#rock n roll bride magazine

[aconflagrationofmyown]

|| Memphis to Fort Hood

Timeline alterations: Spring of 1958

Theme: THAT ASKED FOR BABY ANNOUNCEMENT, sorta

So, so many thanks to all my darlings who I throw my ideas at and they in turn bolster my resolve and refine my daydreams.

Warnings: good ole fashioned 50’s misogyny, Elvis being rather poorly represented? -for the reasons of this being written as critique?…nothing explicit but themes of free use, subspace, paranoia and eating disorders (which ends up being morning sickness so no really big deal there, just wanted to be careful.

A note on the style of this particular interlude: One of my obsessions with this universe has been using multiple points of view and narrative styles, ultimately adding to my own expansive delusion that this AU really was the verified version of his life. 🤓 And see, if it had been we would have magazines and newspapers, speciations and interviews galore, all of which I’ve enjoyed fabricating in the past and intend to continue. Now I’ve cooked up something else, a faux cultural study on what would have been the massively studied and criticized impact of a couple this peculiar and idolized -Mrs. Presley and Other Martyrs:

Strangely, if one looks for the first cracks in a marriage that outlasted five decades, nine children, assasination attempts, adultery, rock n’ roll and the most publicized divorce of its time, one might find that the first fissure had begun to open by the Presley’s third week anniversary. Outlasted, that’s the key. But that doesn’t mean there weren’t things to outlast. The old curse of stepping outside Graceland and finding trouble found them early on, as did their tenacity to simply ignore and surmount the witch’s brew of criticism, ego and exhaustion.

It took 38 hours by train to reach Fort Hood from Memphis Tennessee in the year 1958. Time enough for legends to be made. Dynamics to be established. A couple dozen demons to resurface.

And impressions to be formed. Lasting impressions of herself by the scrutinizing public that Elaine Presley reportedly never forgave Elvis for -a remarkable instance of a grudge in a woman so notoriously absolvent.

At the start of the journey she boarded the train at Memphis a sheltered girl tucked under the arm of the most famous man on earth, her own face captured without obstruction for the first time by the press, wedding band flashing and virginal blush staining her features at the attention and the queries hurled at her. The most envied woman in the country hadn’t known she was wanted a month before and by the time she stepped off in Texas, Mrs Presley was the doe eyed subject and demure recipient of a hundred varied opinions, editorials, fan tokens and bouquets.

What her rushed wedding may have slighted Elaine Presley of in terms of a bridal fuss, this dutiful journey made up for in sheer abundance of notoriety. What her sequestered honeymoon had sheltered her from in terms of being tabloid fodder was more than made up for on the trip as Elaine Presley got paraded on the train balcony at each stop along the route by her beaming groom:

A sauve cad in a uniform who beamed at the crowd with a cocky leer that suggested much in regards to his reserved bride and was in stark contrast to the sober and tear streaked boy he’d been when he came up this way to say goodbye to his mama weeks before. This little couple and their little rebellion of a marriage was manic in appearance and in gaiety, and even the most charitable of well-wishers found the occasion they were celebrating a bit forced, a bit dire, a bit off kilter for something as sanctified and sober as matrimony.

This was compounded by the new groom’s attitude which seemed as eager to display the varied trousseau he decked this almost catatonically pliant girl in -with a change nearly on the hour- as he was to introduce his new wife to his nation’s worth of fans that crowded the rails as they hustled south.

As Hedda Hopper unapologetically noted in her column that week “…it makes a person wonder if this sensational canary of an entertainer is too proud of having conquered a sensible girl child into being his wife to realize he just married himself off the market. America’s daydream is now a taken man and no one in the nation seems ready for that, least of all him.”

Married, to Elvis Presley, was perhaps more of a reality than Miss Hopper and her column gave him credit for, although the old spinster might’ve been aghast if she knew what marital duties the young star prioritized over others. The folks who caught sight of the flushed couple at each stop might’ve had a suspicion. Certainly Elvis’ ever present entourage of childhood friends and relations couldnt hope to be left in the dark.

Even if the close quarters on the route, the thin traincar doors and shared meals were not enlightening enough, Elvis Presley gloated too much in being a new husband to possibly retain any mystery. Love drunk and determined to stay so lest panic or grief overtake him, his friends recall his unreasonable amounts of excitement and generosity in detail regarding his “lil wife.”

-And his skills as a lover, of course.

Nothing had changed for Elvis from his time on the road with these naughty friends of his except that now all his famous drive and obsession was channeled towards one rather overwhelmed teenage girl. One who had, in typical 1950’s fashion, promised to obey his every whim. Turns out, trapped in a train car for over a day with an insomniatic sex addict uncovers an astounding amount of whims that their more placid honeymoon at Graceland had kept at a low simmer.

Whether tamed by the supposed influence of his mother’s ghostly presence at Graceland or whether in a fit of gentlemanly restraint for an untried bride, Elvis Presley had, by all accounts, played the gentleman while at home in those first weeks of marriage. While happy and smug -so much so that the story went that when the colonel appeared at Graceland to assure himself that the secret wedding hadn’t happened, one look at Elvis and the girl on his lap assured him it had both occurred and been consummated- he had nevertheless been considerate, gentle and almost tutoring in aiding Elaine to adjust to her new life.

Trapped in the claustrophobic buzz of the train car speeding south to a life of regimented discipline and obedience in the army, the antsy rebel in him found his boredom and dread peaked beyond endurance and distracted himself with the new and ever captivating charms of his new wife.

Elvis Presley with a goal could be a dedicated and diligent man but without one he was a chaotic force of nature that could catch all those around him in a whirlpool of fun or an avalanche of insanity. Pursuing Elaine Presley had brought out the best in him and so intently did he peruse her with every traditional method of wooing a typical southern girl, that she had quite forgotten the more frightening aspects of his temperament that she and her father had been witness to before. She could be forgiven for thinking he had matured past such outbursts and compulsions he had been thrall to in his early fame. Subdued by grief and spurred by ambition to have her, he had been impressively restrained upon his return to Memphis and driven by a rededication of his life to the old values of his mama’s ambitions for him, he had managed to continue it into the first days of marriage.

The upcoming reality of life within the rigorous confines of Fort Hood was too strong for such flimsy good intentions. As was the oppressive reality of his mother’s permanent absence in his life. His love, which had always been a somewhat smothering thing that required as much as it gave, was needy yet inexpressive in those early days and according to his daughter Ella, who divulged some of her mother’s confidences in her own book, Elaine was yet to learn how terrified her young husband was of a future that most would have envied.

Scared of being alone, yet suspicious that his presence was merely being tolerated, young husband Elvis Presley had every hope he could train a young girl by conjugal powers alone to be loyal to him where others failed. In a fit of hubris and optimism, he chose for this amorous experiment the one woman in town who admitted to not being in love with him. This fear and frustration expressed itself in an appalling physical demand on her bodily attentions. One that their fellow train car occupants could not ignore yet found themselves incapable of preventing, bound by the antiquated respect of a husband's rights.

“I swear he’d not leave her alone for a full hour,” Red West recalled in his book, reflecting on the times he spent in the Presley’s entourage, “and he’d be back there with her for hours at a time, then pop out and then right back again. If he couldn't sleep then he didn’t see why she should.”

Billy Smith, his cousin and a man adamant about staying on Mrs. Presley’s good side over the years, would only admit discreetly, “He was utterly in love with her, had been for years and couldn’t quite pace himself once he got the green light, so to speak. He adored her and was in a bit of a state of shock that she was even better than he’d hoped, she was like the first thing to exceed his high expectations. She was very genuinely kind to him and he ate it up. On the train ride he was bored and it was like taking a bored kid to their favorite sweet shop. And Elvis Presley had a big ole bank account to cash in.”

Big enough, apparently, that by lunch of that day the ever proper young Mrs Presley, in her perfectly starched new outfits and watery lined eyes, was having trouble sitting still at table, much to the comment of guests and friends. After excusing herself early she went back to their suite. Elvis was seen following within minutes. Thirty minutes later the train stopped and Elaine Presley, in a fresh outfit and an uncharacteristic wobble to her stride was paraded by her husband on the balcony to the roar of envious onlookers.

The train moved on, she excused herself again, as did he moments later.

“We could hear them, it became like road noise.” Red West, long used to Elvis’ various rendezvous while on the road in the past took this marital overindulgence in stride, “Initially it was kinda a laugh and a grin about it with all the folks in the dining car, but then we could hear her tiring out, and he’d keep at it and it got a bit annoying, all her pleading and him going on about bein’ able to do anything he pleased with her. He’d come out and brag to us when we told him they were being loud.”

“He was very proud of how sensitive she was,” Joe Esposito does not bother to sound impressed himself when relating this confidence, “he’d tell us how she was a squirter and she got all sensitive real fast before he was even close to done and he’d just have to hold her and make her let him finish, sometimes make her keep going when she swore she couldn’t. He said he was training her to respond the way he wanted. It didn’t occur to him maybe she was made different than the ones he’d been with before, he just thought he was a damn good husband. Figure she just wanted a nap and maybe some Vaseline. Nobody dared to tell him to give her a break.”

Ultimately Vernon Presley ventured to do just that at breakfast the next morning, after his daughter in law had skipped dinner the night before and breakfast that day from a ubiquitous headache that was likely not an ache in the head at all.

“He was so timid about it as Elvis was in a mood, worn out and hadn’t slept, stabbin’ his eggs like they’d done him wrong.” Lamar Fike remembers the incident, “Vernon just spoke up real gentle like and says ‘son, why don’t you go easy on the little lady, she’s real fresh and delicate,’ Elvis just glared at him so he tried jokin by sayin’ something like ‘you got the rest of your lives for this, don’t gotta cram it all in today.’ Elvis didn’t even try to act dumb, he just got mad and stood up from the table and said ‘daddy, you mind your own business, reckon I don’t need lessons for how to take care of a wife, not from you leastwise.’ And that was a low blow, you could see it on Vernon’s face and like I said, Elvis stood up, with his napkin still tucked in his shirt neck, and went back there to her again like he was makin’ love to spite his old man. Ya just don’t tell Elvis what to do with what’s his.”

Charlie Hodge wasn’t there and in an admirable display of keeping in his lane only commented that, “Elvis told me they danced a lotta the way, had the old records on, trying to keep the cramp away. He’d get antsy on trips.”

Marty Lacker had the decency to at least be sheepish and a little apologetic about the times when relating his version of events, “Just a different time back then, ya know? Didn’t occur to us to step in. We’d say a thing or two but ultimately that’s between a husband and wife to sort out and back then wives just didn’t fuss. It all worked out, they sorted it. Elaine never breathed a word of anything and we wouldn’t think of saying anything to her. Not even after the little emergency, you just don’t talk about that stuff. It’s not fitting. Even Elvis knew that, he didn’t appreciate the advice or adminitions from his daddy. Braggin’ between boys us one thing but talkin’ about what goes on between a man and his wife beyond that it’s, it’s just, it’s not fittin. It’s just not a thing to be discussed, you know? Different times, man.”

The little emergency in question was a case of Elvis bursting out of the train car an hour or so after lunch on the second day in search of his paternal grandmother, old Dodger as the family called her, full of consternation that his young bride was unresponsive.

“I really think he rode her silly, that’s all there was to it.” Joe shrugs at this bold diagnosis, “He’d brag about how out of it she’d get when he would start again after she thought he was done. Said she’d space right out and start shakin’ and shivering and get plain stupid. I think he liked that, makin’ a smart girl feel dumb. He’d dress her up and redo her makeup and take her out like that in front of fans, and they all got the impression she was a little bozo. Then I guess he just kept at it one time too long.”

Elvis told Dodger that his wife was not fully concious, although his heightened concern was less regarding her insensibility than the fact that neither a light smack to the cheek nor a resumption of activities on his part could rouse Elaine like it had on previous occasions. Vernon dunked her head in a bowl of ice water with no success, Billy tried to give her aspirins but she wasn’t awake to swallow them down.

Dodger prescribed a drink of water for the young girl, a cold compress to the nether regions and a nap -sans husband. Disgruntled but terrified of losing yet another woman in his life, and with his own cheek stinging from his grandmother's wrath, Elvis Presley secluded himself to playing cards with the boys in the smoking lounge for the remaining three hours of the train ride while his grandmother watched over his bride and her precariously suggestible headspace.

“ ‘I done told her again and again to hold it if she gets so excitable after she comes that she can’t stand to take me longer. But she’s a hair trigger, couple stokes and she’s off, keeps comin’ all the same then acts like I’m skinnin’ her when I keep goin. I gotta finish man, what else am I supposed to do?” Red recalls Elvis bemoaning his bride’s hyper responsiveness like a martyr recounting his sentence -while wearing his signature sulky expression that did nothing to hide the smug pride beneath.

By the time Elaine Presley wobbled off the train onto the platform at Killeen Texas and stiff smilingly took her seat beside Elvis in a taxi to their little crackerbox house on base, the world at large had a firm opinion that the new Mrs Presley was a pretty little thing with dark features and a rosebud mouth, a nice figure and sweet charm but possessing a vacant sorta look to her. It suggested a gullibility so utterly untrue to her real nature that three decades worth of wit and shrewdness could hardly undue their initial impression of her.

Elaine Presley would ultimately have her revenge for such a first impression but it would cost her much in the process and Elvis Presley even more.

The buzz of press did not decline upon her arrival. With Private Presley busy soldiering all day, it fell to his young wife to sort the intricate social circle of his entourage and fellow soldiers, to manage the fanmail and contracts as well as set up house as best she could in such impermanent lodgings. All these precarious duties were stalked and documented beyond all sense, photographs of her and her choice of groceries dutifully printed for readers across the country to guess at what she planned to feed their idol for dinner. If the sharp glint in her eyes, captured on occasion when the intrusion became absurd, hinted at something beyond the vacant and ravished doll of the train ride, no one was eager to investigate. A sharp set to the mouth or a dangerous glitter in the eye got one called a bitch and it was better to be vacuous as a woman than to be venomous. So Elaine was caught smiling with her vegetables and spending her afternoons baking beneath a Texas sun while chatting with snide fellow housewives.

It was the first bootcamp for a lifelong grueling ordeal that Elaine Presley submitted to with grace and tenacity.

If her wit and her marital irregularities were glossed over by the papers in their eagerness to find the noble idyll amongst the immoral muck of rock and roll, what did not go unnoticed was the increasingly wane aspect of what should have been a rosy and glowing young wife. Shortly after arriving in Texas, Elaine’s already strained nerves seemed to have frazzled beyond small fits of fainting and what was once a private display of weariness kept between her and the implacable Dodger. Soon it became bouts of vomiting and exhaustion beyond any reasonable excuse.

The public noticed her figure grow slight and frail, as did Elvis. No longer was she slight but sickly instead, and a milky complexion was now waxy and unbecoming in contrast to her dark hair. The public were concerned for her, not for her health so much as for the future of the readership should her picturesque ordeals unravel further.

Battling his own preoccupation and exhaustion in the hard crucible of army bootcamp, Elvis’ one solace was the charming little haven he had created for himself with a wife and domesticity shipped in like so many plates and doilies. When this fairytale grew pale and bony and even the most cheerful of liars couldn’t convince him his “Tinkerbell” was fine, Elvis Presley grew increasingly paranoid of something fatal having cursed the women in his life. Frustrated at Elaine for allowing herself to grow so weak, his friends recall his behavior towards her vasciaiting from aching tenderness to angry remonstrances at her to eat and to rest and take care of herself. He even paced his own indulgences and begged her not to bring him the usual treats she’d sneak into barracks during the heat of afternoon. He pampered and berated, prayed and cursed.

None of these precautions were sufficient to build her up and alarmed beyond any reassurance, Elvis Presley packed his young bride into a car in the early summer of their first marriage and, having a five hour furlough from the army, drove her himself into the nearby hospital. The statement tossed to the press waiting outside was mild sinus congestion.

Twenty minutes later these two world wide famous young adults stumbled out in a daze of knowledge that they were about to be parents for the first time.

A severe case of twins -and the rigorous discipline of making them- having caused all the raucous.

No longer scared of abandonment, imminent loss or rebellion on his wife’s part, Elvis Presley softened considerably in the next months, the looming likelihood of a separation with his deployment softening him even further. It was the first case of children saving -and complicating- one of the most volatile and devoted couples of the 20th century.

By the first few weeks of the second trimester, Elaine Presley was both filled out enough and sufficiently cheery to regain the accolades lost to her by the press during her first. Finding few friends to be had amongst jealous soldiers' girlfriends and snooty Sargeant’s wives, as well as having been abandoned by most childhood companions after becoming mistress of Graceland, Elaine, never to be out maneuvered by bad luck, turned those publicized grocery store runs into social occasions, her growing belly eliciting advice and solicitations from wise old Texan grandma’s and rancher’s wives.

Accompanied by the stoically indomitable Dodger, Elaine could be found at geriatric swim classes at the local pool in a bid to stay cool during the heat of summer, at smoky poker games at Billy Bob’s honky tonk where she was the lone abstainer from the free flowing bourbon and became winner of a mechanical bull riding competition against a Navy Pilot.

It was a win for the infantry that night and even Elvis drank a cold one in celebration of her winnings that she spent on quenching the Hell on Wheels squadron at the adjacent saloon. Those Sargeant’s wives got somehow even more acrid after that.

Whether there was a correlation between this heated ride-off and said Navy Pilot’s face ending up black and blue the next day from some jealous young husband’s fist, was anyone's conjecture. Either way, Elvis Presley was likely too busy for such petty displays of insecurity, he was hiding in the lavatory most times to get away from his recently energized and insatiable young wife whose visits to Fort Hood soon became a byword and euphemism for something else besides visitation.

Altogether the Presley’s in Texas was an eclectic and occasionally damaging PR debut, but not without its merits.

The nation decided the new Mrs. Presley may have been a little short in the smarts department but she made pregnancy look fun again and that was rather charming and not a little rebellious, as was unapologetically marrying Elvis Presley right from under their noses. And Elvis? Well, it would be two long years before the world got any candid, civilian, unrepentant opinion out of Private Presley.

Hope you enjoyed! 💋

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[pollylynn]

Title: Ontogeny WC: 1000

He loves Kate Beckett from her spectacular cheekbones to her devastating legs, from her elegant wrists to her mysteriously always freezing toes. He loves her in all her girlie-but-not-girlie glory. And though he once called her a liar for it—though he would probably still call her a liar for it, just to see what hijinks might ensue—he has come to believe she’s never torn a picture of a wedding gown out of a magazine. 

He’s wondering about the why of that lately. It’s not that the why of anything especially matters to him—not in terms of loving her, anyway. He’s professionally interested in the why of everything. There’s no procrastination like wondering-about-the-why-of-everything procrastination and all that. 

But when it comes to loving her, it’s been a long, hard road to accepting, celebrating, working to meet the challenges of who she gloriously is, and he’s glad to be well beyond wondering if this or that or the other thing about her is trauma or healing or a defense mechanism so she won’t have to hurt again. He’s outrageously glad to have the luxury of simply loving her, even when—especially when—things aren’t all that simple. 

But he really is wondering about wedding gowns and bridal magazines lately, and he’s not quite sure why. It seems simple enough when he comes upon her and his mother and an end-to-end spread where the kitchen counter should be. They’re dreadful. Their manipulations are transparent and there’s a deadly sameness.  She’s right about the gauzy, love-struck looks, and should girls of fourteen or fifteen really be getting married? He certainly can’t see the appeal, so why should she, simply by virtue of being a woman? 

But then it gets interesting, It seems like more than the fact that bridal magazines suck is at work here. Certainly the juicy Modern Fashion revelation sparks his curiosity. Did Matilda King simply tear up her enthusiasm for such feminine rites of passage by the roots? Did Beckett turn the woman down because ehe’d shown her the sordid underbelly of the Wedding–Industrial Complex at such a tender age? 

It doesn’t seem especially likely, and he wonders idly why it matters anyway. Kate Beckett is not interested in bridal magazines and that is simply one facet of her magnificent essence. Except Esposito being a snot about fashion and masculinity suggests another hypothesis: What if she has to insist that she isn’t interested in such feminine folly because to admit otherwise would mean exposing her underbelly? 

That idea makes him kind of sad. Sadder than death-of-her-girlish-dreams by way of Matilda King and the Marital Mafia, for some reason he can’t put his finger on. It might be the he first fell in love with her as a cop. Even though he pegged her story from the first—the why behind this smart, beautiful woman with the world at her feet choosing such thankless profession—he has loved for a long time the way she bends the job to her will and owns it. So maybe he doesn’t want to think of the job taking anything from her that she isn’t willing to give. 

But it’s all more or less idle wondering until the phone call. He’s on the not-quite-solo-mission at the venue, and she’s on the job. She answers the phone, and his vague wonderings are all but silent. He’s even, somewhere in the back of his mind, enjoying the gender reversal here. And he’s excited. He’s so excited that having been faced with a long-term delay, things are suddenly moving quickly, and it feels like a sign from the universe. 

And then she says no. Worse than that, she hems, she haws, she beats around the bush. And she ultimately says no. 

And he . . . falters. He doesn’t doubt, but he falters, and those damned bridal magazines loom large. Her deer-in-headlights look as his mother prattled on, the eye roll on lovestruck brides—even her hiding behind him for the briefest of moments before facing Matilda King—it all starts to make him worry that it’s not just the trappings of a wedding she’s not enthusiastic about, it’s the very idea of a wedding—he very idea of their wedding—that underwhelms her. 

It’s a rocky moment, but it’s not a long-lasting one. She loves him. They are fallible, but solid—he’s sure of that. He’s sure of her, but worried, too, because something is not right. 

The no about the venue is what it is. He’d pass up a hundred dates in a hundred perfect venues if she had the slightest objection to any of them. He’s not worried about the no, he’s worried about her. And one of the down sides of being in love with a cop is there are precious few opportunities for him to convey that—to look her in the eye and tell her that whatever is behind the no, it’s fine. It will be just fine. 

It’s funny how it turns out. It’s a little bit funny. She is knotted up when she comes home. She tells him they have to talk, and a kind of calm settles over him. He says something about bad news, and he’s sorry that she’s knotted up. He doesn’t want her to be unhappy for an instant, but he’s calm, too. There’s not a second that he’s worried about them. 

She tells him the whole of it, or maybe the whole of it as she understands it.  But who knows better than he that everyone makes their own autobiographical myths? She’s never torn a photo of a wedding magazine because it’s the kind of thing a girl—a young woman—does with her mom. She misses her mom and that’s why she’s never done it, and he’s sorry and he’s glad to know and he loves her. He loves this about her.  A/N: Bridal magazines, but never forget that dress was a hate crime. A bristly, weird, jelly-fish-assed, decaying-flesh-encrusted-with-broken-Rolling-Rock-bottles hate crime. Hmm,   images via homeofthenutty

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Interrupting ‘I Do’

Tony Stark x Reader

Words: 2602

Summary: When your wedding day is under attack, you have a little more to worry about than the reception. Tony and you are separated when a bomb goes off and have to find a way back to each other. 

Notes: Yes, Tony Stark has taken over my Tumblr, why do you ask?

-

It was the biggest event of the season. Tony Stark’s wedding. Well, it was your wedding too, but you were often left out of the headlines. Not that you cared. The journalists and magazines were more Tony’s thing. You were just a lawyer from Brooklyn that he’d met at a fundraiser event four years ago. 

The mimosa in your hand was meant to calm your nerves, but everything still set you on edge. It was all still pretty surreal, from the gorgeous ring on your finger to the beautiful venue. It was a large tent looking over the Hamptons. A part of you still dreamed of the church around the corner from your childhood home. But you couldn’t complain. 

“Earth to Y/N?” Your maid of honor Kat waved her hand in front of your face. “What do you think?” You looked in the mirror at your hair that she’d been styling for the past two hours. One more weight lifted off your shoulders and you checked off hair and makeup on your mental checklist. Taking another sip of the mimosa, you paced to the hotel suite window. Behind, your bridesmaids chatted and laughed as they did their own makeup. 

Your cell phone began to ring and kat snatched it off of the table before you could see who it was. 

“Gold Diggers Incorporated, this is Katherine speaking.” She snickered. You shot her a death glare. “Oh hey, Tony!” 

“Kat, can I please speak to my fiance?” Tony asked patiently on the other end. She gave you a mischievous smirk. 

“I don’t know… she’s still a little busy with her bachelorette party gift. He’s- oops-” She giggled, “I mean it’s a blast.” You pried your phone away rolling your eyes. 

“Hey,” You greeted. You felt like a high school girl with butterflies stirring in your stomach. “She’s kidding.” You clarified and he chuckled. 

“You mean you don’t have a male stripper hiding in your closet?” He teased. “Damn, I was hoping for a lap dance.” Just hearing his voice made your nerves fade if only a little. “Come out to the balcony.” 

You could sense his cheeky grin and you smiled, stepping out onto the balcony as he said. You expected a note or something, but nothing was there. 

“Okay, I’m out here.” You shrugged, looking around. There was a loud sound and a flash of red and gold scooped you off the ground, causing you to let out a surprised yelp. 

“If you mess up her hair Tony, I swear to God, I’m going to kill you!” Kat shouted after you as he launched off of the balcony, lifting you into the air. You soared over the beach as workers bustled around below you. You landed on a cliff down the beach from the tent and saw a picnic blanket folded beside a basket and a bottle of wine. A car was parked just down the hill. 

“It’s a little early, don’t you think.” You motioned to the wine as he set you on your feet. 

“I figured this could be an exception.” He said through the helmet. “I’ll be right back.” He trekked down to the car, going in one door and coming out on the other side, the suit stripped away, revealing dark jeans and an old rock band t-shirt. As much as you loved seeing him in a tux, it was his casual, more at home attire you like best. 

“Morning.” You raised an eyebrow, earning a wink. “What’s all this about?” 

“Is it a crime to want breakfast with my soon to be wife?” He asked with his usual level of snark. 

“You know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.” You pointed out as he laid out the blanket. 

“I don’t believe in bad luck.” Tony shrugged. He sat down and poured you a glass of wine. “97 Pinot Noir. It’s the wine-”

“We had on our first date.” You finished with a smile. “I can’t believe you remembered.” You sat beside him and looked at the horizon. 

“This still seems kind of unreal.” He admitted, pulling out a package of strawberries and some muffins. “Not in a bad way, obviously.”

“I know what you mean.” You laid your head on his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around you. “By the end of today… I'll be Mrs. Stark.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your face. 

“I like the sound of that.” 

-

After breakfast, the two of you drove back to the hotel and finished getting ready. Rhodey made sure Tony didn’t wander around and cause any mischief, taking him back to his room so he could put on his tux. You made another mental note to thank him for his help. 

By noon, it was time to head over the ceremony, spiking your nerves all over again. You were marrying Tony Stark. Pictures would be in every tabloid in New York, flattering or not. Basically, every woman over the age of twenty would build an opinion on the woman who tamed America’s Number One Bachelor, and they would not be afraid to voice it on all media platforms. 

As the limo neared, photographers stood in line, anxiously awaiting to take the photo that would define your stance in the public eye. You put a hand on Kat’s arm. 

“I can’t do this.” You gasped, all of the breath leaving your lungs. Before she could respond, the photographers switched their focus to the sky. The flashes of their cameras reflected against the gold and hot-rod-red metal as Iron Man landed before them in a dramatic hero pose. 

It was then you remembered that you weren’t just marrying Tony- you were also marrying the suit. You were marrying Iron Man and all the worry that comes with him. Even when you were dating, you constantly wondered if Tony would come home every time he flew off. 

Tony stepped out of the suit with his classically recognizable smile on his face. You let out a breath of awe. He knew how to work a crowd. He held up his hands. 

“Alright guys, this isn’t another fundraiser gala. I’m going to have to ask all of you to wait until after the wedding to get more pictures.” Everyone tried to object as security ushered them away. Tony turned to the limo and gave the driver a thumbs up. 

“He had to make his entrance.” Kat snorted. You felt yourself blush and watched him disappear into the tent. 

“He knew.” You beamed. He knew how much you hated the press, so he gave them a taste with his entrance so they would leave you alone. You couldn’t imagine a better man to marry. 

You stood outside as the groomsmen and bridesmaids entered, ending with Rhodey and Kat. Then was Pepper, without whom this day wouldn’t have happened. You had insisted that she enter with the rest of the wedding party and be recognized for everything she had done for the two of you. 

“You look amazing.” Happy grinned at you as you took his arm. When you’d asked Happy to give you away, he’d never looked so, well, happy. “Are you ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” The opening of the tent was drawn back and the music swelled, lights twinkling all around you. All of the guests stood- all close friends of either you or Tony. Neither of you really had any family left. But none of them mattered, at least not in that moment. 

All that mattered was him as he turned around to see you. Tony’s eyes filled with more light than you’d ever seen before and there was no smugness or playboy charm in his smile. It was just complete and utter joy. 

“Wow.” He gasped breathlessly. Every discovery, every invention, every flight in the suit paled in comparison to how he felt in that moment. 

You were halfway down the aisle when you heard it. It was faint and barely noticeable below the music. Rhodey shifted uncomfortably as unfamiliar faces stood moved from the seats. He put a hand on Tony’s shoulder and his expression said more than words could have. Tony turned back to you and his eyes held something else entirely: fear. As he reached his hand out to you, he shouted:

“Y/N!” 

The first explosion took out the far left wooden beam holding up the tent, causing the entire side to collapse in on itself. The blast left a ringing in your ear, consuming all other sounds. You couldn’t even hear yourself screaming. 

Happy acted quickly, pulling you through the frantic crowd. With the smoke and fire and hoard of running guests, you’d lost sight of Tony. You were a few feet away from the exit when the second bomb went off. The impact knocked you away from Happy and into another post, and you were quickly buried in a pile of wood and rubble. 

-

When you woke up, you could hardly breathe. A cloth sack had been placed over your head and your ears were still ringing. You could just make out the voices around you as the vehicle you were in continued down a bumpy road. What cut through the most was the voice on the radio, broadcasting the latest events. 

“It’s just in, owner of Stark Industries and famed face of Iron Man, Tony Stark’s wedding has been the subject of a massive terrorist attack. Mere hours ago, three bombs detonated in the canopy where the ceremony was being held. While Mr. Stark was able to escape the wreckage in the Iron Man suit, his bride-to-be Y/F/N Y/L/N has not yet been found.” 

“How much traffic can there possibly be in the goddamn city?” Someone, presumably the driver, exclaimed. 

“Relax, we’re almost there.” Another voice growled. The van came to a stop and you were dragged out and forced into a chair. Finally, the sack was removed and you observed your captures and your surroundings. 

“Welcome, Mrs. Stark.” One sneered. His accent was thick and you recognized it as Russian. 

“Well, not yet.” You corrected bitterly. “You made sure of that.” He smirked, narrowing his eyes. 

“You’re very pretty. I can see why he likes you.”

“You really think so?” You said with sarcastic flattery. He placed a toothpick in his mouth and couched in front of you. 

“Tony Stark stole everything from me.” He hissed. “I saved you from marrying him, little bird.” You pouted your lips. 

“But he’s got such a nice ass.” You snarked, earning a hard slap. You ignored the sting in your cheek and looked at the man more closely. “Wait a second, I know you. You’re the guy who attacked Tony on the racetrack three months ago. Ivan… something.” 

“Ivan Vanko.” His demeanor was calm and that’s what scared you. If he was screaming and cursing, you could use his own anger as a distraction. But his collected manner meant that he already had what he wanted. 

“What do you want?” You finally let the fear set in and Ivan could see it. 

“An acquaintance wants the suit,” He began, “He suggested that you may have answers. After that, he says that I may exact my revenge on Stark.”

“So you’re just the lackey.” You snickered, pretending that you felt less threatened. You looked around at his fellow goons. One of them had his arms crossed, but you could just see the watch on his wrist. A certain familiar logo decorated its face. 

“Hammertech?” You snorted. “You’re working for Hammertech?” The other men shifted a sudden look of panic on their faces. “You know that Justin Hammer is an idiot, right?” 

“Hammer helped me get here, but I do not work for him.” Ivan picked up a blow torch, lighting it far too near your face. “You are going to burn, little bird.” You closed your eyes, waiting for the white-hot pain… but none came. Instead, there was a loud crash. 

“Hold it, Korshunov.” When you opened your eyes, there was Iron Man, slowly looking up at Ivan from his crouched landing position.

  “Tony,” You gasped with joyous relief.

“The Metal Man,” Ivan growled. Tony blasted the other men before they could even raise their weapons. Ivan stood behind you, lifting your face up by your hair and putting the blow torch next to your eye. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Tony warned. 

“Why’s that?” Ivan laughed. “As you say, I am holding the cards.” Removing his mask, Tony sucked air between his teeth in a snarky cringe. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t come alone.” 

“Drop the blow torch or we blow the building.” Rhodey threatened a missile loaded arm aim Ivan’s skull. He just smiled and grabbed another device from his pocket. 

“Too late.” He pressed the button on the device and ran, dodging Rhodey’s shots and vanishing. 

“Uh… Tony,” Rhodey looked down at the chair you were strapped to. “We’ve got a problem.” Tony rushed over and the two examined the bomb. 

“Okay honey, don’t panic,” Tony said slowly as the two quickly tried to undo your restraints. 

“How much time is there?” You asked, hearing the dreadful tick of the explosive. Neither man responded. “Tony!”

“As of now… 40 seconds, but don’t worry, I’m getting you out.” He carefully used the repulsors to seer through the ropes. You could feel the heat nearly graze your skin. You tried to keep yourself from counting down the seconds. 

“Tony,” Rhodey urged nervously. 

“Go after Vanko, I’ll get her,” Tony ordered. Rhodey launched out of the warehouse to get a better view. 

“Got it!” Tony exclaimed, quickly taking you in his arms. “Hold on tight.” His mask closed and he took off just in time for the explosion. 

Tony landed on a nearby rooftop and couldn’t bring himself to let you go. He just held onto you and your now singed dress like he would never let you go for as long as you lived. 

“Now what?” You muttered breathlessly. As you collected your bearings, you could see the neighborhood around you now cast into chaos. It was the neighborhood that you grew up in. And a few blocks away was the little white chapel. Tony followed your gaze a smiled. 

“I mean…” He gave you a smirk with the ‘I have an idea’ look in his eyes. “I don’t know about you, but this has got to be fate.” 

“What about the big white wedding with the tuxes and the dress and the crowds of people.” You stuttered. “I thought that’s what you wanted.” Tony just chuckled. And pushed your wild, messy hair out of your face. 

“Y/N, I don’t care about any of that.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead. “I just want to marry you.” You smiled brighter than you ever had before. 

“Then let’s do this.” 

-

There were no journalists this time. No photographers calling out your name or disapproving groupies to worry about. Beside you stood only Pepper and Rhodey as witnesses- Rhodey having turned Vanko into custody and Pepper looking happy, but not surprised in how everything turned out. 

And then there was Tony. Your wonderful, brilliant Tony, standing in front of you in the Iron Man suit. He looked at you like you were the sun even as you stood there in your tattered and charred dress. For that moment, there was no one else in the world. 

And as Tony said those famous two words, despite the bombs and the kidnapping, you couldn’t imagine a better way to say “I do.”

[girls-can-get-married]

A Glam Seventies Bridal Shoot for Rock n Roll Bride Magazine

Models:

Betty - http://foreveryoursbetty.com/

Amanda Davies - http://honeypopkisses.com/

https://www.rocknrollbride.com/2019/09/night-fever-a-glam-seventies-bridal-shoot-for-rock-n-roll-bride-magazine/

[floraology]

i have had many amazing opportunities to travel during my partnership with @rustandbark <3 it was quite the experience being jetted off to places to photograph beautiful couples on their wedding day. 

alex and genevieve had their stunning gothic wedding in the city of prague. we were lucky enough to have this wedding published in Rock n Roll Bride magazine. i look back at this wedding and my heart swells.

i decided to take a step back after the birth of my daughter Lydia. trying to balance a wedding photography business, a newborn baby and a masters program was a little too much. i am now second photographer for @rustandbark which is a good balance for me.

you can see the rest of the wedding here: http://www.rustandbark.com/genevieve-alex-prague

[thebridalstories]

Rock N Roll Bride March Issue Editorial

Yesterday I had a fantastic day working with a dream team in Brighton on a new editorial for Rock N Roll Bride’s March issue. We had a colourful brief and lots of pastels to work with! Here’s a few bts! 

Our Team included Photographer Devlin Photos / Model Johanna @ Nevs / Hair by Joloveshair using Annabelle’s Wigs / Makeup/Nails by Me / Photography : Devlin Photos /Styling and Props from Bijou Bride & Mr + Mrs Unique  / and of course the amazing Kat @ Rock N Roll Bride . 

I was over the moon to become newly engaged this Christmas so I picked up some fantastic tips from the girls and I am definitely going to get ahold of some of the amazing balloons we used in the shoot by 3 Bubble Gum Girls :) 

Here’s some behind the scenes :

Skin PREP is so important ! I was lucky to have Johanna at Nevs as a model as her skin was a dream to work with! 

To prepare the skin I used Sukin Micelar water to cleanse, Jane Iredale Golden Bronze as a primer to give the lovely glow seen in this picture, Clarins Beauty Balm as a moisutriser, a little lip balm and eye cream. 

I followed up with a glowy light weight foundation by Nars, a little bit of Jane Iredale concealor, Benefit’s High Beam (a favorite!) and filled in her brows softly with eyeshadow to give a little bit of structure. 

Juicy lips! I used sparkely pop colours to go with the bright dresses and wigs : 

After seeing these glitter shoes by Asos I think I’m definitely going to get something similar for my wedding outfit! In love with them : 

Mint Green Nails : 

Mr + Mrs Unique doing her thing and setting up the backdrops for our shoot : 

Devlin Photos at work : 

Confetti Bomb! : 

A video posted by tabbyfa (@tabbyfa) on Jan 10, 2017 at 5:26am PST

Dream balloons by 3 Bubblegum Girls ! These would be amazing at any party. We blew them up without helium and it was really effective on the shoot! We are totally having to 

A video posted by tabbyfa (@tabbyfa) on Jan 10, 2017 at 7:29am PST

The full story and finished photos will be coming out in the March issue of Rock N Roll Bride Magazine in March available at most large Sainsburies and several larges newsagents as well! Keep an eye out! 

[futuremrszainmalik]

#1 How You Meet

HARRY: You are working as a receptionist in one of the grandest hotels in Toronto, still not able to believe that you landed such a decent part time job. Well, one fine day, when you were working, your friend/colleague read out from her phone, "OMG! Harry Styles is currently in Toronto!". You turned around and excitedly said "No kidding!". At that point of time, you heard an "Excuse me" from someone at the desk. You irritably turned around, faking a smile, to none other than Harry Styles himself. You gasped. He said "Yeah. No kidding.". You put on a smile, trying to be as professional as possible and said " Good evening sir, how may I help you?" He greeted you with a good evening followed by a handshake. He said "I would like to book two separate rooms for me and my manager, who was supposed to be here already. " he rolled his eyes. "In whose name shall I book the room?" He handed out his credit card and said." Harry Styles". You smiled and repeated " 2 separate rooms for Harry Styles and his manager who was supposed to be here already. Aaand Done!" He chuckled. You smiled and then handed him his credit card along with the keys. "Do you need anything else? To that he cheekily replied " No, nothing except for your name?" "y/n y/l/n" He said " A pretty name for a pretty girl." You blushed and asked "Anything else, sir?" He replied, "Ah yes. I would also like to know if Ms. Y/L/N would be available for a dinner tomorrow night. Can you please check that for me?" "Please wait one minute. Sir, Ms. Y/l/n has responded that she is free tomorrow night." you said with a wink. He chuckled and gave you a card with his number and leaned in to give you a kiss on the cheek " See you later y/n" "See you later, Harry". You blushed.

NIALL: It was a busy Saturday at Starbucks. It was too crowded especially because of it's small size. Every tables were filled with people, well almost every tables. Luckily for you one table near the counter in the corner was free so you  went there and opened your laptop starting to complete the work that you had to do. You were so focused in the work that it took you some seconds to notice that some cute Irish accent from behind was asking you if the seat opposite to yours is taken. You said " No. It is free" and turned around and saw Niall Horan with an awful lot of food and coffee in a tray in his hand. You nodded and helped him to set the heavy tray in the table. Niall smiled and said "Thank you. I'm Niall", handing his hand. You returned the gesture and said " Its alright . And yeah, I do know you." He smiled " If it won't trouble you too much, can I ask another favor from you?" "Go ahead." "If you won't mind, can I sit in your seat? Cos that way I'm facing the wall and not much people will notice me." You smiled and said "Yeah. I understand." And you shifted your places. He asked "Soo.. What's your name?" ''I'm y/n y/l/n". The conversations went on for hours with him insisting you to taste the different food he ordered and you both jointly reviewing them, until he got a call from Paul reminding him its time for his rehearsals. You both exchanged your numbers and promised to meet again soon. Before he left the table, he leaned in and whispered "y/n y/l/n, I don't tell this to everybody, but you are one of those few people whom I don't mind sharing my food with." You giggled and said "I'm honored". He gave a kiss on your cheek and said "You should be, pretty girl, you should be." You blushed.

LIAM: "Perfect! This is absolutely perfect." You thought to yourself when the lady at the airport desk told you that there are no seats left for a flight to London. You had  to attend  a wedding in London. It wasn't just anybody's, wedding,it  was your bestie's sister's gonna kill you if you won't attend it. You had no idea what you were gonna do so you just sat in the waiting area of the international terminal, hoping something would come up. It was 3:00 in the morning and almost every one of the few people in the lobby were sleeping. Suddenly a cute little girl ran towards you giggling. But she fell down before she could reach you. You gasped and rushed towards her and picked her up and placed her in your lap. You hoped there would be no injuries and to your relief there were none. You calmed the crying girl after quite a long attempt. Then a tall guy who you identified as Liam Payne came running, shouting "Luuuuxxx!!!" He came up to you, gently took the kid from your lap and after a few minutes rocked her to sleep while singing melodically. And it worked, Lux peacefully slept in his arms. He whispered to you "Thank you for calming her, I was supposed to put her to sleep. But she wasn't having it today, so she ran away from me. I'm glad she ran in to you and not to somebody dangerous, say, a murderer." You chuckled and said "There's always that possibility. Aren't you Liam Payne? I'm a big fan of your music." He nodded and thanked you. "What's your name?" "y/n y/l/n" "That is a cute name. So when is your flight?" You then explained your horrible situation to him. He said "Hey! I have an idea. We have a private jet. Why don't you tag along with us? We are also going to London." Your face lit up when you heard this, "Seriously? Would it be too much trouble-because if it is, that's alright, I can find some othe-" He cut your babbling off with a kiss on the cheek and said "It would be our pleasure if a pretty girl like you joins us!"

LOUIS: You planned to take your little brother shopping and buy him something from the most expensive collection of Louis Vuitton. I guess you could say that, working as an Apparel Buyer there, has some advantages like a 50% discount (on special days, only). So today, on his birthday, you decided to abuse your discount by buying him something. But it wasn't as simple as that. He was extremely confused what to wear. His opinion about a shirt may change from it-looks-so-cool to i-haven't-seen-anything-as-horrible-as-this-thing-that-they-call-a-shirt within minutes. Your attempts to make him understand  that they look good on him failed miserably, every time. And he wouldn't even allow you to select him clothes, cos apparently he doesn't want a girl to select his clothes (ugh, don't ask.) So you have been sitting in front of the dressing room the whole time when he takes something, wears it, changes his mind, goes back, takes something else and repeats this cycle. You sat there reading a magazine not even bothering to take your eyes off from it, during the whole dressing-changing ruckus. So when you heard the door of the dressing room open up, you naturally said "Hey! It looks amazing on you. This is the one.", without even looking up. A different voice responded to it saying "Why, thank you. But it would have been more convincing if you actually looked at me before saying that!" You were startled and saw that the one who you complimented just now was not your brother, but Louis Tomlinson himself! You became speechless for a moment and then apologised to him, explaining the whole situation. He laughed and said, "So, y/n I will help you under one condition". "And what is that?" "If you promise that you'll go out with me this Saturday. So what is it gonna be, your choice?" He asked you very seriously and dramatically like a Quiz Show presenter. You laughed it off and said "We'll see. I cant guarantee  you anything, cos it seems that I won't be able to leave this shop for a few days.". He laughed and asked your brother to come nearer and asked about his interests. After half an hour, with the help of Louis, he found the perfect clothes and was actually contented with it. You were awestruck and you instantly pulled Louis into a hug. He smiled and kissed your cheek. Then he said "No problem, love. And, now about that date?" You smiled and gave him your phone number.

ZAYN: You looked at yourself in the mirror. You were in a stylish saree and were wearing the right amounts of jewelry and felt that you were finally good to go. It was one of your best friend's sangeet tonight . She was a Pakistani (living in London) so you and your friends chose to dress up in a desi avatar and were looking forward to a very fun and memorable night ahead. When you and your friends reached the venue, you were mesmerized by the beautiful venue. The cool night was lit up with a lot of festive lamps and lanterns. And let's just say that, it was the most beautiful night you have ever seen, but little did you know that it was gonna get better. It was almost the time for the ceremony to start, so you decided to go to the restroom  located inside a small room which was a bit far away from the actual venue. You went inside, got one last good look at yourself and when you turned around to return from the room, you accidentally bumped into someone. You mumbled an apology and looked up and found none other than the Zayn Malik  helping you get up. His jet black hair was brought out by the long shining black sherwani he wore. And boy, didn't he look too amazing. You both looked at each other  for a minute, silently. You broke the silence and said "I'm really really -" But he cut you off, staring at you and said "Beautiful! Really beautiful" You continued "Sorry. I'm really sorry! " He coughed and said "Uhmm... Well, its okay. No harm. No foul. I'm Zayn, by the way." You smiled and said "Yeah. I know you. And I'm y/n y/l/n"   He smiled and gave a quick nod. When you both rushed to open the door, you found that it was locked. You both panicked a bit. He tried to call his friends and you tried to call yours, but none of them were picking up. You assumed they might not have heard the phone ringing, all with the noise. After what felt like an hour, you both surrendered and quit your attempts. "Don't worry y/n, someone will come pick us up soon. And there's still a good 1 hour before the ceremony starts." You agreed, now calmed down. "So y/n how are you related to the bride/groom?" "The bride is my best friend. What about you?" "The groom is actually a distant relative of mine." That was the start of some interesting and fun conversations, discussing about everything. You understood him and how much different he really was from the bad boy persona that the media created. He asked you if you're alright every few minutes, making you feel humbled by his caring attitude. After about half an hour, one of your friends called you back , and agreed to come pick you guys up. And before you left, he hugged you and gave a quick kiss on your cheek before whispering into your ear "I had the best time bumping into you. Call me later?" You nodded. And felt an instant blush rise up to your cheek.

A/N: This is my first time writing. Sorry for any mistakes.

GIFs are not mine. Credits to the rightful owners.

[best-left-hook-jones]

Baskets and Bouquets (1/1)

Summary: There are a few things that Emma Swan is absolutely certain about; no morning is tolerable without at least one cup of coffee, all marriage is a sham, and if a stupidly handsome guy walks into her tiny flower shop with a massive order for flower arrangements six weeks before a wedding, he’s damn well going to have to help her. Flowershop!AU

Rating: T (No trigger warnings apply)

AO3

A/N: Finaly, my CSLB is here! It feels like so long ago when I started this little project, and I’m excited to finally set it free into the world. I want to thank my phenomenal artists who gifted me with the most incredible pieces of artwork for this story; the above painting is by the magnificent @ladyciaramiggles, and the three accompanying image sets by the wonderful @captainodonoghue depicting our favourite lovebirds can be found here, here, and here. And, of course, where would I be without my beta, @wellhellotragic? Thank you all for all of your encouragement and kind words! It’s been a great time :) 

Enjoy!

Emma Swan had never been a tidy person.

It was a fact that surprised most people who knew of her less than stable upbringing, with more than one ex-boyfriend having pointed out that someone who had grown up in the foster system ought to know better than to leave their possessions sprawled all over the place. Sometimes Emma would reply that it was habit to want to leave her mark on a place and take full possession of a space that belonged solely to her. Most times, though, she would simply shrug. The mess of empty take out containers had always been there before her dates had arrived, and if her dating history were anything to go by, they would likely outlast all of them as well.

So when Emma had moved to Storybrooke, setting up a flower shop in the center of main street, the mess of boxes and equipment had lingered for weeks afterwards. It had only been at her new business partner’s insistence that the empty cardboard had finally been dragged to the bins in the back. Emma had only been working with Ruby for eight months, but the fierce brunette had already proved to be her rock.  

Emma finished the last curl of ribbon and dropped the scissors down with a clatter on the counter. One down, only 12 more arrangements to go. Well, for this order at least. Pink spools of ribbon were mixed in with green, blue, and yellow bows, all of which were to go with different bouquet orders, and most of which had to be completed before the afternoon was done. And it was already three o’clock.

She would need more coffee for this.

Emma hopped down from where she was perched on her stool, stretching her knees and back with a groan. Possibly two cups of coffee. That was another reason for all the overtime and extra work Emma had piled on her plate recently; if Emma was going to continue functioning at the rate she was going, they would need a new coffee machine for the back. Something that that didn’t splutter and groan like a dying orca every time she wanted a simple cup of black coffee. If they continued to do well over the next few months, they might even be able to afford one that made hot chocolate as well.  

Emma had just flicked on the switch for the ancient machine that occupied a quarter of the cramped counter when Ruby poked her head through the doorway.

“Emma, there’s a tall, dark, and handsome man here to see you,” she said, skimming her tongue across her teeth seductively.

Emma groaned. Oh god, what damage control would she have to make now.

Ruby seemed insistent in her goal to find Emma a suitable date from the small pool of men that the village comprised of. It didn’t help much that Ruby had slept with many of them already, and those that she hadn’t didn’t meet Emma’s standard - whatever that was. Not that she was even looking. Why pursue an end goal that would never happen?   

Bidding a sad farewell to the empty mug of the counter, Emma made her way from the back of the shop to the front counter. Stepping across the threshold, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

Killian Jones was leaning nonchalantly against her counter, looking lost as he fiddled with the leaves of a red kalanchoe.

She would have recognized him a mile away, with his warm, winter-cozy style and piercing blue eyes, he looked as though he were meant for the cover of a nature-lovers magazine. They had never really spoken before - nothing more than benal small talk, at least - but she knew that he was the brother of Liam Jones. Liam had always been nice enough at the picnic that Mary Margaret hosted upon Emma’s arrival to the town eight months ago, asking her about her new business and offering to show her around the town as her own unofficial welcome party. But Killian Jones had always been distant and aloof, and it seemed that he was only that way toward her. It had frustrated her to no end to receive a cold shoulder from someone she barely knew, but Mary Margaret had immediately assured her that it couldn’t possibly be something she had said. “Men are strange,” she kept explaining. The words had brought her little comfort.

Still, no one could deny that he was absolutely gorgeous, and Ruby hadn’t failed to notice how her eyes lingered on him every time she caught sight of him at the diner he frequented. The fact that Killian Jones frequented said diner was only known to her on account that she happened to work there. Money was tight at the moment, and Ruby’s grandmother had kindly offered her a waitressing job when she had learned of her granddaughter’s new business venture. Emma hadn’t, in fact, been stalking him, no matter what Ruby’s wolfish grin at her slipping up that detail had implied. Even now, out of the corner of her eye, Emma could see Ruby waiting in the wings, arms crossed at her chest and face eager to see how their interaction would play out. Well, Emma wasn’t about to give her the time of day.

The man in question stood up straighter as he caught sight of her, nervously shoving his hands into his pockets.

“What can I do for you?” Emma asked politely, purposely keeping his name from falling from her lips.

Killian shuffled his feet, looking as though he wished to be anywhere but in her shop.

“I was looking for some flowers,” he replied simply, threading a thumb through his belt loop. The other came up to rub absently at his nose. It was a failed attempt at appearing casual, if Emma had ever seen one.

No shit, Sherlock, Emma thought to herself. Ruby snorted with laughter in her corner, clearly having had the same thought.

Emma gestured vaguely at the array of flowerpots and vases that filled every inch of available space of the many shelves and tables of the narrow shop.

“Well, you came to the right place,” Emma noted.

“It’s for a wedding.”

Emma tried and failed to hide her surprise. It wasn’t as though Killian wasn’t hot enough to land a woman, but she could have sworn that he hadn’t had a date at the welcome party. Emma was sure she would have remembered. Had he found a bride in the last few months? Or had his date been sick the day of the party?

Whatever. What did it matter who blue-eyes was marrying? It’s not like she was really planning on begging him for a date any time soon.

If it really didn’t matter though, why did she feel a knot forming in her stomach?

Killian must have noticed the confusion in her face.

“Liam’s,” he clarified, rolling his eyes. “And Elsa’s, of course. They’re planning their floral arrangements.”

Oh. Right. Mary Margaret had mentioned something about the two lovebirds getting married. Though, by the way Liam and Elsa had seemed almost shy and blushing around one another at the party, Emma would have thought that they resembled more “lovestruck teenagers” than fiancees.

I guess that’s love, for you.  

“Alright.” Emma grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from the cash register, preparing to take down the order. “When do you need them by?”

“Six weeks from now.”

She wrote that down, underneath his name in big block letters. In Boston, it would have been nearly impossible to fulfill an order in such a short period of time with so many florists using the same vendors, but in a small town like Storybrooke, there wasn’t much competition.

“And what kind of flowers were you thinking?”

Killian looked unsure. “Wedding...flowers?” He replied hesitantly.

It was Emma’s turn to roll her eyes. “No worries. I can go through some options with you in a bit. How many arrangements do you need?”

“Four dozen.”

Emma nearly dropped her pen.

“Four dozen?” Who in the hell needed that many arrangements for one, small town wedding?!

Killian only shrugged. “Elsa likes flowers. She said something about recreating spring in the winter. Or, something. I can’t recall, exactly.”

“Killian,” Emma began, her heart sinking in her chest. “I can’t complete an order like that.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Emma spluttered. “Well, for one, I don’t have nearly enough baskets or vases to put them in -”

“That’s not an issue,” Killian interrupted, waving his hand. “I can make the box frames for them easily enough.”

“You could make them?” Emma was skeptical, but Killian simply shrugged again.

“Why not?”

“Alright,” Emma tried again, “How about the fact that a set like that would cost you a fortune?”  

“Elsa’s family is footing the bill for them. Apparently she has some rich aunt from Norway or somewhere that left her a fortune. Why anyone would spend it on flowers, I’ll never know, but…”

“Even with that kind of money, I couldn’t possibly get an order for that many flowers and arrange them in that short amount of time? Ruby and I don’t have that kind of time.”

“I could help provide a third set of hands if you needed.”

“Killian, be serious.”

“I am being serious,” he replied, and something in his tone made Emma think he was. “I know how much this wedding means to them, and I’m willing to help in any way I can.”

Emma looked desperately at Ruby for help, but the brunette simply stared back, pensive. Finally, she quirked an eyebrow and gave a quick nod of approval. Ruby was in if she was.

Could they really do it?

Emma turned back to Killian, noting the look of determination on his face.

“Fine,” Emma sighed, throwing her hands up in surrender. “We’ll do it. For Liam and Elsa. But don’t blame me if this all goes to shit,” she added with a pointed glare.

A delighted grin broke out across his face.

“On my honour, Swan,” he promised, clapping his hands together in anticipation. “Now, where are the arrangement books?”

Elsa wanted blue flowers.

Of course she wanted blue flowers.

It didn’t leave the trio with many options in terms of flower choice, but after a long debate, they decided on a tasteful arrangement of white roses, daisies, light blue hydrangeas, and deep delphinium. Emma would trade out the daisies for lilies in some of them, and add in a few baby’s breath in others, but the main difference between the sets would be Killian’s intricately decorated boxes that he would create by hand over the next few weeks. Emma would place the order for the flowers, and a few days leading up to the wedding, Gus would pick them up during his usual runs to the distributor in Portland. It would be a mad dash to assemble the arrangements then, with all hands on deck needed to make the final preparations.

First and foremost, they would need to prepare the wooden boxes that would house the mini masterpieces. Even with Killian’s assurance that he was “perfectly capable of assembling them on time, thank you,” Emma wasn’t willing to risk four dozen flowers arriving on her doorstep with nowhere to put them. No, if they were in this, they were in it together.

And so it was decided; each morning for the next few weeks, Emma and Ruby would complete their regularly scheduled orders while Killian worked his job at the docks, and every afternoon would be reserved for assembling the wooden frames. It was a delicately balanced operation, made more difficult by the two owners’ waitressing jobs in the evening, but it could work.

Still, it didn’t stop Emma from cursing a certain blue eyed man with his stupid blue flowers when she returned home that night, feet sore and aching from another long shift at Granny’s. Nor did it stop her from grimacing when he walked into her shop the next afternoon, looking far too eager at seeing the sample arrangement she had managed to pull together earlier in the day. In his hand was a solid square wooden frame, with intricate criss crossing lattice on two sides. Emma couldn’t help but be impressed by the workmanship.

She led him into the back room, conscious of the fact that the mess left by her from yesterday had yet to be cleaned up, and had, in fact, even grown in size. If Killian noticed, he didn’t comment. Smart man.

“Is this it, then, Swan?” He asked, taking in the delicate display of blue flowers in the small glass cube she had borrowed.  

“Yeah, why?” She replied, a bit defensively. He may have had a pretty face, but it was hard for her to shake the way he’d avoided her, and she wasn’t sure if she trusted him.

“It’s wonderful,” he admired, turning it around in his hands to examine each side. “You have a talent.”

Emma let out a breath, seeing the truth in his eyes. “Thank you. Shall we see what it looks like in the frame?”

He nodded, as Emma carefully lifted the arrangement out of the vase and placed it in the carved wooden box. The final versions of the boxes would be painted white, and Emma had already decided on adding some extra ribbons as flourishings, but she couldn’t deny that it looked good. Damn, perhaps she could hire him to make others for her shop.

“I think it looks alright,” Killian noted with a smile, taking a step back. “What do you think, Swan?”

“I think it’ll work. How many do you have?”

“I’ve got a few dozen boards in my truck already. Wait here.”

Killian left to retrieve the materials from his old, rusted red pick-up, carrying in the loads one at a time. Soon, the back room was filled with boards, nails, and tools of various shapes and sizes that Emma had never even seen before, let alone used. She’d learned how to change a tire at an early age, and had earned just enough credits to pass arts and crafts, but she was by no means a builder. How was she ever meant to recreate the beautiful box he had made? And so many times over, for that matter?

Killian set down the last of the planks in a heap on the table before brushing his hands on his jeans and removing a handkerchief from his back pocket.

“I didn’t realise people still used handkerchiefs, old man,” Emma teased, as he blew his nose into the white cotton square.

Killian shot her a weak glare in between blows. “You would too, if you worked on a fishing boat all day. Nothing unmanly about a bit of cold ocean spray getting to your bones, Swan.”

“Whatever,” Emma conceded, playfully rolling her eyes. “Just don’t get me sick, yeah?”

They got to work arranging the piles, Emma following along as Killian explained how the boxes were to be assembled. Ruby joined them a few minutes later, receiving a brief tutorial on the process before returning to watch the front of the store. They would switch off on the hour, every hour, until the store closed for the night.

It was a rough start for Emma. None of the frames fit together in any way that made any sense, and how Killian had managed to hide the nails from sight for every box was baffling. But Killian was patient, and soon they had a small box that resembled the one he had brought in. From then on, it got easier, though Emma still found it unnerving to have to share her workspace with another. She’d stumbled into Killian on more than one occasion already, turning from a counter to find herself nearly chest to chest with him. Killian would always flush and step aside, muttering an apology as he’d reach around her for the tool he’d been searching for.

They made chit chat as they went, barely talking about more than the weather. Still, it was better than silence, and the broken pieces of conversation between them were already more words than they had ever spoken to each other. His lips seemed to loosen slightly when Emma had finally elected to take a break and make them both coffees. He’d raised an eyebrow when Emma had returned with a coffee for him done the way he liked it - black, with just a touch of sugar. The twinkle in his eye had remained after that, even after Emma had pointed out that it was all part of being a good waitress.

Emma asked about his work, something that eased the conversation along well. Killian seemed to love his job, and was eager to talk about the daily trips out on the ocean that he made along with his brother. The wind and rain that had been bombarding the small coastal town had made their work more difficult, but Killian loved a challenge. Emma was surprised to hear how many close calls the pair had had over the past few weeks, and Emma could swear the room seemed to rock beneath her feet as he described a particularly powerful wave that had nearly toppled them a few days earlier. Elsa had apparently given Liam grief for returning home that night, drenched to the bone and carrying a bucket of fresh fish that he had saved for them in celebration.

Emma had brushed aside questions about her life before arriving in Storybrooke. Only Ruby really knew anything about her past life, and that was only because they had practically been attached at the hip for the past few months. She wasn’t about to open up to old blue-eyes simply because he’d bothered to sit down and chat with her for the first time in months. He was handsome, but not that handsome.

Her fingers were pinched and sore by the time she finally closed up shop later that afternoon. They had only managed to get three boxes done, though that was likely due to Emma’s inexperience and Killian having to stop his own progress to check her work. It would get easier, he had promised with a smile. Emma dearly hoped he was right. Luckily, she had managed to hire a local girl, Ashley, to run the shop on the weekends, meaning she would at least have two days rest before she would have to attempt the boxes again. But looking once again at her red digits, Emma wasn’t quite sure that two days would suffice.

It was only Ruby’s insistence and pestering that pulled Emma out of bed come Monday morning.

The relaxing weekend Emma had longed for had turned into 48 hours of torturous hell. The city’s mayor, Regina Mills, had apparently taken offence to the size of the sign above of her shop, citing it as an eyesore and an infringement on the bylaws she had so carefully constructed. Or so it had been explained to Emma by the overly friendly police detective that had shown up on her doorstep at breakfast Saturday morning. By the way that detective Humbert blushed a deep scarlet every time he said the mayor’s name, Emma wasn’t sure that the mayor’s complaint had been technically by the books.

Sunday had brought its own unwelcome surprises. Emma had started the engine of her small yellow bug that morning, intent on finally getting some proper groceries for once, only to have it crap out on her three streets away. Gus, also the local mechanic when he wasn’t making runs into Boston to impress Ruby, had been nothing but accommodating, offering her one of the shop’s second hand chevy’s as a temporary loan. She’d taken it with a polite smile, but the gesture had done nothing to ease her stomach on the bill that was surely headed her way. Gus only fell further from her graces when he informed her that Marco had already begun taking down the sign for her shop per detective Humbert’s orders. She’d had to choke down her harsh words at that.

So it wasn’t entirely her fault that she slammed the car door as she arrived at her shop Monday morning, nor could anyone blame her for the glare she shot at the empty metal supports that had once held the words “Middlemist Flowers”. She couldn’t wait for the barrage of questions that were sure to come from curious patrons pointing out the change, as if she wasn’t already aware of the missing signage. Perhaps people wouldn’t come in at all, thinking she’d been shut down. Wouldn’t that be great, she grumbled.   

It was only when Emma found the door to her shop unlocked and lights on that she truly began to think that the day had gone down the toilet. Had Ashley forgotten to lock up yesterday? It wasn’t like her to do that, but her husband had told Emma when he’d come in for his shift at Granny’s on Friday evening that their little Alexandra had had a fever. Perhaps she had had to leave in a rush?

Emma pushed the door open and sighed a breath of relief to find everything apparently still in its place. The potted plants near the front remained undisturbed and the cash register appeared untouched. If someone had noticed the unlocked door, they hadn’t bothered to take advantage of the oversight, and on a day like today, Emma was ready to count that as a miracle.

She made her way to the back room and nearly dropped her bag in fright when she found a figure already seated on one of the high stools, waiting for her. Her heart settled back down a moment later as her sleep deprived brain finally caught up enough to place a name to the face.

“How did you get in here?” She asked, more harshly than she’d intended.

“Ruby let me in. What happened to your sign?” Killian asked, nodding toward the front of the store.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she grumbled, brushing past him to lay her jacket down on the stool in the corner. Perhaps she should have expected it, but the sound of the leather slipping off the seat and hitting the floor as she turned to face Killian only escalated her annoyance.

“Ruby was here?” She asked instead.

“Yes. She said something about Marco having come around and that she wanted to make sure you wouldn’t, as she put it, ‘freak out’.”

Emma wasn’t certain he deserved to be on the receiving end of her glare, but given as Ruby had already dashed off, she would have to settle for him.

“I’m not going to freak out,” she argued.  

Killian only looked on in amusement as he registered exactly how terribly the blond’s day was going so far. Well, he could go to hell, if he was going to be like that.

Actually, on a second glance, perhaps home would have been the better option. Whatever cold he’d caught days before had seemed to have gotten worse - his eyes were slightly red and puffy, and by the way his fingers twitched toward his nose, Emma was sure he was fighting back sneezes.

Emma nearly sent him home, citing a bad headache and a million other problems that she had to attend to today, when Killian walked over to the far counter and fetched two take-away cups of steaming coffee. Emma’s face lit up with surprise as he handed her one.

“I couldn’t work your coffee machine,” Killian explained, leaning past her to pick up her jacket off the floor and gently replacing it on the counter instead.

“Thanks,” Emma nearly stammered. “It - uh - the machine is a bit of a hell beast.”

“I noticed.”

“I’ll pay you back for the coffee,” Emma continued, taking a sip. God, the scent of the dark roast alone was enough to bring the day back to near tolerable levels.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Killian said with a smirk, leaning against the workbench. She didn’t miss the way he bit his bottom lip. “I’ve thought of another way you can repay me.”

Oh great. He probably wanted a discount on the order.

Or worse. A date.

Emma waited patiently, crossing her arms over her chest. It was a great shame that the rest of her coffee would soon be dumped into his lap. She had really been looking forward to the treat.

“I need help with my best man’s speech.”

Emma blinked. “What?”

“I’ve never had to write one before,” he explained. “I want it to be good.”

“And you think I’ve written one before?”

Killian rolled his eyes. “I think between the two of us we should be able to come up with something.”

Emma thought about it. She’d never been invited to a wedding before - she’d never had any close friends before moving to Storybrooke - but she’d seen enough movies to understand how best man speeches went, in theory. They usually began with a bunch of sentimental early childhood anecdotes, followed by jokes about the bride and groom’s dating history, and finishing with a sappy blessing about love and the couple’s hopes and dreams for the future.

Oh god, maybe it would have been better if he’d just asked her on a damn date.

Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Killian noticed her hesitation and beat her to it.

“Before you say no, can I just clarify that all I’m asking is that you listen to it and tell me if it’s complete shite. Please?”

Damn.

“Fine,” Emma conceded, settling down on one of the seats across from him. Why couldn’t she say no to him? They weren’t even really friends. “You can rehearse it with me as long as you can keep working on the boxes at the same time.”

‘Deal,” Killian agreed with a satisfied grin.

They set up their stations of wooden boards and screws while Killian took out a scrap of paper from his pocket. His entire draft was the size of a cocktail napkin. Good lord, they would have some work to do.

“I was thinking of starting with something classic. How about, ‘how is everyone doing tonight?’”

Emma made a face. “Yeah, if you want it to sound like a high school football rally.”

“I think it sounds fun!” He protested.

Emma shook her head. “How about something simple? Like, ‘Good Evening, Ladies and Gentlemen’? That’s pretty standard, I think.”

“Well, now that just sounds like a Ted Talk.”

“It’s supposed to sound formal!”

“Alright, alright,” Killian conceded. “We’ll get back to that later, then.”

The rest of the speech was better. It was clear that Killian and Liam were close, and his words seemed to flow easier as he talked about his older brother. Liam, she quickly learned, could do no wrong and had practically raised the pair after their father had left and their mother had died. Being an orphan herself, Emma could almost sympathize with his loss. She had never known her parents, having bounced around in the system for a while before finally settling for a life on the run. But she had never had anyone like Liam to rescue her. Especially not one selfless enough to forgo their dream of joining the navy to stay home and raise their kid sibling. Perhaps her life would have turned out differently if she had.

She managed a forced smile as Killian concluded his speech with a heartfelt well-wish for the future of the bride and groom. Unfortunately for her, Killian was perceptive.

“You hate it,” he noted, his face grim.

“No, no,” she hurried, looking for a plausible excuse for her sour mood. “I just… I’m not a big fan of weddings. Or marriage.”

Killian quirked an eyebrow. “But you own a flower shop that specialises is wedding arrangements.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like profiting off of them,” she pointed out.

“Have you ever even been in love?”

“No. I’ve never been in love.”

Killian simply hummed noncommittally.

Emma tensed. Was he judging her? “And what? You have? I don’t see you rushing to the altar either.”

It was the wrong thing to say. As soon as the words left her mouth and the cheeky grin faded into something much more melancholy, she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“Sorry,” she murmured awkwardly. “That wasn’t fair to say.”

“Not to worry, Swan,” he waved her off, picking up a nail and twisting it between his rough fingers. “You aren’t wrong. I thought I’d found a love worth marrying and it turned out to have all been a lie. So no, I’m not rushing to the altar.”

The bitterness in his voice made her heart sink. She had pushed her own cynicism too far and had succeeded in bringing him down with her. Misery may have loved company, but that didn’t make it right.

Just as she was about to open her mouth and apologise again, Ruby popped her head through the curtained doorway.

“Top of the hour,” she pointed out, nodding to the clock on the wall. “Want to switch?”

Emma looked down at the half built crate in front of her. She’d barely accomplished anything. She sighed, but stood from her station to switch with the brunette. Perhaps Ruby would be more successful than she had been. At the very least, Ruby might know to keep her negative thoughts to herself.

Ruby, it turned out, had been fielding orders all morning. There had been several orders for birthdays, some orders for anniversaries, and even a few nervous men looking for single roses for first dates by the time the shop closed that afternoon. All had come in a steady stream of visiting and all had taken their sweet time, much to Emma’s annoyance. She didn’t want to leave the man in the back to stew over her careless comments.

But her business came first, and Emma never managed to find a chance to switch off with Ruby again. The only glimpse of Killian she had managed was when he had left for the day, returning her small wave as she explained for the third time what a perennial was to the speckled teenager at the cash register. Ruby denied anything out of the ordinary as they worked their shift at Granny’s that night, but Emma could have sworn that Killian’s eyes had been red and puffy as he’d stepped out into the street.

Emma was certain that Killian wouldn’t show up the next day. Why would he? God, she’d gone and made a mess of things.

She’d already spent a good half hour worrying and mentally kicking herself before Killian finally walked into the backroom. His arrival was only a small relief to her nerves, however, and she felt a new wave of guilt rush over her when she caught sight of his wary expression. She could feel the bad news coming already.

“I, er, just came to say that I can’t stay today.”

Oh, great. She really had frightened him off yesterday. Damn. The most she could hope for would be that he would finish the boxes in private, as opposed to cancelling the entire order.

This was all her fault. She needed to make things right.

“That’s… alright,” she managed. “I get it. But I’ll still help. I want to help.”

His face scrunched with confusion. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Emma continued, gaining confidence in her words. “I know I said I don’t believe in marriage - and I still don’t - but I know how much this means to you and I want to help.”

“With… the wedding prep?”

“Yes.”

“Today?” He clarified, as though he couldn’t believe what she was saying.

“Yes, obviously.” Why couldn’t he understand that she was trying to be nice? Why was it so hard to believe that she was being sincere about helping build some stupid boxes and helping with some silly lines in a speech?

Killian stared back as if she’d just offered a marriage proposal herself. “Alright,” he began slowly, a cautious smile spreading across his handsome face. “I mean, I understand you’ll probably need to ask Ruby first, but it would be a pleasure, Swan.”

Emma blinked. A what now?

“Ask… Ruby?” She asked slowly, drawing out the words.

“Aye. I have no doubt she’ll be able to hold down the fort here for a few hours while we sample some cakes, especially being the co-owner and all, but it would still be polite to ask, don’t you think?”

Understanding didn’t so much “dawn on her” as “hit her full force like a bullet train”. Flowers, wedding speech, and cake duties? Was he the only one planning this wedding? But staring into his eager face, especially after she had all but crushed his spirits to dust the day before, Emma couldn’t find it in her to refuse.

Ruby was more enthusiastic about the sudden excursion than Emma would have liked. She’d nearly cackled when Emma had muttered about being back later, and had insisted that the pair take their time. And, of course, she’d waited for Killian to enter the room before she’d whispered a suggestion to the blond about other possible uses for frosting. Emma had dragged Killian from the shop before he could question the “oof” that Ruby wheezed out from being elbowed.

There was going to be hell to pay for later.

Emma had known that Mary Margaret owned the local designer cake shop, but she had never dared enter before. The pixie cut woman had nearly clutched her heart is shock when Emma had informed her that she never intended on getting married, and ever since then, Emma had been afraid that she would be bombarded with not-so-subtle nudges and prodding the moment she entered the shop. It was only her firm resolve to make up her blunder from the day before that kept her from bolting now, though she was unable to hide her cringe at the cheerful windchimes that sounded the moment Killian opened the door.  

The shop was about the same size as her own, with glass display cases and arrangements not unlike the ones that stood in Middlemist Flowers, but anyone who had ever met Mary Margaret could immediately sense her influence in the space. The walls were decorated floor to ceiling in framed pictures of various birds and small woodland creatures. Emma recalled hearing from the woman’s husband, David, that the couple were avid bird watchers, but she hadn’t realised exactly how far that extended. Contrasted against the dark green walls, the entire room gave the impression of being in a dense forest.

Emma lingered by the door as Killian walked up to the counter.

“I think they call that ‘hookers green’,” Killian commented, nodding toward the nearest wall. Clearly Emma hadn’t been to the only one to notice the eccentric decor.

“They do not,” Emma snorted. “I think it’s called hunter green actually.”

“Ah, that sounds better,” he admitted with a slight smirk. “This colour is actually rather close to the shade of your eyes.”

The attempt at a compliment threw her. Was he trying to be friendly now?

“Been looking at my eyes a lot?”

“Is there somewhere else you’d rather me look?” He was almost smirking at her sudden blush. Emma ignored the bait.

“No,” she said instead, “and my eyes aren’t nearly as dark as that.”

“They are when you’re upset. Or when you haven’t had your morning coffee.”  

“Let’s agree not to test that theory, shall we?”

“Killian!”

Mary Margaret’s slight frame came into view as she practically skipped around the counter toward Killian. Emma wasn’t sure she’d be surprised if a flock of doves flew out from behind her. She was truly a Disney princess come alive, that woman.

“Anna said you were coming, but you’re late - and of course, you’re never late - so I - Oh, Emma!”

Emma was enveloped in a tight hug before she even had a chance to make the last few steps to the door.

“What are you doing here?” The pixie cut girl asked as she pulled away.

Emma looked to Killian for assistance. “Er, well, Killian said he was coming to taste come cake samples for Liam and Elsa’s wedding, and I just sort of thought I’d, you know….help.”

It was a lame answer, but Mary Margaret’s eyes lit up as though she had just announced her own wedding.

“That’s so sweet! It’s always nice to have a friend help out with these sorts of things.”

“Oh, we’re not friends,” Emma clarified quickly. It was a defensive move, one that she regretted almost immediately, but the words were already out and she couldn’t take them back. “We… work together,” she finished instead.

A look of deep confusion crossed Mary Margaret’s face before it was quickly replaced by understanding and then amusement. Just as Emma was about to rush out a second half-baked explanation, the cake shop owner turned her doe eyes on Killian.

“I didn’t know you had a green thumb,” she cooed, mischief in her eyes.

Killian blushed a furious red, his hand coming up to scratch nervously behind his ear. “It’s for Liam. He asked for several dozen arrangements and I thought I’d be a gentleman and help out.”

Emma didn’t appreciate the knowing smile Mary Margaret flashed them.

“I’m in a bit of a rush,” Emma pushed, hoping Mary Margaret would get the hint and let the matter drop. “I left Ruby at the shop alone. Mind if we get started?”

The petite woman nodded and led the pair into a side room Emma hadn’t noticed before. The small, circular table was covered in cake slices, the lips of dishes overlapping each other as someone had clearly attempted to fill the tight space with as many samples as possible. It would be a miracle if she managed to walk out afterwards without several cavities and a stomach ache, Emma thought.

Killian pulled out a seat for her as they approached while Mary Margaret quickly listed off the various flavours and cake styles that were before them. Some were definitely on the more unusual end of the spectrum - orange flavoured icing was a first for Emma - but there were certainly more than a few that sounded appetizing. As it was, Emma was only really half paying attention, too busy strategizing an escape plan if the little outing started to go south. It never hurt to have a plan in place for such things.

As the cake shop owner left to give the pair some privacy, Emma reached forward and selected the plate closest to her. She took a mouthful and almost groaned in delight. It was delicious. “How did I know?”

Emma looked up in time to see Killian reaching for his own plate, a smirk already plastered on his face. ‘Know what?”  

Killian nodded at the already half eaten slice before her. “Coffee cake?”

Emma shot him a look. “Everyone has their preferences.”

“Aye, that they do,” he agreed, taking a bite of his own cake. He did groan. The sound went straight to her core.

“Swan, you have to try this one,” he moaned, handing the plate over to her.

She set it down and took a bite, her face contorting at the taste?

“Is this rum flavoured?” She coughed out. The taste of alcohol was overpowering all of her senses. It felt as though she had been thrown back to her bail bonds days, and she almost expected to look down to find herself in a little black dress.    

Killian grinned excitedly. “It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

Emma shook her head, grabbing a glass of water from the table to wash it down. “You can’t pick that one.”

“Why ever not?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “What wedding have you ever been to that has had rum cake?”

“Exactly! It’s unique.”

“Save it for your own wedding, Jones.”

Her tone was light and teasing, having nowhere near the accusing bite that her harsh word the day before had contained, but somehow, that was the wrong thing to say.  His face dropped immediately, his eyes turning down to the food in front of him to avoid her gaze.

“I’m afraid my own wedding cake was a simple vanilla one, Swan,” he said after a moment.

Emma’s heart dropped to her stomach. He was married? Oh, how typical. How fantastic. Of course he was married. Why wouldn’t he be? She had already established that he was handsome and kind, and it only made sense that the moment she found herself actually possibly liking him that he would be taken. This only further proved what she had known all along; Emma Swan’s life continued to be one big, cruel joke.   

It was at that moment that something occurred to her, something that made her see red. He had been hiding that bombshell the entire time, just waiting to reveal it at a later time. After he had already flirted with her. After he’d already made her feel things.

And he wasn’t wearing a ring.

“You should have told me,” she spat out, her eyes filled with rage. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you think you’re playing, but I won’t be a part of it.”

His blue eyes blew wide with shock.”Swan, I-“

She cut him off, her anger taking control. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not some stupid bridesmaid that’s just going to fall into your lap for a quick-“

“Emma, stop!”

Emma fell silent, not so much because he’d asked as because she’d run out of words to say.

“I’m not married. I never was.”

It sounded like the truth, but it wasn’t enough.

“No, of course not. You just make a habit of ordering wedding cakes, do you? Or is this your gig right here,” she continued, motioning at the table between them, “inviting women out to plan dream weddings with you in hopes that they’ll fall for your stupid charms?”

“You’re not listening,” he groaned, rubbing a hand across his face.

“I don’t need to sit here and listen to you try to weasel your way out of this one. Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”

“Bloody hell, Swan! She left me. Alright? She left me at the altar.”

Well damn, she hadn’t expected that. The blood drained from her face as she finally looked at him - really looked. He had paled as well at his own revelation, but his blue eyes were crystal clear with truth, and they were pleading for her to settle down.

“But who would -“

“Who would do that?” It was his turn to cut her off. “Someone who was already married and who didn’t have the guts to tell me until after she’d already skipped town on our wedding day.”

Emma’s eyes blew wide. “Oh.” It was all she could say.

“Aye,” he nodded, noticing her stunned silence. “She did that. And I was the man stupid enough to believe her. I believed her when she said she needed our relationship to be quiet, that her family wouldn’t approve of me. That she was brave for being with me anyways.”

He was getting worked up now, the words spilling forth like a burst dam. He’d been holding the words back for a while now, it seemed. Emma could only sit, her heart breaking in her chest, as she waited for the rest of it.

“So when I proposed, I didn’t care that she hesitated, that she finally agreed to a small ceremony, just the two of us. But I was foolish and wanted to make it perfect for her, so I ordered a cake and bought a suit and…” He took a breath to steady himself. “And word got out, and people started to talk. The morning of the wedding I went to the chapel where we’d made plans to meet Archie to marry us, but instead I found a lousy letter explaining that she was married to some pawn shop owner a few towns over and she couldn’t be with me anymore. I never saw her again.”

“What was her name?”

“Milah.”

“Milah’s a coward.”

Killian let out a half laugh, looking stunned now too. “What?”

Emma shrugged, regaining her composure. “People get tricked all the time by pretty faces. It’s not your fault you fell for it. She’s the coward and the one who should feel ashamed.”

“I very much doubt she does,” he muttered.

“They never do.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Speaking from experience, are you?”

“The man I always thought I’d marry set me up for a robbery and left me to rot in jail.”

It was a tough admission, and a topic that she had avoided discussing with anyone for years now, but it felt right to say it. Besides, it was almost worth the onslaught of bad memories just to see Killian’s jaw drop to the floor.

“What?” He breathed, his face crumpled in anger and disbelief.

“It was a long time ago,” she pointed out, “but yeah. I didn’t have the most traditional of upbringings and had to fend for myself at a young age. We were street thieves in Boston together when I was a teenager and I fell for him. I thought he liked me back but then there was a close call with a bag of stolen watches and he turned me in to cover his own ass.”

“What’s his name,” Killian nearly demanded, his eyes dark. Somehow Emma was certain that he wasn’t looking for the answer simply to call him a coward too.

“Neal Cassidy, and before you get any ideas,” Emma hurried, almost certain she could see Killian committing the name to memory for later, “it’s already taken care of.”

“Like hell it is.”

Damn, why was his eagerness to defend her honour so hot? Still, Emma thought she’d better clear things up before Killian offered to track Neal down himself and challenge him to a duel to the death.

“Trust me, it is. I took care of it myself.”

She could tell he was unconvinced, the anger at her slight burning in his eyes.

“When I got out of jail I got a job as a bail bonds woman,” she continued. “It was the only job I could get but I was damn good at it. I went on a lot of bad dates, tracked down a lot of skeevy guys, and hauled a lot of sorry asses out of some really nasty places.”

Killian’s face remained stoney. Of course that part of the story wouldn’t have offered much reassurance, she supposed. She’d have to try again.

“Anyways, one day I got a job from this woman named Tamara. Apparently her fianc��e had skipped bail and had taken a bunch of her money in the process. I agreed to track him down for her and make sure she got everything she was owed.”

“It was Neal. Wasn’t it?” He was ahead of her.

“Mhm, but he’d changed his last name to Baelfire, so I didn’t know until I literally ran into him while I was chasing him down. I think I scared the crap outta him.”

“No doubt you did,” he agreed. “Did you get him?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Please tell me you weren’t gentle.”

“I may have been a bit rough,” Emma admitted.

“How did it feel?”

Emma smiled despite herself. “Damn good.”

Killian’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Well then, Swan. It looks like we make quite the pair, don’t we?”

“I guess we do.” Emma raised her water glass to him in toast. “A toast; to terrible romances.”

Killian picked up his own glass and clinked it against hers. “To new beginnings.”

The click of heels against the tile floor signalled the return of the shop owner.

“Have you decided?” Mary Margaret asked, eyeing the barely touched plates with a slight frown.

“Aye,” Killian announced, removing his napkin from his lap. “I think we’ll go with the coffee one.”

Emma’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are.. are you sure? You haven’t even tried the rest.”

“I’m certain, Swan,” he reassured her. “Elsa made it clear that she wanted something non traditional and my brother made it clear that Elsa was to get whatever she wanted. And it seems you two share a passion for coffee, so I will defer to your expert judgment on this one.”

Emma nearly flushed. “You don’t need to do that, but okay.”

It was almost irritating how excited Mary Margaret looked. “Oh, wonderful!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Perfect choice! I know Elsa will love it.”

Ordering a cake for a wedding was not as easy as only choosing the cake flavours, Emma soon discovered. There was the matter of size, shape, icing, delivery time. With every new piece of information that Mary Margaret asked for, Emma felt herself becoming less and less interested in the process. She considered bailing when the shop owner brought out an array of cake toppers for Killian to inspect, but judging by how Killian’s face also dropped at the sight, she figured he needed the support. It couldn’t be easy to pick out the wedding cake for someone else when his own wedding plans had gone so terribly wrong. It made her wonder what Liam could have possibly said to him to get him to agree to take on so much of the wedding planning.

Maybe it was pity that had Emma agreeing to accompany him on his errand the next day regarding catering. After all, Emma had an “in” with the owner, and it only made sense that Killian would want her present when he informed Granny that Liam and Elsa would be adding an extra dozen people to the guest list. Granny had thrown her hands in the air and exclaimed that it couldn’t possibly be done on such short notice, but between the two of them, they won her over. “Alright,” the grey haired woman sniffed finally. “But I don’t care what kind of winter theme they’re having, I’m still not letting Kristoff bring his reindeer anywhere near my food!”

Going to meet the wedding photographer with Killian a few days later had only been because the flower shop had had a slow morning and the pair had grown tired of working with boxes for the day. Besides, the man that Liam and Elsa had chosen to hire was Sidney Glass, the chief editor and photographer for the town’s local newspaper, and if Emma could convince him to run a short piece about Middlemist Flowers in his next issue, it would only help drum up business. So really, that errand was work related.

Ruby’s knowing smile seemed to be becoming a permanent feature of hers when, two weeks later, Emma announced that she would need another afternoon off to help Killian make final preparations for the reception hall. Emma couldn’t say exactly why she felt compelled to assist him with that errand, other than the fact that she had already accompanied him on the other excursions and it seemed like the right thing to do. Liam had clearly overloaded his brother with wedding preparations, and it didn’t seem fair to leave him to balance everything himself.

The sun had dropped behind the horizon by the time they left the hall, leaving the small town in shadows and bringing a slight chill to the air. The niping wind made Emma regret not having grabbed her jacket when she’d left the shop that morning, but she hadn’t anticipated being out so long. She considered for a moment going to get it, but Ruby had likely already closed up shop and she didn’t want the struggle of resetting the security alarms. She would just have to cross her arms over her chest and hope that her teeth didn’t begin to chatter before she made it back to her car.

Noticing her discomfort, Killian immediately began stripping off his own leather jacket, getting ready to hand it over to her.

“I’m good,” Emma protested. “You keep it.”

“Nonsense. You’re freezing.”

“You will be too if you don’t wear it. And you live in the opposite direction.”

Killian shrugged, holding out the black leather to her. “It’s a nice night. I don’t mind walking you back.”

“I don’t need an escort.”

“Bloody hell, Swan. Just take the jacket.” Killian groaned, rolling his eyes.

Fine, then. If he wanted to be cold then he could be.

She slipped her arms into the sleeves, readjusting the heavy fabric as it came up across her shoulders. Immediately, the warmth began to seep back into her bones. Maybe she had been a bit colder than she had let on.

Killian looked pleased as she mumbled out a simple “thank you”. She still wasn’t convinced that he wouldn’t catch his death in the ten minutes or so that they’d be walking to the flower shop parking lot, but she somehow knew that bringing up the fact that he had been suffering from on and off colds for days now wouldn’t do any good. Though, she had noticed that his nose was less red and his eyes a little more clear today. Maybe the fresh air and walk outside was doing him some good.

Maybe it was doing Emma some good too.

It was difficult to admit - and certainly not something that she would admit to him - but spending her days with Killian over the past few weeks wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d feared. Even with all the wedding planning. He was kind and helpful, and maybe a bit quiet at first, but she had quickly learned that he had a flirtatious side too. She hadn’t failed to notice the way his eyes had lingered on her lips as she’d sipped her morning coffee the other day, or the scandalizing look he’d given her the day she’d complained offhand about how hot her sweater was. It was a far cry from the men she had been around before her arrival to Storybrooke. Then again, she’d never really enjoyed any time she’d spent with any of them, and she certainly hadn’t told any of them about Neal.

There was something different about Killian, something that had her eying the sky high walls she had built around herself and wondering what it might be like to peer over the other side.

Emma was so lost in thought, wrestling with a decision that she couldn’t quite put words to, when Killian’s voice broke the silence.

“How did you become a florist?”

Emma frowned, the question catching her off guard. “What?”

“You said that you used to be a bail bonds person,” he reminded her. “How did you go from that to being a florist?”

Emma gave a one shoulder shrug, the buttery leather wrinkling at the movement. “After finding Neal again, I guess tracking down scumbags wasn’t what I wanted to do anymore. I was still friends with the woman who ran the halfway house I was placed in after I was released, and she suggested that I work in her sister’s flower shop. I used to help Ingrid around the shop to kill time between assignments anyways, and I guess she thought I was good enough to work for her.”

“She was right,” Killian said with a smile.

“I hope so,” Emma admitted. “Ingrid’s other sister fell sick with pneumonia while she was skiing in the Alps, so Ingrid was always away visiting her. I basically ran the shop myself most days.”

“I take it the sisters were close?”

“Very. Ingrid finally decided to stay in Denmark permanently so that she could be with her sister, and she gave me permission to sell the shop. She gave me a good portion of the profits to start a new shop wherever I liked. I found a good lease here, and I guess the rest is history.”

“Sounds like you’ve had quite the journey, Swan,” Killian said, as they turned the corner into the story parking lot. “Would it be very selfish of me to say that I’m pleased that you decided to find your home here?”

“Hey, I never said that Storybrooke was my home,” Emma pointed out.

Killian furrowed his brow. “What more are you looking for?”

Well, wasn’t that a loaded question.

“I guess...,” Emma started, trying to find her words. “Home is supposed to be the place where, when you leave, you just miss it.”

“Sounds lonely,” Killian noted.

“Maybe,” Emma conceded, “but it’s what I’ve always done, and it’s what works for me. Why ruin a good thing, you know?”

Killian took a step closer, his face nearly unreadable. Nearly.

“I used to believe the same,” he confessed lowly, his words tinged with a hint of nervousness. “Until I met you.”

Emma felt her breath catch. What was she supposed to say to that?

Her mind was whirling and she could feel the nerves and doubts creeping into her heart. She hadn’t had enough time to consider any of this yet. She’d only known him for a matter of weeks, and most of their hangouts had been in her own shop, as employees. Or volunteers. Or whatever. They weren’t romantically involved. Yet? Maybe a date with Killian wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Hadn’t she already been half way considering it just minutes before? Hadn’t she? Since when was asking a man out for coffee such a difficult task?

Oh God, she needed to say something.

“Killian, I …” She trailed off, feeling her mouth go dry. “I just wanted to thank you.”

Well, that hadn’t been what she had meant to say. Killian stood silently, clearly confused.

“For your help with the boxes,” she clarified, mentally kicking at the wall she could feel rising in her mind. “I couldn’t have done this with you.”

He smiled, though there was a hint of disappointment behind it. His eyes seemed slightly less blue than they had just been. “Of course, Swan. As I said before, we make quite the team.”

And then he was walking away, wishing her a good night and promising to see her first thing in the morning. Emma waited until his retreating form had disappeared from view down the adjacent street before giving a swift, frustrated kick to her bug’s tire.

“Well, what do you think?”

Emma looked up from where she was huddled over a semi-constructed box and nearly gasped at the sight in front of her.

Killian was dressed head to toe in a black tuxedo, his hair brushed properly to the side, his leather shoes shiny. The crystal blue cufflinks at the edge of his wrists matched almost perfectly to his piercing blue eyes, Emma thought. He’d never looked so good.

“You look…” Emma’s thoughts trailed off as she tried to find a word less salacious than ‘delicious’.

Killian, sensing her loss for words, smirked proudly. “I know.”

Emma rolled her eyes, mainly to break her gaze away from the man before him before she bore a hole in his suit.

“I was going to say you look decent,” Emma clarified.

“A true compliment! I must have caught you after your first cup of coffee, have I?” He teased, pulling back a chair to join her at the counter.

The boxes had been coming along well over the past few weeks. Even though the back room looked like a complete disaster zone, Emma was sure they would be able to complete the last of the order by the weekend. And Killian was partially right; the addition of the new coffee maker Killian had lugged in the morning after her old one had finally kicked the bucket had done wonders for both her mood and productivity. If he hadn’t called in announcing that he would be late coming in this morning, Emma was sure he would have met her at the door with a steaming cup, just as he always did. Emma thought he was crazy for being such an early riser, but she could keep that to herself if it meant caffeine first thing in the morning.

“What are you doing?” Emma asked, as Killian reached for the half finished box he hadn’t had time to complete the day before.

“Helping.”

“But you’re dressed up!”

“Very astute observation, Swan,” Killian teased again, pulling his set of tools toward him.

Emma made a face. “You can’t go messing up your suit when we actually found something that looks remotely good on you.”

“Two compliments in the same day? It really must be my lucky day.”

“At least take off the jacket,” Emma insisted, earning her an exaggerated huff. Still, a moment later the jacket was removed and delicately placed on the cleanest corner of the workbench. The slim legged suit pants he was wearing would likely be wrinkled by the end of the day, but at least he had elected to go with a simple blue shirt underneath.

“I wore this today to garner your approval before the wedding on Saturday,” Killian explained, as he settled back into his seat. “I’m being proactive.”

“Exactly,” Emma countered. “If you ruin this one, you only have two days to find another one. And since when does my approval mean anything to you?”

Emma was surprised to see Killian reach up to scratch behind his ear. It was an obvious nervous tick that she had come to associate with him, though she couldn’t imagine what could have spurned it. “I didn’t say that it did,” he replied lamely.  

“You did,” Emma countered, “just then.”

“You’re sorely mistaken. I simply implied that you might like to see what I was wearing for Saturday.”

“Because…?” Emma pressed. She would get the truth one way or another.

Killian was flushing now. He was definitely up to something. “Well, because, Emma, I have another favour to ask you.”

There it was.

Killian must have seen the look of hesitation on her face, because he immediately reached out to place a reassuring hand on hers. How was he to know that it was having the exact opposite effect?

“I was wondering if you’d care to be my date for my brother’s wedding.”

Emma’s heart was thrumming so loudly in her chest that she almost didn’t hear her own response. “Your date?”

“Well, not a date-date, but… as my date.”

Emma deflated. “Oh.”

“I figured that you’re putting all that effort to make the arrangements for me, and you’ve been a great help with the rest of the wedding preparations, so you might as well come to see the fruits of your labours.”

“Yes, I might as well,” she muttered, not quite sure why her mood had soured.

Killian must have sensed the change in mood. “Of course, you don’t have to. I understand if it’s too last minute, or if -”

“No, no,” Emma added quickly. “I’d love to. I guess I should see how the bride and groom like my arrangements.”

“Okay.” Killian seemed unconvinced. “I can pick you up at one o’clock?”

Emma’s smile felt forced, even to her. “Sure.”

They finished the boxes they had planned for the day, plus a few extra, leaving only a small handful left to complete the next day. Killian wouldn’t be able to come in to complete them - he had the rehearsal dinner to attend in the evening and one last errand to run before then - but Ruby had agreed to step in to help out.

It wasn’t a big deal that she’d been invited to the wedding last minute. She had been invited - as a courtesy - and she had graciously accepted. So Emma really couldn’t understand why Ruby felt the need to rush through the last few boxes so that her business partner would have time to go home and pick out an outfit for the next day, especially when she should have been supervising the incoming shipment of flower arrangements that Gus had finally received. Still, Emma felt herself being almost shoved out of the doors to her own shop when the clock struck five on Friday.

To get ready for her “not a date” to a wedding that -  if you asked Emma - she really had no business attending.

It took two cups of coffee the next morning before she could even contemplate getting dressed. She’d already tried on the red dress the night before and had determined it at least fit, but she was still undecided on whether it was really appropriate for a wedding scene. All of the dresses she owned had been bought with the intention of luring in skeevy bail jumpers, and some were stained from where an angry date had spilled wine on it in their rush to flee. She should probably have tossed them all out on moving day, she thought, eyeing the sorry looking pile.

Sighing, she removed the overly fitted dress and walked over in the next room to Ruby’s closet. Most of her dresses were just as short, but she found one that looked as though it would do the trick. Pulling it on, Emma moved to stand in front of the standing mirror in the corner. It fit perfectly, and though it wasn’t quite as long as Emma might have liked, the long sleeves and delicate floral colours splashed over the dark fabric were tasteful. She could work with this.

She’d just finished the last of her hair and makeup when the doorbell rang, signalling Killian’s arrival. Emma grabbed her purse and slipped on her only pair of nude pumps and swung open the door.

He was wearing the same suit as he’d worn to the shop, but he’d added a black tie and light blue pocket square to the ensemble. He’d also exchanged the wrinkled white shirt from earlier with a freshly pressed one. Someone had clearly taken extra care in making sure Killian was suitably dressed for the occasion. He was even wearing the pale blue elephant she’d made for each groomsman.

Killian’s eyes lit up as he took in her form.

“Swan, you look…”

“I know,” Emma quipped, echoing his response from before. Killian didn’t seem to notice, his eyes soft.

“Killian?”

“Yes?”

“You did bring the invitations, right?”

“What? Oh! Yes.” Killian fumbled around in his jacket pocket for a moment until he produced two blue and white invitations. He handed one to Emma just as she finished locking the door behind her.

The entire town seemed to have come out to see Liam and Elsa be married, and it was slow moving through the thick line of cars filling the street that led to the church. Killian had turned on the radio of his rusted red pick up, but Emma was far too nervous to pay attention to the music. Killian was humming along as the woman sang, his deep voice almost enough to soothe her nerves. They had left in plenty of time, sure,  but Emma still worried that Killian was shirking his duties as best man by being tied up in traffic with the wedding florist. It was only after Killian had reassured her for the millionth time that David had been assigned chaperone duties for the groom that morning, and that he wouldn’t be needed until later, that she finally began to relax.

They made it to the small church with more than enough time to spare, though that did not stop Mary Margaret from immediately rushing over and practically hauling Killian out of the driver’s seat to shove him in the direction of the doors that led to the room reserved for the groomsmen. Before Emma had a chance to mourn the loss of her only tie to the event, she felt herself be dragged by the elbow toward another set of doors leading to the chapel. Mary Margaret was surprisingly strong for being so petite.

The chapel was small, but well lit by the sunlight passing through the stain glass windows. The minister, Archie, was stood by the front, conversing with groomsmen who had been ushered in just moments before. Emma recognized her own flower arrangements along the walls and aisle, the vibrant blues and whites standing out proudly in their little wooden boxes. Ruby and Gus had woken up in the early hours of the morning to ensure that everything would be prepared properly for the big day. She had felt guilty for not being there to help, but by the way that her colleague was cozied up in the corner with her delivery man, Emma thought Ruby hadn’t minded their time alone.

It was a small relief that Emma found herself being directed toward a seat between Mary Margaret herself and Marco, the local carpenter. It would be a while before the actual ceremony would start, but her ever social seatmate made sure to fill the empty time by introducing Emma to everyone around them. How they had managed to fit so many people into the small room, Emma had no idea, but in a matter of minutes, the number of people Emma could put a name to a face to had tripled. Emma was relieved to find that she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t brought along a romantic date to the event; Marco had brought along his son, August, and the local hat maker, Jefferson, had brought along his daughter, Grace. The little girl sat just off to the side, tall and poised in her flower girl dress as she waited for her instructions from the bridesmaids that were lingering by the door.

The woman three seats over was Regina, who had had to wrestle her eleven year old into a bow tie that morning and had spent every moment since adjusting it. Despite having ordered the removal of her shop sign, the mayor didn’t show any indication that she recognized the florist seated near her, which suited Emma just fine. There was no reason to start an argument with the evil queen in the middle of a wedding.

Her son, however, didn’t seem to have a malicious bone in his body, and was happy to chat with Emma about anything and everything. The boy confided in her a few minutes later, when his mother’s back was turned, that he’d only agreed to wear the bow tie so that his mother would be less upset later when he revealed he was wearing his stormtroopers shirt underneath his suit. Emma shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that all the boys in the wedding party had agreed to do the same, and that Killian had been the mastermind behind that scheme. As a woman, Emma had been sworn to secrecy about “Operation Jedi”, of course. His mother had turned back just in time to catch the conniving smile on her son’s face, but before she could question it, the music began.

The ceremony was beautiful. Elsa looked like a nordic princess straight out of a fairy tale book, the sequins and beads sewn into her long dress shimmering in the light. Liam was beaming as he watched his soon-to-be wife make her way down the aisle that Grace had adorned with petals only moments earlier, his expression nearly giddy. By chance, Emma found herself catching Killian’s eye from where he stood next to David, and he immediately pulled a face of exasperation at his brother’s puppy eyes. Emma had to bite down on her lip to keep from laughing. He continued sneaking glances at her for the rest of the ceremony, only fully focusing again as the bride and groom finished exchanging their vows. The room filled with cheers and applause as the couple kissed as newlyweds for the first time, and before Emma knew it, the ceremony was over.

Emma felt a surge of pride at seeing the rest of her arrangements decorating the tables of the reception hall. Killian had been right; it was a great privilege to see their weeks of hard work come to fruition. Mary Margaret excused herself after a few minutes, leaving to find her husband as the groomsmen began to slowly make their way into the room. Emma lingered awkwardly by the snack table, contemplating how many cups of punch she could get away with serving herself before someone might notice her stalling.

“Ah, Emma! There you are.”

Killian nearly made her jump as he came up behind her.

“What did you think of the ceremony?” He asked, beaming. Maybe it was the romantic atmosphere, or simply the lingering joy at having her weeks of hard work displayed so prominently for everyone to see, but Emma found herself grinning back.

“It was beautiful,” she replied. Gesturing to the displays around the room, she added, “I think our hard work paid off, don’t you?”

“Aye, I believe it did,” he agreed proudly. “This way, Swan. Time to give our well wishes to the happy couple.”

Emma followed him as he weaved through the growing crowd of people, pausing only momentarily to wait each time a hand came out to clap Killian on the shoulder in greeting as they passed. Killian would exchange a quick greeting with them, blushing when the women complimented him on his suit, before politely excusing himself to continue the search for his brother. It was strange to see him like this, Emma thought. It had taken far longer for him to warm up to her.

Liam and Elsa were standing near the spectacular, multi-tiered wedding cake that Mary Margaret had prepared, looking just as smitten as they had the entire morning. Liam nodded at his brother as he noticed the pair approaching, before leaning down to whisper something in his new wife’s ear. Elsa’s gaze immediately fell on Emma, a suspicious twinkle filling her eyes. Emma tried not to squirm. She only hoped Killian hadn’t let on that she had been the one to suggest the flavour of their wedding cake.

“My little brother!” Liam exclaimed as they neared. “I’d wondered where you’d run off to.”

“I think you mean ‘younger’ brother,” Killian corrected.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Emma,” Elsa said, moving to place a kiss on each of Emma’s cheeks.

“You too,” Emma replied politely, pulling back. “Congratulations to you both!”

“Thank you!”

“Yes, and thank you so much for all of your help organizing this all for us,” Liam added. “You did a wonderful job.”

“It was nothing,” Emma replied awkwardly, unused to such praise.

“Nonsense! It means the world to us both,” Liam insisted. “Now, I think it might be time for some pictures of the Jones boys, don’t you think?”

Liam and Killian moved off to hail down Sidney, who was just finishing up a set of shots of the bridesmaids. Emma watched as the men positioned themselves in front of one of the larger floral displays Emma had created, the blues in the flowers matching perfectly with the blue accessories each were sporting.

“Your arrangements are absolutely gorgeous,” Elsa noted, pulling Emma’s attention away from the groom and best man.

“Killian helped do a lot of it. He designed the boxes for them.”

“Yes, funny, that,” Elsa commented, looking out at the man in question as he pulled a face for the camera. “I was surprised that he was so eager to help with the flower arrangements.”

“How so?”

“Didn’t you know?” Elsa continued, her smile knowing, even as Emma frowned in confusion. “Oh, Killian’s dreadfully allergic to flowers.”

Emma’s jaw nearly dropped. “What?” She asked, before she could stop herself.

“Oh yes,” Elsa explained, her grin widening. “Anything with pollen just makes him tear right up and gives him the worst sniffles. Liam jokes that that’s why he chose to work out on the seas. No ‘bloody plants’ to deal with.”

Emma could feel the facts clicking into place in her mind as realisation dawned on her.

That little-

“Would you excuse me for just one moment?” Emma asked politely, plastering her own smile across her face. It was nothing near the giddy grin that Elsa had - a very Ruby-like grin, Emma thought - but it would have to do. “I need to go have a word with your best man.”  

Emma brushed through the crowd, making her way toward Killian just as he and his brother were finishing up their shoot. A moment later, the music that had been playing in the background began to taper off and David was summoning over a microphone for the bride and groom to prepare for their first dance together.

“That’s my cue,” Emma heard Liam say as he left in search of his wife. Killian nodded at his brother before turning to face her.

“Ready the show?”

Emma cherished the look of surprise on his face as she held out her elbow for him to take. “Absolutely.”

They found a spot around the edge of the dancefloor and watched as the newlyweds took their place in the center. The music began, a dreamy melody that Emma was sure would put even the darkest of souls into a wondrous trance. The pair swayed as they clutched to each other, barely seeming to notice the room of onlookers. Combined with the soft light of the chandelier above, and the delicate jewels twinkling and dancing along the white satin dress, it was a scene that could put any fairy tale movie to shame.

Emma looked up to see Killian gazing at his brother with pride.

“Elsa wanted me to thank you for your help with the arrangements,” Emma murmured to him.

“It was nothing,” Killian replied, echoing her words from earlier. His eyes hadn’t moved from his brother.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Emma corrected. “Especially with your allergies, and all.”

Killian’s gaze snapped to hers, and Emma had to stop herself from laughing as his eyes blew wide.

“She told you?”

“Yes, she did. But it should have been you,” she scolded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

A deep flush crawled up his neck as he raised a hand to scratch behind his ear.

“I didn’t know how else to garner your attention,” he admitted. “I wanted to make an impression.”

“Why?” It was a stupid question, but it slipped out.

“Don’t you know, Emma?” He asked, his eyes tender. “I wanted to ask you out.”

It was Emma’s turn to look surprised.

“Why didn’t you just ask me?!”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d react!”

“Oh my god,” Emma murmured, her heart feeling lighter despite her exasperation. “But you didn’t even talk to me before, at Mary Margaret’s party!”

Killian shrugged. “I was nervous! I would have asked for your number then and there, but the opportunity never presented itself. So I improvised.”

“By showing up everyday and having an allergy attack?”

“To be fair, it seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Men.

They were interrupted by a round of applause from the crowd, signalling the end of the first dance. Almost as soon as the song petered out, a new song began, this one faster and lighter. Emma felt Killian take her hand in his, and a moment later he was pulling her on to the dance floor. They danced and twirled, while Emma did her best to avoid spearing his foot with her high heels. Killian was likely a better dancer than he was letting on, but he kept breaking off to throw in some truly ridiculous moves to get a laugh from her. And damn, if Emma hadn’t burst into a fit of giggles when he attempted to moonwalk and walked backward into Granny.

Eventually the music settled back into a slower song, and Emma and Killian fell into a languid sway with each other. The song, Emma recognized, was the same one from the radio earlier on, the one that Killian had been humming. Listening to the lyrics now, it was clearly a love song.

And I know,

The scariest part is letting go,

Let my love be the light that guides you home.

“Swan?” Killian asked, his voice low against her ear. “Would you do me the absolute honour of going out on date with me?”

Emma hummed dramatically, pretending to think about her answer, drawing it out.

“Yes,” she finally said,  

“Just no flowers, aye?”

“Fair enough,” Emma laughed.

As promised, there were no flowers present at their first date. Or their second, for that matter. There were, however, flowers at their own wedding two years later, but that had been firmly at Killian’s insistence. It was a reminder of how they had met, Killian argued, and who was Emma to disagree when it meant that her soon-to-be-husband would join her again in the back room of her little shop, making little boxes that would accompany their own arrangements. Besides, Emma couldn’t very well argue against sentimentality, when she had been the one to choose their rum flavoured wedding cake.

Well, half rum; the other half was coffee, of course.

- Fin -

[sasphotoimaging]

Our Photos of Molly & Jacob’s Wedding Featured in Rock N Roll Bride Magazine! Print Issue #38

We’re so excited to have Molly & Jacob’s Wedding featured in the May/June PRINT Issue of Rock n Roll Bride Magazine! Beautiful 8 page full spread! Plus so many awesome Weddings featured in this issue by some of our favorite photographers! Check it out!

www.rocknrollbride.com

[pinknerdpanda]

The Wedding Singer - Track 3

“Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?”

Characters: Jo, Reader, Lisa (mentioned), Dean, Sam, Jess, Ellen (mentioned), Chuck

Word Count: 1,875

Series Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Language, Mentions of Infidelity, Alcohol

A/N: This is the third chapter of an AU SPN Series co-written by myself and @hannahindie entitled The Wedding Singer and is inspired by the movie. We have been working on this for the last few months and are very excited to share it with you. The series tag list is open. If you would like to be added, please send one of us an ask. Hannah made our beautiful aesthetic and the series was Masterbeta’d by @wheresthekillswitch.

Track List

Track 3: “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?”

Y/n stood back to admire their handiwork. She’d lost count of how many dozens of strings of Christmas lights zigzagged overhead and the number of napkin swans she’d folded in the last hour, but it was finally finished and the scene was beautiful.

Twenty-five round tables were arranged neatly around the room; each one draped in white gauzy fabric that nearly touched the floor. The center of every table was adorned with an array of flickering tea lights, sparkly crystals, and tall, fragrant hydrangea bouquets all arranged neatly around beautifully framed 8 x 10 photos of the happy couple.

Three rectangular tables lined the front of the room with more white gauzy fabric and shorter versions of the hydrangea bouquets covering their surface. Fat, white, twine-wrapped candles cast a soft glow on the soft white petals of the flowers.

A small part of her heart ached as she surveyed the community center. Y/n felt as though she’d stepped right into a bridal magazine, but this wasn’t her fairytale, and lately she was beginning to wonder if she would ever get the chance to see her happily ever after.

“Great work, y/n!” Jo smiled warmly at her cousin before glancing down at her clipboard and reviewing every detail to make sure nothing had been missed. “I think we should have about 10 minutes before guests begin to arrive, and...oh no!” Jo’s voice rose in panic, making y/n jump.

“What’s wrong?”

“Lisa will kill me if I don’t put up the banners she added last minute!” Jo practically ran toward her office with y/n following close behind. Jo pulled a small, gold key from her pocket and unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk. She reached in and removed what appeared to be several banners made from burlap and canvas and thrust them into y/n’s waiting arms.

“Can you please hang these for me? The one that says ‘FOREVER’ needs to be stretched across the front of the bride and groom’s table. There are two that say ‘Lisa + Dean’ that you can just find spots for. Thank you y/n, you’re a lifesaver! I’m so glad to have you here!”

“Of course. I’m happy to help!”

Y/n smiled and hurried back to the reception hall. Just as she was hanging the last banner above the guestbook, Jo walked in, her face white as ash and her eyes glittered with tears.

“Jo, what happened? Is everything ok?”

“Sam just called me. Lisa never showed. Dean is absolutely devastated.” Jo shook her head and sniffed. “I’m just shocked. I want to wring that bitch’s neck.”

“That’s awful. Poor Dean. He seemed so happy, but I never met her.” Y/n chewed on her bottom lip as she glanced around. Her eyes grew wide. “What about all the decorations? And the food?”

“Sam said that Dean told everyone to come eat so the food doesn’t go to waste.”

“You don’t think people will actually still show up, do you?” Y/n screwed up her face.

“I know they will. So we still…” Jo’s words were cut off as the doors to the community center flung open and people began pouring in. Jo looked at her cousin and raised her eyebrows before plastering a smile on her face and turning to greet the guests.

The tables began to fill up and y/n set to work, pouring glasses of iced tea and water and pointing guests in the direction of the cash bar, where her Aunt Ellen was just beginning to set up and take drink orders.

Y/n looked up to see a very tall man in a sharp tuxedo striding toward Jo. He bent low, offering her a hug, before straightening up and pushing his long hair from his face. A strikingly beautiful woman with wavy blonde hair approached the two, also hugging Jo before winding her arm around the tall man’s waist. Y/n continued her way around the table, absently splashing water in the lap of a particularly snide woman as she eyed them and not feeling too badly about it. After a few more pointed nods, the handsome couple disappeared and y/n continued making her rounds until every glass was full.

The rumors of what had happened varied greatly from table to table, but y/n did her best to ignore them. She was surprised to find herself becoming more and more irritated every time she heard the whisper of Dean’s name over the light din of conversation at dinner.

Just as people were finishing up the last of their meals and y/n began clearing their plates, Chuck’s voice boomed through the speakers, drawing everyone’s attention. She breathed a sigh of relief as the room grew quiet.

“Good evening everyone. Dean asked us to go ahead and come out tonight to play for you. Please remember that he’s a vital part of our community and he’s going through a difficult time. We need to support him and love him and one way we can all help is to not spread rumors about what happened today. Just keep that in mind as you all enjoy your evening.”

People glanced around the room guiltily at each other as y/n nodded enthusiastically. Dean was lucky to have such wonderful people around him. The awkward silence melted away as the band started playing.

Y/n noted that, while the band sounded great, Dean’s absence was definitely palpable. Few people in the crowd seemed to notice, however, as they made their way to the dance floor. As the tables were cleared and the crowd began to thin, y/n found herself making a conscious effort to keep her smile in place. The thought of Dean sitting alone, devastated and brokenhearted while these people enjoyed a party celebrating the life he and Lisa would now likely never have - it was enough to make her feel sick.

She caught Jo’s eye from across the room and motioned toward the back door. Jo nodded just as the upbeat music faded into a slow, dreamy ballad and y/n slipped out into the night air. The cool breeze felt like heaven against her flushed skin. As she took a few deep breaths, she chided herself for being so agitated. She hardly knew Dean, but her heart hurt for him.

After several minutes of enjoying the stillness and quiet, she decided it was about time to head back inside. Several couples swayed from side to side as the band played another sweet love song. Y/n busied herself collecting the used napkins and placing them into the laundry bin.

She hardly noticed the gentle murmur of voices, but as the music stopped suddenly and a loud buzz of feedback echoed throughout the room, she turned toward the sound. She was surprised to see Dean, microphone in one hand, flask in the other, wobbling unsteadily at the front of the stage. It was hard to make out many details from this distance, but she felt her heart rise to her throat as he stared silently into the shocked crowd.

“Well hello, fine citizens of Chapel Hill. How are y’all doin’ tonight? Better than I am, I s’ppose.” Dean’s words slurred together as his rich, deep voice boomed from the speakers. “Oh come on. Lighten up. Haven’t you ever seen a man get left at the altar before? No? First time?” The silence grew uncomfortable. “Well, I don’t want to keep y’ll from enjoying your lovely ev’nin’. But I’d like to propose a toast. To Lisa, that traitorous, lying, selfish bitch. May she rot in the depths of hell. Cheers.”

Dean raised his flask in the air, swaying slightly before bringing it to his lips. The alcohol ran down his chin, his adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. When he’d drained it, he spiked it on the floor like a football and thrust the microphone towards Chuck. The band quickly began playing, an obvious effort to shift the attention from the stumbling man weaving through the sea of people.

Before she had time to think about what she was doing, y/n ran toward Dean, reaching out a hand to steady him as he tripped over nothing. When he was standing upright again, he looked at her hand on his arm before rolling his gaze up to hers. Up close, y/n could see that his eyes were bloodshot, the skin underneath puffy and raw from crying.

Just as she opened her mouth, though unsure what to say, the tall man she’d seen earlier appeared, placing his hands on each of Dean’s shoulders and ducking his head to meet his gaze.

“Whoa, there, big guy. How about we get you home,” he said, his eyebrows creased with obvious worry for the shorter man. He glanced back toward the dance floor and y/n followed his eyeline. The pretty blonde woman she’d seen him with earlier watched awkwardly as she dodged the shimmies and shakes of the oblivious people around her.

“I don’t mind to drive him,” y/n blurted out, not sure why. It wasn’t like she was working or had responsibilities or anything.

The tall man glanced back at the woman and smiled gratefully back at y/n. “That would be great. Thank you. I’m Dean’s brother, Sam, by the way.” He grabbed a napkin off a nearby table and scribbled down his address and thanked her again before heading back toward the woman.

Y/n turned back to Dean. “Hey Dean. Remember me?”

He nodded and then scrunched his eyes shut as though the action made his head hurt.

“Good. Good. Listen, how did you get here?”

Dean shoved a hand into his pocket, rocking back on his heels once before pulling out his keys and jingling them at her.

“What’da you say I give you a ride home, hm?” She tried smiling at him, but wasn’t sure she was convincing anyone. Before he could say no, she plucked the keys from his hand. His eyebrows furrowed and he gaped at her.

She waved at Jo again, who nodded and smiled gratefully at y/n, and then led Dean out to his sharp, black, muscle car. Y/n wasn’t much into cars, but she could tell this was a special one and she was excited to slide into the front seat.

Dean fumbled hopelessly at the doorknob, before y/n reached across and pulled the latch to open the door. Dean smiled humorlessly at her as he slowly lowered himself into the car. She backed slowly and carefully from the parking spot and glanced at him, slumped against the door. After putting the car in drive, she reached out and patted his hand in an attempt at reassurance. She was surprised when his hand opened and engulfed hers, as though he was a drowning man. The gesture made her heart ache for him and she couldn’t bring herself to let go.

Dean was asleep almost as soon as she hit the main drag and steered in the direction of the address Sam had given her.

She removed her hand from his and mumbled. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time, Winchester.”

Track 4 “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic” by @hannahindie

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here and the lovely @hannahindie‘s can be found here. Thanks for reading! :)

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[tabbycasto]

New work Paint It Black for Rock N Roll Bride Magazine 

Photography: Devlin Photos Styling: Mr & Mrs Unique Styling: Bijou Bride Hair & Make Up: Louise Seymour Nails: Tabby Casto Flowers: Bettie Rose Model: Lena via Nevs Models Location: JJ Media Group via Coco Wedding Venues Creative Direction: Rock n Roll Bride

[girls-can-get-married]

A Glam Seventies Bridal Shoot for Rock n Roll Bride Magazine

Models:

Betty - http://foreveryoursbetty.com/

Amanda Davies - http://honeypopkisses.com/

https://www.rocknrollbride.com/2019/09/night-fever-a-glam-seventies-bridal-shoot-for-rock-n-roll-bride-magazine/

[dates-with-cas]

A Question of Lust

|| Read it on AO3

Chapter one is up!

Ten years ago, Dean Winchester had a plan: he was going to buy a house, marry his long-time girlfriend and become a rockstar. He'd been planning for years, saving up all the money from his paper route, odd jobs that he worked with his dad, and any money that came in from the gigs his band played. They were a little too rock-n-roll for Lawrence, KS, so it wasn't a lot, but any time they played out of town they did very well for themselves. So well, that Dean was certain if they got in with the right people, they'd make it big; in fact, he was depending on it.

Everything was going well until just after Dean's 21st birthday, when his dad died suddenly of a stroke. That hit the whole family hard, but Dean had always looked up to his Dad, and wanted to be close with him, even if that wasn't always the case, and it broke something in him that he didn't know how to fix. His whole life felt like it was spiraling out control and he wasn't able to get a grip on anything. He suffered through debilitating depression that led to alcoholism, which subsequently led to the breakup of the band only a few months later. Even Lisa, who stuck by him through everything, had a hard time dealing with him with his lack of interest in anything and anyone.

It wasn't until Charlie Bradbury entered his life, nearly five years later, that Dean found something worth getting up for in the morning again. He had burned through his savings being unemployed for so long, and was therefore still living at home, feeling guilty and miserable about taking advantage of his newly widowed mother. Charlie was enthusiastic and bubbly and, as it turned out, just what Dean needed. She brought him out of his protective cocoon, and pushed him to do the things that made him uncomfortable. He may never have left the house if it wasn't for her, but she shared the story of losing her Mom, and Dean found that he could confide in her in a way he couldn't with anyone else. She was a stranger, so he didn't have to worry about her judging him, and she could understand how he felt. The two became fast friends, and slowly but surely, she got Dean up and about again, and even found him a job working for her and her fiancee at the comic book shop they owned.

As he started learning about the various comic universes, either by reading them or talking to the customers, Dean found something else to pour his time and energy into, other than just drinking and sleeping. It was a long process, one that involved Charlie convincing him to seek professional help to cope with his dad's death, but he did, eventually, pull himself out of his hole. Looking back, he's not sure exactly when how the switch in his life happened, but it started with Charlie, as most things in his life seem to do.

Lisa left him one day in May, and Dean had been wallowing in self-pity until Charlie called him up the following evening, sobbing because her fiancee Gilda had to take a last-minute trip to Australia for some family emergency. The venue for their wedding had already been booked, and they had family coming from all over, so it was too late to reschedule, but Charlie couldn't plan the whole wedding on her own; they were barely getting it done together, what with running a business and the rest of their everyday life.

Dean stepped in at that point; unable to leave Charlie stranded after everything she'd done for him, and needing a distraction himself, offered to help her with anything she needed. He knew fuck all about weddings, but neither did Charlie, so they did a lot of research, and asked their friends for a lot of favours. The one thing that came in handy was all the people Dean knew, either on his own, or by association - turns out when you know a lot of florists and bakers, they're willing to give you a good deal.

Between the two of them, they managed to pull the whole wedding together under budget, and before Gilda even got home, and for someone who had just had his life torn to shreds, Dean felt pretty fucking good about the whole thing. Charlie was ecstatic, and Dean was glad to finally be able to do something to pay her back for everything.

It was only supposed to be a one-time thing, a favour for Charlie, but then people started dropping hints. His mom was the worst culprit, subtly trying to get his help to plan Thanksgiving, then a Christmas party, then New Years, and it didn't stop with her. So many of Charlie's friends were shocked to find the two of them had planned the entire wedding alone, and would not-so-subtly ask if Dean could help with theirs, so he would, and everything would turn out great, and then more people would ask.

It was Charlie who initially suggested he start a business, and although Dean was doubtful, she eventually talked him into it. It wasn't strictly weddings at first, but with so many parties and events taking place all year, Dean found himself stretched thin, and decided to narrow down his focus.

Three years down the line, he's nearly thirty, he owns a small hole-in-the-wall office that he has yet to set up, and he's got a good reputation as a wedding planner in his area, so business is fairly frequent. Dean's happy, for the most part. He loves his job - a lot more than he thought he ever would - but it keeps him from getting out there and meeting someone himself, so he's alone a lot of the time. There's Benny, but he's not more than just a friend most of the time - once upon a time there may have been a chance for them, but Benny made it clear at every turn that dating was not his thing. Dean, however, was dumb enough to hang on to their awkward friends with benefits relationship anyway.

It works for them, or at least it gets Dean by - being a single wedding planner is a trying task, and sometimes it's better to come home to someone who only wants to fuck you than it is to no one at all. It helps that most of the people he works with are good people - his current bride notwithstanding - but his nights can get pretty lonely.

The couple he's currently working with are, probably, good people. At least Dean's willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, despite the fact that his bride - Alyssa Jones - is likely the most spoiled, entitled human being in all of Kansas. It's not just that she tries to make him go over budget on everything - and then berate him for it later the few times he lets her have her way- but she also treats him like some sort of servant. Now, Dean is willing to do a hell of a lot for his brides, but there's a point where it's just too much, and Ally is always trying to get him to cross that line. She really is the worst, though; most of Dean's brides - and grooms, for that matter - are all decent, friendly people who just want to make sure that the happiest day of their lives is the best that it can be. There's a certain amount of stress involved, but that's to be expected, and putting up with a couple days of disagreement is understandable in this line of work.

Truth be told though, Dean loves his job, difficult couples and all. He'd rather be doing this than pretty much anything he can think of, and while that's all well and good, he doesn't appreciate having to wake up at six am to go and be complained to for however long Ally can stand to be in his presence.

Three more months, he reminds himself, kicking the blankets off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He only has three more months with this couple, and if he's lucky, most of that will be spent with Ally's mother, who is infinitely more responsible than her daughter.

Dean skips his usual morning shower in favor of coffee and toast, and sits himself down at the over-cluttered desk in the living room. His roommate - Benny - is always on him about getting his office set up or, at the very least moving it into his bedroom, but never does anything more than grumble about it, so Dean continues on as usual.

He relocates a stack of bridal magazines and a folder for his last couple, and pulls up his emails, hoping Ally hasn't got some new idea she wants for this week. Surprisingly, there's only three emails: one suggesting he take some online survey to win $1,000,000; one from Charlie that is likely either pictures of cute animals or some long, rambling invite to their next games night; and a third from one Castiel Novak that Dean initially glosses over because it looks like junk mail, because what kind of name is Castiel?

Turns out Castiel is the name of a prospective client, one who really seems to have his shit together, which is a the polar opposite of what he's dealing with right now. Dean considers taking him on based on that alone, but he does still have three months left with the Joneses. It might be long enough that he can make it work, considering he wouldn't have to meet with Castiel and/or his fiancee nearly as often as Ally right now, so he could probably work it. Besides, he could use a level-headed couple after the chaos and disarray of the Joneses. He mulls it over for a few minutes, before deciding to email Castiel back and ask to meet with him. He can let the guy know his situation, and talk to him in person before making a decision, and then if he doesn't want to be second to the Joneses, Castiel can find someone else to plan his wedding. Plus, if he seems like he's going to be another shitshow, Dean can turn him down with the Joneses as a viable excuse; it's perfect. He quickly emails Castiel back, letting him know that he is still working with another couple, but he would like to meet to find out if they'd be a good match.

Finishing that, he changes his mind and decides to have a shower after all.

Before he can make it to the bathroom, Benny stumbles blearily out of his bedroom and pushes in front of him, grumbling about having to work in half an hour. Most of the time, Dean stays out of Benny's business, and Benny pays him the same respect - the whole sex thing notwithstanding - but he's getting really sick of Benny's three hour nights and basically killing himself slowly because no one will hire another chef. He yells as much through the bathroom door. He says as much, and Benny grunts at him.

"What am I supposed to do, let 'em flounder?"

"Uh, yeah? Then maybe they'll realize they need to hire a new chef? You can't do this yourself, man, you need some sleep. When did you get home last night?"

"I dunno, three?"

"Benny-" he's about to launch into a rant when, luckily for Benny, his phone buzzes in his pocket. "You're lucky," he grumbles, "but you really do need to say no once in a while." Benny mutters something in response, but Dean has already left the hall, heading to the living room where the shower won't interrupt his call.

"Dean Winchester," he answers, perching on the arm of the couch.

"Dean, I'm glad I could reach you. It's Castiel Novak, I just got your email." Dean's caught off guard, because this guy's voice is something else; low and husky, and sexy as fuck.

"I'm glad to hear from you, I was hoping we could arrange a meeting, sometime this week if you're available?"

"That would be perfect, my fiancee is coming into town this week, but she'll be gone again for a little while after, so any time after tomorrow is good. The earlier the better."

"How about Friday, then?"

"Friday is perfect."

[andyblackveil]

“BEING CREATIVE IS MY PURPOSE”

Interview: Rock Sound

Andy Biersack is in the Rock Sound 50! Here he talks about what's changed and why he keeps himself so busy.

WHAT’S CHANGED FOR YOU OVER THE LAST FEW YEARS? Says Andy: “When you’re young, you can only see what’s right in front of you. That’s one of the reasons young art is so beautiful and visceral, because you’re so in the moment and why people’s first records sound so true. "What perspective does is it kinda softens you to all the things you thought were the most important in the world. As we continued on there has been such an interesting ideological and political shift in the country we’re from and honestly around the world, that the relevance of being true to yourself and fighting against the power and not letting people corrupt you is true whether you’re 35 years old working a corporate job or you’re 13 going to high school. 

"We’ve never had to change the content, so to speak. We’ve never had to pander. My lyrical feelings have changed to fit my life more. I’m not fighting against the guy who’s talking shit and throwing beer at us so much as I’m fighting against the feelings that I still have or that bother me in some way. "The truth is I had the same feelings of anxiety and loneliness as a lot of artists had. I used to just channel them into being a drunken asshole and flip people off on stage. As I get older, that’s not something I’m as interested in. I’m more interested in being true to those feelings, being more in touch with them and writing about them. Because I have a wife, a home, responsibilities and many joys in my life that are genuine, I don't feel the need to act out in every moment. "But those feelings still exist. Politically it’s a very divisive time in my country. People are at each others’ throat and there’s a lot of crazy shit going on. That’s as relevant a thing to need music for. Just as a human being. There’s always a reason for rebellion. That’s what rock ‘n’ roll is all about. I can listen to Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born To Run’ and it still makes me feel like I want to get in my car and drive really fast, even if I’m having a really great night and everything’s going well and it’s a quiet night at home. If I put on those songs I’m still fucking hyped up. That’s why you keep making art the way you do. "If we ever did pander, it was never intentional. And it’s certainly something I’ve tried my best, as I’ve gotten older to really be genuine to my ideals…” IT WOULD BE LAME IF YOU WERE STILL TRYING TO WRITE LIKE YOU WERE 16, PEOPLE WOULD SEE THROUGH THAT... “I think there’s a lot of that around though. One of my biggest pet peeves is selling loneliness to lonely people. Around the time Black Veil started getting popular, there was a wave of bands who came through who seemed like they were being told, ‘Sell this ideal to young people’ and write songs about lonely kids. It was frustrating at the time. You don't see it so much now because it’s not so in vogue.” IT’S TELLING THOSE COPYISTS FELL AWAY THOUGH WHILE YOU’VE SURVIVED… “Like you said, people can see through. One of the things people misunderstood early on was the feeling of self-pride for being too egotistical. "One of the only magazine things I have in the house my wife and I moved into together in 2011, is a Rock Sound Black Veil Brides cover. I have that framed because it’s an interesting snapshot of our youth, and one of the pages there’s a headline that’s me saying, ‘I believe we will change music’. This was early in our career. It's interesting because I walk by that and sometimes I laugh at myself. But in some ways, I think we have been able to aid the shift in alternative rock. "We’re amongst a generation of bands that have helped carry the genre. It’s why bands like Pierce The Veil and All Time Low are still incredibly popular and almost become more popular by the day, because they’ve been an important contribution to the genre. Or look at someone like Brendon from Panic! At The Disco – obviously on a different scale to myself in terms of popularity – but he comes from the world we all come from. "While it might be said that Black Veil didn’t directly change the scope or history of music, when it comes to our genre and this feeling of an army of friends in a safe place, I like to think we were very instrumental in moving the genre along. And maybe that’s me saying another crazy, braggadocios thing, but to me it seems genuine. But I don’t give a shit. I am after all the guy that claimed our second record was better than anything Led Zeppelin ever did! At this point, me saying we’ve been instrumental is mild!” PEOPLE DEFINITELY ALLOW YOU TO SAY SUCH THINGS MORE FREELY THESE DAYS, ALMOST LIKE THEY UNDERSTAND YOU BETTER NOW. WOULD YOU AGREE? “Yeah, I think they’re a little more ‘in on’ my feelings towards myself these days. I’m constantly self-deprecating because I find it all to be a little bit funny. But I do believe in everything I’m saying, which is an interesting tightrope to walk.” SO YOU HAVE VANS WARPED TOUR, THE BLACK VEIL BRIDES ALBUM IS DONE, YOU’VE GOT AMERICAN SATAN COMING AND YOU SEEM TO BE HEADING INTO ANOTHER REALLY BUSY PERIOD. ARE YOU EVER GOING TO TAKE A HOLIDAY? “I mean what the hell else am I going to do? I don't have any education! "The truth is it’s romantic to think, ‘Oh this guy just can’t stop working!’ but I don't have any other way of surviving, making an income. Just on a surface level, I have a life and responsibilities that I have to maintain. But equally, I’m obsessed with doing stuff. There’s always a little bit of a dark cloud that hangs over my head that through doing stuff I’ve been able to knock away. But through periods of inactivity, it starts to come back and I start to feel like I need a purpose. "Doing stuff, writing songs, playing shows, being creative is my purpose. All that stuff is the reason I get up in the morning, in terms of my career. And then my wife and my family – to me it’s not mutually exclusive, it's one and the same – my wife is a musician, we talk about music constantly, we write together. All of the bands I got into because of my family. I talk to my mom and my dad about records they should get into. "To me, music and art and entertainment is all one and the same. If I’m working on my comedy show every week, I’m working with my cousin, and my best friend since 2006. It’s all family and life wrapped into one. It’s hard for me to see it any other way. What the hell am I supposed to do, take a vacation? I guess at some point I would love to, but the truth of the matter is, if you’re lucky enough to get to do what you love in the world then just shut up and do it. Paul Stanley once said something in an interview I read when I was a kid that stuck with me and it changed my life. It’s a very simple sentence but it means a lot to me. He said, ‘If you’re lucky enough to become President, don't complain about having to wear a tie.’”

[nuclearblastuk]

KHEMMIS Sign to Nuclear Blast Entertainment worldwide (ex. North America); Working on new material for 2018

Nuclear Blast Entertainment,‎ via a licensing deal with 20 Buck Spin, are immensely pleased to announce the worldwide (ex. North America) signing of Denver, Colorado based multifarious doomed heavy metal quartet Khemmis. Welcome to the family! Khemmis are currently working on new material destined to be their third record, due to be released in 2018 via 20 Buck Spin in North America and via Nuclear Blast Entertainment elsewhere globally. Khemmis commented on the signing: "We are honoured to join the legendary Nuclear Blast roster for the release of our third album. The new songs we've been working on build upon the melodicism of Hunted while also exploring new, heavier, and more aggressive sonic terrain. We plan to enter the studio in early 2018 with a tentative mid-year release date. Thanks to Monte Conner, everyone at NB, and the listeners and fans who have supported us." Formed in 2012 in Denver USA, Khemmis have released two albums to date. 2015’s ‘Absolution’ and 2016’s ‘Hunted’ paint a unique portrait; encompassing spiralling progressive doom, fuzz-toned stoner riffs, syrupy sludge and churning classic grooves. They transcend traditional doom forming elegant yet dramatic tracks, conveying their unique sense of melancholy edged with a sense of foreboding. Debut record ‘Absolution’ earned the four piece outright critical praise from the underground, plus achieving them Decibel’s ‘Top 40 Albums of the Year’ list allowing their impact to slowly start seeping into the mainstream consciousness. ‘Hunted’ broke down those final barriers earning Khemmis widespread recognition, ranging from glowing reviews at Metal Sucks, Metal Injection and Pitchfork, to earning them a spot in Rolling Stone’s ‘20 Best Metal Albums of 2016’ list and Decibel’s highly sought after ‘Album of the Year’ accolade. Not many bands out there can boast about being compared to the likes of Thin Lizzy and ZZ Top, to Paradise Lost, My Dying Bride and Judas Priest. Credit: Alvino Salcedo Rolling Stone (on ‘Hunted’) “this intrepid quartet created an ambitious monolith of twisting guitar harmonies and skull-shattering drums that relies on fury rather than fuzz to channel the members' devotion to old-school heavy metal.”   Pitchfork (on ‘Hunted’) “also a nod to the Peaceville Three - Anathema, My Dying Bride, and Paradise Lost… Khemmis have stripped the cobwebs off those bands’ more Gothic moments and revealed the rock ‘n’ roll heart lurking beneath” Metal Injection (on ‘Hunted’) “Khemmis' mastery of catchy riffs and melodies has subsequently unleashed a wave of unforgettable music that sits in your head day in and day out. Their doomed rock and roll demands multiple voluntary and involuntary replays throughout the week” New Noise Magazine (on ‘Hunted’) “Overall, this may go down as a modern doom rock classic” Metal Sucks “It’s hard to imagine of a band playing music this drenched in smoke and cosmic black magic that won’t piddle off into some self-indulgent jazz odyssey bullshit, but Khemmis finds a way. All this while two members get their PhDs and one runs the coolest brewery in all of Denver.” Angry Metal Guy (on ‘Absolution’) "taking traditional doom and blending it with stoner metal like Mastodon and High on Fire, a little southern groove and some old school rock ideas… the muck they dredge up at the delta of these influences is so listenable and addictive, you may think they stumbled upon a whole new doom enchilada." Khemmis are: Phil Pendergast // guitar, vocals Ben Hutcherson // guitar, vocals Daniel Beiers //  bass Zach Coleman  // drums Khemmis links: www.facebook.com/khemmisdoom www.twitter.com/khemmisdoom

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