and devised some semblance of a plan. We were just going to head to the west end of the island follow the points of interest and viewpoints on the map. First up: a waterfall.

From there, we set off for Michael’s Wood. We had some trouble finding it, so I asked this lady who was walking three massive beasts. This “baby” was the biggest of the bunch. His name is Odin. He’s two.

The woman pointed us in the right direction, but warned that it wasn’t anything majestic like I had in mind. They were just a bunch of small trees. Not even picture worthy. However, she did suggest checking out Sand and Skeld. And so, we were off yet again.

However, the lady didn’t mention anything in particular to see in Sand, aside from St. Mary’s Chapel, which is apparently where some pirates are buried. Unfortunately, the chapel wasn’t coming up on either the Sat Nav or on Google Maps, so we just punched in Sand.

Once in Sand, we couldn’t find anything, so we asked another local for advice. Meet Ruth, the most hilarious and adorable 68 year old woman I’ve ever met. She had the most Scottish of Scottish accents. I could listen to her read me phone numbers all day. Imagine Willy’s accent from the Simpsons, but not as harsh, and more feminine. She pronounced house “hoose” and about “aboot” for crying out loud!

Ruth was working the land of a farm. She’s retired and does it as a hobby. However, she said that “The manager of the land better have a plan B, because Ruth isn’t going to be around forever!” She’s born and raised in Shetland and lives just two houses over from where her grandparents were born and raised.

Ruth was kind enough to give us some directions and advice for things to check out. She started spouting out a long list of directions on how to get to Walls (pronouced Waas), but she abruptly stopped, cocked her head, and asked, “D’ye have a map?” I replied that I did, and she yelled, “Well let’s go see,” laughing to herself for expecting me to try to remember all of her directions. She suggested we check out Walls because there was an agricultural fair going on, as well as Dale and Sandness. Ruth also reminded us that “Every day is a school day”–meaning that you learn something new every day–because she’s an adorable grandma, and adorable grandmas say stuff like that.

With happiness in our hearts, we headed for Walls. It was just about the most Scottish place in all of Scotland. Shetland ponies, a sheep judging competition, and vikings for some reason. The only way it could’ve been more Scottish is if the ponies were wearing kilts, the sheep were eating haggis, and Groundskeeper Willy himself was jamming on the bagpipes.

At some point, there was apparently also a children’s beauty pageant.

One 80 year old woman was given a cake and flowers in honour of attending her 64th consecutive agricultural show, which is pretty cool.

Apparently some people colour their sheep orange to accentuate particular features of their bodies. Don’t ask me why, I’m just relaying the information.

Burn it! Destroy it! Send it back to the fiery pits of Hell from whence it came!

Oh, and on our drive, we came across this “Honesty Box.” It’s not a confessional in a box sort of thing; it’s an honour-based pay-what-you-want portable convenience store! Inside is water, juice, candy, and baked goodies. There’s also a blue piggy bank and a notebook to jot down what you bought and how much you paid. Pretty nifty, right?

On our drive to Walls, we also made a detour to find the Stanydale Temple, which was a point of interest on our map. It wasn’t mapped out very well, though, and we spent about 15-20 minutes driving around and looking for it. When we finally found it and walked another 10 minutes in the cold rain, it was a tad underwhelming. Though, to be fair, 1600 B.C. is a long ass time ago, so that’s pretty cool.

It’s believed that this may have been a temple because of its size and because its shape apparently resembles the burial chambers and houses being constructed at the time. However, it could have also been a chieftain’s house or a village hall. So basically, it’s anybody’s guess. I’m gonna say it was a pub. Its name was the Roundstone. Final answer.

Our next stop was Dale. It was gorgeous. It looked like the edge of the world was just beyond the horizon. However, because it involved a bit of a climb, Doris suggested we take a nap in the car. This is why I love travelling with her.

After our nap, we made our way to the edge of the world and returned to the car in one piece.

Final stop: Sandness–the most western point on the island. It was frustrating and disappointing–mainly because the map that was posted was a boldfaced liar. There was no hiking trail to speak of anywhere around. We even walked through what may or may not have been somebody’s private property to find said trail, and found nothing but a whole bunch of sheep poop.

No bother, though. We’d still had a great day, and now we were ready for bed.

Or so we thought.

On our drive to Luxo, our resting spot for the night, we drove by a lively bar that piqued our interest. And when I say lively bar, I mean there were people outside dressed in all sorts of carnival/circus-themed costumes; there was music blaring; there was a huge crowd of animals and clowns posing for a group photo around a fish statue. It was a bizarre scene. We had to check it out.

We were immediately greeted by a fairly drunk 18 year old girl. She was very friendly and fascinated by the fact that we were from Canada. In fact, she was so fascinated by this fact that she kept pulling friends over, saying, “Meet the Canadians!” We hadn’t yet given our names. Once we did, though, this group of hammmmmmered girls just about lost their minds. I’m pretty sure I witnessed one girl’s brain explode in her head. “OH MY GOD! IT’S ARIEL AND DORY! YOU’RE ARIEL AND DORY FROM FINDING NEMO! OH MY GOD!” This was repeated over and over again. She then asked where we were from, despite the fact that we had just told them all we were from Canada, and her face melted off when we told her again. We hadn’t even stepped foot in the bar, and Doris and I were already pissing ourselves laughing.

The group of girls then had us say random expressions so they could hear our hilarious Canadian accents. I’m not sure who was laughing more, though–them at our accents, or us at how gut bustingly funny they thought everything sounded. They were beyond drunk.

The girls went inside, and we were left talking to a fine gentleman by the name of Aiden who was clearly drunk, but could still carry a normal conversation. At least, until I took off my hat, that is. “OH MY GOD! YOU HAVE AMAZING HAIR!”

What?

When we told this dude that we were brother and sister even though we don’t look anything alike, he laughed and said, “Of course! You guys have the same smile!” and proceeded to stretch his smile with his fingers. Doris then turned to me with bulging eyes and said, “I TOLD YOU!” Drunken Aiden proved her right.

The drunken girls were beckoning us into the bar’s dance hall to dance on the tables to terrible music. You want to feel old? Try standing in a room full of drunken 18 year olds in ridiculous costumes running amok in a bar. Thankfully, I have the coolest 17 year old sister in the world, and she wanted to get the hell out of there just as badly as I did. Thank God my sister is normal.

Even Doris could tell these girls were nuts.

We moved over to the bar side of the establishment and ordered us some grub. While we were eating, the party posse left and headed for a club in Lerwick. Shortly after, another group arrived and took over the dance hall. They were all dressed like they just came off the set of Grease 3. It was mostly girls wearing Pink Ladies jackets. Sure enough, songs from Grease started playing. Doris and I were almost at the car when the music started playing, and Doris just couldn’t resist; we had to go back.

It turns out, every weekend in Shetland, somebody rents a tour bus, fills it with all of their friends, organizes a themed birthday party, and goes bonkers in the dance hall. Every Saturday.

We quickly befriended the birthday girl’s mother, as well as the birthday girl herself, an American-Scottish lass by the name of Sophie, and Maria Rosie through the magical wonders of a Grease. All the ladies were dancing and singing along to their favourite tunes. Doris was in Heaven.

The birthday girl was celebrating her 21st year on this planet, meaning that she and her friend were less crazy than the teens that came before them. They weren’t there very long before heading to a nearby bar. They invited us to tag along, and we couldn’t say no.

The birthday girl’s mom owned the bar. The DJ was having the time of his life and dancing harder than anybody on the dance floor. There was a guy who looked about as miserable as somebody who gets called in to work their crappy job on a Saturday they had booked off to go see their favourite band perform. The entire bar erupted in a sing along of the Proclaimers’ “500 Miles.” Basically, it was loads of fun.

Towards the end of the night, we befriended Duncan, who was kind enough to let us crash at his parent’s place. This was yet another offer we could not turn down.

It meant a half hour walk in the rain at the end of the night, but it was well worth it. Their house had a breathtaking view of a lake, there were sheep everywhere, and Duncan’s parents were kind-hearted souls. Shetland is just overflowing with kindness. Except for that one depressed dude at the bar. Somebody needs to give that man a hug.

Trevor Parties With Some Shetlanders We arrived in Lerwick at 7:30 am and devised some semblance of a plan. We were just going to head to the west end of the island follow the points of interest and viewpoints on the map.

[nccr]

Like m I rite?

- To write when you know someone is actually reading is like, doing your weird-ass dance in front of a crowd. So I’m gonna start light.

- Like Famous philosopher A$AP Rocky says; “When the real niggas die, fake niggas gon’ multiply.” he also wants you to “aks” tumblr if he is accurate and you know what, I really think he is.

- Like Karl Marx says; “Rap is the opium of the music”, and he is right too. You don’t think when you listen to rap music. It just is something to past time. You try to sing it, fuck it up miserably and when you look at the time, you already killed another night while sitting at home.

- Like, you can call any Irishmen living abroad “Paddie”. They are okay with it. Trust me I asked to Paddie1, Paddie2.

- Like a close friend of mine got married about 3 days ago. He is a gynaecologist, his wife is an ER doctor and their wedding made it in the National News. The story continuous; “…. they celebrated with their fellow doctor colleges and others…” WE WERE THE FUCKING OTHERS! Like our power halay was nothing! If you aren’t rich, you are others apparently.

- Like, listening Irish Folk Songs either makes you want to sail like a pirate or wanna rebel against the government.

- Like, no one out of Glasgow likes people from Glasgow. They can be pain in the arse if you are not familiar with their accent. They are actually better than snobs from southern Britain. Those bastards decided to call me “American” for a week because I sounded like one. Limey bastards.

- Like, I have two English accents which I think is weird. I normally speak with an American accent because it’s easier to understand for non-natives but as soon as I bump in to a Brit, I start talking like a Scott. Once on a drinking table with some British mates, Scotts next table thought I was from Edinbrah. We fooled them all, a good 20 minutes. Then they realised I didn’t know shit about Edinburgh. I got two free pints out of it though, I’m proud.

- Like, as much as I love Irish, I despise Bostonians. What the hell is that accent mate?

- If you don’t speak English, I’m not that funny. Because half of my humour is fueled by English/Turkish wordplay. And I know a lot of English jokes which translates to Turkish poorly.

- When I started working in an office for the first time, I was in constant fear of people having to realise I was retarded. That they would think I was actually a very talented ape. I mean I barely started working there and had no idea about what was going on. And I was expected to know what I didn’t know in Turkish to know in Russian. So I mostly squinted my eyes and pretended to understand while thinking; “They know I am retarded, there is no way they are buying this.” and totally miss what the conversation was about, so I would repeat what they said and try to gain some time on them. Turns out, they think I’m like this because I’m weird smart. I had no idea what was going on first two months. I mean mistakes were made… Now it’s all fine though.

- Cultural difference is, by far, my favourite topic. I mean when I was little, it was so absurd to think there were any other countries speaking a whole different languages. Now that I know better, I try to meet as much foreigners as I can. Because someone growing up with an whole different set of rules for the world fascinates me. Totally different fears, joys, hobbies than ours. Even in the same house we did so many different things according to each other it was mind blowing, how can such little things matter so much, just because of language and national differences. Even between countries who speaks the same language. For an easy example we can take USA and GB, once I was chatting around the pub and being a friendly guy and this lady sits there frowning. So I go to her and ask why she was “brooding”. I mean from what I know, it means “having dark thoughts, frowning, having a busy mind”. She looks at me like I insulted her, and I am a bit embarrassed because I am not sure of what I just did. Did I pronounced something badly? So I ask her again; “Why are you brooding? Are you alright? Do you need company?”. Again she looks at me like I just insulted her ancestors. I said sorry just incase and left. Later on, a very good man, Brian, tells me what brooding means in British; Brooding means a woman feeling ready and expecting to be pregnant soon. I asked a woman if she was expecting a baby, in a pub, and if she needed company. She must have thought of me an asshole. It was embarrassing. Whatever that’s not the point. So much changes even in the same languages but different locations. Like the words we use in the west, north, south and the east of the same country. I know it’s boring for anyone who is not interested but it just fascinates me. I can listen a person talking about his origins, whereabouts and how they do things in there, a full night! Once we talked about why don’t they say barmy in the Southern Britain about 2 hours. I loved every minute of it. For an example for Russians, they don’t shake hands in any entrance of any place. In their beliefs, it will either bring bad luck for the place or someone from that location will die. How hardcore is that! I found it hilarious! Got scolded by my ex countless times because I made fun of it. I mean from the films we watch and the music we listen, we don’t know which belongs where and I love learning where and why.

- One of my best friends is doing his army duty for almost 10 months now. We had almost the same fate. We dropped out and went abroad. Came back to nothing, he decided to be chef, I decided to bruise my elbows on the tables for a bit. And then the duty called, we went in. He got drafted, I didn’t, due to health issues. I never wanted to become a soldier. I never did, honestly. I’ve always seen it as a very big burden. But as soon as I learned I was draft-exempted I wanted to know, how would it be to give your freedom away for a year. To be nothing but a tool. Would it take my mind from things that I’m always a about anxious about? Would it give me the passion I’ve always lacked? If I were to choose I would still choose on not going but it left question marks on my mind. Eventually all of my friends will do that. Not me, not ever. They all see this situation of mine as a gift, in a certain light, me too. At-least I got something out of it? So when I talk about this, they think I’m being obnoxious because I don’t have to go. But being totally excluded out of the experience kind of makes me want to go. And the worst part is, when I call my mate, I feel like I betrayed him by not going. Thinking of him alone in there surrounded by idiots. He is like me. He was the one who was there for me when I was abroad, surrounded by islamist perverts and had no one to talk to. Now it’s too hard to call him because I’m sitting at home doing nothing while he is in some outpost in the east where bullets go by like fireworks. Just the other day, he told me he just saw a woman a week ago, before that it’s been 6 months since he had seen a woman. How excited he had gotten, how beautiful it was to see a woman, just existing. I mean I’m not regretting missing that but I regret that I would have something less than my friends. It’s like when we were 14 and they all got beaten while I was on holiday. I was fucking sad I wasn’t there with them. It sounds obnoxious when you think about it, but a whole different story in me.

- I can’t speak to people freely, so writing is the first thing comes to my mind when something happens good or bad. It helps me think, weigh out any situation and this here, is my drunken thinking corner. I haven’t decided about this account’s fate yet. It’s hard to write about important stuff now that I know someone is seeing this pile. I’ve read every post here today. I mean, I love being drunk and all, but man are they bad! I’ve cringed from my tooth to toes!

- First time in years, I feel as if I’ve been given an answer of an important question of the universe. Life is not like in the books or in TV shows, so it takes a bit more time than you would anticipate but just being able to finally getting that closure sure does mean a lot. I mean I’m not clear of all feelings I’ve been having in just a day because we talked but it feels a curtain has been raised. I just want to be happy and that was a big step along the way. You have a friend in me yet.

-  Teşekkür ederim.