absentisanima

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Nothing quite like vibing and doing your taxes in the dead of night only to be informed at the end that you actually need to wait five hours to call the government before you can submit it to them 🤙

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6.03 - The Third Man

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“you’re so quiet” bro it's literally so loud in my brain.

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saying “hm. must be the curse” every time something bad happens and refusing to elaborate is my new hobby

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idgaf anymore

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6.09 - Clap Your Hands If You Believe...

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Don't ask me for relationship advice cause I'll tell you to kill him

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You gotta walk in rooms like God sent you

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NOVEMBER 2, 1983

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Nodding: “Sounds about right.”

“...That’s the meanest you got though? Sounds like you’re still pulling punches.”

absentisanima: “As a certified Winchester I’m giving you permission to be as mean as you want.”

Immediately: “Your dad fucking sucks and you and Dean deserved childhoods.”

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Gabriel: I don’t have a library card but mind if I check you out?

Sam: come with me

Gabriel: *smirks*

Gabriel: wait

Gabriel: where are we going?

Sam: to get you a library card

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Don’t call me that. He blinked, slow, puzzling out what it was she was thinking, because most of what he was accusing him of was the wrong idea. First of all...next to a man? Okay. It was more like...the girls were friendlier to new neighbors. Like off-puttingly friendly. At least, he thought so. But then, he wasn’t exactly the hey-how-ya-doin type. No, he didn’t want to talk about his weekend and no, he didn’t want to hear about theirs. In fact, basically his whole company thought him intimidating, and with good reason. He was a shark that stopped for no one: he only swam a little slower after business hours.

As for the clutter in the hallway...as far as he was concerned one person was too many people. Didn’t matter if she was putting her key in or leaving to go to a stripper convention, he just didn’t want to see anyone anywhere close to his house.

Oh god, a singer. Did he mutter that outloud? Probably. He’d heard enough. He didn’t even bother cutting her off, just turned on ‘Now if you-’ and shut the door. Anything after that would’ve had to be shouted at the door, or else he wouldn’t hear it. He was too busy calling to get someone to collect what was left at his door. And ripping a new one to the building manager. 

Someone was getting fired.

"Hi, I just moved in next-door!"

People didn't just knock at his door. The occasional service person, sure, maybe an assistant or doorman. But they always called ahead, were never...unexpected. So a tap-tap-tap on the front door of his condo made him suspicious. Even if he checked the cameras before getting up, had sigils carved into every door frame, even with the unbroken line of salt under each wooden board covering the threshold sill, he still answered with a gun hidden on one hand, just out of view and one boot behind the door, preventing it from opening all the way.

A tiny frown puckered his brow, and he flickered his gaze around the empty hallway, then studied her all the way down, then back up. He might've been told about a new neighbor, but he also trusted his building manager to do thorough background (and foreground) checks on all potential buyers. Perhaps it slipped their memory, or it was buried in an update that never landed in his inbox. Either way, he would find out. Maybe the old leaser had sub-let, in which case it was against their agreement if they didn't notify.

He took his security seriously.

There was a pause, and his eyebrows rose in expectation. No further explanation, no ambush seemed imminent, just a weirdo. "...Do you want a medal?"

|@smolcuriouskitten|

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Samael’s mouth opened, a retort ready on his tongue, but upon seeing Sam’s furrowed brow and closed eyes, he closed his mouth again. Seems he wasn’t talking to him. This kind of thing happened, but seriously...unless it got in the way he didn’t think he really cared to pry into what he did in his own head. There were some things that were...inconsequential. Besides, he was an advocate for privacy, shadows were his thing. What lingered in shadows if not secrets?

So he rolled his eyes and turned away, dark hazel eyes scouting for his trousers. Ah, there they were, left discarded on the floor. He slid to the edge of the bed and tossed aside the sheet, a frown on his own brow as he cast aside the last of his bleariness to reach for the clothing, belt still on loops. When on Earth one had to...assimilate. Which meant he couldn’t go around in what he usually wore, the dark and draped robes of yesteryear. But then, the courts of Hell could be...traditional. Robes were basically normal there.

His wings, invisible to human eyes, fluttered, righting their sharpened feathers after his sleep. Or perhaps they were also reacting to the difference in temperature...while he clothed, gave no indication, he could hear the way Sam’s pulse rocketed, feel the way the room shifted it’s angle. The command sounded behind him as he slid the pants up, the creak of the door mingling with the sound of the fastenings.

A rake of hands through his hair and he joined Sam at the window, bare arms crossed over bared chest, bare feet quiet on the ground. The tang of ozone and cold, wet stone seemed to be brought with him. Without the brimstone orange of anger in his eyes they seemed to reflect that as well. He stood, quiet, listening to the rending and terror with the detachment of an echo in a cavern.

This was the version of Sam that garnered more respect, the way that a leader of Hell should be. Commanding, decisive. In control. Though he didn’t totally believe in that last one. He glanced over, only the slight tick of one eyebrow indicated any thought. That he may do something, as if he needed permission, could be brought up, but he swept this consideration under the rug. In the face of an apology, and the admission of guilt, he would overlook that little hiccup. A moue, and he shrugged a shoulder, giving a faint nod as acknowledgement of his apology. He inhaled and glanced back out the window. “I’m up now, sleep can wait.” To err is human. Inwardly, he smiled to himself. That was quite funny. Of course, he didn’t smile outwardly. Would he care to explain why if he did? Not really.

Another glance towards Sam, more calculating now, less tired. “Shall I call some of my dogs to scout the area? A handful of them should be able to scour the surrounding miles for threat in short time.”

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“My mind can linger where it pleases.” He hissed through a snarl, orange splintering his irises for a quick second before fading under closed eyelids. Sam drew up his knees under the blanket and draped his arms across them, lowering his head on a yawn. His temper had flared, but mostly he just wanted to go back to sleep. Quietly, he wondered if Sam would notice if he lay back down.

A sigh, and he propped one cheek on a hand, listening to the crunch of footsteps outside. “Clearly.” He said, deadpan. It wasn’t totally clear of he was actually taking it seriously or not, but definitely not as much as Sam wanted him to. He’d said these things as if they’d make much of a difference to him. He was still a Fallen, no matter whether he wielded a throne or not. The hunter’s tools of the trade were for demons, and he was something else entirely.

But then, maybe they’d work on Sam. It occurred to him now that maybe that was why he was worried.

“Why don’t you send your dog out to fetch? It’s not like they can see her.”

Sam stared back, trying to reel his agitation and alarm back in. Sometimes this haunting Archangel could really grate on his nerves, particularly because much like Sam, he seemed to live with one food in each word to some extend. He was an Archangel, but he served in Hell while also being a demonic Prince of Hell. Maybe that was why Samael was so unfazed. There wasn’t a big threat for him.

“Pompous, arrogant bastard, why do we hang out with him?!”

The image of Samael flimmered, overlaying itself with a ripped open chest, gashed throat and damp blood on the bed sheet. Sam furrowed his brows and flicked a hand upwards, twisting his head sideways, mumbling: “Hush, not now. I am trying to think!” His demand was only met with quiet chuckle and more inaudible whispers in his head. His head was thrumming and the veins on his wrists pulsed.

Sam looked down at Jessica, who had rung the alarm in the first place. The idea hadn’t even occured to the Boy King. He still wasn’t that used to using the creatures of Hell in defence or as a weapon.

“We told you so… we told you so…. Just use her. You are in charge, stupid!”

Sam massaged his temple, not in the mood to deal with being criticised from essentially two fronts. It seemed ever since he had become the King of Hell, the demon blood had gotten louder than before. It of course had its reasons for doing that, trying to guide the human half, not well versed in demonic culture. Still, it made these type of moments rather awkward.

As Sam continued to massage his temple in the hope of easing his mind, he felt his body temperature rising and his conscious mind slipped downwards. His stance shifted. Where previously, he had been tense and agitated, even a bit bent over to make himself smaller, he now drew to his full height, dropped his arm and spoke with a calm and collected voice:

“Jessica, sick ‘em.”

Jessica was used to her master’s strange shifts of personality and thus she hadn’t paid his mental wrestling any mind. Sam nowadays could handle this well enough to not be completely incapacitated. Instead she simply headbutted the door, forcing it open a knudge and slipping out of the building.

Sam’s eyes kept peering through the slits of the shutter. Sounds of surprise and fighting drifted over to them. Screaming, wild gunfire as rounds emptied themselves rapidly, and the heinous tearing of flesh. It was impossible to make anything out in the dark.

The demon blood said: “We appologise for having woken you up. We realise its unnecessity. If you wish to sleep again, you may do so, Samael. We can handle the issue until then.”

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Sam chuckled again, tracing Dean’s earlobe, watching the way the blush tinted his skin and traveled downward. “Ex-hunter.” Mostly true, just not exactly the way he’d meant it. “I’m more about enjoying the easy catch, these days. Trust me, it’ll be just as fun.” His small smirk lingered as Dean stepped back, but the quizzical air was quick to turn...anticipatory.

“Personal, after-hours tour huh?” There was a second, where Sam’s eyelids lowered, and he dragged a look down Dean’s front, that questioned whether he’d bring up fooling around during work hours. But then he caught his gaze again there was nothing but satisfaction. “Can’t resist that.” Can’t resist...you. Sam quick snatched a playful squeeze of one of Dean’s back pockets before retreating. “Maybe I’ll come by around 8:45. I want to see your little apron in action.”

Was there a sizzle in the air? Maybe. Or one was just put to mind, as he cast lingering smirks over his shoulder as he withdrew to his car, parked just on the curb. He would say it was lucky he’d run into him...but it’s not exactly like he was in a metropolis. People ran into each other a lot in small places. He still had a couple of hours to kill before he could ambush the guy at work, so he’d find something to occupy himself with until that evening. Besides, he knew a perfect exit when he saw it. Always leave them wanting more an all that.

He gave Dean a wink over the roof of the car before getting in the driver’s seat. 

“Do you?” The way his lips curved upwards was reflected in the question. “Don’t want to seem too easy? Letting me manhandle you in public is kind of counterproductive, don’t you think?” Despite this, he didn’t move away, ignoring the cars cruising by. When nestled close like this it was as if the sun wasn’t shining quite as bright.

“That’s the trouble. I don’t know if I’d want to let you go into work by then.” He chuckled, voice dark. The finger that hooked Dean’s shirt dropped, instead sliding an arm across the small of his back, easing him in. Sam allowed himself to brush against the other’s ear, take a quick but soft nip of his earlobe. “But maybe it’d make screwing in the store room even more anticipated.”

Sam did have a point. He usually had more willpower than this, less likely to bend to the will of others. But damn if he wasn’t making this whole thing hard on Dean, his body wanting to react to every movement and touch. It was like unfair torture. Dean bites his bottom lip, attempting to stifle the gasp that tries to leave his lips. His ears heated in response, a dead giveaway that what Sam had done did affect him. “You make a good point. You enjoy the thrill of the hunt, I take it? If I just gave it all to you then it might not be as fun.” Dean said almost shakily but when he takes a small step back just to get a good look at Sam, he’s smirking. “Come by around nine…It’s when we get ready to close up. I can give you a ‘personal’ tour of where I work.” There was more than a little suggestion in that.  They didn’t have to do anything there but Dean was most definitely leaving an open option. But was it because he wanted to or was it because he just wanted to see Sam’s reaction? That one he’d leave to the imagination.

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Sam Winchester Creations Challenge | amal-albuloshia ↳ THEME: Quotes |  PROMPT: “The problem is me.”