#Dead Person Impersonation‚ Face Your Fears‚ He Who Fights Monsters‚

[fullscoreshenanigans]

#this is just what middle schoolers do when theyre left to their own devices your honor (via @midnight-sloth)

March 21st - Happy Birthday Norman - ft: his tvtropes

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Was It A Mistake?

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester, Leviathan!Dean

Word Count: 2,077

Warnings: angst

Summary: You and Dean are broken up so why is he at your house saying these things that bring back your true feelings for him?

Squared Filled: Leviathan!Dean

Author’s Note: This is for @spndarkbingo and this is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

When you saw the former love of your life standing at your front door, you were really confused. Yes, you and Dean were still friends after everything that happened, but you agreed to be separated unless one of you needed the other one. Usually, he would call in case you were busy with a hunt or had company over, so that is why you were confused. It’s been a while since you last saw him, but he still looks as handsome as ever. It’s been almost three years since you last saw him and only one since you last talked to him.

Your relationship with him was a messy one. Before you two became a thing, you were inseparable. There wasn’t anything you two didn’t do together. Sam thought it was cute how you two depended on each other for literally everything. The emotional attractiveness is what came first before the physical one. Sure, he was handsome as hell, but that wasn’t the reason why you loved him so much. It was because of his personality that roped you in.

You two started dating shortly after the first time you two saw each other naked on accident. There was one of those doors that separate your room and his room, and he was the one that came barging in butt naked. Your relationship in the beginning was perfect. You two were at the stage where you couldn’t keep your hands off each other no matter what. It got on Sam’s nerves a lot, but he was glad his brother was happy.

It was only until six months in the relationship things started going south. You two argued on every little topic, there couldn’t seem to be a middle ground with the two of you. Late nights turned into even longer ones because you two couldn’t sleep in the same bed as each other. You two never cheated on one another while you were dating, but the relationship had to end if either one of you wanted to be happy.

It puzzled you as to why things started going south so early. When it came to hunts, you argued about what kind of plan to put into action. When you were at the grocery store, it was what kind of pie to buy. When it was organizing the storage room, it was what kind of system to have down there. Nothing seemed to please the two of you until you finally figured out what truly went wrong.

You two were too much alike.

It would explain almost everything that went wrong. You two were natural born leaders, you two didn’t play well with others, you both liked being the alpha in the house, etc. Your personalities were so much alike that it was hard to live with someone like you. That’s why they say opposites attract because it’s nice to get away from yourself once in a while. If anything, you would most likely be compatible with Sam, but you didn't want to go down that road. Dean was still a good friend since you two decided that’s what you two were ever going to be.

Since hunting proved to be difficult, you thought going your separate ways would be best and only hunting together if you absolutely needed someone. Since he didn’t call before hand, you wondered why he was standing at your doorstep with a flirty smirk on his face. If he thought he could come to your house at night just for a booty call, then he has another thing going for him.

“Dean, what are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t see my best friend? Is that a crime?”

“No, it’s not. It’s not like you to just stop by.”

“Well, I was in the area and thought, ‘why not’?”

“So, where’s Sam?”

“He’s not here. He met some nice lady at the bar and decided to go home with her instead,” he chuckled. “You know my brother.”

“Apparently I don’t,” you muttered. The weird thing about this was Sam wasn’t the type to go in bars and pick up women. That was more Dean’s style. “Come in.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he smiled before stepping inside your home. Shutting the door behind him, you guided him to the kitchen before taking out two cups.

“Whiskey or Bourbon?” you asked as you opened up your alcohol cabinet.

“Actually I’ll have some water,” he cleared his throat. Swiftly turning around, you knew it wasn’t like Dean to turn down free alcohol. What has gotten into him? Why was he acting like this? You knew Dean better than his own brother, but you decided to keep your mouth shut about this. Maybe he was going through something and needed to vent. Again, he usually did that with alcohol.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I want to be sober. I want to remember you like how you are now,” he grinned. Was he flirting with you?

“Are you flirting with me, Dean?” you asked as you handed him a bottle of water.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“You haven’t flirted with me since we were going out. I thought we agreed to just stay friends.”

“We did and we are. I can’t flirt a little bit?”

“Dean, what’s going on? Is there something you want to talk about?” you asked as you took a seat at the kitchen table.

“Okay, you caught me,” he sighed. “There is something that’s been bothering me and I really just want to get my feelings out.”

“So talk,” you encouraged him even though you were highly suspicious of him. You’ve dealt with many shapeshifters in the past, and since Dean wasn’t acting like Dean, you thought you might put him to the test. Getting up just as Dean began to speak, you walked to the fridge and pulled out the last of your cherry pie. Grabbing one of your silver forks, you set the plate and utensil down in front of him. Without stopping, he picked up the fork and began eating the pie. Okay, so he’s not a shapeshifter, but there is definitely something wrong with him.

Ever since he arrived, he’s been flirting with you non-stop. He’s even had the nerve to touch you on your thigh before you scooted away from him. Sure, you would love to hit that up, but it would only complicate things. Plus, it would only confuse your feelings. When you two broke up, you agreed to be friends, but that didn’t mean you stopped loving him. The years you’ve spent apart made you realize that no other man would be enough for you.

You and Dean had your fights, but he understood you like no other. He knew what you wanted even without having to voice it. There were a lot of bad times, but the good times were just amazing. Seeing him here made those thoughts and feelings to come rushing back, but you knew nothing would come of it since he made it clear he didn’t want to be with you.

So why was he acting like this?

“I still love you,” he blurted out. Whipping your head to face him, your eyes were wide.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, we had our differences, but what couple doesn’t? We had a lot of good times, and I’m sorry that I broke up with you, but I guess I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it,” he confessed. Hearing him say these things was amazing, but you broke things off, not him. This wasn’t Dean. But then who was it?

“Do you want to stay the night? I have some of your clothes still in my room if you want to change,” you smiled, not giving away anything suspicious.

“Sure,” he grinned before getting up. He touched your hand as he left. As soon as he was in the bedroom, you pulled out your phone and dialed Dean’s number by heart. As the phone rang, you kind of hoped he would emerge from your bedroom and ask why you were calling him if he was already over.

“Hey, I was just about to call you,” Dean said over the line.

“You were?” you asked with a whisper as your blood ran cold.

“Yeah, look, we have something here that's close to the Bunker, and Sam is being a bitch and whining about how we should call you. What do you say? Can you come over?”

“You’re at the Bunker right now?” you asked in a panic.

“Sweetheart what’s wrong?” he asked, immediately on alert by your tone.

“Dean, there is something here that looks like you--” you spoke fast before you got interrupted by the phone being ripped from your fingers. Dean listened in horror as you screamed before the line went dead.

“Sam! We got to go!” he exclaimed as he grabbed his jacket and keys.

“What the hell are you?” you gasped as you backed up as he approached you.

“Just one of the oldest monsters in creation, and my boss will be so pleased once Sam and Dean arrive for you,” he laughed as you backed into a corner. Looking around you for a weapon of some kind, you grabbed the one thing that was within reach and stabbed it into his chest. However, all he did was laugh as he pulled it out.

“Try again, sweetheart,” he said before pouncing on you.

“Y/N!” Dean yelled as he threw your front door open. Him and his brother ran in with the weapons that he knew would kill the Leviathan that was impersonating him. Sam had Borax in his hands while Dean held a machete as he swept your house.

“Dean!” you screamed from your bedroom. Both brothers ran up the stairs and busted into your room to see Levithan!Dean grinning as he licked your blood from his fingers. He had made a little slice on your arm just to taste your blood. He had to tie you down in order to have his way with you which is why you couldn’t do anything about it.

“She’s delicious,” he laughed.

“Let her go you son of a bitch!”

“Oh, I never wanted her. It’s you two that I want, and she hand delivered you two to me,” he grinned.

“Great you got us, now let her go,” Dean growled.

“Now that I think about it, a quick snack wouldn’t do any harm,” he grinned evilly as he tipped his head back and opened his powerful jaw. Razor sharp teeth protruded from his jaw as well as a long and slimy tongue. Your eyes widened in fear, and Sam threw the soap at the monster. The leviathan screamed in pain, and Dean rushed at him with the machete. Once he got close enough, he swung it at the neck, watching as the head dropped to the ground. Screaming in shock, the body fell to the ground as Dean quickly picked up the head to keep it separate it from the body.

“Give me it,” Sam said as he took the head. Once his hands were free, Dean rushed to you before untying you.

“Thank God,” you whispered before going into his arms.

“Are you okay? He didn't hurt you, did he?” he asked as he checked you or injuries.

“Beside the small cut on my arm, no. All he did was talk and talk and talk. He was nothing like you,” you sighed as Sam left the room to take care of the head.

“How did you know it wasn’t me?” he asked as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Because he said he loved me, and that he wanted me back. He flirted with me and didn’t want alcohol, but I could have passed those off as maybe you being tired or something, but when he said those words, I knew it couldn’t have been you,” you sighed.

Dean could do nothing but stare at you because he was in shock. These last few years have not been kind to him because he was still in love with you. He just never pursued anything with you because you didn’t feel the same way about him. You broke up with him, so he left it alone. Hearing the tone in your voice implies that you were sad that it hadn’t been him that said those words, but that can’t be it, can it?

Was breaking up a mistake?

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[megashadowdragon]

foreshadowing in ff7

When Cloud tells the story of the Nibelheim incident for the first time, there's a lot of little foreshadowing tidbits that you cannot but notice on during later playthroughs, namely:

Cloud's POV during the train scene is actually from Zack's right until Sephiroth starts talking about Nibelheim being "your hometown". Although the speech bubbles still come from "Cloud", the dialogue is from the real Cloud (the sick grunt).

In that same scene, Cloud starts doing squats when he gets excited. Which is a Zack mannerism that the real Cloud never displays IIRC.

Sephiroth tells Cloud he can go visit his family and friends right at the moment when a grunt enters from the left side of the truck. That grunt is actually the real Cloud, whom Sephiroth is actually addressing.

For someone who left only two years ago, everybody in Nibelheim sure takes a bit too long to recognize Cloud. Evidently, it's because of the helmet that is part of his grunt uniform.

(or how when cloud asked a man (who wanted a pic of sephiroth and a monster)  to take his picture  the guy responded with an “ I don't take pictures with nobodys”.)

Cloud's Mom asks Cloud if what he's wearing is a SOLDIER uniform, presumably with excitement, and Cloud replies "Mom, I...", presumably embarrassed at her delight. Actually, Cloud's Mom's question is probably her sensing that something went wrong because she sees it as a "low rank" uniform and Cloud's embarrassment is about his failure. That's why Cloud's memory has so many blanks in this part; a good deal of the conversation was probably about Cloud's failure. You probably thought sometime that Cloud seems weirdly uncomfortable being around the mother he should have been eager to see.

If you date Aerith at the Gold Saucer, she and Cloud have the following exchange (which, in hindsight, is a hint that she knows that Cloud has adopted Zack's personality and memories as his own):Aerith: Cloud... I'm searching for you. Cloud: ............? Aerith: I want to meet you. Cloud: But I'm right here. Aerith: I know, I know... what I mean is... I want to meet... you.

When Cloud asks Aerith what answers she's searching for by following Sephiroth, she's extremely evasive:Aerith: I'll go too. There are things I want to find out. Cloud: About the Ancients? Aerith: ... Many things.

This is because she is trying to find out what happened to Zack — and she's evasive because, by this point, she's seen enough (especially if she noticed the Buster Sword) to suspect that Cloud is impersonating Zack.

Tifa asks afterwards if she was very hurt when Cloud found her. Your first reaction would be to think she didn't remember the details of what happened. On the contrary, she is beginning to think that Cloud has assumed Zack's role in the story and is asking him something that only the person who attended her would know - just to affirm her suspicions that the real Cloud was the grunt she remembered being with them, and to see how much of the real Cloud is still there. Her constant interruptions when Cloud is visiting her house might have something of this as well.

The ending, or rather the complete lack of one. Cloud cuts off once he and Sephiroth face down in the reactor and doesn't elaborate further. He doesn't believe for a second that he could have killed Sephiroth, but Cloud obviously didn't die either. All anyone knows at that point is that Shinra has officially stated that their best SOLDIER is dead. They're correct- Cloud did it.

The reactions of everybody after Cloud tells the story: Tifa asks for a small detail, as discussed above. Aeris dodges Cloud's personal issues and changes the subject directly towards Sephiroth and the Ancients. She probably suspected she was seeing Zack inside Cloud since some time and Tifa's small questions probably confirmed her doubts. Barrett says the story doesn't make sense. He's right. Red XIII says "What a fascinating story". Which doesn't imply he believes any of it.

Furthermore, the difference in power between Cloud and Sephiroth. Didn't Zack hold his own against Sephiroth before getting defeated? Surely a 1st class can't actually have been that (comparably) weak. A grunt, however...

An additional bit of Foreshadowing comes when you're on the airship and Yuffie is suffering from motion sickness. Cloud advises her on how to deal with it, implying that he used to cope with motion sickness too. Think back to the scene on the train. "Cloud" isn't suffering any motion sickness, but the faceless grunt is.

Another possible interpretation is that she was, at the time, doubting her own memories and trying to make sense of what actually happened. Sure, Cloud clearly wasn't well when she found him, and she was sure he wasn't at Nibelheim... but she had been badly hurt, he knew things he shouldn't have unless he was there, and our minds do have a funny way of messing with our memories. IIRC it's not until they're in the Lifestream that she realizes Cloud was the grunt.

As a good example of Gameplay and Story Integration, Flashback!Cloud has almost the exact same stats as the Shinra guards you first fight at the beginning of the game.

Additionally, Cloud has many other flashbacks of his mother telling him to just settle down and marry an older girl. These flashbacks have the same 'painful white' flash, meaning they're painful suppressed memories. Why would they be painful suppressed memories? His mother gave him that lecture after discovering he'd failed to join SOLDIER.

Something that isn't really noticeable in-game, besides a skinny comment from Barret early on, but rather in character artwork; Cloud carries his famous Buster Sword and other large weapons with ease to the point of spinning them with one hand. But while he has some muscles, his build is far too lean for the average person to nonchalantly carry them. While being a SOLDIER, known for their superhuman capabilities, is generally the excuse, he's practically a young man of little note compared to the muscular, tall physique of Sephiroth, and even Zack has a more fitting build to a degree. It's possibly a subtle nod to the fact that the Mako as well as the Jenova cells really are what gives Cloud his physical strength - he wasn't actually physically trained like any SOLDIER proper, especially in comparison to Sephiroth or Zack, since he wasn't in SOLDIER to begin with. Which doubles when it's shown as a grunt, he's more muscular because Shinra grunts are needed to be physically fit. SOLDIER's need to be fit, but you also need to be compatible with the Jenova genes.

Rufus Shinra's Heel–Face Turn in the film was actually being foreshadowed during the game.

Despite his talk of ruling the world through fear, he expresses nothing but disgust towards the monsters his father had placed in charge of Shinra and likely would have replaced them once the crisis was over.

Also, he never commits any acts of mass murder to deal with his issues and only uses the big guns on very serious threats, like the Diamond Weapon. In contrast, several acts of outright murder happened under his father's orders.

However, the biggest clue can be easily missed: after Tifa wakes up from the incident at the Northern Crater, Rufus sentences her and Barrett to be publicly executed. So where is the foreshadowing? He apparently allowed the rest of the team to go despite their previous fights against Shinra. However, Barrett and Tifa are known to be AVALANCHE terrorists responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocents from their bombings of the reactors. As criminals, they deserved a death sentence, so Rufus only punished the people who actually carried out the murders.

[dentelle-grise]

Your Latest Trick

Chapter 16

(Loki x Reader)

Long after everyone has stopped talking about Loki and his misdemeanors, his failed attempt to take over Midgard and his punishment, you meet him at a party.

A tale in which Loki woos the reader despite life imprisonment, mortal wounding and the cumbersome pretense of impersonating his father.

Covering the events of ‘The Dark World’ and beyond

Original Prompt: Imagine Loki undressing you slowly, entirely by magic, only touching you with his eyes.

All chapters to date at AO3 (39K, NC-17)

Tagging: @frenchfrostpudding

Chapter 16

That night you’re dragged again from sleep at some unnameable hour. Loki’s hands clasp at you, never gripping, forever sliding, ever searching for a tighter hold. It’s another nightmare, but more intense. You call his name but he doesn’t respond and flails like someone drowning. Outside, the sky throws rain in lashes against the roof, as though mirroring his agitated state or mocking it. Finally, he gets a hold of you and pulls you roughly to him; not in a loving or passionate way, but desperately, his fingers digging in, his breathing harsh and uneven against you.

You struggle and yell at him because it hurts. You try to shake him awake or at least off of you, but he’s too strong and he’s holding you so tight that you can barely move. Loki meanwhile barely stops moving, writhing as though thrown around by a rough sea.

You think of the wards he set to prevent others hearing if you got too vocal during sex. He’s made the room impervious, like a magic island.  But it was only an illusion that nothing could touch you here, he’s brought his own monsters with him. 

Little did you think that Loki himself could be a threat. You can’t wake him and you can’t call for help - as if would you ever do such a thing. By throwing your lot in with Loki you have thrown out other options. You can’t even reach to put on the light, but least you can still breathe. So you talk to him. All this is only his mind, and that you can sooth.

“Relax. It’s alright. I’m here. You can let me go Loki. I won’t run away.”

It’s pathetic, it feels like he can’t hear you at all. “It’s alright, I’m here.” You repeat. You think of the man you saved the day of the air raid, how your words worked that time, because you did save him, the healer’s told you.  Even though it was they who did the hard part.

You keep on on. “It’s alright, I’m here. Calm down, they can’t hurt you.” But his fingers don’t loosen and his breathing won’t calm. “Loki?” Then, because you can, you start to tell him other things.

“You can’t keep doing this Loki, you’ve got to tell somebody. Did you ever tell somebody? Why don’t you tell me. Oh where in the realms do you go all day? What would I do if you didn’t come home?  What would your father do?” Then you realize that the answer to the last question is probably nothing. Loki is already dead for the whole of Asgard except a chosen few.  

And those certainly don’t include Thor.

“Oh Loki, why don’t you tell your brother you’re alive?”

And then he’s gasping for air as though he had indeed been under water. He’s panting and coughing and looking at you, eyes wild and then he mutters.

“So is he.”  And, releasing you, he throws himself back on the bed beside you and closes his eyes an instant, still breathing heavily. You turn the lamp on and it glows dimly.

“What? Who?” He opens his eyes and there is a weariness there of someone far older.

“Malekith…” he breathes. The vanquished enemy? a name you’ve only heard from your parents, Odin and Thor. “Malekith lives.”

And it all makes sense.  Odin’s continued concern for Asgard’s defense, the inciting of the populus to be ready.

“But Thor said…”

“What does Thor know? Did Thor see him die?” Loki gives a bitter laugh.

“And what if he did? Should you believe him? Thor saw me die.”

You don’t know how to respond. This doesn’t seem to bother him untowardly. You are both silent a moment, but you can hold it in.

“Why have Thor think you dead?”  

“I had little choice at the time.  I thought me dead.”

“I mean now.” You reach to touch him.

Loki pulls away from you and sits on the side of the bed, head in his hands.

“It’s alright.” You reach for him again and lay your hand on his shoulder.

“No.”

“Loki?”

“No, it’s not alright. He’s still out there. I can’t rest…” and then he turns and uncovers his face, only it’s not his face but that of another. Half white as a sheet and wizened, the other half burnt black. The eyes shine a brighter blue than those of any Aesir, but the rest of his face is twisted and either colorless or charred.

You scream.

“Loki stop it. What is that? Don’t do this.”

 Why frighten you like that?

“Be afraid. But know him. It was he who took my mother, not the monster I killed.

“Please change back now.”  You’ve seen him change himself before, but why turn himself into this enemy here in your room.  In your bed! You are shaking with anger as much as with fear.

 Then he starts to change again under your gaze and you look for his familiar features. But no, his face remains foreign, but becomes softer. It’s clearly someone of the same race, but even without the contrast he’s shown you, you would find this face beautiful.

And he smiles at you with this strangers face and you don’t know whether to be terrified or reassured.

“Who?”

“The one who saved me.”

You wait for him to go on, searching these foreign features for some sign of how he feels about this person he’s mimicking.

“I was supposed to die there…”

In the silence that follows you hear his brief sigh as he stops himself and the drops of rain steadily hitting the window outside now. He’s going all kinds of dark places you weren’t expecting, but you wouldn’t stop now he’s talking.

“I was ready to.” He has returned to his usual form and is laying close to you. You tuck yourself under his arm and he wraps it around you.

“Svartalfheim is nothing but sand.  I’d been there before - just because I could - but there’s nothing, nothing but a land ravaged by the wind.” You’ve never been there, but you know the history.

“The very planet was swallowing me. Thor thought I was dead. A sand storm blew up and he and Jane sought shelter. I couldn’t have called them if I’d tried.

I would have been buried by it. My magic was enough to stop the bleeding but not the elements.  The grains came so fast it was like being bitten by a thousand insects and I couldn’t move. I would die, not by the blade, but at the hands of a vengeful planet.”  You don’t prompt, he’s telling you this because he wants to.

He will tell you everything if you wait long enough.

“What… and who, waits for us on the other side of death?” You think immediately of Frigga, if that is who he means, or could it be an adversary, past or present. There must be more than a few that haunt him. You enlace your fingers with his and squeeze gently in the hope of bringing his thoughts back from there.

“Before, Svartalfheim was supposedly a paradise, but one in perpetual darkness.  The light destroyed life on the surface and the face of the land itself.  Now there is only the wind and the sand. It was building up all around me. If I couldn’t rise, it would soon cover my head, and I couldn’t because I was too weak and the wind too strong.”

“I might have seen mother, but when I thought of her, I knew couldn’t let it end there.  Not like that, not while he, the one who had her killed, was still out there.”

I could not rise, so I rolled.” He laughs at himself. “There wasn’t much of a slope and it was agony, but I stayed on the surface. I just hoped I could get to our craft, though I’d lost all sense of direction.  With the sand flying in my eyes and nose, All I could see was grey and and all I could taste was the foul stench of that place.

 Finally, I could go no further, I was tempted to think the storm was waning or maybe it was my senses fading, But then, at the end of exhaustion, and too weak to fight anyone, I felt hands, there in the sand, grabbing me, dragging me.”

Now you know you won’t sleep until you’ve heard the whole of this, but Loki has gone silent. You nudge him and he tightens the arm that’s draped around your shoulders and nuzzles your hair. He makes an audible sigh and then says:

“Being a prisoner yet again, that was my first fear.” You wonder how he could find this worse than suffocation in a sand storm of Svartalfheim, but you let him go on. “I was helpless, if I was to be a prisoner and a pawn once more then there was nothing I could do. I had no idea who had taken me, who it was harshly dragging me.  Who it was who didn’t have the decency, or the strength, to carry me.

They took me somewhere dark, completely dark, it must have been underground. They could see perfectly I think, but not I.

I was tended to and left to rest on the floor, covered with sand, like everywhere else.

I don’t know how much time passed, it was always dark.  When one of them came I made a little light by magic and they ran away, but not before I got a look at them.  I’d been taken by the dark elves.” You gasp audibly at that, thinking of the attack, of Frigga.

“I was too weak to do anything but wait.

She looked like him, like Malekith, the only other of them I ever saw without a mask.”

“She?!” A girl dark elf? They have those?

“What difference does it make?” So he met a girl on Svartalfhelm.  Met and was cared for by. You should be thankful, but you are still uneasy.

“I learnt a lot about them in a short time. It is clear they do not all support Malekith.  This is why she helped me. She saw Thor and I fighting his party.

They live in caves, in holes, in places dug out to find the darkness. I don’t know what they eat, if not the rock of itself, she had no food for me.

"I gradually got better,  I imagined you, like a glimmer, a live thing, a promise." You take his hand in the gloom, afraid to let him see how those words affect you.

"Then Malekith came back. Mutilated but not dead. We thought him crushed by his ship, but there were still those loyal to him who came to his aid that rescued him.”  

“But Thor believes him dead! The people…”

“Have been shaken enough and are more than ready to defend the realm.”

“But why let all Asgard think you dead?”

“It’s safer that way. And besides, who would trust me?  I am better respected dead than I ever was alive.”

“And Thor?”

“I will tell him, when the time comes.” It doesn’t sound like he is in much of a hurry. “And then I will let him think it was the trick of the century.”

With that he lays down again and rolls on his side.  He cradles you to him, and you feel his silent laughter vibrating against your back.

Oh but you didn’t see him. Loki. You want to say, but it wouldn’t help.

He falls asleep, perhaps happy to have shared all this with you, but you remain awake, going through it all in your mind. You are glad Thor is away, keeping Loki’s secret from him would be too hard with him around.

Oh why did Loki have to burden you with such secrets? But then you look at him, peaceful and beautiful.  The biggest secret is his life, the pulse thrumming softly under your hand and your own heart is singing with it.

Chapter 17

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Every Breath She Takes

A/N: This is my second follow celebration personalized fic! This one is for yet another immensely patient follower, @plaidstiel-wormstache who put up with me peppering her with questions about all manner of weird things (most of which didn’t even end up in here). Special thanks to @littlegreenplasticsoldier who beta read this monster and helped me get the accent a little closer to reality. Honorable mention to @faith-in-dean who helped me title it! These are all quality women with quality blogs and you should be following them!

Summary: Sam and Dean meet Jessie, and the rest is history.

Prompt: Whatever moved me, preferably fluff.

Pairing: Sam x Jessie 

Warnings: None. It’s so fucking fluffy you could pet it.

Word count: 2382 (Believe me, you don’t want it longer. The story took a very weird turn around 2500 words, and I decided it was better to end it fluffy.)

Sam was impressed by Jessie from the first moment he saw her. Admittedly, when he first saw her, he was actually seeing a Leviathan impersonating her, but when the monster was as dead as Levis got, she was still impressive. He had almost a foot in height over her, but she was a whirlwind of furious anger with long, dark hair and an explosive expression. She got up off the floor where she’d been thrown, stormed over to the impersonator’s head, and kicked it across the warehouse like a champion soccer player.

“That’s what y’get fer messin’ with the big boys, y’slimey bastard!” she screamed as the head hit a wall with a wet thump and rolled around a corner. She looked up at Sam triumphantly while her chest heaved and her hands landed on her hips. “So, big boy, are there more of those things around here that need killin’ or is this the part where I take you out to dinner to thank you for savin’ me life?”

Sam’s mouth flapped silently while his brain tried to catch up. Her accent enthralled him while he fought to look away from her eyes as they sparkled with mischief. “You’re not going to ask me what that was or what’s going on?”

Jessie shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile. “Mate, I’m from Australia. It’s not a proper Monday morning ‘til ya’ve killed five things that wanna kill ya back!”

The smile that shone from her face was the first thing to warm Sam’s heart since Bobby had died, and he immediately hoped he would see more of it. In spite of everything that was going on around him, for the first time in a very long time, Sam laughed, and his fate was sealed.

When Dean came around the corner, head in hand like Perseus and Medusa, he all but dragged Sam back to the Impala. Jessie followed right behind. The car was three miles down the road before Dean fully realized she was in the back seat and looked at Sam with raised eyebrows and gritted teeth. Sam just shrugged, a wide-eyed innocent smile covering that he was secretly glad that she was there. Dean tried to drop her somewhere, anywhere, trying to convince her that she could still have a normal life, but she wouldn’t go.

“Maybe you didn’t notice in the rush to leave, Pretty Boy, but that head you stashed in your trunk was mine. Now, I’m assuming you had a reason for leaving the body behind, but even if you didn’t, it’s still there, telling the world that I’m dead. You drop me off anywhere, and people are gonna have questions, am I right?”

Dean glared at her for a long moment, then hit the steering wheel as he let out a curse. Slamming the car into gear, he tore out of the grocery store parking lot, tires squealing. No matter what, she wasn’t going back, and it took all of Sam’s willpower not to smile.

Jessie took to hunting faster than anyone Sam had ever seen. She was a quick learner, especially when Dean taught her. The two seemed to get along like oil and water, constantly bickering and trying to one-up each other, but Sam saw the true affection that lay beneath it all. Dean was secretly proud of how easily Jessie passed every test, even if it was only to show him up, and Jessie loved surprising Dean every time she exceeded his expectations. Sam loved watching her rub it in Dean’s face, since it usually included a strange, but enthusiastic, dance which took his breath away and made him grin so hard his cheeks ached. When it came to hitting the books, she was no slouch there, either. She always seemed to know exactly where to go to get the information they needed and was just as quick as either of the brothers to make connections and find answers.

When they found the bunker, Jessie was even more excited about the library than Sam was. Specifically, she was excited to read all the journals she found there. She’d pored over John’s journal, and the journals Sam and Dean had taken from the Campbell compound, eager to read firsthand accounts of hunts and how other hunters dealt with the life. She was fascinated with how the Men of Letters documented everything with pictures and video, not just writing, and soon was taking millions of photos on every hunt. Dean would growl at getting held up while Jesse snapped pictures of Wendigo scat (“I’m not taking pictures of poop, Dean!”) or monster footprints (“I know we were thinking werewolf, but are we sure Bigfoot isn’t real?”) or whatever she felt was unique to a case (“The book says how you do the ritual is just as important as the spell ingredients and the words, so yes, Dean, I’m recording you. Now, make pretty for the camera, sweet cheeks!”).

Through it all, Sam watched her. Quietly, he encouraged her, grinning at her antics and laughing at her quips. When she was injured, he handled her gently while he patched her up. When a hunt went badly, he let her bury herself in his arms until her tears finally dried. When a hunt was finished quickly and easily, he made sure there were glasses of water mixed in with her tumblers of whiskey and ridiculously colored cocktails with little umbrellas.

He watched her as she challenged Dean to bet after bet, getting Dean to offer the serious stakes like letting her pick the music on hunts or cleaning up the library after rough research sessions. She lost as often as she won, but it was all worth it for the times when she was victorious, singing country songs at the top of her lungs while Dean glowered and revved the engine. He watched her as she danced in the kitchen to Justin Timberlake, her hips shaking as she unloaded grocery bags and put things away. He watched her as she slept on scratchy comforters in cheap motel rooms, her hair splayed out on pillows he definitely wouldn’t steal for himself the following night (but he totally did). Every day, he watched her embrace everything she came across, almost fearlessly, and with a passion he hadn’t felt in a long time. He watched her, careful to not let her see him watching, for fear she’d stop being entirely herself if she knew he saw her.

Eventually, the day he feared finally came, and he watched her as she danced with some douchey-looking guy at a bar after a hunt. He was in a suit, with slicked-back hair and an expensive watch. He flaunted his gold card when he ordered her a drink and winked at her as he spoke to the bartender. As they danced to some pop rock ballad that made Dean groan, his hand dipped to just below the small of her back, not quite being so rude as to actually grab her ass, but definitely enjoying the feel of the slope down toward it. Sam watched her giggle and blush while he tried to drown the sick feeling in his stomach.

“If you stare at her any harder, you’re going to burn a hole through her dress and then the dick will really get a show,” Dean said as he sat down across from Sam. “You better make your move quick, Sam, or we’re not gonna see her again until after breakfast.”

Sam glared at his brother, wishing he could burn a hole through Dean’s smirk. “If she liked me that way, she’d have said something or done something, Dean. I’m not what she wants.”

Dean shook his head. “You know, for a guy who got a full ride to fucking Stanford, you sure are dumb sometimes,” he said with a jab at Sam before finishing his drink and turning to inspect a raucous group of ladies at the bar.

Sam downed the rest of his drink and shook his head. “All right, present your case. What makes you think I have a snowball’s chance in hell?”

Dean glanced at Sam and chuckled, then began counting off reasons on his fingers. “When she’s hurt or upset, she always goes to you. When she’s happy or excited, she always goes to you. When she has to be the deciding vote, she always votes with you. Every time we stop for food, she always gets something for you.” Dean looked at his brother and shook his head at Sam’s unconvinced expression. “And even if it weren’t for all of that, it’s the way she looks at you, man. She’s always watching you, especially when you’re doing that thing that makes the female victims talk. Dude, she hates when you do that thing.”

Sam considered his brother’s words but wasn’t brave enough to give himself that kind of hope. “I don’t know, Dean.” He shook his head and stared into his empty glass.

Dean tapped the table with his hand and stood up to leave. “Fine. Don’t believe me. Watch her go home with that asshat and spend the night alone torturing yourself thinking about what they’re doing. But I guarantee, if you go over there right now and step in, she’ll forget him so fast his head will spin.”

Sam’s view of Jessie was obscured by Dean’s departure, and when he looked back where she and the dick had been, he saw nothing but empty floor.

His eyes bounced over the bar, the dart board, the jukebox, and every table in the joint, but she was nowhere. His heart raced as he searched the tiny dive bar a second and then a third time, but he still didn’t find her. Despair filled him as he realized he was already too late. She was already gone.

He rubbed a hand over his face and slumped back in the booth, fighting the urge to throw his empty glass against the wall just for the satisfaction of hearing it shatter. His head ached with the emotion he wasn’t letting out, his eyes burning as he clenched his fists so tightly his palms stung. He’d waited too long to tell her how he felt, and now she was off doing….

Sam’s head dropped into his hands and he pushed the heels of his palms into his eyeballs as if to physically wipe away the thoughts of what Jessie was doing with Douchey McDoucherton. When the worst of the images had passed, he dropped his hands and stared at his empty glass again, trying to will it to fill automatically. He no longer had the energy or the strength to hail the waitress and ask for another refill, no matter how much he needed it, so he would just sit here and stare at the glass until someone kicked him out.

He was deep into a pit of self-loathing and self-recrimination when his empty glass was pushed aside by a large glass of water.

“You look like you need this,” said the most beautiful voice with the most melodic accent Sam had ever heard.

Sam looked up, and there stood Jessie. Her brow was furrowed as she looked him over, but he thought she’d never looked more beautiful. “I thought you’d left with that guy,” Sam said quietly, the shock bleeding into his voice.

“Brad?” she scoffed as she slid into the booth next to him. “He must have had pizza with garlic, onion, and anchovies for lunch or something. His breath was truly foul. I mean, it was worse than Marmite breath, and that’s worse than Vegemite breath! And I didn’t think that was possible! There’s not a lot of—“

Sam interrupted Jessie’s train of thought by pulling her into his arms and slamming his lips onto hers. There was a moment of panic when she didn’t respond, but then her arms wound around him and she started kissing back.

The kiss was about the most perfect kiss Sam had ever had. Jessie tasted so sweet, like the fruity concoction she’d been drinking, and it almost made Sam dizzy. He groaned when he finally had to come up for air, not wanting to separate from her now that he had her. As they both pulled back, Sam kept his eyes closed, fearing what he might see on Jessie’s face.

“Well, you certainly don’t have Vegemite breath,” Jessie said, her voice breathy and soft.

Sam’s eyes flew open to gauge her reaction and his heart nearly burst out of his chest at her smile. Her grin matched his, and his was so wide his cheeks ached with it. He set his forehead on hers and sighed. “I thought I missed my chance. I thought you were gone and I was too late.”

Jessie pulled back a bit, and Sam opened his eyes to see her smiling face again.

“Too late for what, Sam?” she asked quietly, her eyes wide as she searched his face and took a shuddering breath.

“Too late to tell you how much you mean to me. Too late to kiss you and hold you, and—” Sam cupped the side of her head with one hand, tangling his fingers in her hair and sighing at the feel of her. “Too late to ask you if maybe you might feel the same way, too?” Sam’s eyes were hopeful as Jessie continued to grin.

“Yeah, Sam. Yeah, I do,” she said, her eyes sparkling as she reached up and combed her fingers through Sam’s hair, too, caressing his cheek until he leaned into her touch and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Sam kissed her again, this time more slowly, with less panic. He took the time to really taste her, to feel her softness beneath his hands. He listened to the breathy sighs and whimpers she let out as her lips moved against his. As they came up for air, he filled his nose with the scent of her shampoo before opening his eyes and drinking in the sight of her. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright, her mouth slightly swollen, and it was all from his kisses. Finally, she was his, to experience with all of his senses, but he’d never get tired of watching her. 

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[tigerlilynoh]

Job & Family DS:Aftermath - Dean & the Agents

Words: 2,964 Spoiler warning:  Contains spoilers for the end of Job & Family.

10/02/2011

Dean was sitting alone in a booth at one of his favorite diners.  He'd ordered his lunch and was skimming through the newspaper, trying to find the local interest stories after reading several disheartening pieces like speculation on Japan’s forced evacuation of Hachijō-jima island.  In general he tried to pay attention to what was happening in the world, but with so many small scale events he had to focus most of his attention on things that hit closer to home.  He was just about to give up and turn to the comics section when two men nearly middle aged men in official looking suits slid into the booth across from him.  

“Fellas, I don't know what you're-”

“I'm Agent Reyes,”  The older of the two introduced himself, then nodded to his partner.  “and this is Agent Barcelos.”

“We need to have a word with you, Mr. Winchester.”

“If you really are FBI, then show me your badges.”  Dean said skeptically.  Despite not having impersonated a fed in over a year, he was pretty sure he could spot a fake badge.

“We aren't FBI.”  

The agents pulled their badges out of their coat pockets and pushed they across the table.  Dean’s stomach dropped as soon as he saw the badges.  In the almost two years since the power plant incident, he’d never had an encounter with the Department of Extranatural & Planar Affairs.  The fledgling agency was tasked with monitoring all things related to the supernatural within the United States.  He'd tried like hell to stay off their radar, yet they'd finally figured out who he was.  For the briefest of moments he’d considered trying to throw his coffee in their faces and making a run for it, but he quelled the fight & flight responses.

“Okay, you've made your point.”  Dean said quietly as he pushed the badges back toward the agents.  He came to that diner so often he knew all the servers’ names and how their kids were doing.  One of the last things he wanted was for word to get out that he'd been questioned by DEPA- the agents were counting on it.  “What do you want?”

“We just have a few questions.”  Reyes said as they put their badges away.

“I'm not sure I have any answers.”  Dean replied coldly.

“That's not a very cooperative tone.”  Barcelos nodded to the impala.  “If we were to search your car we wouldn't happen to find any unregistered weapons or artifacts, would we?”

“I'm retired.  Anything I still have is just for self-defense.”

“People like you do have a lot of enemies.”  Barcelos managed to turn the agreement into a threat.

“You're a law abiding civilian now.”  Reyes commented ambiguously as he pulled a small tablet from his jacket and began scrolling through something.  “You work as an automotive mechanic at Five Star Repair & Body.  You rent a room from Leroy McCollum-”

“Former hunter.”  Barcelos interjected.

“But you spend most nights with your boyfriend, a Giang Vo- I believe you call him Jeremy.”  Reyes paused a beat to let the numerous unspoken threats sink in.  “We'd just like to have a nice little chat and let you get back to your quiet little life.”

“Have you had any recent contact with angels?”  Barcelos pressed.

“No.”

“Think hard about how you want the next few minutes to go.”  Reyes cautioned.  “We know you've had contact with angels before.  We have witnesses that have placed you with a... Castiel on multiple occasions.”

“I haven't seen Castiel in months.  He used to come to me for advice on human customs, but as far as I know he hasn't been of Earth for a long time.”  Dean lied, then anchored it with some truth.  “He took some promotion or something based on Heaven.”

“What's the position?”

“He didn't tell me.”  Another lie.

“Where’d you get the scar?”  Barcelos pointed at the cut across Dean's forehead.

“I got mugged.”

“And you didn't report it to the police?”  Reyes candidly baited him.  They all knew he didn't want to risk unnecessary interactions with law enforcement.

“I don't want to be a bother.”  

“If you're friends with an angel, why not get it healed.”  Reyes took another jab at him, trying to break free some details.

“I like the way it looks.”  Yet another lie.  Seeing the scar was one of his triggers- reminding him of Dee, making him worry about the uncertain future, & stirring up feelings of guilt for lying to Jeremy about it.

“Where's your brother?”  Barcelos tried to blindside him.

“He’s dead.”  

Dean didn't have to pretend to feel hurt & anger at answering questions about Sam.  These were some of the people that could be most dangerous and least open minded to the actual situation.  The idea that they were interested in Sam was legitimately upsetting.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Heaven sent one of their angels down, Castiel, to let me know- next of kin and all, that one of the rogue angels killed him.”  There had been hundreds of humans killed by angels in the week or so leading up to the sixty fifth seal breaking.  It wasn't a completely far fetched story.

“What do you know about the Indian Point One incident?”  

They were asking about the fight at the power plant.  He'd managed to dodge being questioned on that so far, but it made sense that it'd come up as soon as he was discovered.  As far as he knew there wasn't any evidence of him or Sam left at the scene, though in an attempt to find Sam during his imprisonment Sam’s photo had been released to the media.  Despite a lack of evidence connecting the events, the timing was suspicious and the DEPA was apparently running down their fresh lead no matter how tenuous.

“I saw it on the news.  It looks like you guys have a demon problem.”

“Speaking of demon problems, any idea why the angel killed your brother?”  Barcelos’ upper lip curled into almost a snarl as he spoke, hinting at some underlying hostility towards maybe demons- maybe Sam.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You know that he was a psychic, right?”  Reyes stated more than asking.

“He was working with demons.  He killed humans.”  Barcelos tagged in.  “Rumor is that he was supposed to be in charge of a demon army-”

“A lot like the army at Indian Point One-”

“I don't give a fuck who you people-”  Dean snapped, but the distinctive click of a gun being cocked stopped him.  One of the agents was aiming at him under the table.  Dean slowly placed his palms on the table top and took a deep breath.

“We just want to talk.  This doesn't have to become anything more than that.”  Reyes assured, but it was cold comfort until the gun was safetied & holstered.  “We’re investigating some very dangerous creatures and we will get the information we need.  You can politely answer a few more questions, or we can arrest you for unregistered hunting.  Minimum sentence is three years in the Black Box.”

The Black Box was the nickname for five different maximum security prisons that had recently been retrofitted to accommodate inmates & defend against attackers who were proficient with magic & interplanar travel.  On top of being a jail that actually might be able to hold him, there were two more serious concerns.  Rumor was that the prisoners weren't segregated, meaning that former hunters were intermixed with witches, werewolves, & any other creature that was deemed close enough to human to not be killed upon capture.  This meant that a significant number of “accidents” befell hunters on the inside.  The other concern was that it appeared prisoners were routinely interrogated for information on other potential violators.  He didn't doubt his ability to endure torture, but the experience would certainly reset his PTSD from Hell back to a devastating point.

“Do you have any idea how much leeway we have to investigate unregistered hunters?”  Reyes continued.  “We can take apart your work, your home.  You stay at your boyfriend’s apartment enough, we could search that.  Heck, we could take your boy into custody while he's at his job.”

“I don't know what Sam was into.  He went hunting after some demon and got into the demonic stuff while we weren't talking.”  Dean thought his sincere fear must've been coming through because the agents were looking particularly smug & satisfied.  “It freaked me out when he started getting into that stuff.  We got into a fight.  I don't know anything after that.”

“Are you familiar with angelic vessels?”

“What…”  The agents must've mistook his shock that the deeply personal & dangerous subject came up for simple confusion because they didn't immediately hammer him with follow up questions.  He decided to roll with the perception.  “Are those like demon meatsuits, but for angels?”

“Okay,”  Unenticed, Reyes turned to the next line of questioning.  “we’re going to run some names by you and you just tell us if any of them ring a bell.”

“Rufus Turner.”  That was too easy, they were testing him.

“Old hunting acquaintance.  We did maybe four jobs together.  I haven't seen or heard from him in years.”

“Jody Mills.”

“She’s a sheriff over in Sioux Falls.  A few years ago I helped her with a few local emergencies-”

“Monsters?”  Barcelos pushed for clarification.

“Yeah.  She treats me to dinner any time I'm in the area.”

“Do you go out there often?”

“I have a friend who lives out that way.”

“You mean Robert Singer?”  Reyes asked while scrolling further down whatever list he was reviewing.

“The hunter.”  Barcelos added.

“Retired hunter.”  Dean lied for what felt like the hundredth time.

“It's funny how everyone's retired.”  Barcelos muttered.

“That's what happens when you start sending people to Guantanamo.”  Dean shot back.

“Don't be funny, it's not going to help you right now.”  Reyes warned.  “How about Amy Pond?”

“From Dr. Who?”  Dean raised his hands apologetically.  “Not being funny.  Just- are you sure that's a real name?”

“Alright.”  Reyes made a note on the tablet.  “Paloma Martens?”

“Never heard of her.”

Reyes sighed, made a few notes on his tablet, then looked at his partner.  After a few thoughtful seconds the agents exchanged nods of moderate satisfaction.  Reyes was about to wrap it up, Dean just wasn't sure if it'd end with a threat or an arrest.

“I don't need to tell you how important it is that you be forthcoming with us- about things that happened in the past, things going on right now, things that you hear might happen.  You see the way the new system works, it's people like us doing our job that keeps it so that people like you can keep your 9-5 & your Friday date nights at the Bottleneck.”  Dean could hear the pistol being uncocked, then saw Barcelos shift as he holstered the gun.  Reyes pulled a business card out of his pocket and placed it on the table.  “If you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, give us a call.”

It took all of Dean’s self control to not immediately leave the diner as soon as they left.  He tried to eat some of his meal, but he'd completely lost his appetite.  They were undoubtedly watching him, hoping that he'd run off to go warn the others and accidentally lead the agents to new targets.  After paying for his food, he calmly drove to the garage that he worked at, then spent the next ten hours systematically inspecting every inch of the impala looking for mundane or magical tracking or listening devices.  

After confirming that his car was clean he walked the block to where he was renting a room.  He didn't actually sleep there except for on rare occasions, it was just to help conceal the existence of the bunker.  Once he was in the bedroom with the door closed he once again searched for any sort of spying device.  As with the car it hadn't been tampered with.

Dean shoved the mess he'd made on the bed onto the floor, then laid down.  He wasn't sure what to do.  His natural impulse was to pack up the impala and run- go back to living on the road.  The thought made him want to throw up.  Shitty motels, bad food, long nights hustling pool, losing his handful of local friends, leaving Jeremy.  If he left the DEPA agents would almost certainly tell Jeremy about him- they'd probably threaten Jeremy trying to find him.  

He pulled the pillow down in front of his face and cried for a few minutes.  After collecting himself he prayed to Castiel, who appeared in the bedroom a minute later.

“Something’s wrong.”  Castiel said as soon as he saw the trashed room and Dean's pink eyes.

“I need you to go let the others know that the DEPA contacted with me.  I don't know how closely they're keeping track of me, but I can't call the family on my normal phone or any of that stuff.”

While he explained the situation, Dean grabbed a duffel bag from the closest.  He pulled up the floorboards under his desk, then started collecting his hidden stash of weapons & books.  After emptying the compartment in the floor, he dug through his nightstand looking for any charms he had.  He tossed all of the charms into the duffel except for the dreamless sleep charm he used to as part of his PTSD treatment.  Last, he yanked the sheet off his bed in order to reach a hole he'd cut into the side of his mattress.  He pulled out the envelope of recent photos of his family.  All of the pictures containing Sam, Dylaniel, Ruby, Kay, or his niece or nephews went into the duffel.

“I can take you to the camp.”  Castiel offered.

“I can't go- if I disappear now they’ll think I ran for it.  I won't be able to come back.”  Dean explained.

“I can at least acquire a new phone for you.”

“Thanks.”  Dean handed Castiel the duffel of incriminating objects.  “Also my car is at the shop.  Can you teleport in there real quick and clear out all of my hunting gear?  Take it back to the bunker or to the camp.”

“Of course.”

“Can you ask the gang to try to find out how bad this is?”  Depending on how closely he was being monitored he wouldn't be able to drive to the bunker or visit his family.  “And I told the agents Sam's dead- I think they were looking for him.  I don't know if they believed me.  And tell Bobby he's on their list of knowns along with Rufus- they're checking on Jody too.  And some alias Amy Pond and Paloma Martins or Martens or something- they might be some of Bobby's.”

“Are you okay?”  Castiel asked after physically stopping Dean's anxious pacing.

“No.”  

Dean walked back to the garage, picked up his newly contraband-free car, then drove to Jeremy's apartment.  As soon as he got inside the door, Dean hugged Jeremy tightly, trying to find some stability.

“It's almost 3.  What's wrong?”  Jeremy asked, hugging him back while rubbing his bleary eyes.

“Some guys threatened me- they were cops.”  He felt a morbid gratitude that Jeremy been manhandled by a cop a few years earlier and was naturally inclined to distrust them.  Half the time the news came on there was some story that would reinforce his perception that most of them were bullies.

“Did something happen?  Do you need a lawyer?”  

Jeremy let go of Dean for a moment to check for anything akin to a black eye.  Dean exhaled an emotionally exhausted sigh of mild amusement.  Jeremy did love trying to save his troublemaker of a boyfriend- that was probably the only reason he was as patient with Dean as he was.

“Nothing happened.  I don't need a lawyer.”  Dean rubbed his face.  “I'm just rattled.”

“Come on.”  Jeremy led Dean to the bed.  They climbed in with Dean still fully clothed and just held each other.  The thought of losing everything, especially moments like that made Dean cling to Jeremy while struggling to not cry again.  Jeremy started running his fingers through Dean's hair to help comfort him.  “You can stay with me as long as you need.”

“You aren't scared of harboring a fugitive?”  Dean joked weakly.

“Please, I've known for months about you evading your taxes- wait, you aren't wearing one of those ankle tracking devices, are you?  Do I need to do a strip search just to be safe?”  Jeremy playfully reached for Dean's belt.

“Thanks, but I'm a little too worn out for anything right now- I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize.”  Jeremy wrapped his arms back around Dean, spooning him.  “Never apologize for telling me what's wrong.”

Dean opened his mouth, but hesitated.  As much as he wanted to tell Jeremy about everything that had gone on, it just felt like too much to ask of someone.  Jeremy was patient with his fuck ups, but knowing about the hunting & his family- especially with the DEPA potentially around.  Dean wanted to keep that mess as far away from Jeremy as possible.  Getting involved with that side of his life was a level of commitment Dean wasn't prepared to subject Jeremy to.

“Any chance you can go into work late tomorrow?”  Dean asked hopefully.  “I'll make you pancakes.”

“If you make them banana pecan pancakes I'll call in sick.”  Jeremy countered.

“Now who's the bad boy?”

“Still you.”

“Run away with me.”  Dean whispered, unsure if he was serious or not.

“I refuse to go on the lam for anything less that a felony.”  Jeremy kissed the back of Dean's neck.  “Get some sleep, everything's going to be okay.”

[doctorwhofieldguide]

Eleventh Doctor

Appearance:

Youthful face often coupled with mischievous smirk. Hollowed out cheeks with cheek bones that could cut through steel. Elongated head topped with mop of brown hair swept to side curtaining face. Voluminous hair often unkept from rubbing hands through it. Narrow eyes and barely visible eyebrows. Hazel-greenish eyes. Wrinkled forehead. Large nose, protruded chin. Angular face with thin lips. Clearly visible Adam’s apple. Boxed shaped head. Thin, limber, long-limbed figure. Dressed in tweed cross knit light brown dress jacket. Dark brown leather elbow patches on jacket. Rich cherry buttons on jacket sleeve and on front of jacket. Worn golden watch. Cheap rumbled button up dress shirt. Black dress slacks and laced up dress shoes. Matching socks. Suspenders. ALWAYS WEARING BOW TIE. Suspenders and bow tie always match. Resembles little boy thrown into 70 year old Oxford professor outfit. As if hastily got dressed and spilled overly sugary tea on himself in process. Occasionally sporting bright red fez when no one there to draw line in his fashion choices. Wears stetson with bronze and chrome accents on certain occasions. Looks like child playing dress up. As if he’s raided outfit from cheap costume store. Expression always with glint in eye. One can view true emotion from subtle glint.

Personality:

Towards companions:

From first observation appears childish, giddy, excitable, bursting with barley contained energy. Awkward, gestures animatedly with hands as if brain running at million miles per hour and can’t spare second to focus on one thought. Rambles constantly, brain rapidly fires out information as if can’t contain it all or doesn’t have time to spare on explaining phenomenons. Is like child viewing universe as own personal playground, eager to explore its hidden secrets. Doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him. Impulsive. Fiercely loyal. Compassionate, understanding (to extent). Imaginative. Brilliant, resourceful. Observant. Fearless. Ingenious. Hastily speeds about. Paces back and forth in order to stimulate thoughts. Fumbles with hands, constantly moving in order to grasp conclusion. Will always put companion’s life before his own (at least ones to whom deeply attached to). Quick-witted. Humorous. Naturally  flirtatious without realizing it. Oblivious to anything related to love life.

In battle:

Immediately takes on role of absolute authority.  Commanding. Is willing to do whatever it takes to enemies in order to serve interests (sometimes for good of humanity and sometimes out of spite). Will sacrifice entire race for  one he favors more (during episode “The Vampires of Venice” he foiled plans of refugee Saturnyians, who were running from enemy he created, to maintain survival of species by populating one city. Doctor determined humans of Venice should live instead because Saturyian Rosanna didn’t remember name of girl she executed for betraying her species. Before Rosanna committed suicide by feeding herself to brethren, said to doctor: “Tell me Doctor, can your conscious carry the weight of another dead race? Remember us…dream of us.”). Takes on role of god; judge, jury, and executioner. Vengeful. Unyielding. Maintains eye contact with enemy as to intimidate them and convey resolve. Tends to be strict and snippy with companions in order to keep them from harm. Will plan innumerable steps ahead of enemy… at least what he wants you to think. Sassy, snide remarks. Ultimately self-sacrificing. Always runs towards danger, excited by prospect of danger and challenge unless person he cares about in danger. Ultimately values one life over other, revealed which one during battle. Will never hold weapon yet will enact mass destruction from behind monitor to ease guilt. Brutally honest.

Tools:  Sonic screwdriver: about ¾ of foot in length, octagonal cream colored handle tapers into black stunted hourglass curvature to rest fingers on. Assumed button on black part of handle. Layered chrome end. Circular chrome piece connected to extendable four piece claw mechanism. Claws extend when button pressed. Green light and high frequency sound emitted when in use. Resembles bulky sci-fi mechanism from sixties. Device used for wide range of purposes from unlocking doors and short-circuiting other technology to being used as medical scanner and interpreting languages. ‘Sonic’, as often called for short, unable to work on wood.

Glasses: black tinted cheap looking sunglasses able to view world in inferred light.

Psychic Paper: Flimsy leather wallet with rectangular piece of blank, white paper in clear sleeve. Projects fake title or reference of user as user so desires. Often used to access restricted locations. If observer is genius or aware of psychic paper’s existence, effect not always ensured.

Catchphrases: 

“Geronimo!”

“bowties are cool”

“glasses are cool”

 “rule one, the doctor always lies”

Defining Companion: 

Amy Pond:

 Pureblooded Scottish. Fiery red head doesn’t begin to capture forceful personality.  Stubborn, commanding, not afraid to challenge Doctor. Will never follow Doctor’s orders unless no other option…will most likely find another option. Resilient. Been through multiple traumatic events (captured and impersonated by Silence). Pushes experiences away. Learned to be tough and not complain. Resourceful, quick witted. Able to escape from sticky situations with only pure wit. Takes complete control of situation if Doctor not present. Aggressively sarcastic. Amount of eye rolls per episode averaged to six. Dreamer, professional procrastinator (will travel across space and time with man barely knows to procrastinate own wedding). Maintains constant faith in Doctor despite him letting her down multiple times. Fantasy mindset gets in way of advancing in regular life. Refuses to acknowledge reality. Childlike attitude maintained through adulthood and onward. Short tempered. Will make sure gets her way. Excitable. Too much like Doctor for own good. Caring. Will go out of her way to protect others. Curiosity leads to recklessness.

Amy able to control Doctor when in fury (stop at 1:45):

Likes: fish fingers and custard, bunk beds, jammy dodgers, dancing like madman at weddings.

Dislikes: apples, yogurt, bacon, beans (“beans are evil. Bad, BAD beans!”), bread and butter, revisiting old memories (even good ones if eventually have conclusion), sharing. 

Fears: Change. Afraid of losing ones he cares about again. Uses childlike mask to keep himself from getting too attached to another. Knows that will most likely outlive all he holds dear. Knows will not be able to experience contentment of security so attempts to distance himself from companions when companions show signs of settling down (i.e. when Amy and Rory grow older/ desire to travel less, Doctor visits less frequently, believing his presence unnecessary or unwanted, realizes no way he can fit into their lifestyle now). Understands its in his nature to run. Afraid of changing familiar dynamic.  Fear of abandonment. Has lost entire species and almost all other companions. Though companions not all dead, many unreachable, have memories wiped, older--unwilling to reconnect due to inherent nature of consistent change. Afraid to show vulnerabilities. Fear of commitment. Endings. Rips last page of book out to never know ending. All endings viewed in sadness. Predicts worst possible ending. Does not accept ending as inevitable or natural. Even own death. Will prolong event for as long as possible in order to avoid ending. Will trick and outwit others to avoid endings, even if for good.

Arch Enemy:  Weeping Angels:

 Quantum locked life form. Appear as serene graveyard stone angel when looking at it. Serene face morphs into demonic monster when not observed. Feeds on time energy. Able to move faster than nearly any being alive. “Don’t blink! Blink and your dead!” If not visible for only fraction of second will catch you and either send you back in time or kill instantly. Sends you far enough back in time that your dead now. Creates time paradox. Doctor unable to reach people who angels feed on. Able to manipulate electricity to submerge victim in complete darkness. Hunts in groups. Never gives up. Will catch you eventually. Maintain eye contact with them. Don’t look directly in eyes of angel. Anything that retains image of angel becomes angel. Unknown what angels actually look like. Most fearsome hunters in universe. For gods sake don’t blink.

Allies: Rory Williams,Commander Strax, Craig Owens, Queen Elizabeth the Tenth, Canton Everett III, Jenny Flint, Madame Vastra, Winston Churchill, Richard Nixon, Abigail Pettigrew, Kazran Sardick, Vincent Van Gogh

Love Interests:  River Song: 

Mass of untamable curly blonde hair, curvaceous figure, flirtatious queen. Flirty meter always maximum one hundred even in fights... especially during fights. Cunning, resourceful. Will go to beginning of time and graffiti oldest cliff-face in history of universe to get message to you. Confident in ability to escape from situations. Brilliant. Clever. Will show up Doctor at flying his own TARDIS. Fiercely independent. Always carrying weapon with her. Takes calculated risks. Untamable. Unstoppable. Wild streak as unruly as hair. Always composed, confident in face of danger. Deceiving yet genuine. Confused in place in world, uses travel as escape from internal and external threats. 

Best Quotes:

“Nothing is ever forgotten, not really.” 

“We’re all stories in the end. Just make it a good one eh?”

“The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”

“Amy Pond, there’s something you better understand about me ’cause it’s important and one day your life may depend on it: I am definitely a mad man with a box.”

“ D’you know in 900 years of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before.”

“I am and always will be the optimist. The hoper of far-flung hopes and the dreamer of improbable dreams.”

Music:  Grandiose. Complete encapsulation of wonder and whimsy seamlessly woven into pleasant uncertainty. Joy of getting lost in enchanted forest. Hushed word. Ghost of whisper utters word of enlightenment. Emergence of light in thick curtain of darkness. If curiosity could be threaded into sound. Expectation. Bravery. Thrill of madness. Acceptance of chaos. Quirky and eccentric. Time and beyond. Eye traces over each detail before becoming overwhelmed with sheer enormity of it all. Smirk and chuckle at joke only you can understand. Resonating with ancients of universe.

Music Excerpt:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6j8ZOJPoho

Note: author found it difficult to seperate from 11th doctor and continue onto others because of her immense love for 11. Therefore, more detail put into 11′s field guide as result of immense passion. Author thinks she will never be truly happy with result until she conducts years of research. Author plans to continue adding information to field guide even after it’s submitted. It is advised to remember that author is doctor who lunatic who decided to purchase sonic screwdriver replica as result of project.