almost midnight.

❝  YOU’RE  GOING   TO  HAVE   TO  JUMP,  ❞     they’ve come to a ledge overlooking a five story drop to the ground.  steve’s heart is racing with hers.  she’s been  RUNNING  but steve isn’t sure from who.  he doesn’t really care.  all he cares about is getting her away from whoever is chasing her.  he reaches out to grab her shoulder,  ❝   let me help you.  ❞

@killsam liked for a  SENSE 8 / GROUP  VERSE  starter ! 

a  subtle  clearing  of  his  throat  as  he  studies  the  woman,  trying  to  find  what  tone  of  voice  would  be  the  MOST  FITTED  for  such  a  request  –––but  in  her  line  of  work ?  she’s  probably  heard  far  more…  bizarre.  probably.      ❝   i  need  ANGEL  HANDS.  i  was  told  y’might  be  able  to  help.   ❞          /     @killsam.

me:

     THEY’RE REGARDING EACH OTHER uncomfortably, but it’d be quite difficult to stop. sam clears his throat ; can’t remember if he did yet or not, but the blockage remains in his windpipe. the sound in itself is supposed to signal the end of the scene. it isn’t. he backs away several more steps, wishes he could step out and call his brother just for something else to do. but dean is busy, and really, he has nothing besides this to say. can’t even remember what the hell he was talking about before she toppled ––––––––––– he remembers irritation, but that’s par for the course, and now arbitrary. he’s not mad at her for being her, now, so much as he’s starting to grow impatient with the air of MYSTERY she’s wrapped around herself. he isn’t necessarily entitled to an answer from her … except in that it would be fucking nice to have. ‘ … ––––––– okay, then we’ll pretend like nothing just happened. fine. that’s fine. ’

       ❝    pity  me   --   here  i  thought  we  were  just  becoming  friends.   ❞      a  lesson  in  the  divine,  ritual  so  easily  disgraced  by  faulty  promises.  although  she’s  accustomed  to  hostility  on  their  part,  it’s  not  that  she  doesn’t  welcome  it,  especially  from  hunters.  brutes  with  guns.  she  flirts  with  their  anger,  like  it’s  a  game  to  keep  her  entertained,  head  nodding  in  recognition,  she  tries  not  to  smile  too  widely.  

MUSE .

MUN.

TAGGED BY :  stole this  :/

UNCHANGING,   UNAFFECTED,      not a twitch in nerve or shift in sinew as a gaze of jeweled stoicism remains still on her opposite.     silence,   silence,   as she considers,    ignoring the flattery in the other’s latter words.    a moment longer,   a moment of deliberation,    before her aim lowers   ( she’s never liked big guns anyway.   too loud. ) & she suffers a response.          ❝      care to ELABORATE ?     ❞