#>> VERSE ( jjk / present-day » where will you run to? where will you run? )

[huntershowl]

"Do you really want me to leave, or are you just saying that?" ( sh...shoko.......... )

flirtatious starters! / ACCEPTING. ( @koseigu )

THE WORDS HANG IN THE AIR, like the film has gone slow-motion and a glass has just been shattered. there's a bitter taste in her mouth. bitterness like a poison, like medicine — like truth, which is both at once, threatening to crawl up her throat no matter how many times she swallows it back.

the wound in her side screams in pain. the hurricane of cursed energy that whips through her body screams louder. it was never this bad in school — still massive, barely controllable, barely able to be contained within her, but not like this; not bringing her to her knees in alleyways feverish and retching curse-black ichor, the damaged buildings around her — and the viscera coating her clothes, matted in her hair, gummed up in the seams of her mechanical arms — the only clue to what happened after she blacked out. ( MONSTER. )

in the wake of such mindless violence, the face of someone persephone thought she would never see again is more omen than blessing. shoko's hair is longer, and judging by the hollowed eyebags, the last ten years have clearly worn on her mental state just as much as they have persephone's. she inhales, grits her teeth. even though the torrent has calmed some, it still creaks and howls through her like a mad wind through an empty house. you should go, they snarled out only a few moments earlier. but shoko didn't budge.

now — what the fuck are they supposed to say to that? at first, they go with nothing. a low hiss as they pull themself upright to sit against the wall. something is very, very wrong; whatever injured them during their blind rampage cut or bit or tore something deeper than it should have. did someone send shoko here? did they think she might be the only person persephone wouldn't maul on sight?

if so, they were wrong. in an instant she's standing, stalking over, backing her up against the opposite wall as if blood isn't pouring from the side of their body. up close, under the blood, persephone's eyes are as sleepless as hers, and it's a bit easier to spot the hesitation lurking under a baleful mask. metallic fingers sticky with blood grip her by the throat, shove her into the cold plaster. ( IT'S BETTER THIS WAY. )

a close lean, an endless ocean of ink-black hair seeping over their shoulders and caging their faces in darkness. but their fingers don't squeeze. it's a shackle, not a vice. there's a sheen of sweat on her bloodless brow. up close, they still smell like vanilla and coffee beans, but there's a sharp overtone of liquor and coppery blood. ❝ what the fuck are you doing here? is gojo on your tail? ❞

[huntershowl]

❛ it’s better that you don’t get involved. ❜ // from megumi!

❝ JUST SHUT UP. I'M NOT leaving you behind, idiot. ❞

they're not a sorcerer. they shouldn't be here. none of this was supposed to happen — why did they dispatch a kid to a place like this alone? the curse that lurks here is powerful as hell, at least a grade two. she'd know. her actions created it. persephone always makes an effort to exorcise the curses born of the hellhound murders, because they are an unwanted side effect that contributes very little to the message she is trying to send. the recipient of this grim tapestry of hate cannot even see curses, let alone understand them. as much damage as hellhound does, as much trauma as they inflict, they keep the circle of effect as tight as possible.

normally, they try to exorcise each curse at the site of the murder, before the sorcerers can learn about what happened. the last thing she needs is the higher-ups on her tail — it'd be game over. but this one was strong. it escaped, found the home of her victim's family, and began wreaking havoc.

at least the residents are evacuated ( the living ones, anyway. ) that means she doesn't need to hold back. fushiguro is hurt; it took her too long to find where the curse slithered off to, he must already have been fighting it for a while before she got there. it'd be easier to focus on raw damage and let him die. normally, she would let him die.

but they made a promise. not like they can just call up gojo and tell him to take care of the damn kid, anyway — he's probably fucked off to deal with something more drastic across the ocean.

there's something that bothers them about the way fushiguro says it. it's better that you don't get involved. anyone with a single brain cell can logic out the fact that if he faces this thing alone in his already-injured state, it will kill him. sure, sorcerers are prepared to lose their lives in the line of duty, but this? the calm with which he does it? something about it all rings far too familiar, threatens to pull out something soft and familiar that hellhound keeps buried deep.

they know that tone, the feeling behind it. it's the resignation of someone who is fully prepared to welcome death with no hesitation.

fucking sorcerers.

❝ i'm gonna overclock your cursed energy. ❞ seph pulls from the holster at her thigh a serrated hunting knife, its own cursed energy pulse completely dwarfed by the screaming, writhing mass of it that pours from her body like hellfire. ❝ use it how you will — that thing's two hallways down. use your shikigami to draw it close, then i'll take over. ❞ even as she speaks, persephone's cursed energy turns its seeking movement inward, finds megumi's, and funnels power into him until he's alight and thrumming with it. ❝ and don't do anything stupid. ❞

[huntershowl]

@gomannakami said:

❛ If I stay here, trouble will find me. ❜ (from suguru!)

THE WAXING MOON BATHES THE ROOFTOP in a silvery, angelic pallor. it's a beautifully clear night, a tapestry of stars spread out across pitch-black cloth — not unlike the voidlike smoke that seeps from seph's hair, a strange natural sculpture formed of cursed energy with those faint mock-stars glimmering in its blackest depths. the orion constellation shines before her like a cruel joke. bitterly, she tears her eyes away from it to glance over at her former friend.

both of them have changed for the worse. persephone is pulled by collars and leashes from several directions at once: their boss, their paranoia, their revenge. she buries her teeth and mechanical claws in the bodies of people the world believe to be innocent, bathes in their blood, and exorcises the curses their deaths create. geto... is pulled by no leash, it seems, but his own. he kills without a second thought. the way his new persona, this egotistical mask, lords over people from his god-mocking throne reminds her of her boss — only, geto hasn't had two thousand years to desensitize himself to the sanctity of human life.

not that she cares. in truth, she doesn't care about much of anything anymore. rage has eaten away at most of the emotions they used to feel freely, as it has eaten away their dreams and desires until all that was left were ashes. geto could kill every last being in this miserable sack-of-shit planet and persephone wouldn't bat an eye, so long as he didn't harm their brother or interfere with their own singular goal.

❝ i know. ❞ her voice carries the weight of resignation. loneliness is inherent to the life of a jujutsu sorcerer — whether they work for the society or become a curse user, somehow, it feels inevitable to end up isolated. she didn't allow herself to hope when geto found her, and so the news that he can't stay does not crush her.

but they do approach him, stepping into his space without a mote of fear, and look him dead in the eye. up close, the battering she has gone through in the years since they've met is more painfully obvious, and she lets it be. the gruesome scar winding around one side of their neck, the dark circles, the rage etched into their features. rage that softens, just a touch, as they look at him. ❝ tell me you mean it. what you're doing. tell me you believe what you preach and that you aren't hurting, so that i don't have to worry about you anymore. ❞ as if she would ever stop.

[huntershowl]

WHEN THEY FIRST TRAINED TOGETHER, persephone could feel the distance satoru gojo put between them. he struck her as a man who had been burned one too many times by closeness. and of course, that was not an uncommon thing to encounter in the unseen — in fact, before she met sage, she wasn't sure she'd ever meet someone in her organization that didn't shut off intimacy in some way or another. as they spoke more, learned about each other, and slowly, slowly let their walls down, it became clearer and clearer why he had become like this.

on first glance, persephone and satoru could not be more different. persephone—hellhound—is a monster, dark and unnatural, a wraith in black with blood drying in the seams of her hellish metal arms. satoru gojo, an angel wreathed in white and blue, jujutsu society's golden child. both of them were only children when their lives were decided for them. neither were able to let people close without some sort of disastrous consequence: for satoru, being betrayed; for persephone, being the betrayer.

this — thing they have now, it is stolen. ripped away from time under the noses of those who want them pulled apart. both of them know it. perhaps that's why they cling so tightly. seph breathes in his scent as he pulls them into his lap, lets their body melt into his, lets a strong arm loop around their waist and hold them close. the hand on their throat, with his guidance, falls back to rest on his shoulder. they're still raw from shedding tears for the first time in so terribly long. they still shake from the exertion and agony of every single goddamn murder they commit with this terrible beast inside of them. but the tears have dried; the tremors have lessened. they are warm in satoru's arms and safe in the embrace of infinity. with this, at least, they can move forward. she may be unable to protect satoru physically, not when she would only get in his way, but she can wrap herself around his heart and keep it safe from those who would cause it harm. she'll have to settle for that.

they sigh into the gentle swoop of satoru's hand up and down their side. the sensation relaxes more of the tension in their muscles, wound up in knots around the scar tissue that bites into their shoulders. he kisses the top of their head and the tears burn at their eyes again; she tries, in vain, to will them away.

maybe this is what they were meant to do for each other. maybe they were supposed to heal what was broken by their fucked-up childhoods. hold each other's bodies to remind them that they were not only built for war; press into each other's space, let their cursed energy meet and meld, to remind them that they aren't alone. seph lets his voice surround her, vibrating in his chest where she is curled up against it. his words come directly from his own heart, they can tell that much — he could be talking about geto just as well as fletch, and that makes the words hit

they don't have the heart to tell him that the unseen isn't the only thing they've considered death an escape from. that is a story even satoru can't know — their revenge is their own. face one problem at a time.

once the second round of unwelcome tears passes, once they feel stable enough to lift their head, they take satoru's face in both hands and meet his eyes with her own. both of them bloodshot, both of them human. the metal on his skin is warm. ❝ what did i do to deserve you, huh? ❞ a weak but genuine smile, there and gone, and she tips her forehead against his to rest for a moment of stolen intimacy. ❝ i trust you. just... be careful. please. promise me you won't do any dumb shit that puts your life in danger. and whatever it is, promise you won't shut me out. ❞

HE IS A BLEEDING HEART underneath the valor and veil of arrogance. he always has been; from escaping constantly just to feel the rush of real people, real world, to spying someone else that was just as fucking lonely and miserable as him and reaching out a hand toward them. it had been a chance that he took on persephone  ––  and it had proven to be a good one. it had proven to be something pure in the long run of it  ––  her quiet escapades into the nights that they trained hard until persephone had found their way around his infinity, landing a blow against his cheek that had bruised for a solid three weeks. it had made him bewildered and proud all in one fell swoop. 

and then they had been gone, like a wisp of smoke, they had never truly been there, and satoru had been left floundering, trying to extend himself and find what didn't want to be found. 

but unlike suguru until it had been too late, persephone and him had found one another again. they have done this song and dance before  ––  he had claimed he could help out with her problem, and they had told him blatantly to not get involved, that things would be made worse. but obviously things have taken that turn in their own way now  ––  and it makes him clench his jaw, makes him want to let his cursed energy out of control just to spite everyone who has ever hurt her, who has ever bit into them and taken a piece. he wants to unleash hell so that they feel as bad as they made her feel. he wants to destroy destroy destroy when he is normally careful, pulled in, resigned. because he needs to be that amount of closer, that tipped back laugh from his lungs to put everyone at ease.

with persephone, he lets the bullshit down. he extends the full nature of his brutality because he knows that they can take it, that they no longer look at him and see savior but monster mixed inside  ––  someone who is similar to them, who tugs it in close and bares his teeth at the world because it has fucked him too many times.

he will not let persephone be hurt like suguru was. he will not let them be a victim of their own destruction. no, he doesn't care if it takes him out to do so   ––   he has given them the space to deal with this shit, and if it won't be dealt with, then it's his turn to take a crack at it. 

her words settle in  ––  something like him, then. something of a really powerful ass technique, but he's faced powerful ones before. this one might be more challenging, but with the right preparation, he should be able to get some sort of hit in. after all, you can't regenerate an entire body in two seconds, and he's gotten much better at aiming hollow purple than when he was a kid. so it's an option that he can easily use  ––   if he can get close enough. his six eyes are good, but he knows that some are better, and with the organization that is run….he doesn't know what the best approach is going to be. or if a one man army is going to get the job done.

he eyes move to her hand at her throat  ––  training, then. a response to things that you're not meant to say, things that you have been trained out of saying. he reaches forward when her hand tugs at him, and tugs them up onto his lap. he holds them close, makes soft shushing noises as he pulls their hand away from their throat. he doesn't trust it there  ––  not for their doing, but for what could be hidden in the depths of those prosthetics. he has never trusted the unseen and he never will.

❝ hey, hey relax. you're okay. i'm right here, i'm not letting go. ❞   his cheek rests on top of their hair, his hand slipping lower so that he can stroke at their side. it's easier like this  ––  and he knows that they can feel it more than if he had been working at her arms. teeth drag at his bottom lip for a moment though as he hums low in his throat.

❝ seph…you're talking to the king of that feeling. ❞   there's a slight smile on his features then, but he sighs and squeezes them a little bit tighter.  ❝ you care about him. you've cared about them for years, hon. whether or not they've done shit to you, it's a normal human response when you've had a more intimate relationship. but they're not going to let you go. ❞     he swallows hard, sighs as he presses another kiss against their hair.   ❝ and i don't want to see you die because you think it's a better way out of there than being controlled. i can do what i can. i'll need time to prepare. but at the end of the day as long as you walk out of their a free person, that's all that matters to me. ❞

they have been alone for long enough. it's about damn time someone looks out for them instead.

[huntershowl]

IT'S INSTINCTUAL, THE RESPONDING GROWL, though the aggression in it is collared, bitten-back. he's right about the lack of control: she has only been a curse for the last day, and though she no longer inhabits a mortal body that strains and groans against its power, that power still torrents and billows around her body, unharnessed and untrained and wild like a city-killer maelstrom.

something in her wants to test the limits of this new form. something in her wants more. but everything else, every other atom in her body, is screaming run.

❝ stay back. i have no quarrel with you, sukuna, ❞ she calls instead, lapsing back into the lupine form just long enough to bound around the border of his smoking crater, closer to a long road that may provide a quick exit if this goes badly. (when, rather.) then, in a curl of smoke, back into a woman in order to speak. ❝ truly don't give a shit how much you destroy. fucking end the world for all i care. i'm just looking for satoru gojo. have you killed him? ❞

it's a blunt question, but she'd rather get out ahead of the pain if there is pain to be had.

sukuna hasn't felt this fucking good in centuries. and he hasn't even found megumi fushiguro yet.

he takes his time with jogo, giving him the fight he feels the curse has earned—strong as he turned out to be, though no less foolish in the end. and those girls—wasted potential, bad product. he's aching to cut his teeth on more more more and then that more calls out and thinks that their little white flag comment will be enough to save them.

"if you are not here to fight you are doing an abysmal job of showing it," he picks at some of the dried blood staining his cuticles. "you're not kneeling, and your control of your surging cursed energy is...lacking. you are either here to play killer or catch. decide quickly."

there isn't any need to turn around and examine them, sorcerers are always the same no matter what quirks they possess and this one has made the mistake of engaging in conversation instead of merely cowering silently.

is it the brat's face that gives people such a false sense of security?

[huntershowl]

❝ FUCKING NO. WHY THE HELL WOULD I do that? ❞ god, he reeks of yesterday's liquor. not that she has any room to judge — she only knows it's yesterday's because she's been hungover so many times that she knows the differences in body language. but when has that ever stopped her from judging? never. it has never stopped her. ❝ you know it's an insult to try and fight me hungover, right? sleep it off, asshole. ❞

they're not going to think about why he asked them to fuck off instead of outright fighting them. it's too early for things not to make sense. it doesn't change the fact that there's a knife in her hand, ready for a reactive diagonal upswing in case he lunges.

" really. hadn't fucking noticed. " hadn't gotten shitfaced in a while. the damn body of his tends to cost more alcohol than its worth to get reasonably drunk- and yet, somehow, without fail, the hangover never fails to suck shit. " now could you do me a favor and kindly fuck off while i slaughter everyone in here, or...? "

he suspects he'll have no such luck.