#waistcoat Sammy

[lornasarts]

SAM TRAPANI

[quill-pen]

The same way that Connie gets advice from Bess on the big wedding day about her building anxiety (from remembering what happened last time) mirroring how Adonis seeks help from Wolf.

He could ask Harry, Bob, Tom and Jake, and he has. They’re just all very DIFFERENT from him. He wants the opinion of another gent that knows him best … his brother.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something. Am I forgetting something? Do you think Connie is okay? I heard Bess was with her … oh gods, did I force her to move too fast? S-Should I go to her, do you think? Am I just an old fool for wanting this to work? You have permission to poke and prod me for this forever, but … I need someone to help me calm down. ACTUALLY calm down. If I accepted every shot or cigar I’ve been offered this evening, I’d be on the floor in a pile dizzy and huffing like some freshman.”

Wolf wouldn't be able to help himself from smirking a little bit at his brother. It's been a long time since he's seen his twin this worked up and worried. At least, without the presence and actions of Christmas spirits being behind it all. He just takes a chair and sits calmly in front of the door to keep Adonis from bolting out. It's not the fact Adonis will run away, but the fact, in this state, he'll bolt to Connie and make a fool of himself being in nothing but his drawers. (The creases in his pant legs were not acceptable, according to Magda, so she's fixing them last minute.)

"I received specific instructions from the ladies you're not to see Connie until the first look/she comes down the aisle (you pick what you want them to do, Romey). So, you try leaving this room before then, and I'll knock you flat on your bloody arse just like I used to when we were children. You're not putting me in the doghouse with Bess."

"I'm not being funny, Charlie."

"Neither am. Look, Sammy, Connie is fine. She has Bess and the girls taking care of her. In fact, I'm willing to wager she's in a far better state than you at the moment. Are you sure the pink hearts are the skivvies you want to go with?"

"Charlie! I'm asking you for help, and you decide commentary on my undergarments is the best possible solution!"

"Connie got them for you, didn't she?"

Adonis makes an explosive noise that's part incredulous laugh and part frustrated huff. He throws out his wide wingspan in defeat. "Yes! Yes, as a matter of fact, she did! Are you happy?! Is that what you wanted to know?!"

He turns away to cross the small room and flop onto a lounge on the other side. Covering his face with both hands he massages his brow. "Bloody brothers! You ask them to help get your thoughts in order and they just wind you up to boil and spin!"

Wolf rolls his eyes at the dramatics, but a good-natured smile curls his lips. "All right, all right, Sammy, cool down. I'm sorry. What do you need me to do? Go through the checklist again?"

His twin's desperate but miffed voice is a bit muffled behind his thick palms: "Yes, that would be quite helpful , thank you!"

"Fine. Do you have the ring?"

One of Adonis' hands goes to his breast pocket. "Yes."

"Good. What about your vows? I'm sure you've memorized them by now, but do you have them just in case?"

Adonis sits up and reaches inside his suit jacket to finger inside the hidden pocket. He finds the note cards. "Yes."

"Good. You have your tie. Your jacket. Cufflinks. You have your watch with Connie's portrait in the lid?"

"At the suite, wrapped up. I've decided to present it to her tonight as a wedding gift."

Wolf smiles a bit softly at the endearing sentimentality. "She'll love that," he remarks sincerely.

Adonis gives him a hopeful look. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so."

Adonis smiles a little.

"All right," Wolf huffs. "The ring, the watch, tie, jacket, cufflinks, waistcoat. Soon as Magda finishes your trousers, I think you're all set, Brother. So what are you so worried about?"

His twin's expression turns irked again: Weddings certainly seemed to make men just as emotionally volatile as women. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact I'm wedding the most amazing and gorgeous woman in the world who, for reasons beyond human comprehension, has chosen to love and marry me above anyone else and I'd rather not flub this chance up like I have before and hurt her more than she already has been?" He's a bit red-faced at the end of his diatribe, panting and puffing so the buttons on his waistcoat slightly strain.

Wolf just blinks placidly back. "Sammy. You overthink things."

"Oh, that's jolly rich coming from you, Mr. Should-I-or-shouldn't-I-tell-Bess-fancy-her?-Nevermind!-Better-to-just-pine-like-a-lovesick-puppy."

Wolf's mouth twists in annoyance but he just breathes deeply. "I'll let that go, in lieu of the high-stress events of the day," he states.

"Also because you can't deny it," Adonis mutters.

A slight flush colors Wolf's face at that, but he chooses to ignore once again. "Sammy, tell me: Do you not want to marry Constance?"

"No, of course I want to marry her! She's the best thing that's ever happened to me; the sunlight of my life! I-I didn't realize it was possible to love someone as deeply and fully as I love Connie. She's my everything."

"But...?"

"... But... do I deserve her, Charlie? With my history? I neglected and abandoned Isabel and lost her. And, while I've tried my hardest to change from what I was... who's to say I won't do that again? I didn't realize it was happening last time until it was far too late. Bloody hell, I don't think I recognized it until that Christmas Eve! How do I know I won't miss the slip ups again?"

Adonis buries his face in his hands as he shakes his head. "I can't lose Constance, Charlie. Losing Isabel due to my own foolishness ruined me almost past hope. Losing Constance to it would end me, I fear."

With a sigh, Wolf rubs his chin in thought for a moment before rising from his chair and trodding the small distance to the lounge. He sits down beside his brother and clasps his shoulder in a warm, brotherly grip. "Sammy, do you want to know the difference between your relationship to Isabel and your relationship to Connie?"

"What?"

"You just told me Connie is your everything. As much as you loved her, you never ever once said that about Isabel."

Adonis slowly lifts his head and looks at his brother in silent realization.

Wolf smiles encouragingly at him.

Suddenly there is a knock on the door and it opens to reveal Magda. Beaming, she holds up a long pair of freshly ironed trousers and sings: "They're perfect now!"

[stuairi675]

Mob Frogs on the Wave 

Word Count: 1095

The juddering creak of the door headed the arrival of the two men. The bar was clouded by a low-hanging miasma of cigarette smoke and an even-lower sense of self-esteem.

Fowler – a doughy, blithe man in a messy brown suit and crooked green tie – swaggered towards the bartender, indifferent to the icy stares he drew. Icy stares that were not lost on his companion, Simian; a taller, broader-framed man in a white shirt and waistcoat. His gaze drifted analytically about the room.

“You’ve done it now, boys,” groused the barkeep.

Fowler took a seat. 

“Whiskey. Sammy, anything?” He grinned. “It’s on me.”

Simian grunted: “It always is.”

“You’ve upset people,” said the barkeep, handing Fowler his drink.

“We’re criminals, we're meant to,” he shrugged, “They’ll get over it.”

“Your dead body, maybe," said the barkeep, shaking his head, "Not them.”

“And who are them, exactly?”

The sound of the door thundered through the room.

Fowler swivelled on his seat, “Oh them.”

Three figures sauntered into the light. The first was a woman with red hair and a pristine suit. The second was a blonde with an open jacket and loose tie, carrying a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. The third, wearing braces and a navy bow tie, was a towering specimen of a man.

“Alright, boys,” said the red-head to the room in general, “take a load off somewhere else. We’ve reserved the venue for business purposes.”

The bar emptied.

“Sorry, boys,” whispered the barkeep from behind, “good luck.” He left via a backdoor, which he promptly locked.

“Ahh, Clarisse,” greeted Fowler, raising his glass as they approached.  

“Lawrence,” said the red-head, “been a while. I actually go by Scarlet now.”

“Oh, because of the…” he gestured to her hair.

“No," she laughed, "actually because of this,” a knife ejected from her sleeve. She twirled it theatrically.

Simian tensed. 

Fowler looked impressed, smiling dreamily, “I see you got a posse now. Good on you, going up in the world. Makes me think of the old days, when it was just me and you. Do you think about them as well?”

“I try not to.”

“Aw, now don’t be like that. You must miss me a little?”

“Not really, no. You were actually quite easy to replace. You met Stacie?” Scarlet gestured to the blonde.

Fowler studied her, “You know the law don’t take kindly to that kinda thing.”

“The law doesn’t like anything we do. Never stopped us before.” She nodded to her right, “And this is Ollie.”

The man grunted.

 “So,” said Fowler, “what can we do you for?”

“Boss ain’t happy with your little stunt. We’re here to deliver the… how’d you used to put it?”

“Severance package?”

The glint of Scarlet’s knife matched her smile, “That’d be it.”

“That wasn’t our fault,” said Simian, "Certainly wasn't mine."

Fowler winked at him.

“Yeah,” Scarlet acknowledged, “but as long as you’re alive, it’s our problem.”

“Listen,” he said diplomatically, “We can make good. We’ll pay anything.”

“Good,” she said, “How’s blood?”

“Actually, we’re a bit tight on that,” said Fowler, sipping his drink, “Anything else?”

“Nope. Sorry boys, you’re out of options.”

“Weird,” said Fowler, drawing a revolver from inside his jacket, “because I count five. Ten if I get a chance to reload.”

“Lawrence,” Simian hissed.

“Do you have a better idea?”

Simian contemplated this briefly before scowling and drawing his own gun.

There was a blur of red and white as Scarlet lunged. She got in quick and knocked the gun away, the bullet biting into the roof. Fowler managed to grab her wrist with the blade inches from his neck.

Simian was forced to roll away, a barbed baseball bat slamming into the space he had previously occupied.

 “I’m not gonna lie, Lawrence,” Scarlet said, her blade working its way to his throat, “It brings me no small amount of pleasure to do this.”

“Yeah well, brings me the opposite to do this.” 

Fowler grabbed his drink and threw it in her face. She reeled. He headbutted her and smashed the glass over her head.

“And I was really enjoying that,” he said sadly before looking up into the eye of a semi-automatic handgun. He leapt away as fire spat from the muzzle. 

Running for his discarded gun, he huddled behind a pillar and thumbed the hammer back, “Seriously,” he shouted, “You had a gun and you start off with the knife!?”

"Basing on how you usually 'performed' during our relationship,” Scarlet hissed as she unloaded the magazine, “I wasn't expecting it to be all this difficult.”

“I’m so glad I cut it off with you.”

“I left you!”

“Well, we both had our problems.”

“Difference was you were in bed with yours.”

“Didn’t mean you had to pull a gun on her!”

“Then I guess things never change, cause I was always aiming at you.”

There was a lull in the assault and Fowler emerged, revolver cocked. 

Gunfire crisscrossed about the room. 

Scarlet was struck in the shoulder, Fowler in the leg. He didn’t even have time to fall before Scarlet was upon him, knife drawn. They fell together and hit the wall, the knife being driven ever closer to Fowler’s face.

"Look at this," Scarlet almost whispered, "Caught between a girl and a hard place; story of your life, eh Fowler? Ain't it poetic?"

“Clarisse, please,” he grunted. “We can sort this out. You know I’ve always been an advocate of women in the workplace.”

“Only cause then they’re within easy reach,” seethed the mobster, an unremitting hatred in her eyes.

There was a creak from the door. Fowler cast his gaze to watch as Ollie stumbled out the bar, seemingly injured.

There was a blast of bright light and Scarlet suddenly went flying. Fowler propped himself on his arms and looked about confused until he spotted Simian, a shotgun in his hands.

"Good shot!"

"Not really," said Simian, "I was aiming for you."

“Where’d you get it?”

“Benny keeps it behind the bar in case of emergencies. Forgot about it till I was thrown on it.”

“Well, ain’t that a- Look out!”

Simian only just managed to watch as the bat was lodged into his gut. He doubled over and fell as Stacie ran by, picking Scarlet up by the arms.

“I got you, boss,” she assured as they hobbled out the bar.

The door settled belligerently into its frame and silence descended.

“Fowler,” said Simian eventually.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll take a scotch.”

“I’m sorry?”

“A scotch. If it’s on you, a scotch.”

[a-doll-like-you]

Rats

[ask-joeydrewstudios]

I'm sorry that someone pointed this out to Sammie. Dear lord now he has become a real monster I mean LOOK AT WHAT HE'S DONE TO THE WALLS AND JOEY'S SWEATER

((that’s not the first or last time Joey’s gotten ink’d (the toons get very cuddly when they’re distressed) so he’s used to it at least, but Wally did not like cleaning all that ink off the walls. I think he’s off somewhere plotting revenge as we speak.

and what does sammy have to say for himself?

“oops”  with a very... worrying grin.))

[naomana]

4, Sam and Paulie. preferably Sam saying it. thanks!

Full prompt list here

“You wear what I tell you to and keep that mouth shut.” Sam/Paulie

Bit shorter and more fluff (trying to get myself feel better with these)

Paulie Lombardo looked good in anything. His Paulie look good in anything. Whenever it was black fitted suit, or plain white shirt. Even waistcoat looked good on that idiot and he rarely wore it. What a shame. It really suit him but the idiot didn't even realise it. Completely blind to the looks some women gave him on streets. In some sense it was comforting, knowing he wasn't looking at anybody else. As much as he loved him dressed in tailored suit, giving him the right aura, stripping him naked was more appealing.

But he wasn't overly excited over the choice of his new suit. He certainly didn't hate it but he felt like something was missing. Then it hit him. Paulie's neck was way too exposed in his opinion, begging for somebody's hands to just wrap around it and.. "Are you listening?" Paulie was looking at him with raised eyebrows and frown appeared on Sam's face, having absolutely no clue what he was talking about.

"You can be really awful sometimes. Like talking to a tree. What are you even thinking about?" Paulie asked him with laugh, paying no extra mind to the fact he was not listening at all. He was simply used to it. "I was just talking about the last job I had to do for Don." "Right. And you did the job wearing this?" Sam asked, making Paulie pause in his movement, he was about to stuff his face with slice of pizza. He then looked at his suit, finding nothing wrong with it.

"Why? What's wrong with this?" The look on Sammy's face was really bugging him, but the man said nothing and just got up from his chair to disappear in their bedroom. Did he do something wrong? Paulie put down his food and rushed after him. "Hey, talk to me!" He found Sammy turned with his back towards the door, looking for something in the big chest of drawers they bought together to have enough room for both of their underpants.

"Exposing yourself like this, are you a whore?" Sam was muttering, Paulie couldn't hear him clearly and approached him to calm him down. He had no idea why he was so angry, until Sammy turned around and grabbed his throat, pushing him towards the bed. "Whoa Sammy! I mean, I don't mind but what the fuck?" "Shut your mouth. I hate all those whores looking at you with those filthy eyes. And look at yourself. Giving them something to look at." He pushed him down, Paulie's back touched the bed and he finally saw what was Sammy looking for.

"Wait a minute. Sammy?!" Eyes locked on leather collar and long leash attached to it, before Sammy climbed on top of him, purposely rubbing against his dick. Paulie's cheeks slowly turned pink over the idea and in the moment of his incaution, Sam tighten the collar around his neck, pecking his lips. "Sammy." Paulie tried again but was silenced with another firm kiss, pulling him up into sitting position with the leash. The power imbalance was intoxicating, turning Paulie’s cheeks agressively red.

"You wear what I tell you to. And keep your mouth shut." Sammy mumbled, kissing him again while strongly holding the leash. Paulie's hands started wandering around, slowly stripping his beloved partner with stupid grin on his lips. How much he loved getting bullied by him. How much he loved getting reminded his place.

[paulie-lombardos-boy-toy]

(continuing from the last ask)

Sam truly starts to become terrified when, during one of Paulies “drunk” episodes, they have to make collections for Salieri and once they get to the place, Sam looks into the backseat where Paulie is and noticed hes looking very… VERY deranged. Paulie isnt there mentally. his suit jacket + waistcoat is off, his hair is falling into his face, Paulie is visibly sweating now, eyes hooded, breathing MORE laboured than before, just staring straight ahead.

Sam has already been skeptical about what the fuck was wrong with Paulie that day. Was he sick? Is the bastard TRULY drunk and just hiding it? Sam was truly puzzled until he remembered the meeting… the closer Paulie was to Sam, the worst the episode got and though it took long enough, Sam finally put two-and-two together. He realized Paulie would sway/squirm whenever they were within inches of each other and Sam thought for sure Paulie was repulsed by him (not realizing at all that its the complete opposite).

Sam took it upon himself to try and bring Paulie back “down to earth” but the moment he muttered “Paulie?” Paulie flat out moaned. Loud. A loud broken moan that he didnt even TRY to hide. Paulie was clutching his thighs, cock visibly hard and Sam, every muscle in his body tense on tenfold in the front seat is NOW thinking “what the fuck is going on? what the FUCK is happening?”

“Sammy… oh, Sammy, i’d do anything for you…”

Paulie sat forward slowly, not breaking eye contact with a now trembling Sam.

“I’d even kill the Don for you, Sammy, you know that? Slit that fuckers throat, bleed him try and send his remains to his fuckin’ mother.”

Sam was fucking terrified. What the fuck is happening!? Paulie isnt here. not mentally. mentally. mentally.

“P-Paulie?”

“Anything for you, Sammy.”

bringing his palm up to caress Sam’s face, Paulie took his bottom lip into his mouth while running his thumb over the dimple in Sam’s chin before grasping Sam’s throat, forcing a squeak out of him.

“Anything.”

Anon be out here writing a whole ass fic in my ask box. 10000/10 kudos to you. I’m loving it. Especially where Paulie just loses it, mentally scarring Sam forever

[wiltingdecay]

was bored and couldn't get my pea brain to focus on writing after expending so much energy today so here's some half baked rowan charm "plans" (i use that term very lightly here)

halloween charm rowan

• BANSHEE ROWAN? BANSHEE ROWAN............... BANSHEE ROWAN!!

• banshees are just yassified ghosts so tattered white gown + white hood/veil thingy + some kind of waist corset thingy to rowanify it some more.

• hair MESSY and flying out around his head.

• dark and extremely smudgy make-up, maybe some white foundation as well (i don't think banshees have freckles :( sad)

• arms out pose so big ripped sleeves can dangle and be centred

• face like >:] and general heehoo im gonna getcha vibes

baewatch charm rowan

• beeeeeg sunhat, smthing similar to portia's but with darker colours perchance

• they probably didn't have obnoxious patterned hawaiian shirts in ye olden times but he's getting one anyway

• tiny lil dark plain coloured bikini top underneath bc said hawaiian shirt must be oversized + unbuttoned

• either equally tiny full ass out shorts or full transmasc board shorts. might sketch both and see which i like best

• chunky wedge sandals bc he's apparently been short coded, he can't not remind ppl that he is Tall

• pose..... idk but he will be holding a margarita. would be floating in a big donut but too similar to asra's + hides outfit. perhaps crouching by a rock pool befriending a crab

wedding charm rowan

• sitting SEXILY. legs crossed ass and thighs in full view.

• can't imagine rowan getting married at his ingame age/maturity level so make him look a lil older

• longer hair? longer hair. would be styled like his regular hairstyle but Fancier. thinking braided back like muriel's hair in his route

• white + gold outfit obviously but with red accents... red tie? red hair accessories? red lips? red bottom boots? yes

• white ruffly poet shirt showing off hefty amounts of chest... gold underbust waistcoat or corset w red detailing... frilly ass pants with gold embroidery.... white or gold heel boots... fuck maybe a white w gold or just straight gold tailcoat too he is getting MARRIED he should go all out (but on the other hand i don't want it to just be a recolour of his masquerade fit so we'll see)

• fanciest gold jewellery i am willing to spend time drawing

wonderland charm rowan

• i guess rowan is alice?? only thing that really makes sense lmao

• turn alice's skirt into shorts and her apron into a lil waist corset and we have ourselves a rowancore outfit

• pose + background elements; based on scene from the beginning where alice is falling into wonderland - pose rowan partially upside down/falling headfirst perhaps

• have plot important stuff falling with him; the emerald necklace, cards from asra's deck, myrrh pouch, julian's research, red beetles, etc

fruit charm rowan

• rowan is already a fruit and today that fruit will be a mango. red + green + lil bit of goldish yellow fits his aesthetique to a t

• outfits seem to be modern au + matching the fruit's palette for the most part soooooo... slightly slutty punkish dark academia outfit that's red/green/little bit of gold. idk what that would even entail but i'll figure something out

• pose/background details; sitting legs crossed on beeg half-mango "boat" and holding/eating smaller mango?? idk the composition of these charms confuses my pea brain for some reason

potion bottle shaker charm rowan

• finally i do not have to cook up a new outfit. breathes a sigh of relief

• pose.... idk he'll just be sittin. either he'll be a bit slutty about it or takin a nap against the side of the bottle, i could go either way

• heart shaped red bottle with a gold stopper inlaid with a turquoise gemstone(s) to match/reference their necklace. might have some gorse flowers around the top too. perchance.

• contents of bottle: two tarot cards. sammi. a chibi version of the tower (Uh Oh). the notebook that they scribble investigation stuff/General Thots in throughout the routes. a little flame.

tired so i'll plan out the rest some other time

[lornasarts]

I saw an ask about why we were never blessed with slut waistcoat Sam or Paulie and couldn’t resist grabbing the tablet and drawing them out!

Well Sam for now ;)

[crinkliedfries]

i was tagged by @littledarlingwellaway and @coincidence-ithinknots-blog , thank you! 

Rules: Answer these 20 questions and then tag people you want to get to know better

1) Nickname: swan, ren, biohazard, woody, bread/bread thief, dad, john, cat lady (or laddie. depends on the mood my sister is in. she uses both fairly interchangeably??), sammy (i can count on one hand the number of people i let call me this. it is a privilege that is given.), “that cello over there”, “little chihuahua kid” (it’s not my fault i have so much adrenaline. my younger sister was the one that started it. apparently a lot of people think i am like a chihuahua. chihuahuas are good), “scary reptile person”, kid, nerd, gremlin, little (macaroni stealing) mouse, little russ 

2) Zodiac Sign: sagittarius! 

3) Height: i am small enough to fit inside of an upright bass <3 (but it also depends on who you ask and when. it’s weird) 

4) Last Movie I Watched: i,, do not remember the last time i watched an actual proper movie. i think it was head, with elly? 

5) Last Thing I Googled: the “well now i am not doing it” penguin meme

6) Favorite Musician: (softly) don’t 

7) Song Stuck in my Head: what’s new pussycat. (we’re almost there, lads) 

8) Other Blogs: uh,, u h. h m . on one hand i could list them out but i really do not think any of us want to be here for that-- 

9) Blog Following: 722. how many of those are active? can’t remember. and a good number of them are not actually in use and i cannot explain what they are <3

10) Amount of sleep: ...this is a trap and i know it 

11) Lucky Number: i don’t know that i have one ? but i’ve always been oddly fond of 19. i don’t know why. also 10 14 & 15! i like 10 14 & 15. they’re nice solid numbers and this is definitely not connected to any certain ship sailing/sinking date <3

12) What am I wearing: pink floyd hoodie, dragon t-shirt i stole from my stepdad, and the rainbow music leggings i stole from my cousin d>:D (and a hat. because my kids won’t sTOP TRYING TO LICK MY HEAD)

13) Dream Job: herpetologist. writer. literature major. musician of SOME SORT (but not,,, in a big fancy orchestra. no thank you) 

14) Dream Trip: titanic wreck site but also i want. to see. the parisian sewers. d:). 

15) Favorite Food: legally i have to say bread, 

16) Play an Instrument: unfortunately yes. i keep agreeing to help people and it’s a mess 

17) Languages: English 

18) Favorite Song: once again,, i am not legally allowed to pick favourites <3 

19) Random Fact: i am still procrastinating against my english assignment d:) d:) d:) this is fine 

20) Describe Yourself in Aesthetics Things: waistcoats, an unreasonable number of hats strewn across the room, instruments propped up against walls, books stacked up and shoved into any cranny they’ll fit in, ink spilled across a desk, the feeling of a just-shed snake’s skin, staying up late and drinking tea, knives, sweaters that are too-big over buttonups 

I'll tag (no pressure!): @jo-mccoy  @rainbow-firecracker @phoenixharrison@peaked-in-third-grade @seadeepy and anyone else who wants to! 

[sleepymccoy]

Crowley and Aziraphale are absolutely adorably nauseating with each other in public, once they can be, but they’re also drama queens who enjoy that they can be rude to each other and fight without ruining things. So I posit that there are many times that their interactions have been mistaken as two strangers about to throw hands in the street

--

It was just another day at work. Phil was packaging up the slice of cake ordered by a man who was wearing sunglasses in mid winter and working on remembering the slightly convoluted sandwich order he’d just been given,

The customer who’d ordered the cake stood resting on the edge of the counter, waiting quietly as he stared at his phone. The bloke who’d spent an entire minute detailing his sandwich was still at the register, putting his wallet back together.

“Hey,” cake man said, “you dropped your- is this a fob watch?”

Phil glanced up curiously, watching in amusement as, sure enough, cake man was holding a gold fob watch and smirking at sandwich man.

“Oh, thank you,” sandwich man sad politely, holding his hand out to reclaim it. 

Cake man grinned, studying the fob watch. “I haven’t seen one of these in decades!”

Phil put the slice on the counter and muttered, “there ya go,” hoping to stop what was a needlessly rude interaction from being his problem.

“I’ll have it back, thank you,” sandwich man said tersely. 

“What century do you think this is?”

Phil sighed and started working on the sandwich. 

“I am perfectly aware of what century it is, of course,”

“Of course,” cake man mocked. 

“You’re one to talk,” sandwich man snapped. “Dressed like you woke up in a gutter three days ago and decided not to do anything about it.”

Phil finished the sandwich while cake man gaped at sandwich man in offence. He hoped they would leave before he had to do anything. Conflict resolution wasn’t his strong suit.

“I’m- how dare you-” Cake man said vaguely. Sandwich man took the moment and snatched his fob watch back. 

Phil put the sandwich on the counter too, giving sandwich man a polite smile. Cake man picked up both bags. “Sorry, that’s his order,’ Phil interrupted reluctantly.

“We’re together,” cake man said absently. They began to walk out together. “I curate this look, this takes effort,” cake man said.

Sandwich man bristled. “You clearly have no idea how much effort it takes to keep a fob watch in good condition in this era, no one knows how to fix it. I’ve had to learn clock working!”

“I can’t take full steps in these pants,” cake man complained. He opened the door and held it open, kicking a leg out to his hip as if to prove he couldn’t move it much. He was more flexible in those pants than Phil was naked. “I’ve sacrificed the ability to walk!”

“You’ve never had the ability to walk, dear. I do like you in slim pants, though.” The door shut, cutting them off, although Phil, quite bemused, saw them continuing to squabble as they walked off.

--

Sammy checked the street before crossing, of course, but it was a pedestrain stirp so she didn’t check with much focus. No cars, so she walked. She passed a nice looking man in a  cream coat who smiled at her warmly. Very warmly. She threw him half a smile and hoped he wouldn’t try to talk to her. 

As they passed a black car, old looking, came roaring around the corner, brakes screeching. The man pushed her hastily off the road and out of the way.

Sammy took a breath, feeling very much like she was made of electricity. She turned quickly, terrified of seeing the kind man mangled by the car. 

No, he was fine. He was standing in the middle of the pedestrian crossing, the bumper of the car barely an inch from his knees, glaring daggers at the driver.

The window of the car wound down slowly, the sound long and awkward in the street. A man in sunglasses leant out. “Watch where you’re going!” He yelled.

The pale man bristled. “Well, perhaps if you didn’t drive like such a maniac there wouldn’t be a risk!” 

A slender arm slipped out of the window, waving dramatically at the man in the street, who was still bravely glaring at him. “My driving is not the problem here, you didn’t even look before you crossed.”

Sammy’s saviour fixed his jacket and frowned. “I assure you, I looked, you’re just going so very far over the limit-”

“You didn’t look,” the man in the car interrupted. “I saw you, strolling about, not a care-”

“I looked,” the cream coat man snapped. “It’s your speed and- and trajectory that is so unknowable and erratic that-”

The man in the car began to climb out through his window, his body shaking with anger as he did. “I am in perfect control of this car,” he said, sitting in the window frame and leaning around to rest one hand on the windscreen. “But there’s not much that can be done for men who just waltz across the street without thinking!”

Cream coat leaned onto the bonnet and shouted, “I am perfectly safe, you nearly hit that young lady, though!” He waved a hand vaguely at Sammy. Sunglasses looked at her, then back to cream coat. 

“Phooey,” he dismissed.

The man on the street swelled for a moment, then deflated and said a casual, cheerful, “Oh!”

“What?” 

“Do you feel like pho for lunch?”

The man slipped his sunglasses down his nose and studied the other. He shrugged. “Sure,” he agreed. He clambered out the window and stood in the street. “Want me to pick some up, or go out?”

“Let’s go somewhere.”

Sunglasses nodded and got back into his car. 

“But I do need to check on the lady you nearly maimed,” cream coat said smugly. Sunglasses groaned loudly and slipped in dramatic exasperation in his seat. 

The kind man walked up to Sammy and smiled. “Are you hurt?” He asked.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Sammy muttered.

“I wouldn’t’ve hit her!” Came a loud yell from the car. The man was leaning out the window again. “You listening? I wouldn’t’ve hit her, I’ve never hit anyone.”

Cream coat smiled at her again, then his face went into a sudden frown as he returned to the car. “Oh, we both know that’s-”

“You were distracting me!” Shouted sunglasses. His arm was waving very wildly again. “Talking about love and all that bullshit, that was your fault.”

“My fault?” Repeated the man in the coat. He slipped into the passenger seat with practiced ease. “You’re mad,” he snapped. 

The car roared to life and drove both of them off. 

Sammy shook her head and went on with her day.

--

Agatha was sitting on the bench, waiting politely for the bus when a black Bentley sidled up a few doors down and parked. She watched it curiously, it reminded her of her father’s boss’s car, and she hadn’t seen the like in a while. 

As she watched the windows wound down, changing the deep, hidden thud of music to a loud rock song she didn’t recognise. The music got louder, then a man in all black slipped out of the car and climbed on the roof, laying there with his arms hanging off the edge of the car. 

Agatha pursed her lips, unimpressed with his rudeness.

A window banged open across the street. “Would you turn that racket off!” Shouted someone. Agatha turned her head slowly to see a man dressed in a nice waistcoat leaning out of the window to Mr. Fell’s bookshop. Agatha had never been inside the shop, but as it was currently closed she had to assume this was Mr. Fell. 

The rude man didn’t even look, he just flipped Mr. Fell off. 

Agatha gaped, her sympathy entirely with Mr. Fell until a moment later when he threw a stapler out his window, directly at the car.

It fell short and sat rather pathetically in the road. 

The rude man sat up and pointed at Mr. Fell. “Vandal!” He cried dramatically. Despite herself, Agatha had to agree with him. 

“Oh!” Mr. Fell shouted. “I’m trying to work, turn it off!”

“No!”

Mr. Fell disappeared from the window, only to walk out his front door a moment later, looking like a perfect picture of righteous anger. Agatha began to search through her bag to find her mobile in case she had to call the police. 

“Would you at least sit inside the car to muffle that horrible sound,” Mr. Fell asked, shouting over the loud music as he approached the car. 

The rude man swung his legs off the side of the car, sitting on the roof and facing Mr. Fell. “That’s the Beastie Boys, they get me,” he said, hitting himself in the chest emotionally. 

Mr. Fell scoffed inaudibly, his expression derisive enough, and reached between the rude man’s legs and through the open window.

“Hey!” The rude man snapped. His legs flew in wild directions then, in an action Agatha did not follow, he threw himself off the car and was standing next to Mr. Fell, whacking his arms lightly. “Hey, you don’t know what you’re doing, you’ll break it!”

The music stopped.

“Maybe,” Mr. Fell said, still reaching into the car. “Best drive away to stay safe,” he advised. 

The rude man pulled Mr. Fell’s arm out of the car. “What’re you even doing?” He asked. Mr. Fell wrenched his arm out of the rude man’s grip. “My taxes, it’s fiddly work and I need to concent-”

“Taxes?” The rude man interrupted loudly. He leaned against the car dramatically, hands in his hair. “You cancelled dinner for taxes?”

“I have to do them.”

The rude man dropped his hands and looked at Mr. Fell sadly. “You did them last year.”

“It’s a yearly thing, Crowley.”

“Ughhh how long are you going to be?”

Mr. Fell’s posture changed slightly. He leaned in to speak a bit more quietly. Agatha’s hearing was pristine, especially for her age, so she caught the softer tones. “Not too long, how about I come over to yours tomorrow?”

“Mine?”

“Yes.”

They leaned closer and spoke more quietly for a time, out of even Agatha’s hearing. She put her phone away and pointedly looked away as they briefly kissed each other. The youth these days, ridiculous.

The rude man returned to his car and drove off. Mr. Fell watched him until he rounded the corner out of sight, then turned and addressed Agatha. “I apologise, he’s a menace,” he said politely. 

Agatha smiled weakly, glad it was all over. Mr. Fell picked up his stapler and returned to his shop.

[ronmanmob]

"Can I have a kiss then if you're giving them away?".

Smoochies Inbox Meme

The question turned Ron in place, the gaggle of East End Silver Vixens that'd befallen his person a couple of minutes back tittering happily amongst themselves at the interruption. Edna and Pals as they were lovingly called - a fivesome including one Mrs Bowes (Edna), Lottie Clarkson, Winni Friar, Sammy Johns and Irene (Reeny) Richards - had popped by The Trader as they habitually did for the past few years; this time with thanks to give to its lovely proprietor for a bit of money he'd donated to the local Ladies Concern in hopes of saving it from closure. The council'd been stonewalling the establishment's pleas for help for months and Ronnie, once Edna'd slipped a flea in his ear about it, wasn't having red tape kill off one of the local area's gems. A cheque had been cut that very evening and now, in wake of Mr Kray's kindly save, the key members of the Concern had just about stolen him away with their cuddles and their little pecks for his hands and his cheeks. And somehow, touch averse as he was, Ronnie fucking loved it. Maybe because they all reminded him so much of his dear mum.

Kit though - she was a different kettle of fish.

'-Jus a second, please' Ron chortled to the cloud of tittering Mrs's he'd accrued, straightening his waistcoat, shirt sleeves and tie as they made themselves comfy by the bar and ordered heartily. Thus neatened, he approached Kit; a cock-eyed smirk tugging his lips all lopsided.

'Y'll pardon tha' lot' he snuffled, giving each of Kit's cheeks a little peck. There was a smudge of rouge on his collar, up close; a touch of coral pink on his jaw. 'S'a curse, bein' this good lookin' y'know.' He was joking - just didn't think that highly of himself - but that fact didn't dampen his mood in the slightest.

[frenlom]

A masterpost of Egos

Sammy (They/Them/Their/Theirs/Themselves): Agent 4501 from The Agency, where they work alongside Becky and Myrtle. Sammy is essentially the brains of this whole operation. Calm, calculating, smart, is the most logical one out of everyone. They wear a black trenchcoat which they leave untied, a yellow turtleneck, blue jeans and black boots, as well as a black fedora with a yellow band. Their hair is orange and falls around their shoulders, partially covering their eagle eye, which is a permanent result of being turned into an eagle and the potion not working completely to turn them back. When angered, stressed or scared their fingers extend into talons, which they use to fight with if they need to fight. They can also grow wings and fly, but it takes a lot of energy and concentration so they only do it in emergencies. They like to know things, especially about what other people say or do or think, which is probably why I end up analyzing my dreams so much to try and work out if there's any deeper meanings to them. Current hobbies include playing chess, learning languages, inventing metaphors with Star and Olley, and making a key out of a paperclip and a wooden skewer for reasons I won't delve into here.

Becky (She/Her/Hers/Hers/Herself): Agent 4724 from The Agency, where she works alongside Sammy and Myrtle. While Sammy's the logical one, Becky is the protective one -- she wants me to be safe in the environment I'm restricted to, so she set up a bunch of rules to try and keep me safe, but unfortunately they're impossible to conform to. However, in light of recent discoveries Becky's reduced her impossible list down to just one, much more manageable rule which I won't discuss here. In her human form she wears an orange shirt and black waistcoat, with black trousers and black boots similar to the ones Sammy wears. She also occasionally wears a black fedora like Sammy does, however the band of hers is orange. She has hazel eyes and her blonde hair that reaches down to her waist, which she ties in a ponytail when she's not wearing her fedora. In her natural form she wears the same outfit, however she has large black raven wings, large pointed dog ears and pale yellow fur the same shade as her hair that fades to black around where her wings are. She likes playing chess with Sammy, and she likes reading things that I write.

Star (Bun/Bun/Buns/Buns/Bunself): The inventive little daydreamer, basically bun is my imagination. Bun wears a blue and white tie-dye spiral t-shirt and a blue skirt, with white stockings and small blue high-heels. Bun has brown hair with blue highlights that barely reacher buns shoulders, and buns eyes are green like Sammy. Bun is the quietest of all of the Egos, and easily overwhelmed. Bun likes to help out a lot when I'm writing, and invents a whole bunch of scenarios that I write out. Bun also likes metaphors, and spends lots of time inventing them, often helped out by Sammy and occasionally Becky and Olley.

Olley (She/Her, Bun/Bun): Olley is the emotional one of the group. Easy to please, but also easy to upset or scare. She wears a lavender turtleneck, blue leggings and purple socks, and a lavender bobble-hat with a purple bobble. Like Becky she has waist-length blonde hair, but her eyes are a dark brown. Bun likes hanging out with Cherry a lot since bun thinks what it can do is impressive, and she likes helping Star and Sammy make up metaphors.

Cherry (It/It/Its/Its/Itself): Cherry is...the actor, I suppose. It can put on various facades, slipping in and out of each as if putting on or taking off a mask. On the subject of masks, it has one that it wears -- a red mask that covers its entire face, one with a smile that shows off sharp white teeth, and a black veil on the inside that makes it impossible to see in through the eyeholes unless you're up close. The rest of it's outfit shifts around depending on how it wants to be perceived, but when it's relaxed it wears a dark grey hoodie with a red diamond on the front and a brown hood, black leather gloves, black ripped jeans and grey baseball-boot style shoes. It keeps it's hood up when wearing it's hoodie, and it tends to keep it's mask on as well unless it's completely comfortable around people. It likes reading the things I write as well, and also just enjoys reading in general. It also likes spending time with Sammy because Sammy likes to point out things they notice about other people, which helps Cherry acting because it gives it more to think about and channel in it's performances.

Myrtle Jade (She/Her, They/Them): Agent 4869 from The Agency, where she works alongside Sammy and Becky. Not much is known about Myrtle at this stage, other than the fact that they're from the same agency that Sammy and Becky work at. She'd been tasked with trying to carry out Mission 4513 prior to Sammy and Becky being assigned to it, but failed. It's...somewhat of a sore spot. They wear a long dark-green dress with red gradient sleeves, a dark green fedora with a bright red band, red high-heel boots and a golden pendant in the shape of an eye with an emerald set into the middle of it. Her hair is black and wavy, reaching down to her waist, and her eyes are bright green and occasionally glow with some sort of magic. They also have sharp, pointy teeth (similar to the fake teeth on Cherry's mask) and a long forked tongue that seems almost snake-like in nature. She largely keeps to herself, but she has been seen hanging out around Olley, which is when her eyes were seen to be glowing.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Trouble All My Days

Author: darcydelaney

Artist: impmakesart

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Dean/Cas, Sam/Jessica

Length: 43000

Warnings: Hinted past abuse, brief period-typical homophobia/language, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, fighting (verbal and physical)

Tags: 1930s AU, prison escape, our boys are unwitting folk superstars, angst if you squint, happy endings for all, (very) loosely based on O Brother Where Art Thou

Posting Date: October 27, 2020

Summary: One year, six months, and fifteen days—that’s how long Dean Winchester’s been sitting in jail for robbing a general store, soon to be joined by his brother, Sam. When they devise a plan to escape and get Sam back home to his soon-to-be fiancée, they’ve got no choice but to take the third member of their chain gang, Castiel Novak, with them. Dean’s been trying to crack the case of the irritatingly silent (and infuriatingly handsome) Castiel since he’d arrived, with no luck. Once they manage to lose their shackles, the three of them embark on an adventure running from the law and making a name for themselves as wanted fugitives, unsuspecting tagalongs to a bank robbery, and folk superstars, with Dean falling harder and faster for Castiel all the while. Perhaps the whole thing—every unexpected, haphazard minute of it—is all it’ll take for Dean to finally figure out what’s going on in Castiel’s head...and maybe find his way into his heart, as well.

Excerpt: Bobby had given them free reign of the boxes of old clothes in his bedroom to find new outfits, and Cas had clearly taken full advantage, dressed in tan pants and a white button-up. He’d even managed to find himself a matching waistcoat, a snug piece fitting him in all the right places, with a blue tie tucked behind it. He’s got his shirtsleeves rolled up, exposing strong forearms that have Dean unconsciously wetting his lips. Combine it all with the flush in his cheeks from the shower’s hot water, the way stray curls of his damp hair stick to his forehead— Focus, Winchester. Focus. “Damn, where you off to?” he asks lightly, trying to hide his stumble behind a quip. Cas’ brows furrow together, and it’s not even worth trying anymore—Dean’s a goner. “I thought I’d be continuing on with you and Sam.” “No, you are, I just...you look fancy.” Cas looks at him, still confused, before saying, “I wanted to look nice.” You do, Dean wants to say, heart beating so hard and fast in his chest that it’s making him feel like a goddamn cartoon character. You really, really do. He’s gotta do something other than gawk, but apparently his body will hear none of it. “Sammy?” Dean asks, his voice coming out strangled as he forces himself to look away from Cas and toward his brother. “You next?” Sam waves him off without taking his eyes off his book. Which, thank god, probably means he didn’t see any of the mess Dean had just stumbled into. “Nah, you go. This is just getting good.” “All right,” Dean says, secretly relieved to have an excuse to get his ass out of the room. “There’s a beer in the fridge for you too, Cas. Don’t have too much fun without me.” He’s started mentally preparing himself to have to walk past Cas when Sam pipes up again. “Hey, Dean? It’s a little hot out.” “So? It’s always hot out here.” Sam shrugs and—did that fucker just wink at him? “Just saying. A cold shower might do you some good.”

DCBB 2020 Posting Schedule

[chateautae]

miss sammy finally i could send a proper ask for the art of touch! first of all WOWZA, painter tae is one wild gentleman (which we love and adoreee) alsoo this period time is so sexy with the clothes and all, im thinking about tae wearing those period piece and already going feral!

Also your writing is always on point, I love everything from the fluffy parts to the smutty parts! You are one of my favorite writer for sure! And thank you for spoiling us with these stories, I know you are super busy with school and work (and ehem, your real life mid tae ;)) yet you still have time to spoil us with these stories!

I hope you always be healthy and happy Sammy! much love!

he truly is a quite dEMONIC gentleman dnwldinwpeif GOD HE NEEDS TO RAIL ME THIS INSTANT!! pLEASE i exactly envisioned this tae when I thought of him in period clothing because it's just so fitting of him!! I would kill to see taehyung rocking a period piece waistcoat <3

AHHH LOVES THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! It means the world you feel this way about my writing even more think about me and my life when releasing these stories, you're such an angel loves 🥺💓 i hope you're always happier and healthier!! <33

[shoulda-been-a-redhead]

Birdcage:: set circa 1998

“De-ja-vu right?” 

“Yeah, no kidding.” 

...,,,...

Dean stalked down the stairway carefully, taking lengthy efforts not to make  a creaking noise on the arid wood stairs. The basement he entered was pitch dark and already stunk of death. The only light was the light from the doorway above him, which soon slammed shut with a vengeance. Have to deal with that later, he thought bitterly. 

He felt around the walls for some kind of switch or lever to initiate light. 

When he found a large lever he pressed it up with a clang, preparing for bright lights to surround him, but the control only yielded a small light in thte middle of the room. 

“What the—!” 

A scrambling happened and huge chains squeaked as the biggest bird cage Dean had ever seen swung suspended by the chains. The figure inside retreated to the furthest part of the circular cage away from Dean as it could, throwing the cage off balance even more. 

“Dean?” Sam said quietly with an urgent whisper. 

“Sammy?” 

“Thank God,” Sam sunk to his knees and crawled to the bars closer to his brother. 

“What the hell?” Dean neared the swinging cage and dodged it. He grabbed on and skidded with it to stop at the bottom of its pendulum swing. The bottom of it was still four feet off the ground. The platform of the bottom of the cage was probably about eight feet in diameter. The height was about twelve feet. The bottom was a sheet of thick, solid metal, and the bars that extended vertical were fused into the platform. The bars were thicker than Dean’s forearm and made of the same metal as the base. They came to an arch at the top of the cage where a single light hung down a foot or so. There was no doubt: it was basically a birdcage. One difference: there didn’t seem to be a door.

“I don’t know man. I woke up in here.” Sam’s face came more into the light and Dean almost flinched back. “What?” Sam asked. 

“Um...” Dean didn’t know where to start. Sam had a dark bruise the shape of the tread indentions of a large boot across his face. His nose was crooked— obviously broken— and one eye was bloodshot and watering. “Nothin’.” 

“Come on. I know its bad.” 

“Yeah.” Dean’s stomach turned with disgusted guilt. “Yeah. Don’t worry we’ll getcha fixed up. How long you been awake?” 

“I dunno. How long have I been here?”

“A few days.” That was not quite true. It had been a week. But Dean didn’t know what answer Sam needed.

“Oh. I have no idea then. They’ve come in like three times.” Sam said. 

“Who?” 

“The people-things.” 

“‘The people-things’. That’s really specific, Sam.” Dean rolled his eyes. 

“They aren’t people, they aren’t monsters, they look like people, they weld things with their hands. Seemed like a good conjecture— people-things.” Sam defended. He winced and touched his eye as blood dripped from above it. 

“What do they come in for?” Dean asked, sticking his hand through the space between two of the bars and thumbing some of the crusty tear-blood mixture off of Sam’s cheek. 

“They come and take blood and leave food.” 

“Your blood?” Dean asked, preoccupied with cleaning the cut under Sam’s eyebrow. 

“Ya see anyone else in here?” Sam asked as he jerked away from Dean’s rough hand unsuccessfully. Dean sighed with a shake of his head. Sam’s hands clinging around the jail bars were wrecked. His fingers were purple and red and yellow with bruising, and needle pinpoint marks shone on the back of his hands.

“How much blood? God, Sam, they musta stuck you twenty times.” 

“I know. I don’t know how much, but I passed out the second time and almost did the first.” He looked at his own hand with little interest. 

“Where do they come from? From up there?” Dean jerked his head to the door up the stairs he arrived from. 

“No. No, there’s another door over there.” Sam looked into the far corner of the space. there was not enough light to see much, and what light there was was divided and ribbed by shadows from the cage’s bars. 

“How’d you get in this thing?” 

“I was passed out.” Sam gestured to his bloodstained face. “But when they come they hold the bars in their hands and they glow, like hot metal, and they bend them so they can reach in. Then they meld it back into place and add more metal. Then they weld that with their hands. I guess it replaces the strength. They don’t talk to me.” 

Dean handed Sam a long knife through the space in the bars. “I’m gonna check it out.” He gestured toward the corner with the alleged door. 

Sam nodded. He slid the knife up his shirt sleeve, carefully hidden in case of emergency. A noise whirred on the other side of the wall Dean was headed towards suddenly. 

Sam’s eyes widened and he motioned to Dean to leave the way he came. Dean gave him a ‘no way!’ look even through the darkness. Sam glared and set his jaw. Dean retreated into the darkest corner of the room and crouched. Sam had to give it to him, he was pretty invisible. 

He stood up shakily and the cage swung wildly. He almost lost his balance, but grabbed onto the pole-like bars to steady. He looked incredibly nauseous as he gained his sealegs.

Shadows danced around the room and a new light came from the doorway. Two figures in white Haz-mat suits entered the room with a small cart, on which were several large empty vials and test tubes. The humanesque figures approached the bird cage without a word or emotion.

One of the figures raised a hand to a bar and it started to glow. Sam stayed put with a glare of death towards the perpetrators. Dean steadied his gun to aim at the white-clad thing, but a small gesture from Sam made him think better of taking the shot. 

The bar heated and bent, then a section of it melted away. The same procedure was followed for two other bars. It wasn’t quite enough space for an escape yet— but it was something.

Dean emerged from the shadow and shot one of the suited monsters dead. 

The other whirled on him and extended its hand. Unexpectedly, Dean flew forward in an unnatural force. The monster caught him by the wrist and its glowing hand burned through his shirt to his skin. He grit his teeth as his wrist seared. 

“Dean!” Sam said, a yell halfway between an admonishment an dan exclamation.

Dean hadn’t thought to ask Sam how they got him to willingly let them take his blood. Now he knew. 

The monster hit his chest and he flew back against the wall. His head hit and his eyelids suddenly heavied. He slid down to the ground and crumpled there. 

Sam leapt toward the hole and grabbed the monster from behind. He pulled it with a headlock and slammed its head down on the sharp point of one of the semi-melted bars. The bar impaled the creature’s neck and it fell limp. 

Sam was breathing hard as he backed up. The cage swung wildly and he tripped, whacking his head on the floor. 

When he came to, the hole in the cage was still there, but he was chained to one of the perfectly healthy bars. Metal restraints clasped around his upper arms, in between his shoulders and his elbows. His neck popped when he awoke and stirred, looking up from his position of his head laying limp on his own shoulder. His vision was blurry for an unreasonably long amount of time. 

“Coulda told me about the telekinesis, stupid.” Sam heard Dean say from across the room. 

He could see most of Dean through the bars, but his face was obscured by one of the cage’s thick ribs. He was tied up leaning against the wall, sitting on his heels, forced into a prayer kneel by the restraints. 

“Yeah,” Sam said guiltily. He closed his already mostly swollen shut left eye and his vision cleared exponentially. One eyed was better than fuzzy, he supposed. 

The door in the corner opened slowly with a creak and a tall figure stepped out. “You’ve taken my helpful metal-melders from me.” A voice said. “It seems I will have to continue the old fashioned way. Free range inside a cage seemed more humane... more conscientious, but restrained works too. In fact it works even better for me.” The figure stepped into the light with a cruel smile. They were mostly human. Well dressed human, even. The only thing a little off was the paleness of their face and the reddish color of their irises. Sam could barely see him, twisting his head as far as he could to watch. 

“Humane?” Dean spit. 

“You don’t agree eight feet of wandering ground is better than none?” The melodious male voice asked. Dean didn’t answer. 

“I suppose you never got the good treatment though, boy.” The man-monster-thing stepped forward. He looked like the old drawings of Dracula in classic books. “Soon enough you won’t miss it either.” The creature adressed Sam. Sam didn’t want to know what that meant. 

“Let him go,” Dean snarled. 

“Let him go?” The creature almost laughed. “You aren’t bargaining for your own life first?” The creature suddenly sniffed in a large inhale of air, like he was trying to smell what wine was being served with dinner. Dean pulled back from him, weirded out a bit. “Oh, I see.” The creature chuckled in ecstacy. “You carry the same blood. You’re family, yes?” 

Dean just glared at the man. 

“Well that just makes everything so much smoother. Much faster.” The creature seemed delighted. It pulled a handkerchief out of its waistcoat pocket, approaching Dean and kneeling before him. Dean snatched with his teeth at the monster’s hands, but to no avail. The monster tied the gag tight around his head, its cloth bit settling between his jaws. 

“Sit tight,” the monster said. “I’ll be back shortly.” He stalked from the room, dress shoes clacking upon the stone floor. 

“Dean?” Sam asked, his brother’s face still obscured by the bar. “Dean what happened?” 

Dean mumbled through the gag in response. He was seething with rage and helplessness. His arms were chained to his sides and his weapons were unreachable. The lock on the chains was nowhere to be found by wiggling around. The tight cloth around his face started to make his eyes and mouth water. He leaned his head back and hit it on the stone wall in frustration. Sam moved as much as he could with his tight restraints binding him to the ‘wall’ of the birdcage, trying to swing the cage so he could see Dean’s face. Eventually the cage spun just enough. 

“Dammit,” Sam said. 

The well dressed moster came back with supplies on a little tea cart. He took a bowl and a towel from the cart and stalked towards Dean. 

“Hey, back off!” Sam yelled. 

The evil beanstalk of a man didn’t even turn to Sam as he said, “Don’t fret. You’ll be even with him soon. More or less.” He placed the large bowl next to Dean’s right side and the towel underneath it. 

Dean struggled as far from the man as he could, grunting and straining against the gag and the chains. 

The man moved Dean’s right arm out from the mummy-ing chains but without any hesitation he pulled a knife from inside his blazer and slit one deep slash line tracing down the underside/inside of Dean’s arm. Dean let out an involuntary yelp, made higher by the restraint in his mouth.

The monster went on to place both hands on the shoulder of that same arm and do a quick maneuver that yielded a horrifying “pop” noise, and a scream from Dean. 

“Stop!” Sam screamed. He kicked his legs from his seated position on the platform bottom of the cage, trying to turn it for a better view. The monster was blocking him from seeing what happened, but he would know the sound of a shoulder coming out of socket anywhere. Another ghastly “clack” noise sounded that Sam couldn’t place or understand. Dean let out one unintended sob, so Sam knew whatever the click was, it was bad news. “Stop it!” He yelled again as the pit of his stomach dropped.

The monster stood and turned to Sam, blood covering his hands. Sam looked around him to Dean, whose arm was slowly pouring blood into the waiting bowl. 

The monstrous creature stalked around the cage to a point where Sam could no longer see him. He felt vulnerable and suddenly his back felt very exposed. He watched Dean through the bars as he tried to move and struggle against the chains, in more pain the more his shoulder moved. Almost a long minute later his eyes widened and he tried to yell a muffled warning to Sam. 

Sam felt a sharp pain in his hand. A needle twice as big as the others was jammed into his vein with vigor. He grit his teeth as he tried to keep the volume of his pained yell down. Another needle jammed into his other hand and his breath hitched. 

Dean’s muffled yells of things like “STOP!” and insults and threats that could barely be made out through the gag caught Sam’s incredibly divided attention. This is what it meant when he said it would be faster this way. Sam thought. 

“Dean, stop it! You’ll bleed faster!” 

Dean didn’t stop struggling, but he was becoming really tired, really fast. 

The monster spun the cage around some so that Dean was lined up in the melded window of no bars in the cage and Sam could see him dying more clearly. The downside: Dean could see Sam more clearly, too. 

There were too many tubes coming out of Sam to be anything but horrendously painful. Even through his watery, unfocused eyes Dean could see as the monstrous creature stuck needles into Sam’s neck. Draining him. 

“Dean, stop it! It’ll kill you faster if you keep moving around! Listen to me.” 

Dean stopped for a second. The anger blurring his vision died down as he shifted his focus to Sam’s completely calm face. Bruised and broken, sure, but calm nonetheless. 

“You have to stop.” Sam said quietly. A laugh boiled up from the monster behind him but he ignored it. “Stay calm. Just stay still.” Sam got an idea suddenly. It only worked in a very specific scenario, but he didn’t have many other options at the moment. “It’s pretty fowl in here, right?” Sam tried not to emphasize the code word too much in fear of discovery, but hoping Dean would still get it. 

Fowl? Why does he want me to— Dean thought through the code, but Sam said something else which made it clearer. 

“We’re gonna be fine...” Sam sounded suddenly delirious and weak. His head lulled down and his limbs fell even more slack in their restraints. It was almost too convincing. 

Fowl was the code word for ‘play dead’, although they had never used it for the one saying it to be the one playing dead. Dean understood his role now. He knit his eyebrows and got the monster’s attention with a mournful yelp and a few fake, but convincing, sobs. 

The monster grinned. “You listened to him too well I suppose. The way I planned, you would have been dead long before you saw the child go.” 

Dean glared at him with a seething rage. Even if Sam wasn’t really dead, he was definitely being drained and hurt. Dean hung his head and tried to get the tears to fall out of his eyes onto the floor dramatically. He pretended to sob, hoping this was Sam’s plan. 

“He’ll be easier to drain out here with us, don’t you think?”  The monster fell for their trick brilliantly. “Right here?” The creature tapped the ground in front of Dean’s eyeline. 

The monster proceeded towards the cage where Sam lay entirely motionless. 

“Don’t touch him!” Dean yelled through the gag, the words barely recognizable, but definitely frantic-sounding, trying to sell it. 

The monster grinned sadistically. It unclasped the cuffs around Sam’s upper arms one by one. Sam slumped to the side with the first metallic click, then to the front over his criss crossed legs with the next. His swollen, bruised eye hit his knee when he fell forward and Dean winced for him. Sam was selling it so hard that Dean started to worry for if it wasn’t real. 

 The monster swung the cage as if he was trying to get all the marbles to roll to one side of a tray after spinning them around a few times. Sam tumbled toward the hole like a bag of bones. 

The monster pulled him out as he remained tension-less and motionless. Dean watched carefully, trying to act devastated and like he wasn’t calculating a plan in his head. His thoughts swam in bloodloss. His dislocated shoulder numbed his whole right arm... or was that the lack of life in his limb? But he determined to remain conscious nonetheless. For Sammy.

The tall monster dropped Sam in front of Dean unceremoniously. His limbs folded under him and his head hit with a whack. Sam’s face landed cheek to the ground, turned toward Dean, his expression hidden from the standing monster. As Dean watched, Sam’s face scrunched up in pain. Dean’s heart seemed to un-scrunch with relief, but he didn’t show it. He didn’t change his expression as he lifted his gaze to the insanely pleased creature. 

“How’s that?” The monster asked rudely. 

Dean snorted a growl in response. 

The monster grabbed Dean by the jaw and made him look at Sam. 

Dean watched happily as he saw Sam’s hand slide a knife out of his sleeve with bloody fingers. He took his chance while the monster’s hand was still holding onto Dean’s face. 

Sam sprung into action, slicing the creature’s hand clean off with his daggar. The monster wailed and stepped back several staggers. Sam rolled to his feet and grabbed Dean’s silver loaded gun from the pile in the corner. He shot the creature in the chest once and once in the stomach before leaping at the downed villain with its recently severed hand in tow. Dean couldn’t see exactly what happened, but the monster stopped struggling after a gagging noise ocurred. Sam shot it once more in the heart for good measure, then his heavy breathing took him over. He bent, doubled over and fell to one knee. After a few seconds he limped over to his brother. 

He cut the gag off with the bloody daggar carefully and quickly threw it down. He was still panting. 

“Scared me for a second there, man.” Dean rasped. 

Sam nodded. “Good actor I guess.” He put a cold hand on Dean’s destroyed shoulder and Dean flinched. 

“Nasty,” Sam commented. 

“Coming from the guy who just killed something using its own severed hand.” Dean said weakly. 

Sam’s gaze hardened as he re-noticed the full bowl of blood at Dean’s fingertips. It was full. And it wasn’t a small bowl. He helped his brother up from the ground, pulling with his handhold in the wrapped chains around him. He loosened them in several places and found a lock eventually. Picking it was no problem. Once the ‘weak link’ was dealt with they fell to the ground in a rattling ruckus. Dean breathed freely as he thanked Sam. 

Sam took what was left of his shredded shirt off and tied it around Dean’s arm tightly as a tourniquet. At full height, Sam was only a couple inches shy of his brother, when three months ago he’d been almost half a foot shorter. It made things like helping each other limp away from these sorts of situations much easier.

“So, we have a ride?” Sam asked as they stepped over the threshold at the top of the frustrating set of stairs. 

“Dude, do you even have to ask?” Dean chuckled. Now that they were in the light of the mansion’s domed window, everyone looked much worse. The curtain was pulled back on the palor and wounds that were previously hidden by the darkness. 

Dean was over halfway to bleeding out. The bowl back in the basement had been almost a litre full, and two litres was just about the limit for remaining alive. The tourniquet had helped, but blood still dripped from Dean’s fingertips leaving a trail in the not-yet-open mansion. Someone would have an interesting find when they came in for the day. 

The Impala seemed like the homeyest, most cozy thing after the dark dungeon storage basement. 

A collective sigh of relief came out as they backed out of the driveway, Sam driving... Legally, for once.