moriorxinvictus-blog

[moriorxinvictus-blog]

  “Wanna explain how my clothes were missin’ this morning?”

      There's a twitch near to the corners of her lips, and jo's instinctively scrunching damp hair between the junctures of fingers. So she's feeling jubilant for being on this hunt with him -- sue her.

[moriorxinvictus-blog]

ex-cineribus:

  Frankly, he’s more inclined to go for the holy water. But Sam waits. Because he’s tired, and because if there’s even the slightest chance this is really Jo— god, it’d make him happy. It’d be a tiny bit of peace in the whole goddamn world for him.

                       A little bit of guilt, burned away and left to heal, finally.

                                                                                                       " Jo? ”

      Once, bill likened death to the storm before the calm. the fingertips that curl around her heart like a white hot vice. Shaking through the breaths and the waves of nausea surging up the column of her throat, as jo looses herself in the blood spraying from her sides. But with flitting eyelashes, and those last few moments of stillness, she found peace. Sam shouldn't blame himself. Jo never did.

      "You have to believe me. I-- I don't know how I got here."

     Jo will never welcome the metallic scent sweeping off her skin, or the punctured mark rippling with crimson.

      "Pure silver."

[moriorxinvictus-blog]

     Jo's fingers are white. So white that she's barely stabilized, knees shaking with this unfamiliar rhythm that raptures her heart to beat against ears. If only she could catch a scent, angle the juncture between nose and the vase of her neck. Head twisting, crystalline eyes scanned the horizon intriguing the slightest stirs, shifts -- anything that can spark light in candlelight dimness.

     "Hurry up you, creepy son of a bitch."

[moriorxinvictus-blog]

     The torch is a lifeline. Fingertips curled around crimson brims, tapping incessantly as if each subtle thump could no longer reverberate around the makeshift dock. Last time she was here a bruise marked porcelain skin, tiny goose bumps tearing up her skeletal engraved with a thousand demons. Now, there’s no shiver. only an instinct swelling in the pit of her stomach — there’s a phantom at the base of jo’s spine.

      "Sam. Before you shoot, you gotta hear me out."

[moriorxinvictus-blog]

            It's silent, and hauntingly cold when for the first time Jo can instinctively hear the bursts of life echoing from her heart, a steady hum composing life force just underneath the scope spanning across her stomach. The frozen stretch of skin peaking below moonlight, underlining the fierce scar that's pierced her flesh, leaving a permanent reminder where the hell hounds had once sliced through the same slope.  

      Jo's eyes shuttered, eyelashes dusting across raven spheres. Just another tell-tale sign that her svelte frame was slowly, but surely withering away.

       ”I know you have questions, Dean. Knife me. Splash me, the whole nine yards. Just do it already so you know it’s me. It’s really me—.”

[moriorxinvictus-blog]

      Jo's not exactly sure how she's ended up nestled against a high school students locker, the valley of her back cradling into steel, instinctively raising a sole to neatly pluck against its sheathing. Every face carved into a distinct blur, slipping into a picturesque photograph, the kind of likeness that one would see splashed across the front of teen magazines. One that's fueled with widened, beatific smiles as if an angelic presence reveling in teen spirit, unable to hide a sheer blade underneath their bed's pillow.

      Her fingers curl into a back pocket, stretching inside the formal suites fabric, another that's been tugging and itching at her skin. Wrenching towards each and every curve that's like a road map delicately swathed across jo's nimble frame, her height so small and petite she could have easily blended into the array of students if it weren't for the cerulean tie baiting a slender neck.

      "Agent Hopkins. Mind if I ask you a few questions, kid?"

[moriorxinvictus-blog]

[moriorxinvictus-blog]

supernatural meme — one hunter

you don’t think i’m a little twisted, too?                                       —  jo harvelle