#journalofwinchester

[journalofvoices]

@fromxthexashes | Continued from here

That sound? That was just his heart kinda breaking in two, don’t worry about it. As she gently - almost nervously spoke to him - he offered her a soft and easy smile, his own hand moving up to gently cup her cheek. “C’mon, Jean - I’d bust you out before you died in here.” Evading the question, maybe - but he needed a second. He needed to think and a statement like that would be enough to maybe make her smile, to delay her for a second.

He shouldn’t do this - it was pretty much rule one, circled in red ink, typed in bold - don’t fuck the prisoners. He was already dancing on the line with this but, at the same time... He couldn’t bring himself to watch how they treated Jean. Surviving isn’t living. She was comfortable but... when a girl kinda begs her jailer to hug her, that’s a bad scene. 

He noticed he hadn’t moved his hand from her cheek, as her lips came closer to his - trembling. Somehow, that seemed to answer his question: he felt her move toward him and he didn’t stop her, he may have encouraged it. It helped her and he wanted to help her (and, a small part of him reminded the rest, he wanted this too though perhaps not here). As such, he leaned in gently and pressed his lips to hers, his hands moving to rest lightly on her hips.

[journalofvoices]

“Just lookin’ out for each other.” | Dean/Violet

Continued from here. | @rocksxlt

Never mind then, Violet’s got it all in hand, apparently. Still, that painful looking submission hold - and the creep’s sudden pleas for mercy - wasn’t really enough for Dean - a hand reaching to shove the lurching creep back. “Think with the big head next time, pal.” 

“Whatever happened to barfly equitte where you bought the girl - or guy, I ain’t judging - a drink before you touched ‘em up?” As he spoke, he had picked up the bottle of scotch they were sharing and had begun to pour them both another measure. As the words echoed in his head, he paused.

“Don’t read too much into that.”

[journalofvoices]

“You’re gonna be fine.”

@fromxthexashes | Continued from here

“I know because I been through Hell too,” he explained softly, fingers lightly playing with her hair (though if you asked him why, he wouldn’t have an answer beyond instinct). “Maybe not the same but still... You’ll be fine because you’re you.”

He let out a soft sigh as he listened, as he held, as he comforted. This was becoming a more frequent activity - him in her cell, sharing time and touch. She needed it - he knew that - and he wanted to do some good here. That’s why he didn’t mind.

“It ain’t too much to ask, but life ain’t all that fair. SHIELD ain’t all that fair. But it’ll end, I here from the docs they’re getting to the end. You’re gonna leave. You can rest and be free and happy and all that apple pie. Y’can get better.”

[journalofvoices]

"Shall I go a little higher?"

@fromxthexashes | Shall I go a little higher? | Accepting

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t be surprised by this. 

He had argued with his supervisor for about a week - that Jean needed more social contact, that she needed more than to be given what she needs to survive. Eventually, he broke and agreed and Dean had permission to try and work with her (though SHIELD would accept no responsibility if anything went wrong). 

So that’s why he had joined her in her cell, a bottle of tequila in hand. He figured she’d want a break, a chance to relax. If anything, it seemed she wanted to get drunk and Dean was content to oblige. They shared some details of one another - the stuff you didn’t find on file - before she ultimately made the weirdest request of the night: she wanted to be held because she missed contact like that.

So that was how Dean ended up cuddling Jean in a SHIELD cell. Weird but you could see how it got there - that was fine. The less fine thing was the soft hand running slowly up his thigh. 

“Shall I go a little higher?” came the whispered voice of Jean, eyes moving to meet his. 

“Jean, I ain’t gonna pretend that I don’t like the thought but are you sure you wanna get handsy in a SHIELD cell?”

[journalofvoices]

Pretty Please [You write so well that I had to have another, you can choose, but if you can't figure one out, we can go with Dean or someone in the Marvel fandom]

@fromxthexashes | Pretty please? | Accepting

5) My muse nearly kills themselves trying to kill a fly and yours witnesses the debacle.

Dean wasn’t sure who he had pissed off, honestly. Bzzzzzt. Joining SHIELD was a huge risk for him (not that he had much left to risk, after everything that went down) but he’d just ended up a glorified mall cop. Bzzzzt. Life became a litany of papers and forms and, now, he was a guard in the cells. Not that there was many prisoners - just one and she wasn’t really treated high security. Just... controlled. Bzzzzzt-

“I’m gonna gank that freakin’ fly!” he snapped suddenly, jumping up from his seat to grab the newspaper on his desk. He couldn’t see where it was, he could just hear it all around him. He swatted experimentally, hoping to catch it, but to no avail. This fly was truly a worthy hunt.

God, the hell was he saying? Sam would be turning over in his... hole, he guessed. That wasn’t worth thinking on.

The cycle continued, moving around the central room that connected all of the cells, as he swatted to try and catch it - to no avail - until, at last, he knew he had the fly cornered. Almost lunging forward, he brought the newspaper down in a lethal, downward blow. Alas, he over-extended and his crushing swing brought him crashing down, bouncing off the floor as he landed with an almighty thud.

Bzzzzzzt.

“I’ll get you more pillows if you promise to tell no one that happened, Miss Grey,” he mumbled lightly from the floor. He knew she was watching - she always was. Not like she had much else to do when they confined her to cell after ‘lessons’ or whatever it was they did with her.

He felt bad for her... but then she wasn’t the one lying face first on the floor with what felt like bruised ribs.

[journalofvoices]

💗 (dean!)

@ Send 💗 to cuddle with my Muse! | Accepting | @queencftheunderwcrld

He didn’t know what it was about today that made him realise how... how hard this must be for her. He thought his life was rough but... She had been run out of town and for how long? And watching how the latest scheme for Ares seemed to fall through... The mask seemed to slip. Suddenly, he couldn’t help but feel bad for her (and given how he felt when he met her, this was a development).  

That’s why he quietly slipped into her room once things had settled down and saw her there, sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t even seem to really acknowledge him - so he padded across the room and sat down quietly, an arm slipping around her waist.

“I’m sorry.”

[journalofvoices]

💗 { Dama & Dean because I'm lazy and don't want to switch blogs }

Send 💗 to cuddle with my Muse! | Accepting | @toxicvanity

I want you to imagine something for a second. I want you to imagine a man who, for as long as he can remember (and even longer still), has felt like he’s been at war. Who felt like he’s been in one never-ending battle, tossing and turning and thrashing through volley of pain and setback and just shit. 

Picture that man now, grown up. Failed High School, never had a home besides some leather seats in a battered old car (a car he’s rebuilt by hand). His family’s gone - dead, dragged into the pit or just straight up missing. All alone in this world but somehow slugging on. 

Then he meets someone. She’s gorgeous, she’s funny, she’s brilliant. They hit it off and suddenly they’re travelling together, the world’s a little brighter. They flirt, they kiss, they fuck, the usual. She ends up pregnant, of course - so now they gotta settle down in a little apartment. Together. That’s the main thing.

So that’s where you find them - night has fallen and they’re comfortable in their apartment. The television spills out a soft light as they pull the blanket closer around them. Dama’s head rests gently on Dean’s lap as a hand idly plays with her hair. 

That’s happiness. That’s how it goes.

[journalofvoices]

“Knock Knock

@queencftheunderwcrld | Send Knock Knock for my Muse to walk in on yours... | Accepting, sure, why not

19. Your character walking in on mine masturbating. (OF COURSE)

This whole “pretend to be a married couple and explore the neighbourhood for the monster I found” thing was starting to grate Dean’s last nerve. In between the guys in this place all being smiley, apple pie clowns and all the women seeming to either hate his guts or going into heat upon seeing him, the people in this place were driving him up the wall. Add to that, the late nights researching - and Persephone and her instistance on... I mean, it was torture at this point, she loved to make him uncomfortable.

A part of him couldn’t wait to hit the road. 

In spite of that, a part of him enjoyed this. He did kinda enjoy Persephone’s company, even if he’d never admit it. That was why he went and got food for them both (though no doubt she’d complain about the grease or the healthiness or the fact he was probably gonna die of heart failure in like five years). 

Though, as he opened the door, he saw she was hungry for... something else. Instinctively, he slammed the door shut again before a laugh escaped him. “Y’know, we hang a sock on the knob here on Earth.”