#I need the quiet to clear my head but nope! Last break gets axed so I can hold her fucken hand like she's a child despite being my age

[shimshenanigans]

Ugh, hope it’s gonna be slow at work today. My mid-shift is the new girl, and if this shift follows the pattern set by the other 2 shifts I’ve worked with her, I’m basically going to be babysitting all day to the point of taking a super late lunch and sacrificing my last break because she freaks the fuck out any time she’s alone, even though when she asks questions, she usually already knows the answer.

Long rant below

Like, I get newbie anxiety, I do. They all get it. But she straight up tells me ‘Oh, you can’t leave me! Don’t leave me!’ Excuse me, I just had a damn wire through my kidney I need my fucken breaks!! No, we are not going to borrow a whole-ass store manager to get us some napkins because that’s a low-priority item and nowhere near as important as everything else we got going on, and if they get pissed at anyone, it’s gonna be me for letting you do that! Thank god no one’s taught her how to use the phone for paging, it’d be high-alert distress signals all the time for tiny things that don’t matter, holy shit.

That being said, I do think I’ve done a pretty good job at being patient and not taking any of my frustrations out on her. But damn am I extra exhausted at the end of the day from the extra emotional work on top of working the fucking holiday rushes. Plus, I’ve gotta keep an ear out for whatever happens at the register while I’m making drinks in case the marking on a cup is wrong or there’s wrong info or something. Plus every single tiny thing she’s all ‘Oh y’all are gonna fire me now aren’t you’ like NO WE AIN’T THESE ARE TINY THINGS AAAAAAAAAHHHHH

[snarkwrites]

Title: snowbound pt 2 of 3

Theme: holiday party

Fandom / Character(s):Ben Solo/Kylo Ren x Earth!FemaleReader.

Warnings: Honestly, if you read the first part, you knwo already. I am not a medical professional, nor am I a hardcore Star Wars fangirl, merely a casual fan. There is no blood!tw here, but.. There is still an injury!tw, because he ain’t just gonna heal over night. Oh and if you can handle reading my own personal take on Ben Solo (his father’s son, fyi) then you’ll be okay with him being construed as OOC. If not, sorry? Pls don’t murder me?

Word Count: 4k. Shit. I got carried away again, didn’t I?

Okay, so here’s the thing... That first part really got me in the mood to write a follow up. So, here we are. Even if it’s the biggest flop on my entire goddamn blog, I got these ideas out of my head and... materialized somehow. This is my second daily entry for my bb @champbucks over on the @12daysofchristmas challenge blog...

OH YEAH.. for the sake of a timeline here.. This part takes place  two and a half weeks later and part three will take part a day or so, maybe two, after part two. Trust me, this needed to be said.

Also, again.. I made the banner for this. Don’t steal or repost.

TAGGING:

@andie01 @helluvawriter and @kyleoreillysknee 

@champbucks and @12daysofchristmas

[ about my writing | masterlist | multifandom tag doc ]

“Are you even listening to me right now, Katie?”

My sister’s question and the annoyed tone she asked it in had me shifting my focus from watching Ben chop firewood down in the yard to at least making an honest attempt to keep up with our conversation. I rolled my eyes when I heard her annoyed sigh.

It took everything in me to remind her that I wasn’t a child.

She’s always been like this, and frankly, it has everything to do with why I don’t try to see her more than once or twice a year, when she insists on all of us siblings gathering at Grandma’s cabin to have a family dinner and pictures.

“What?” I asked, gazing out the window already, distracted all over again. Ben had shed the black thermal shirt now, it was tied around his waist. Each swing of the axe sent muscular arms and broad shoulders to flexing and that had me more than a little mesmerized at the moment. I tried to tear my eyes away. 

,, just like this morning when we had that awkward moment in the bathroom.” my mind taunted me and I sighed, turning away from the window and wandering into the kitchen. “I gotcha. You’ll do the turkey because I can’t cook. It’s already baking and you guys will all be here at 4:30. I need to have the oven turned on so things can finish. I’m not stupid. We do this every single year.”

“I’m doing you a huge favor, trust me, Katie. You wouldn’t be interested in all of this stuff. You’re barely listening to me now. Did you get the girls what I told you to get them both for Christmas?”

I glared at the phone in my hands, dragging one of them through my hair, tousling it a little. “You do realize I actually cook. And I’m pretty good at it. Oh and by the way… I’m not a child. I’d prefer it if you called me Katherine.”

She paused, hesitating. “I’d… really rather not risk the Christmas dinner on your hurt feelings. I’ll prepare most of it, you can do the potatoes!” she said it cheerfully, as if she were offering an olive branch.

She made it seem as if I were incapable of the simplest tasks. She probably didn’t even trust me to do the mashed potatoes either and that thought had me exhaling sharply in irritation as I pinched the bridge of my nose and grumbled to myself about her always doing this. And honestly, I didn’t care if she heard me or not.

The chopping stopped outside and I saw Ben walking from the pile of wood and up onto the porch. The door creaked open and Ben leaned in the doorway, filling it, gazing at me with a brow raised and arms folded over a bare chest.

I held up a finger and turned my attention back to the phone conversation with my older sister, pacing the area right in front of him as I did, lightly kicking at the little wooden table beside the door when she sighed again and for the fourth time, she reminded me calmly, “We’ll have it at 5. Like always.”

Ben tensed a little nearby and he eyed the phone in my hands as if he were picking up on my tension and current level of irritation. I mouthed to him, “It’s my nag of an older sister. The one you heard me talking to last Tuesday?”

He spoke up. “Katherine, I’ve gotten the firewood cut.” an amused smirk played at lips I’ve only dreamed of kissing practically every single night for the better part of two weeks now.

And almost immediately, I froze, biting my lip. Now, I wasn’t dumb. I knew that I’d have to explain Ben being here to my older sisters, but I just… I hadn’t bothered to do so as of yet.

“Is there someone there with you, Katie?”

“Again, it’s Katherine. And yes. My boyfriend, actually. He’s been staying out here with me. But you wouldn’t know, because you only call before Thanksgiving or Christmas and every night until we get together for those occasions. Now I’m gonna get off here. That oven’s not gonna turn itself on. Bye.” I said it pointedly and before my sister could ask anything else or bother me further, I disconnected the call.

I could feel the weight of his stare, I didn’t even have to be looking at him. And honestly, I didn’t dare.

Instead, I made my way into the kitchen, fuming out loud as I turned on the oven. Then again, as I rummaged through cabinets to find pots and pans and my grandma’s old recipe book.

I was so caught up in my tantrum, I didn’t hear Ben slip into the kitchen behind me.

I turned abruptly and found myself body to body with him.

“Why do you insist on putting everything out of your reach?” Ben smirked down at me as he stepped closer, reaching out to grab the pot that I’d been trying to get. He held it out to me and I swallowed hard. I tried to answer his question, but nothing was coming. All I could focus on was how close we stood. And of course, the way he was staring down at me right now.

I shrugged in lieu of an answer and put the pot to the side. For a few hot and heavy seconds, all either one of us really did was stare at the other. Finally, Ben spoke.

“Boyfriend, hm?”

,, think, think, oh my god, holy shit, think..” my brain was going into panic shutdown mode. I eyed him and gave a sheepish shrug. “It was the first thing I could think of. Trust me, my sister is NOT someone you want knowing exactly what happened to you. She’d probably break her neck to go report it to that damn base. And they’d be down here, breathing down everyone’s neck. It’s… Better this way.” I licked my lips, swallowing hard as I stared up at him intently.

He chuckled, shrugging himself as if it didn’t bother him at all. And why would it, you absolute goof? My brain immediately saw fit to remind me, this is just a ruse. When he’s healed completely and he’s got his ship going again, he’ll just leave.” and the thought had a pout forming. I was staring down at the old wooden floorboards.

Or at least I was until Ben’s fingers tucked beneath my chin and he made me look right up at him, that shit-eating smirk plastered on his face as he did so.

I’ve learned over the course of the past two and a half weeks… Ben’s a little on the cocky side sometimes. When he’s not being all broody and quiet. Or almost borderline teasing me on occasion.

“If it keeps this military you speak of out of my way, I’ll do it.”

And the exact second that his tongue trailed over his lips and he gave that smirk again, it was all I could do not to melt.

I digress, I will be a raw bundle of nerves before he’s all healed and he’s gotten his ship repaired.

We were doing it again, that thing where we wind up migrating closer together. Hips brushing against each other. I cleared my throat and glanced down at the walking cast that Doc had swapped him over to at the beginning of the week. “Excuse me, sir.. But I distinctly recall Doc saying to stay off your foot as much as possible.”

“And I would if I hadn’t seen that our heat source was about to run out, woman. How is someone so small still somehow so bossy?” Ben chuckled, that hint of teasing in his tone. I gulped and managed to grumble a little as I shrugged in answer to what he’d said. 

“Go sit down.”

“You come sit down too. If she’s so determined to do it all herself, let her.”

I tensed a little and eyed him. Pretty sure my anger was written all over my face because he chuckled and eyed me, making himself taller. “You let her get to you.”

“I’ve always let her get to me.” I sighed, shrugging it off as best as I could. We were inching closer all over again and my breath caught in my throat as I felt his hand lingering at my hip. “Perhaps you shouldn’t.”

“Oh trust me. After you’ve had her around a few hours later tonight, you’ll see exactly why she gets so far under my skin.”

“Or maybe, she just needs someone who knows how to get under her skin.”

I laughed a little, eyeing him. “Oh, you’re confident now. But her royal naggingness has not arrived yet, either.. Neither have the other two, Margo and Cecilia.”

He chuckled, leaning down a little, his face almost well within kissing distance. “Did you just challenge me,hm?”

“Nope. Just know how crazy my older sisters tend to drive pretty much fucking everyone with their micromanagement and overall nosiness and assholery.” I dared to raise up a little, my face inching just a smidge closer to his. To a point where we lightly bumped noses. But Ben still wasn’t backing away. In fact… If I didn’t know better, I’d almost swear he moved just a little closer. And smirked down at me the entire time he was doing so.

The sound of a vehicle idling outside had me swallowing hard and turning a little, groaning almost the second I realized that apparently, Cecilia had decided to get here earlier than Margo or Dinah. “Well shit. This is a first.”

Ben’s gaze followed mine and he nodded towards Cecilia. Who as usual bought wine and a few presents and was wearing clothing that I honestly didn’t see how she wasn’t going to catch her death in.

“Margo and Dinah are gonna have a field day now. Dinah will have an absolute shit fit, because she wants us all to dress similar in the photos she’s gonna make us take.”

“Photos?” Ben questioned, a brow raised. I held up my cell phone and explained with a shrug, “It’s basically the same thing here as what you all do with your data pads back where you’re from, I’d think.” 

The door was being knocked on and I caught eyes with Ben, taking a few shaky breaths. “And we’re up… Are you sure you’re okay with this, Ben?”

“You said this was the only way. And from what you’ve told me about this military, I’d really rather not have to deal with them. Make no mistake. I could, easily. But I’d rather not.” that cocky smirk was back and there was this look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite get a proper read on.

It had my knees feeling as if they were going to go all weak and rubbery on me.

XXX

My sisters had finally all gotten to the cabin. My nieces and my nephew were running all over the yard, with my sisters husbands outside to supervise.

Ben had kind of wandered outside himself, leaning against the side of the cabin, arms folded over his chest as he watched my nieces and nephew laughing and playing. And I felt bad for him because I knew exactly just how much of this kind of thing he didn’t have as a kid. His early years had been all about training. Control.

Dinah cleared her throat and I turned around, facing my sisters. “What?”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Cecilia mused, giving me a teasing grin. Of my three sisters, Cecilia was probably the one I got along with decently. So I knew when she said it, it was kind of her being wistful because she is a magnet… For all the worst guys.

“You’re always saying you’re too busy. And your internship takes up all your time.” Margo echoed, giving a suspicious gaze in Ben’s general direction. I bit my cheek to keep from snapping out an answer at her, because as usual, Margo seemed to be almost accusing me of something.

Dinah eyed Ben and then looked at me. “Where on Earth did you meet him? I mean… He doesn’t seem like your type, Katie.”

I shrugged. Why was it their business? Anyway, I’m at least 90 percent sure that a man like Ben can have his pick of women. It’s highly illogical to think he’d choose me to begin with. And I knew that. I guess that’s why it bothered me so much because my sisters questions since all of them arrived seemed to further imply and echo my own thoughts.

I cut my eyes at Dinah and gave her a dirty look. “It’s Katherine. And what the hell does that mean?”

“Well,I just mean that I always pictured the guy you wound up with a little more like… That guy from X files.. And not an actual hunk.”

“Fox Mulder is a hunk, by the way. But what the hell does that mean?”

“Are you sure you really know him? I mean it seems sudden.” Dinah went quiet, biting her cheek as she shuffled her feet and eyed me expectantly. “You never mentioned him and then Bam, today, you’re telling me you have a live in boyfriend.”

“Oh my god, wait.. You two are living together?” Margo’s eyes widened as she looked at me.

“And she barely knows him.” Dinah interrupted, irritated because whatever she’d been trying to say without saying before was obviously being interrupted and cast to the side.

I glared at Dinah and shrugged, answering Margo. “Kind of. It’s temporary. Kind of like a test drive?” I did my best at being convincing, but the entire time I was saying it, the feeling of dread I’d been having about Ben’s upcoming departure rushed right back to the forefront. But I shoved it down again. I already know I don’t have a shot in hell there, there’s no sense in dreading it or letting it get to me.

Not when we were already such good friends. Anything further would be risking the total ruin of that. And I didn’t want to.

“Since when? And are there more out there like him?” Cecilia asked quietly, staring dead at him and fanning herself as she did. 

“Since like… a week after Thanksgiving?” I scratched my head as I thought back. Had it really been that long? My mind was blown because it honestly felt like only yesterday that I was finding the crash site for his ship.

The weeks following seemed to have just flown by. And the realization of just how much time had really passed only made me stop and think about just how much I was dreading Ben’s departure.

“You two don’t act like a couple.” Dinah spoke up, insistent. Margo glared at her and I sighed, shrugging. “Not everybody is into over the top PDA. Why do you always insist there’s more to something than there really is?”

“Yeah, Di? Can’t you just let Katherine be happy?”

“If she didn’t have crap judgement..” Dinah trailed off, glancing at me awkwardly. I tensed and rolled my eyes. “If you ever wonder why we never talk more than twice a year, Di? This. This is exactly why. You’re not my mother and I’m not a fucking child.”

I don’t know what got into me, but I was snapping and storming away before I could bother to censor myself or stop. And it felt so good. I stormed into the house to check on the food and just be alone for a few minutes.

To my surprise, Ben cleared his throat from the doorway of the kitchen before stepping in and sliding the doors closed.

“Are you alright? I heard what your sister was saying.”

I took a deep breath and shrugged. “Just ready for the afternoon to be over. She’s second guessing the whole thing and if she pushes too hard, digs too much I’m afraid that she’ll... “ I trailed off, going quiet. Ben swallowed hard and nodded, giving me this look that showed he understood.

And from the doorway, Dinah’s throat cleared.

“I came to talk to my sister.”

Ben tensed.

“She’s got nothing to say to you.”

His tone came out so calm and yet so angry that it had me glancing up at him. He was glaring at Dinah. Dinah’s mouth opened and closed and she looked from me to Ben. I gave her a half hearted smirk and she eyed us both, almost like she were determined to believe that we were lying and she wanted to dig the truth out.

Ben’s arms slipped around my waist and before I could stop myself, I gasped quietly, sort of melting right against him. “Katherine, all that’s wrong with your sister is that she’s jealous. She’s always been jealous.”

I eyed Dinah and a brow raised when I realized that Ben’s words had hit a very tangible mark. She flinched and her mouth opened and closed, and then when she had nothing to say, her lips pursed and she grumbled quietly, “I don’t trust you, Ben.”

“And I don’t particularly care for you, Dinah.” Ben snapped, giving a shrug when she gaped at him as if she were shocked that he’d dare to speak to her that way.

“You’re going to let him talk to me like this?” Dinah gaped at me and I shrugged, snuggling myself against Ben just a little bit, gazing up at him over my shoulder before turning my attention back to her. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re the one who’s acting like an asshole.”

“I literally cannot deal with you. I’m leaving.” Dinah stormed out of the kitchen, calling to her husband and my nieces. “Kids, get in the car.”

Margo and Cecilia eyed my sister and gave each other a look before hurrying inside, shutting the door behind them.

“Whatever you two did, we’re gonna need you to do it again next year.”

Ben chuckled, shrugging. “I just pointed out that she seemed to be jealous of Katherine.”

“Oh, damn.. That went well.” Margo laughed, smiling as she shook her head. Cecilia turned to me and nodded her head back at Ben. “I like him.”

“Wait.. you two weren’t on her side every single time?”

“What? No.”

“I just never said anything because I know she’s been having problems in her own life for years.” Margo mused and this got her a look from both Cecilia and I. Margo gave a shrug and explained calmly, “Her husband’s leaving her in January. For the secretary at his firm. Not only that, she’s got laid off last year and she decided to do the stay at home mom thing and it’s been depressing her. And when we were kids, she was jealous of you and Cecilia because you two were always doing things and she never really got to do any of that… Especially after dad died…”

“She didn’t have to take care of us? We had grandma. Everything was fine.”

“She didn’t think so. You know what a control freak she is, Katherine.” Margo sighed and shook her head. “I have wanted to tell her to grow up and get over it for years now. Just never had the heart to because I knew why she was like that.”

Cecilia and I shared a look.

Ben cleared his throat.

“Is the food in the oven supposed to be burning? Because it smells like it’s starting to.”

“Shit.”

“Listen.. We all know Dinah’s turkey is dry every single year. Let’s just find a pizza place or something?”

I nodded, laughing. “If she were here, she’d be throwing a fit.”

“You three can’t even wait until I’ve actually left to let everything go to shit?” Dinah wandered back into the kitchen, opening the oven and glaring at my sisters and I.

“You let the turkey burn?”

“I thought you were going home.”

“And I was… Until I realized that grandma would be disappointed in all of us. Me, especially.” Dinah was squirming. She’s never enjoyed apologizing. I laughed and shook my head. “Listen, if Jim is going to walk out, let him. The guy’s a fucking jerk anyway. I just never said so because I thought you liked… that kind of guy.” I advised.

Cecilia dug around in the drawers for the corkscrew to open her wine and Margo spoke up after a few seconds. “Just let everything go, Di. Life’s too fucking short, okay? We’re literally all we have left now.”

Dinah mulled it over, nodding. She eyed Ben, who was hanging back, leaning in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. “Maybe I was wrong about you. I just… I got suspicious because that one,” she nodded towards me, “Doesn’t typically get involved with anyone, let alone let her guard down enough to trust.”

I could feel Ben’s eyes on me, but I didn’t dare look up to meet his gaze, instead, I focused on pouring myself a glass of wine.

XXX

I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. “Thank God. That’s done for another year.” I laughed out the words and Ben chuckled quietly. “Wasn’t that bad.”

“I mean..” I trailed off, going quiet. I knew from the little bits about himself that he’d told me, he’d never really been that close to his family. And when he’d chosen the path that he’d chosen in life, they’d only gotten further apart.

I got the feeling there was so much more to it than that, but I didn’t push. It wasn’t my business. Even though I hurt for him, because there had been points throughout the day that I could look at him and tell that he longed to have a family, even if all they did was fight. Like… maybe he regretted whatever he’d done immensely.

I sank down on the couch beside him, staring at my hands for a few seconds, nothing but the sound of the fire crackling in the fireplace filling the room.

“I’m almost healed.” Ben muttered. I glanced up at him, biting my lip and nodding, forcing a smile. “You are! Hey, if you want… I can get one of Doc’s friends to come out and move your ship back to the cabin… So you can use the garage and the barn out back to work on it?”

Ben nodded after a few seconds, muttering quietly, “Yes.”

After he’d fallen silent for seconds that seemed to stretch into hours on my end, he spoke up again. “I’ve actually enjoyed being here.”

“Honestly, I’ve enjoyed you being here. And I’m not really a people person.”

Ben chuckled. “Neither am I.”

I scooted a little close, tentatively leaning against him. “Sorry you got pulled into all that crap.”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t that bad.” as he chuckled and asked quietly, “Is it like that every year?”

I shook my head. “No, because usually, Margo and Cecilia and I just ignore her. Or do whatever she’s nagging at us to do. Just to keep the peace.”

“Oh.”

“But it’s fine, she honestly needed to hear everything we were all saying earlier. She’s always been… Overbearing.”

“Overbearing is just one word.” Ben mused, making me laugh and reassure him quietly, “I’m fine. I have a thick skin.”

He chuckled and nodded in agreement as he eyed the glass of wine I was sipping. I held it out and he took a sip, spitting it out.

“That’s awful.”

“It’s not!”

“It’s utter swill, woman.” Ben dragged a hand over his mouth and my eyes caught on the movement. I gulped and stood abruptly. Because if I didn’t, if I kept sitting there, I was going to do something dumb.. Like kiss him.

And if he’s going to leave soon, that’s the last thing I want to do.

I’ll only wind up getting hurt if I keep getting too close. I have to remind myself of that a lot lately.

[7deadlycinderellas]

if the summer of our lives could just come again, ch34

ao3 link

The North

They have been fighting in the north near on a moon when Danaerys recognizes Jamie for who he is.

It’s surreal. Her mind, her memories and her old, ghost memories are all at odds. Kingslayer one says, father killer, another. Viserys’s words echo in her history. The voice in present just says, “keep working, keep clearing the north, get these things off this face of existence, send them back to the earth.”

So they do.

It’s a game of hunt and peck. The huge armies are gone, but small packs of the dead still roam. They have no goal, no command, and they are easy enough to exterminate with dragonfire, but the process seems endless.

And the process is not without its horrors.

The worst of the fighting had occurred where the Ironborn disembarked outside White Harbour. Because of its proximity to Winterfell, many of the dead that had managed to breach the barriers had made their way to the sea.

She hasn’t been able to get word from Theon or Yara and she fears the worst.

Danaerys can’t bear to think of why they were heading towards the water. Even when she’d seen from Rhaegal’s back that they had begun to cross the streams and rivers, she couldn’t imagine them crossing the ocean. Essos would have been completely unprepared.

Danaerys is exhausted, drained. She can’t imagine that there will still be more to come after this.

She approaches Jamie on Rhaegal’s back, and calls out.

“Cerwyn and Torrhen’s Square have both been cleared,” Jamie tells her, “But we still need to sweep east and west.”

“I’ll take the Northwest,” she tells Jamie, “The forests and mountains will be too much for your men on horseback. Get with the survivors of Winterfell and go through the eastern keeps. “

“Be wary of the mountain clans, they do not always take kindly to outsiders and I doubt even the Stark’s could compel them to evacuate,” Jamie warns her, “Bear Island’s there too, and several men from Winterfell have claimed that many refugees were sent there.”

Danaerys winces. Of course, with whatever foresight the north could have had, they would have tried to get their peoples to safety, and she doubts the south would have paid them any mind. Much like she nearly didn’t. She wonders how many of her men who she brought over from Essos, nearly entirely unprepared for this, have perished.

Soaring over the thick forests, hills and valleys of the North, Danaerys wonders how she could have never heard stories as vivid as seeing this land from the air like this.

Jamie presses east, trying to make contact with the scouting parties from Winterfell. His men are as lost in the north as Danaerys is, and they don’t have the advantage of dragons on their side. Drogon and Viserys are keeping closer to Danaerys and can’t be too much help to him.

The east of the north is flatter, and the sunshine makes the fighting easier, but this doesn’t change the fact that little swaths of the dead keep finding their way through the trees.

Fewer and fewer. He can’t wait until they aren’t anymore.

And it’s the same for his men, Jamie has met very few of the army he led north, these are men of the Reach, southerners through and through. As the dead fall, so do they.

They clear the keeps one by one. White Harbour is a graveyard, littered with the fallen of the Iron born and Unsullied. They bury those they can, and take up the survivors. Jamie muses that they must be the most mismatched, hacked together army that history has ever produced.

Oldcastle, Ramsgate, Widow’s Watch. Inland towards Hornwood, and north, to the Dreadfort.

He vaguely remembers something about Ned Stark executing the traitorous Boltons years ago, but he has no idea what had been done about their empty holdings.

They meet up with a group that has come from Winterfell, northmen and wildlings alike. At the front, Jamie spies Robb Stark, riding tall with an axe in his remaining hand. Jamie feels his own ache, in a phantom pain.

“We ride north,” he calls out, “The Last Hearth and Karhold still remain.”

When they reach Karhold, there’s a small horde that emerges from the woods and attacks. Jamie steels himself but finds he moves far slower than the rider by his side.

The other rider dispatches the approaching dead with ease, as though they have done it have done it a thousand times. They may have.

Jamie’s hand is still on his sword when he turns to acknowledge the rider. The memories buried in the back of his mind roar to life when his eyes connect with pale blue.

Promises that should have been made, vows he tried his best to follow through, all of them rush through him. His stomach starts turning somersaults, and he finds he can’t control the expression playing out on his face.

Brienne’s mouth opens, and Jamie can’t even imagine what she would say to him, wonders in fact if she would even recognize him, after all not everyone saw the same things, wonders if-

She shouts, “Duck!” but it’s too late. The Other’s arrow of ice comes at him too fast, and pierces him through the eye.

The Neck

Meera sits cross-legged on the edge of the crannog, staring off into the swamp air. The fog has returned, heavy in the morning, and she feels like this has meaning.

Her daughter sits on her lap, her husband having taken a dip into the clear waters around the crannog.

Arra babbles, and sucks on her fingers. She had slept through the night for the first time a few nights prior, frightening her parents when they’d woken before she did. Jyana had smiled and commented that she would start sitting up on her own and maybe even crawling soon.

It makes Meera’s chest tighten, to think that they’d been hiding so long.

“It’s not much,” she whispers over Arra’s head, “And sometimes you have to look deep for the beauty, but it’s home.”

There’s a splash as Bran emerges up through the water and takes a deep breath, before paddling over to where they’re sitting.

Every single day that it had been warm enough Bran had gone in the water. Even on the days when he couldn’t stay in more than five minutes without his lips turning blue. He claimed that with the water cushioning his muscles and joints, he felt more free than he had since before his accident, either of them.

When he’d told her this, she had felt the need to remind him that his pain and disability were never a burden to her.

“Are you ever getting out of there?” Meera teases.

“Nope,” he says, “I’m going to grow gills and fins, and you’ll have to come in here too if you ever want to see me.”

Arra babbles, and Bran laughs in response, before pulling himself out, slowly, onto the crannog. He leans over and pulls Arra into his own lap.

“Maybe I’ll wait until this one can swim in with me.”

Meera turns her face up towards the fog. There’s something different about this morning. It’s something in the way the air feels on her skin, in the way it smells.

Inside the keep, Jojen smells it too, and he knows.

“It’s going to start raining soon,” he tells Shireen, who’s sitting at the table writing.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Is that a vision?’

Jojen chuckles.

“No, just experience.”

His voice quiets, and becomes more serious.

“I did have a vision a few nights ago. It was different though. It didn’t hurt, and I don’t know why.”

Shireen frowns.

“Do you think...maybe it had to do with the big ones all of us had?”

Jojen’s silent. He doesn’t know. They sit in silence until the raindrops begin to drop rhythmically on the metal outside the keep.

“After this is done,” Shireen starts, “I’m going to go back to Winterfell, collect everything I can. The fights, the names of the dead. I’m going to take it all to the Citadel. History deserves to be told by the people who lived it.”

She pauses a bit.

“Come with me,” she says, with uncharacteristic certainty, “Come to the Citadel with me.”

Jojen freezes, and doesn’t respond.

Shireen continues, reaching out to touch his hand, “I know you must have thought about it. I know I have, being able to be in the place in Westeros that so reveres knowledge and learning...”

Shireen drops her hand, and her eyes drop to the wood of the table.

“Though even if I bring things for them to add to their collections, I can’t even know that they’ll give me the time of day.”

Jojen doesn’t respond to her words, but he reaches back up to take her hand again, squeezing. Just when it looks like he might say something, Bran and Meera enter from the side of the keep, soaked in rain, Bran clutching baby Arra.

Shireen raises an eyebrow.

‘Looks like it’s coming down out there.”

Meera nods, squeezing the rain water out of her curls and finding a flannel to dry off the baby and wrap her. At the sound, Sansa emerges from where she had been in their sleeping chamber and joins Jojen and Shireen at the table.

Jojen stares out one of the windows before Meera moves to check and make sure the netting is pinned down so the wind can’t blow it open.

“I feel like the rain is important,” Jojen comments to the others. “There was rain in my dream last night.”

“What did the rain do? Bran asks. He’s seated and rubbing his leg. Sometimes changes in the weather make the bone that was broken so long ago ache.

Jojen shakes his head.

“I don’t really remember. But I think- I think it might be all over.”

That gets everyone’s attention, but no one dares speak.

Finally, it’s Bran who breaks the silence.

“I’ll send Una north, and try to warg the others again. We’ll see.”

It’s been strange trying to keep track of the birds from here. With their wings, they can avoid the dead with ease, and bird eyes are good enough to know when they can land. Bran sometimes wonders, if they hadn’t been able to stem the tide, if the Night King had prevailed, would the birds have kept on. Some birds could eat the dead, and others could see in the night.

With Bran’s mind wandering, he’s suddenly terribly glad they stopped the Night King from getting his hands on Viserion this time.

At least it means they managed to make something easier.

Winterfell

Some nights, the pain from Ned’s wound is enough that he can barely leave the Great Hall. Thankfully, it’s not like his chambers are in any condition to be slept in.

“There’s a wall down on the east side of the Great Keep,” Arya tells him one morning. On the days he can barely move, she’s been keeping him up to date on the state of the repairs.

“How bad?” Ned wants to know. The morning that the first scouting party had gone out, Arya had taken one look at her injured father and known she had to stay at Winterfell. She couldn’t leave him alone.

“Pretty bad, but it’s our first priority. To give shelter to who we still can. We’re using what stone we can salvage, there’s a few masons among us, but it’s not like we can get in any new material shipments yet.”

This is how most of the conversations have gone, as Arya has kept him up to date of the outbuildings that need rebuilding and the fire damage. This is a patch job, and will be until the north can return and begin functioning normally. If it ever does. They’ve done all they can to clear debris, but there seems to be endlessly more, and too much that they have nowhere to dispose.

“Is your husband still here, or did he go out with this scouting mission?”

Arya nods. The first scouting, Gendry had accompanied, leaving her behind to continue with the rebuilding. Upon the party’s return, he had decided his skills were better used here. After complaining quite a lot about the constant riding of course.

“He’s still here. The party’s due back later today, so I can send Robb and Jon to see you too.”

“You should let them rest,” Ned tries to insist, but he knows it won’t work. None of the siblings have spoken about their father’s condition, but it seems they all somehow know.

Arya leaves the Great Hall into the courtyard, and takes in what she can handle to see of her childhood home.

Robb and Jon can barely bring themselves to look too deeply either. Arya offers to take them both to see Ned, but Jon has the dubious honor of getting Jamie Lannister to Maester Luwin.

“Shows up, and the next thing you know, he’s got an arrow sticking from his eye. Mostly the remaining wights aren’t using weapons, he just had spectacularly unlucky timing.”

“Seems poetic honestly,” Arya muses, “He lost his arm before, wonder if maybe he sees this as an upgrade. I’ve been blind before, I think I could adjust.”

Regardless, Jon has to get him among the injured so they can see what to do about his eye.

Jon thought it was good to give Robb time alone with Ned. Functionally, Robb was now Lord of Winterfell, even missing his arm. He led their men through the north to extinguish the threat of the dead, Back at Winterfell, him and Val were leading the rebuilding and many of the men looked to Robb first, before Ned.

Ned hadn’t gotten yet to tell him how proud of him he had become.

“We’ve managed to clear most of the east. The dragon queen is still trying what she can in the west, but the mountains are making it hard,and we have to decide if it’s safe to retrieve the refugees from Bear Island yet.”

Ned took his son’s arm.

“There will be time enough for plans. Rest my son, tomorrow is another day.”

Off on the other end of the Great Hall, Jon deposits Jamie Lannister onto a mat for Maester Luwin to examine. It’s made easier because when Jon and Brienne had helped him from his horse, he had since passed out from the pain.

“The bleeding seems to have stopped, but he’s been in awful pain since.”

Luwin nods.

“Best I can do is give him milk of the poppy for the pain,” his voice thins, “we don’t have much left. Other than that, it’s just hoping that it heals without corruption. There should be someone with him when he wakes up, or he could hurt himself.”

Jon feels a step land behind him. He hadn’t realized Brienne had continued with them past the courtyard.

“I shall stay with him Maester.”

Jon meets her eye, and sees a spark, and a shimmer. He nods to her, clapping her on the shoulder.

“If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the Godswood.”

Somehow, even with all the damage, the Godswood has remained pristine. Stepping over the rubble at the entrance, Jon feels in his soul why Ned had always considered it his place, where he could think and be with his own mind.

He finds Rowan seated at the base of the heart tree, with Ygritte by her side.

“How’s your arm?” he asks, setting down Dark Sister and sitting upon the grass.

“Still getting used to it,” Ygritte tells him

Jon turns his attention to Rowan.

“Is there anything else the weirwoods are speaking of the land?”

Rowan smiles softly.

“They speak of change, but I don’t yet know what that means, whether it is something just for them, for the land, or for us all.”

She stands, and brushes off her limbs. The snow is beginning to melt, but some powder still remains.

“Perhaps more useful images will come to me in my sleep.”

Rowan has begun to rest in the hollow formed underneath the oldest tree in the wood. It bore much resemblance, in a way to the cave far north where they had first met.

Once she had gone, Ygritte asks Jon.

“What is it like out there?”

Jon sighs deeply.

“The dead seem to finally be staying down without stragglers. We’re waiting for Danaerys’s word that the land is safe before we begin recalling the refugees. We may have even to go scouting again, and so much has been destroyed. It will be years, maybe decades even, until the North is more than a shadow of its former self.”

Ygritte nods.

“Some of the Free Folk are talking about helping rebuild, but others want to return to their homes over the wall.”

Jon chews his lip in thought.

“That would be something to bring up with Robb. After his marriage to Val, all the north should be considered one in the same, but somehow I doubt it will go that smoothly. Even if there are only a few of my former brothers still alive among us.“

Will the Night’s Watch even need to still exist? Jon suddenly ponders. There will be no more white walkers, at least as far as the stories go, and if the Wildlings are considered northerners...

“Will there be any more pretty crows in the wild who need to be kept warm?” Ygritte wonders, wrapping her fingertip into one of Jon’s curls. He retaliates by pulling her into his lap.

“I hope not, don’t want you getting any ideas about trading up.”

Though much of the snow has melted, the ground is still frozen underneath Jon’s backside and the air nips at their skin where it is exposed by moving their clothing aside. His cloak spread on the ground eases some of the cold, as does Ygritte’s warm, soft flesh, in his hands, surrounding him and moving above him.

Jon does his best not to linger on the symbolism of the two of them like this, coupling in front of a heart tree, on top of his cloak. But his mind cannot shake the image of the heat from their bodies, being pulled into the earth, softening the winter freeze.

King’s Landing

Winter storms had come to King’s Landing. Rain and sleet and hail poured down at a rate the capital didn’t see any other season. It made life very difficult for many of the smallfolk, some even who might have welcomed a nice, quiet snowfall.

And when that wasn’t enough, there was Tywin Lannister.

While many denizens of Westeros had been wandering since the visions in a state of confusion, or despair, or occasionally elation, Tywin had been consumed with only one emotion. That emotion was rage.

He was hardly the only man in the capital who had seen his own death, but he was the only one that was actively fuming over it, nearly every hour of every day.

The servants felt his wrath the most. The small council members almost as much. And he could only imagine what he would have inflicted on his own grandson if it weren’t for the unfortunate incident that had ended his life prematurely. Again as it would seem.

Because now, Tywin was hand to an infant king, a grieving widow queen, and father of three incredibly difficult and infuriating children. He had some hope that the confusion and grief of the situation might allow him to retain some influence over the Queen Regent. He had no doubt that the rest of the Tyrells would be eager to extend their influence on the crown and the realm, and he must not allow them to gain a foothold.

And one day, during a torrential downpour, reports came to his ears of a dragon flying south.

What a ridiculous story. But still, he tells the guards to be vigilant.

Not that there was anything they could do.

The three beasts enter the skyline of King’s Landing during another downpour, that while it threatened flooding, almost kept down the city’s infamous smell.

What was a hill to a dragon? What were walls? The three bodies skimmed over the Blackwater Rush with nary a thing in their way. The guard’s gathered in the courtyard can do little more than fire arrows that bounce off their scales. Behind the guards, Queen Margaery has ushered the servants and ladies of the court into the bowels of the keep, and has quietly joined the men in the courtyard.

Tywin has dealt with Targaryens before, but he’s not quite sure what to expect when the dragon’s rider dismounts.

It’s not a woman, bedragged by the rain, staring him straight in the eye. The others flank her, one carrying a bundle in it’s claws. She stays under the protective cover of the dragon’s jaws, it’s tongue wiping the raindrops from it’s muzzle. Tywin could order his men to attack, but he knows better.

She looks Tywin up and down.

“The city appears in one piece. That’s more than I can say for the rest of your kingdom. I can see from your garb you are a Lannister, given your age and position, I imagine you must be Tywin.”

“Speak your peace,” Tywin responds, his voice sounding for what may be the first time in his life, uneasy.

“I have brought you evidence of what has been rampaging over the North of Westeros for near on a year. I imagine you must have heard the stories, though I know you did nothing.”

The dragon to the left sets down the bundle on the ground. It’s wrapped in sackcloth and rope. Margaery feels her stomach turn.

“I will thank your son Jamie, however, for the men he was able to provide to the cause-”

Tywin’s face whitens. And here it was, his children, able to cause him strife in any life he lives.

“And the Queen you serve, who felt the need to go around her King’s back to send them. Though, I understand, no one could have expected to find wights upon the land, not outside of nursery tales.”

The bundle on the ground twitches, and Tywin hears one of the men shout. Danaerys steps forward, and pulls the burlap away from the top of the figure, though she does not untie it.

Even far behind the guards, Margaery feels all her plans and schemes for the future of her life begin to melt away. She files mentally through her skills, dismissing them one at a time.

It was never one her grandmother would approve of, but perhaps this time, the best path will be humility.

[rizlowwritessortof]

Part 3: The Hit and Then Run Like Your Ass Is On Fire

Here comes the angsty part...

Pairing: Dean x Toby Matheson (female OC) 

Word Count: 1789

Warnings: Nothing but pining and angst

Final part coming next week!

God, what a mess.

The whole place reeked of death, used-up bodies of prior kills tossed like so many empty bottles against the wall, left to rot. The need to survive the battle tended to outweigh the urge to gag, since the three of them had their hands full. It was a nasty bunch, nastier than most, all big, ugly and reckless.

Toby let out a scream of frustration as she kicked at the bastard she was currently fighting and buried her machete in his cranium. She yanked it free, then swung again, taking his head off and glaring in the direction of the corpse. “How many more of you can there possibly be?” She scanned the room, spotting Sam and Dean in their own scuffles, then whirled to face a raging female behind her.

When the noise and chaos finally quieted, she moved to the middle of the room, panting for air as she stepped over pieces and parts of bodies. “Did we get them all? Finally?”

Dean swiped a forearm over his face, wiping away sweat and blood as he nodded. “I think so. I fucking hope so. Shit, Sam, I thought there were only five or six?”

“Yeah, well – they must have been having a party. Or they recruited,” he responded breathlessly. “I don’t know. I’ll go see if we have some gas in the trunk. This whole place needs to go up in flames.”

Dean nodded, and Sam headed for the front door of the barn. “Stinks so bad in here. Toby, are you good?”

She blew out a breath. “Yeah. You?” She glanced up to see his answering nod, and her eyes widened. “Dean, DOWN!” she screamed, and he dropped, rolling to the side and then leaping to his feet, the majority of a vamp’s severed head landing with a sickening squelch nearby.

“Holy fuck. Thanks.” He watched as she let her machete drop from her shaking hand, her eyes on the hatchet still in the clutches of the dead vampire. She looked up at Dean, her face almost white, and then turned to rush out the back door. “Shit. Toby...”

He followed her outside, letting his eyes adjust to the dark, searching. He rounded the corner of the building to find her, arms and forehead braced against the barn wall. “Toby, it’s okay. It’s over. We’re okay.”

Her voice was muffled, panic still coming through loud and clear. “That was too close, Dean. I almost missed it. If I wouldn’t have looked up right then, he would’ve buried that axe…”

He stepped up closer, taking her shoulder and turning her to face him. “Hey. You just saved my ass in there. Stop beating yourself up. We should have checked the building again, that’s on all of us.”

She looked up at him, clearly shaken. “I just almost watched you die! That’s not okay, Dean, I’m not okay!” She suddenly stepped forward, shoving at his shoulders, knocking him back a step as he stared back in surprise. “You cannot fucking die in front of me, you fucker!” she almost sobbed, drawing her fist back to swing at him, but this time he was prepared, grabbing her wrist and shoving her back against the building.

“Toby, stop!” he shouted, staring into her eyes for a few endless seconds before crashing his lips into hers, emotion and desire winning over his resistance. She whimpered and struggled against him, trying to yank her wrist free until he finally let go, and her arms clamped around his neck, pulling him closer. He stopped for one moment, looking down at her before swearing softly and kissing her again, his body crushing hers between him and the rough wood siding of the barn.

Sam’s voice calling their names brought things to an abrupt halt, and Dean stepped back, dragging his thumb roughly over his lips. “Yeah, we’re out here!” He looked at the ground as he spoke to her, his voice subdued. “If you want to wait in the car, I’ll help Sam get the fire going. Then we can get the hell out of here.”

Toby pulled herself away from the barn, giving him one last glance as she turned and walked towards the Impala. She climbed into the back seat and wrapped her arms around herself as a few of the tears she was valiantly fighting spilled over. She swiped a hand over her face and laid her head back against the seat, eyes closed and teeth clenched. By the time Sam and Dean came to the car, she had forced an emotionless mask in place and sat staring out the window. She responded to Sam’s query with an “I’m fine,” pointedly avoiding meeting Dean’s eyes in the rear view mirror.

It was almost morning when they pulled into the bunker garage. Dean opened his door, then paused before getting out. “I say we deserve a break. Let’s get cleaned up, get some rest and head to KC for the weekend. Whatcha think?” After the non-enthusiastic mumbled replies, he piped up again. “Okay, fine. We’re doin’ it. We all need some fun around here. We leave this afternoon, let’s say 4-4:30. No arguments.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Toby smiled at Sam as he clinked their beers together, joining him in taking a few swallows of the cold brew. It was a decent hotel, Dean had booked them each their own room, and after some Kansas City barbecue, they were downing a few in the hotel bar.  

She turned her head at an exaggerated giggle, her stomach churning at the sight of the willowy brunette hanging on Dean’s arm and his every word. She rolled her eyes at another ridiculous laugh and turned to face Sam again, nodding towards the pool table. “Play me a game? Then I’m gonna call it a night. I’m feeling a little ill.”

Sam smiled sympathetically. “You know it doesn’t mean anything. I know that doesn’t help, but...”

“Nope, you’re right. It doesn’t. Come on, or are you scared to play me?” They headed for the billiards area and grabbed the unoccupied table. She took another swig of her beer and then shot to break, stiffening as a clumsy, warm body bumped into her from behind.

“Need any help there, honey?” The words were slurred, and she sent an elbow back, not too violently, but enough to make the guy back off a little.

“Pretty sure I’ve got it, Sparky. You can find somebody else to play with.”

“Wow. Just try’na be frenly, don’t hafta be such a bitch.” She rolled her eyes at the sound of Dean’s voice, turning to see him taking a fistful of the drunk’s shirt in his hand.

“I think you owe this lady an apology,” he growled, and Toby glared at him.

“Dean, if I did need any help with this douchebag, which I don’t - Sam’s right here. Why don’t you go back to your play date. I don’t need you to rescue me.”

“See, told ya she’s a bitch,” the idiot mushed out, and Dean shoved him, hard.

“Get the fuck outta here before I kick your ass.” Drunk guy sneered and turned, stumbling his way out.

Toby stared at Dean, her eyes spitting fire, and he drew breath to speak, but Sam’s quiet voice stopped him. “Dean, just let it go.” He looked at Sam, then at the floor, chewing and swallowing his words as he turned and walked away.

“Thanks,” she said, and Sam nodded. “That was about to get ugly.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” He drained the last of his beer. “You want another? It’s still your shot.”

“Yeah, thanks.” She looked up to see Dean back at the bar, the bimbo firmly attached to him again, and turned back to the table, firing off a frustrated shot aimed at nothing in particular, ending in a scratch. She thanked Sam for the beer and downed half of it as he took his turn at the table.

They finished their game and Toby said goodnight, heading to the elevator as Sam went to the bar for one last drink. Her head was pounding, and not from the drinks. All she wanted was bed and unconsciousness.

She stepped off the elevator and cringed as she cursed her timing. Dean and the woman from the bar were in front of his room, and she was practically molesting him as he tried to disentangle himself enough to unlock the door. She swore softly, pulling her key card from her pocket and hoping like hell that she could get inside her room before she was seen. No such luck, though. Dean looked up as she opened her door, startled to see her at first, but then the look in his eyes made her heart lurch. He looked miserable, guilty and ashamed, and it took her several seconds to pull her gaze away and enter her room, slamming the door behind her. She stood there, numb, finally blowing out a breath and lifting a shaking hand to brush back her hair, vaguely surprised to find her face wet with tears.

~~~~~~~~~~

Things were quiet when they got back to the bunker, wordlessly moving around each other and speaking only when necessary. Toby spent most of her time in her room, avoiding Dean as much as humanly possible. Just until she could get her feelings under control, she told herself, get back to normal. Because how she was feeling now couldn’t be a permanent thing. She couldn’t take it.

A couple of nights later, she was heading for the kitchen for a late-night snack when she heard Sam’s voice raise and stopped in her tracks. “Why don’t you just talk to her, Dean? Just admit it, you’re scared. Scared shitless.”

“You’re out of line, Sammy. Don’t fucking try to tell me how I feel.” She heard angry footsteps, then a door slamming, and she retreated back to her room.

She was as bad as Dean, just as afraid. They were going to have to talk about it, someday. But not today. She crawled back into bed, wrapped herself in her blankets and squeezed her eyes shut, determined to stop the thoughts that ran rampant every night. She finally fell asleep, losing the battle once again, and dreamed of his green eyes staring back at her, his lips on hers, his hands gripping her arms, his body pressed close.  And she woke with a start, aching for him, wondering if he had even come home, or if he was hiding from himself again, in bed with some anonymous stranger. 

God, what a mess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags for my babes:

@saenalife    @deanscarlett    @misswhizzy    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog    @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid    @aprofoundbondwithdean    @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan    @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel    @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ackeviddlestan   @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5    @melanie451    @lovin-ackles    @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean           @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @angelofwinchester17    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain    @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester​    @typicalweirdbookworm​          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit​    @youtoldalie​    @tanithlowisabamf​    @deandoesthingstome​    @jxackles​    @nerdwholikesword​    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic​    @kreweofimp​  @gabavaldman​    @chaos-and-the-calm67​    @darkx143​    @disassociativedogma​    @ioanashalala​    @jencharlan​    @deansthirst​     @dorky-and-i-know-it​    @mischief-maker1​    @hamartiamacguffin​    @winchestersandwordprocessors​    @percussiongirl2017​    @bringmesomepie56​   @akshi8278​    @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​    @torn-and-frayed​    @sandlee44​  @kathaswings​  @wingedcatninja​  @evansrogerskitten​   @emoryhemsworth​  @peaceinourtime82​

[ain-t-bovvered]

Much ado about Destiel

A/N :  Nat’s @purpleskiesandcherrypies challenge got me to write Destiel again, it’s been so long since I did that so....heck yeah. 

And yes I’m a day late....I KNOW.

thank you to @waywardbaby again because she is the one that gets all my messy thoughts. 

my prompt was :  “You two are lucky you have your looks.”

Summary : My modern take on my favourite Shakespeare’s comedy, much ado about nothing. 

Pairing and characters: Dean x newly Human!Castiel , Reader and Sam

Warnings : not really...but it’s funny ( i hope) and mostly Sam and reader being meddling little shits.

a/n 2 : this is unbetaed so yeah....it could be a hot mess or not idk I’m pretty tired it’s 2 am.

The air is full of tension.

My eyes search Sam’s from the other side of the table.

The little shit he’s covering behind one of his dusty old books, I kick him under the table and he jumps a little.

‘WHAT?’ he hisses at me under his breath. My eyes roll as I quickly and discreetly gesture at the problem.

Two of them .

One called Dean Winchester sitting on the far side of the table , currently NOT researching on his laptop, and the other one called Castiel not-so-much-angel-of-the-Lord anymore, slumped on the chair on the opposite side of the room, staring into his cup of coffee like it holds the answer to the meaning of life.

“It’s not 42, if that’s what you are searching for” I say trying to break the tension.

The grumpy newly human raises his eyes at me, confused and void of patience, “what?”

“42..? the answer to- Never mind, keep drinking your coffee Cas”

A snort coming from the end of the table makes me regret having opened my mouth, and Sam too throws me a glare  .

“You have something you wanna share, Dean?” the annoyance in Castiel’s voice makes us both wince .

“Nope.” Comes the sarcastic answer.

“Then shut up”

“I ain’t said nothing”

I mentally groan , I can easily taste the next words.

“That’s a double negative”

“Yeah so?”

“So you are full of s-”

“Ok that’s enough you two, get out of here if you won’t contribute to the research”

“I’m helping Sam!”

“Dude, you think I didn’t notice you’ve been stuck on that solitaire game for an hour now”

“...and you Cas, look like you are trying to count the molecules in that mug. That coffee must be colder than my feet on a winter’s day.” I add closing the book with a loud thud.

“You two are distracting, get out and- ”

“ -and go be moody somewhere else. People here- “ I say gesturing between me and Sam , “-are trying to be socially productive ”

They look at each other, make a face, get up and walk out in different directions. The room feels suddenly bigger, the air cleaner, Sam sigh deeply and I stretch on my seat, groaning loudly.

“I can’t do it anymore Sam, I can’t take it”

“Yeah well, I had to bear all of that for years. Welcome to the club”

“This is not a club, it’s a fucking prison and I want out”

Hearing my ‘forming a plan tone’, Sam closes his own book, “what are you thinking?” he asks suddenly curious.

I stay silent for a moment , eyeing where they had disappeared and then slowly “They need to bone”

Sam snorts.

“...hard”

“Yeah good luck with that”

“Angry bone”

“Sure”

“...like … not being able to walk the next day angry bone”

Sam erupt in a low chuckle that quiet down soon as he realizes I’m actually thinking about that, “wait...what are you thinking?”

“Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps”  I quote.

Sam’s eyes widen , “are you-”

“Those two are too ‘wise’ to woo peaceably.” I wiggle my eyebrows.

“Not sure that would work …”

“But think about it “ I say suddenly standing up, the chair scraping the floor, “ if it doesn’t, we’ll have a laugh anyway, but if it works…” I stop letting the idea floats around.

Sam stands up too, a slow wicked smile lighting up his tired eyes, “ if it works…”. We look at nothing in the distance , tasting the peace and quiet, no more awkward eye fucking, no more pent up sexual tension so thick we can almost touch it.

“I’ll get Cas” I say already moving to where he had disappeared, only for Sam to stops me.

“no no, my brother could smell the bullshit out of me from miles away. You get Dean, I’ll get Cas”

“Right, you’ve got all that...let’s talk about our feelings and I’ll let you braid my hair vibe, that’ll works with Mr.Grumpy”

“Very funny Bean”

“Samsquatch”

The plan was supposed to be simple but talking to them so directly about the other, proved to be impossible and awkward. The amount of eye rolling and ‘it ain’t your business’ we had to endure for the rest of the week almost made us gave up.

“Maybe we are doing this wrong”

“Um…” I say propping my feet on the car window sill, “ are we being too direct?”

Sam throws me a glance “hey this is not the Impala..” he says, slapping his hand on my knees, “ sit right and seat belt on!” I scowl at him but eventually yield,“and yes, I think we need to be more subtle about it, you now...like in the play.”

“Oh...so we catch each of them alone and make sure they think we don’t see them and just what…?” Sam straightened and clear his throat, “Hey Sam did you see all the cassette tapes Dean made for Cas? the ones he had hidden in his room because he’s too shy to give them to him? what a lovesick teenager too high on hormones” he say in a high pitched voice. The car swerves a little as I pinch his side offended by his bad impression of me.

Repeatedly swinging my hair and combing my fingers through them I lower my voice,  “Hey Y/N,so get this, you heard Cas moaning my brother’s name when he thinks we are asleep?”

A noise of disgust leave his throat, “that’s the grossest thing you could’ve come up with, I hate you. I didn’t need that, thank you”

“Hey I need them to hit it low and dirty, not write each other poems”

“CAAAAS?”

Dean’s voice jumps along the tiled walls of the bunker , his heavy steps echoing in the silent corridors. The muffled sound of something being broken halts Dean’s quick pace. His perfect hunter’s hearing locating the source of the noise,his room.

“DAMN IT CAS!”

What had started as a quick walk, now turned into a little run. The sound of fists pounding on the door reached the war room where me and Sam where trying to finish the damn research. 

“ *cough* Y/N what the hell?”  Sam chokes on his beer when I slap his arm,

“Shhh” I hiss, looking toward the sleeping quarters, “listen…”.

“Cas open this fucking door right now or so help me your dad I’m gonna axe it down”

A slow pleased smile tugs at my lips and I squeeze Sam’s arm, “yes!” I breathe out as a chuckle escapes Sam’s lips.

“Wait Y/N,it doesn’t mean, wait...”

I jump on my feet and starts walking slowly toward the corridor, following the noises, dragging Sam by his arm.

“What are you doing?” he hisses under his breath as we took cover behind the corner that face directly where Dean’s room is.

“ I wanna know what’ll happen.Also, I want them to get it out of their systems, not kill each other.”

Sam’s hand pushes me back as Dean’s head snaps in our direction, both of us holding our breath, his finger pushing against his lips, I nod.

A couple of vigorous knocks shook the old wood.

“CAS DON’T MAKE ME BREAK DOWN MY DOOR”

From behind the door a series of muffled words barely reach Dean’s ears, buzzing and throbbing with the sound of his own heartbeat.

“Son of a bitch” he tries the knob one more time before punching the door again. Feeling suddenly very tired, he rests his forehead against the number 11, his fist relaxing in an open palm, gently pressed on the wood beside his face.

“Cas… please open the door” At the sound of Dean’s soft tone, the noises inside stops and Dean’s head perk up, pressing his ear against the surface.

“Cas?....can you- can you hear me?”

No audible answer .

Dean sighs and turns around, leaning against the door with his back, a hand combing his hair, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

“I - I don’t know what happened man, but...you, you know you can talk to me. I know these last few weeks haven’t been exactly peaches and sunshine, a-and I- I’m sorry buddy….I really am. I don’t pretend to know how you are feeling right now, but I’m here for you, you know that right?” a pause, a sigh, “ I - I mean...Sammy and Y/N too , but...you know…” Dean licks his lips, his fist shaking a bit, “ I- Jesus Cas! you know...you must know by now, damn it!”

Silence.

“You are really gonna make me say it ?....” Dean turns around, both palms pressing on the door, almost like they are keeping him grounded.

“ I love you, you stubborn son of a bitch”

The whole bunker stops breathing.

In the loud silence that follows , the click of the door lock being opened sounds like the sound of something metallic falling in the middle of an empty old church.

“Y/N, you are hurting me, stop it!” Sam hisses chuckling, trying to pry open my fingers from his arm. The other hand trying to keep my screams from giving our position.

I stretch my neck further out to see better, just in time to see a trembling arm reaching out, a hand cradling Dean’s cheek. Dean’s head leaning into the touch. Sam’s breath tickling the top of my head , makes me know that he too was seeing that, I was not dreaming.

Dean murmur something, I couldn’t hear well , but it sounded something like, “you counting my freckles or somethin’ ?” 

Definitely couldn’t hear the answer, but Dean’s furious blush is worth thousands of words. Suddenly Castiel’s hand grips the front Dean’s shirt and drags him inside, the door slams close behind them.

I jump out my hiding spot and carefully tip toe toward the door, both of us leaning our ears against it.

“Ah...Jesus Cas”

A growl followed by the sound of a buckle being hastily opened is all I get before Sam drags me away.

“How’d you think that went?” I ask while yawning , as Sam pours me some coffee.

“There are things I really don’t wanna know about my brother and my best friend together okay?”

“Oh come on , you are no fun!”

“Neither was what I had to hear last night”  Sam grimace before taking a careful sip from his coffee.

“Well at least someone definitely got some action”

I hide my grin behind my mug while Sam’s splutters his coffee all over the table. No time to unpack that as both Dean and Cas make their appearance.

I raise an eyebrow.

Well, if that’s how that went, I definitely want to order what they had because damn they look positively glowing and thoroughly fucked.

“Good morning you two. Slept well?” Sam say, the grin he was sporting almost splitting his face in half.

Dean blushes while mumbling nonsense, while Cas just go straight for the coffee, his usual morning bad mood apparently is still there, some things never change I guess.

While eating I peek at those two disasters, now Dean really look like a love struck sick teenager , shamelessly ogling Cas with that adoring soft look.

‘Disgusting’ I mouth at Sam who presses his foot over mine under the table, biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh.

“I have a question” Cas suddenly say.

I hum taking my time to sip some more of my now cold coffee.

“No matter how hard I looked , I couldn’t find those tapes you said Dean made , do you know where they are?” Sam snorts and I eye Dean’s confused face with a smirk.

“What tapes?” he asks.

Cas looks at him like he’s crazy, “the ones where you declare your love to me. I really want to listen to them”

Dean’s face morphs from confused to annoyed as his eyes settles on me and Sam, “ guys..?”

“I don’t know what are you talking about”

“...But I heard you talking about those yesterday…?”

“And I ...heard you two talking about how this guy here was on the verge of a mental breakdown for being madly in love with me.”

Now it was Castiel’s turn to look confused, “they said you were the one sickly in love with me”

I can barely keep the coffee from coming out my nose as Sam cover his eyes, his shoulder shaking, “you two are lucky you have your looks.”

“Motherf- you two sons of bitches” Dean barks.

“..So...you don’t love me?”

“What?....” Dean’s panic seeps from all of him, “...nooooo…” his voice high pitched, “I thought YOU loved me”

“Me?, noooo.” Cas plays with the scrambled eggs in his plate.

“They had sworn you were gonna pack your shit and move out because you couldn’t deal with me not loving you”

“They said you looked like a lovesick teenager high on hormones”

“Oh shut up Cas you love him” I blurt out.

“And Dean...  dude, did you look at yourself in the mirror?” Sam says, pointing at a very red, angry, hickey on the back of Dean’s neck , he tries to cover it embarrassed.

“..aaaand Cas has another one right there” I point at his collarbone, peeking out the too large gray rock band t-shirt.

Dean and Cas look at each other and at their marks, both blushing.

“Well…” Dean starts, “ I guess….I’ll ….have you….?”

“ …and I guess I’ll accept. But only because of your excellent burgers and partly to save your life, since I was told that the only thought of me was making you sick” “Oh..ok Cas”  Dean’s chuckles, his hand wrapping around Castiel’s neck, “ time to shut up now.”

“ooook time for Sam to get out of here, Y/N you coming?”

I continue to sip my cold coffee as I watch two of my best friend making out , 

“um? what?”

Sam is standing at the door gesturing me to leave them be, I roll my eyes and throwing one last look behind me I smile softly before joining Sam on his morning run, he promised fried chicken tonight and I’m not one to back down from a challenge. EVER.

Don’t really know who to tag in this one so Imma just...tag at random who I think could enjoy this *shrugs*

@purpleskiesandcherrypies @waywardbaby @destiel-honeypie @telefuckies @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @winchester-reload @researchandbones @dean-winchesters-bacon @gripmetight-raisemefromperdition @supernatural-teamfreewillpage-d @adventurous-blob @kinvgslayer @elaspn @c-kaeru @wingedcatninja @cloverhighfive @dammitsammy @holy-fucking-damn-shit @wayward-winchester67 @southbreak  @trenchcoatsandfreckles 

[smartgirlsaremean]

The Wedding Planner - Chapter 1

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (also The Wedding Planner)

Pairing: Rumbelle, established Swanfire

Rating: G for now

Summary:  Wedding planner Alan Gold doesn't have much faith in romance, and little to none in marriage. A chance encounter with sweet librarian Belle French has him almost reconsidering his beliefs until he receives a nasty shock: she's the bride in the most important wedding of his career. 

“What is the problem in here?”

There was a rustle of silk and lace as the woman in front of the mirror turned to stare with wide, panicked eyes at the slight figure in the doorway. Her lips trembled and tears shone in her eyes, threatening to fall and ruin her mascara.

“A moment, please,” the man said coolly, his eyes fixed on the bride.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gold,” she whimpered, “I can’t. I can’t go through with it.”

“Miss Boyd,” he sighed, stepping forward and handing her a snow-white handkerchief, “that is utter nonsense.”

“No, it isn’t,” she insisted, dabbing lightly at her eyes. “I can’t go out there. I just can’t. This is a huge mistake, I’m gonna marry the wrong guy!”

The stern lines of his face softened, and Mr. Gold stepped closer and crooked a finger under her chin. “Look at me,” he said firmly. Reluctantly she looked up and into his eyes, and he stepped back a bit and folded his hands over the handle of his cane.

“You are exquisite,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re timeless. You are the envy of every woman here today.” His mouth quirked a bit at the corners. “And you ought to be, in that dress, even if I do say so myself.”

Ashley sniffed and rolled her eyes.

“And you have the love of a man named Sean, who last night at the rehearsal dinner, said to me, ‘I can’t believe she picked me. I can’t believe I’m marrying the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’ Your marriage isn’t just going to work. It’s going to last forever.”

Lips trembling, Ashley smiled. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. You see, the two of you share something that doesn’t come along every day. True love. And true love, you know, lasts a lifetime.”

Ashley closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” She opened her eyes again and smiled brightly. “Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“Of course, my dear. My pleasure.” He pocketed the handkerchief when she held it out to him. “Let’s get you married, shall we?”

The nave of the church was bustling with activity. Mr. Gold strode calmly toward the head of the aisle, waylaying the priest, who was making a bid for the bathroom, and redirecting guests and attendants like a particularly soft-spoken drill sergeant.

“Stop flirting, Bucket,” he growled at his assistant, “and head over to section M-20, there’s a dark tower blocking the video feed.”

Rolling his eyes, the tall man pushed away from the column on which he’d been leaning and loped to the section indicated and the woman with the impressive beehive updo. As Gold moved on, he heard Jefferson blathering about preferred seating and special guests, and when he looked back at the monitor the feed was clear.

“Alright, everyone,” he murmured into his lapel mic. “Places. Cut the fill lights. Maestro on three.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Gold,” one of the underlings whispered, his eyes wide with fright. “We can’t find the father of the bride.”

“Thank you.” Gold pressed his earpiece. “Bucket, send Mr. Boyd over.”

“Uh...I did, Rumple. Ten minutes ago.”

Oh, that wasn’t good.

Gold set off, his face a calm mask. He stopped the flower girl, who had begun to walk, and asked her to count to ten and begin again. Moving deeper into the depths of the church, he followed the slight echoes of a man singing and finally came across Mr. Boyd, who was drunk as a skunk and singing lullabies to no one.

“I’ve got him. West staircase,” he muttered for Bucket to hear.

Setting his cane to one side, Gold knelt and pulled a tin of mints and a bottle of cologne out of his inside jacket pocket.

“My little girl is getting married today,” the man slurred.

Gold straightened the man’s tie and buttoned his tuxedo jacket, pulling him into a seated position.

“I remember the day she graduated from nursery school…”

Gold popped two of the mints into Mr. Boyd’s mouth and misted him with two sprays of cologne.

“...like it was yesterday…”

With quick, practiced strokes Gold ran a comb through the man’s disheveled hair. Mr. Boyd blinked blearily at him.

“Who are you?”

“The wedding planner,” Gold snapped. “And you are about to be late to your daughter’s wedding.”

“Nice save, Rumple,” Bucket said, appearing behind him. “Need some help?”

“Please.” Gold stood aside, leaning on his cane again as the larger man hooked his arms under Mr. Boyd’s and hauled him up.

“Now, then, sir,” he said, placing himself directly in the man’s line of vision. “You will walk smoothly and slowly down that aisle. You will place your daughter’s hand in her groom’s, you will kiss her cheek, and then you will  sit. Down.  You will not shout, sob, or vomit. Quiet tears, proud smiles, and gentle sniffles are acceptable. Do I make myself quite clear?”

“Not a very nice wedding planner, is he?” muttered Mr. Boyd as Jefferson led him away.

Bucket shrugged and winked at Gold over his shoulders. “He does throw a nice wedding, at least.”

From there, the wedding went off without a hitch. Gold watched it all from a balcony above. When the young couple pledged to be together as long as they both shall live, he fought hard not to roll his eyes. “Eighteen months,” he muttered to himself. “At most.”

“Boom. Earwax. Seventy-two points.” Emma Gold grinned at her father-in-law and shot him the cheesiest finger guns he’d ever seen. “I am creaming you, Gold.”

“Challenge. ‘Earwax’ is two words.”

“Nope. It’s one. Don’t be a sore loser.”

Gold grumbled as Emma chose new tiles and studied the board. Neal came in from tucking Henry into bed and looked over his wife’s shoulder at the scorecard. He whistled. “Jeez, Papa, she’s slaughtering you. How can you possibly lose this badly at Scrabble? You know more words than anyone I know.”

“That’s his problem,” Emma pointed out. “He tries to find the most obscure or rare word, he doesn’t think about points or placement on the board. He has no strategy.”

“It’s preposterous that she can beat me with words like ‘axe’ and ‘finger,’” Gold complained good-naturedly. “There should be points for originality.”

“Should be. Could be. Aren’t,” Emma said cheerfully. “Play your word or switch out your tiles.”

Gold grumbled under his breath as he dumped the entire tray of tiles into the bag and fished out new ones, and Neal lowered himself to sit next to his wife on the floor. “How’s the biz?” Neal asked as Gold scowled at his tiles.

“Same as ever.”

“I saw pictures of the Herman-Boyd wedding in the society pages,” Emma said. “She looked amazing. Was that dress one of yours?”

“A Gold original. It  was  one of my better efforts.”

“She looked like a real-life Disney princess. Is she getting a fairy-tale happy ending, too?”

“I suppose that depends on Mr. Herman,” he muttered, finally settling on a word and laying it on the board.

Neal snorted. “‘Naiad’? Seriously? What’s a naiad?”

“It’s a water nymph,” Emma told him. Off Gold’s raised eyebrows, she grew indignant. “What? I know things!” She chucked a tile at her husband when he laughed.

“It’s a shame you only ever plan other people’s weddings,” Neal said offhandedly.

Gold groaned and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It had been nearly six months since the last time they had this conversation, so he supposed they were due.

“Don’t be such a grump,” Emma scolded him. “We just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Gold growled.

“Yeah, you just radiate joy and contentment,” Neal scoffed.

Gold shook his head and softened his voice. “I am happy, son. I have you and Emma and Henry, and that’s all I need.”

“But you don’t always have us. After this you go home and...what? Drink whiskey alone? Watch Say Yes to the Dress until you fall asleep on the couch? Don’t you want something more?”

“There’s more to my life than wedding planning. Sometimes I watch American Pickers.”

“Well that explains why your place is such a dumping ground for junk,” Emma muttered, exchanging a few tiles.

“I beg your pardon? Nothing in my house is junk.”

“Right, sorry. Antiques.”

“All I’m saying,” Neal said, poking Emma in the side, “is that it might be nice for you to get out a little more. Go to a wine tasting or a flea market or...y’know...anywhere you might have to talk to other people.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Online dating then.”

Gold shuddered as he laid down a new word. “That sounds worse.”

“Give him a break,” Emma said, adding up his score. “He’s already losing spectacularly, no need to call attention to the other failures in his life.”

“Thank you, Emma.”

“Any time, Pops.”

Contrary to what Neal and Emma believed, Gold did not live like a monk. He’d had relationships before. Well. The one, besides Neal’s mother. Both relationships had ended badly. He saw no reason to try again, not when he already had a family he loved. All he was really missing now was someone to nag and needle him, and since he had Jefferson Bucket, he didn’t really need to look elsewhere for that either.

“You’re late,” Bucket said now as Gold stepped off the elevator.

“I am not.”

“Oh. Then maybe I’m early. I did drink three cups of coffee this morning.” Jeff was fairly bouncing on the soles of his shoes and Gold rolled his eyes. “So are you gonna tell her now? She’s in a good mood. It should be now.”

Gold limped across the lobby of Fairy Tale Weddings, stopping dead when he saw a young woman sobbing on a couch. Her face was a horrible blotchy orange-red. “What happened here?” he asked.

“Self-tanning lotion gone wrong,” one of the associates whispered. “The wedding’s tomorrow.”

Shaking his head, Gold whipped out a handkerchief and handed it to the young woman. “Dry your tears. Quarter cup of lemon juice, half a cup of salt, and a loofah sponge. You’ll be good as new.”

“Thank you,” the bride whimpered, handing him back his handkerchief.

“Your linen bill must be enormous,” Jefferson said. “Do you even use those things yourself?”

“Alan! Congratulations on the Herman-Boyd wedding.” Esther Blue had appeared seemingly from nowhere, the scent of lavender hanging about her like a cloud. She was a handsome woman about Gold’s own age, her features sweet and delicate and her voice melodic and smooth. Few people knew the ruthlessness that lurked beneath her impeccably tailored suits and dresses (blue, always blue, as if she felt she needed to live up to her name). “Stefan!” She reached out to pluck a flower from the midst of a bouquet that was passing by in the arms of the florist. “If you ever use a carnation in an arrangement again, I’ll have you deported. Where was I?” She turned back to Gold.

"You were congratulating me on my superb work performance,” he said drily.

“Oh yes! Yes, well done. You’re easily my best planner.”

Behind him Jefferson squeaked and poked a finger into his back, and Gold scowled. “I’m well aware of that. That’s why I thought it was time for us to have a little talk.” He glared over his shoulder, and Jefferson scurried away.

“Oh?”

“This caught my eye two days ago.” He pulled out the newspaper he’d been carrying under his arm and handed it to her as they walked the halls. “The Lefleur-French wedding. I’ve already made initial contact, and it’s a promising prospect. The Lefleurs are new money, determined to see their son and heir married in style. The Frenches have money too, of course, but it’s neither as extensive nor as recently obtained, and they’re not very socially visible. The Lefleurs are determined to gain their son entry to the top social circles in the city, and this wedding is the first step.”

"An announcement, but no engagement photo. That's unusual."

Gold shrugged. "Again, the Frenches keep more or less to themselves. I don't think I've ever seen them in the society pages."

“Hmm. You have a meeting set up?”

"Tonight. They’re coming to the Delmar-Fisher wedding to observe my work.”

Esther nodded and stepped into her office. Gold followed her and shut the door, and she raised her eyebrows. “Something else?”

“Yes. I’m going to make this deal, and when I do - when the Lefleurs sign away a year’s income to marry their boy to his little trophy wife - we’re done.”

Esther froze. “Oh, are we?”

“I’ve more than paid you back. I bring in more revenue than all of your planners together.”

“And what do you plan to do if I release you from your contract? This is all you’ve known, the only trade you have, and you’re a little old to start over.”

“My designs are getting more attention. Half of yesterday’s article was about the Boyd girl’s wedding dress. Perhaps I’ll open a shop. I’d offer you a generous discount, of course,” he added with a dry smile.

“You wouldn’t be considering opening your own agency, by any chance?”

“Of course not,” he exclaimed gently, pressing one hand to his chest. “I’m offended that you could think such a thing.”

“Very well,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “If you can deliver the Lefleur contract, we will revisit your own.”

“Oh, no, dearie. We’ll ‘revisit’ nothing. You’ll release me.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Esther sighed slightly. “Very well.”

“Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you.”

He left the office, letting out the breath he’d been holding as he waited for her answer, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he rounded a corner and came face-to-face with Jefferson.

“So? How’d it go?”

“You’re going to kill me one of these days,” Gold complained.

“Sorry. What did she say?”

“She said yes. One more wedding, Bucket, and I’m free of this place forever.”

“You’ll take me with you?”

Gold chuckled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to pay you nearly as much as she does.”

“Who cares? Shorter hours, better work environment, and I can spend more time with Grace. I’m not so bad with a needle myself, y’know.”

Gold thought about that. The man made all of his own and his daughter’s clothes, and while his style was unique, his workmanship was flawless. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

“Splendid! Now let’s go pluck us a flower!”