prompt by the very, very lovely destieloverlord: can you please write a fic where Dean, Sammy, and Charlie work at a bakery? Castiel would always come in and just stare at Dean until one day Gabriel or Charlie walk up to Dean and say something and then Dean and Castiel get together at the end? I added a fairy-tale twist! I hope you like it, tesoro :)))
Dean took a deep, deep breath, his eyes closed and a smile on his face. He was standing by the half-open hallway window, letting the lattice cross-stripe his face into diamonds of light. The early-morning sun
brushed over everything, sweetening the street smells to a cream cleanliness
and draping soft lights across roof tiles and eaves, like newly-washed linens.
Behind his eyelids, Dean’s world was a gentle miasma of pastels. The growing
hubbub of the road beneath was a low symphony of catcalls, clankings and animal
“You smell that, Sammy?” Dean called over his shoulder. He
heard his brother approach, heavy footsteps creaking the wooden boards of their
cottage. Standing slightly behind his brother, Sam gave a cautious sniff.
“What am I supposed to be smelling?” he asked doubtfully.
“Did next door’s pigs get into the street again?”
Dean turned around to face his brother, his smiling face
half-haloed by the rising sun.
Sammy!” he said, pushing past Sam as he stepped away from the window, heading
down the hall and thudding down the stairs. At the bottom, he swung himself
around the wooden upright and headed for the kitchen, his brother following him
with a grin. “That is the scent of possibility!”
Sam watched his brother moving around the tiny,
low-ceilinged kitchen, making his morning tea with a haphazard, bombastic
cheeriness that set the pots a-clatter. The coppery racket made both brothers
wince, but Dean’s spirits weren’t dampened; he started whistling a little song
to himself, as far off-key as was possible without coming back into tune. His
tunic today was light green, belted a little more tightly than usual, Sam
“What’s got you in a good mood?” he asked, reaching behind
his back to make sure his apron was still tied securely. Just recently, the
strings had started to feel a little too short, and his head was starting to
brush against the ceiling, too.
“I told you, Sam,” Dean said, waving a teaspoon at him – the
effect somewhat diminished by the way the teaspoon was misshapen, probably
melted slightly when Dean had used it to stir a pot of thickening caramel or crystallising
fudge. “Possibility. Today is just full of
it. It’s all around us, it’s in the air.” Dean’s wide eyes and lopsided,
self-aware grin took the edge of ridiculousness off the statement, and Sam
smiled back. “Can you smell it yet, Sammy?”
This character is a combination of刂 sword/cut and 开, which derives from 井 (here not “well,” but rather “lattice window”). Here 井/开 is a phonetic element expressing “injure,” and may also be suggesting “shackles” or a similar punishment. Together with刂 this gives “injure someone with a sword,” which came to refer to cutting someone with a sword by way of “punishment.” Over time 刑 came to mean “punish” in a more general sense.
A/N: This is a (much belated) birthday gift for the lovely
and talented @msgenevieve447 – I had wanted to do something to honor her special
day, but it took me a little bit longer to finish than I’d thought (work got in
the way, ugh). It also got a little angstier than originally planned, but there’s
definitely plenty of fluff in there too. Set in a vague post-5B speculative
future where the Darkness has been defeated.
Hope you had a great birthday, dear, and that you enjoy!!
The kitchen of the small seaside cottage was bathed in the
warm glow of the pendant lamps hanging above its central island. Outside,
occasional snow flurries swirled through the deepening twilight that was
visible through the lattice-paned windows over the sink. Emma moved quietly
about the cozy space, her socked feet barely making a sound as she put a
saucepan of milk on the stove to heat and retrieved a pair of thick ceramic
mugs from one of the cupboards.
She glanced towards the living room, the cottage’s open
floorplan allowing her a clear view of the large stone fireplace beyond the
sofa and the flickering orange flames dancing on the hearth. Killian’s ruffled
mess of dark hair was just visible over the top of the sofa’s squishy cushions,
and she caught the barest glimpse of his profile when she crossed the kitchen
to grab the cocoa powder, sugar, and cinnamon from their customary – rather,
their assigned – spots.