#huntershowl

[nightmarefuele]

@huntershowl //starter from the Ren.

||

The thing represents their blindness. It’s a transport shuttle with all its parts ungreased, all dead. They’re stunted to an old age by the remnant vistas of their power as though it still is what only was, at one prior time, advancement.

The shuttle’s present dwellers—like limbs of a breathing weapon—know steeper powers.

They don’t fear us.

That one, crawling into the recondite film of the Shadow, is Vermis; passerby, or patron, fingering into such ant-bitten places as to turn out the innermost of wounds. There are several corners here in the belly of the shuttle, which now glides over a wall like a colosseum’s cracked ring around an outfit of unlit craters—the preferential truth beneath any great rule. She keeps to one whilst bleeding over all the others, scrawling her vapors over the porthole whereon her neuranium exoskull hooks.

They don’t know us.

This muck their ship courts, well, it’s no wonder. Before long, however, the droid valet—whose likeness is man enough that he gives his unimportance away, overstrung in the spine where he pilots at deck’s fore, perhaps a serf or experiment but altogether useless to the Ren—takes them down from the murk of the stratos. The shuttle folds like an insect into a wet handhold. Into sight, they sink.

A shadow unspools from its crouch and becomes a monolith across two strides. It hangs over the half-droid’s back, and gazes out into the Dusk’s bleak quick.

A child’s eyes might see nothing. The night might have scooped out the world from beneath them, replaced it with something breathing and sick. But the monolith—Kylo, the body, the one they have already begun to call, simply, Ren—has witnessed such nothings as to lay the black beneath them naked.

“What is it?” Vermis wonders, materializing there, her voice like a hangnail throbbing.

And Ren, like the low, skulking crackle of dry bone, “An ocean.”

Within the void clutch, a mount, whose age could be any or none. Ren holds there, the city and life already forgotten as solidity drags underway, with his formless, glistening eye like a mouth roused to open.

Then, as their course shifts, “And this?”

Inorganic death, sprawling for miles across a shipyard. Those of oblique, hostile fingers slouched along a sandbed, perhaps the fortuitous shrine of some humanoid ship; or white, milky ovoids like shapeless spiders’ eggs, clusters under clusters of energy staring out from the side of a hill; and here—approaching—the formless dance of light from sources unseeable, steepling toward the great house like a thousand airborne coelenterate.

The pilot catches himself between answers. He, unlike the Ren, has never witnessed anything.

But he does now—Vermis leans around the controls, small, boneless thing that she appears to be, and settles her pin eyes deep.

“Enough.”

The eyes leap to Ren like floating red germs.

“They will show us.”

|||

The attendant ogles them as though they are the lucky ones.

To see inside the invisible, then, is even among their own such a privilege–and the deeper their small company wades, a dark blur encroaching on the periphery of a monument, a dome, the further the cipher appears to coil. The smell, too, emits a facade; a feat of nature, a sweet place for the sun, to enshroud what dust and depth crawl underneath.

Vermis thinks the attendant should feel lucky to keep his eyes hereafter.

Instead, once upon the iris’ vault, he halts; he holds to his silence like a celibate; he puts his back to his master’s vaulting door, and waits.

[cursesavior]

✉ @huntershowl said: "Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” ( hello!! :D absolutely wild vibe for a first interaction but fuck it we ball )

Suguru takes a step back, but continues keeping a close eye on the mysterious woman - what an interesting situation this is. The sheer amount of cursed energy he could sense from her was in itself a spectacle, so much that it seemed like her body couldn't contain it all, given how much she radiated even when she didn't appear to be actively using a technique. She had to at least be a grade one just by virtue of sheer power, possibly even a special-grade - an extremely rare find. His mind is already working to wrap around the concept, figure out a way to use this to his advantage ( imagine if there were two special-grades on his side of the war, who could stop them? ) but he tries not to get ahead of himself. The state she's in is unstable, unpredictable, like a cornered animal - injured, he suspects, though he can't tell exactly what's wrong with how she's hiding it. Even the strongest can still be vulnerable, huh? No amount of cursed energy can truly guarantee safety. Caught off-guard, he assumes.

He puts his hands up in a show of surrender, though he's ready to use his technique to defend himself at any moment if things go south, keeping his distance but trying to present himself as a non-threat. "I won't touch you. I'm not here to hurt you- I'm here to collect a curse, that's all." He assures, keeping his voice calm despite the curiosity that nags at him - he can get the answers he wants later if he just does this right. "You're all shaken up. What happened here?" He'd initially come here to exorcise a powerful cursed spirit, the ball of cursed energy still tucked into the sleeve of his robe, ready to absorb - was that what got her? Had she come to exorcise it as well? He'd seen some dead monkeys around too, initially assuming they were mere victims of the curse, but the only thing he can be sure of right now is his own ability to defend himself if it came down to it.

[keiteiken]

⌨ ✍ 😩 !!

⌨ What’s a situation you’ve always wanted to RP with the muse? 

CURSE USER YUJI! CURSE USER YUJI! i always have thoughts abt kenjaku raising yuji themselves and just... the ideas. there are a lot of them....

✍ Favorite thing about writing the muse?

everything. yuji is just my fave, my boy, my everything. my son, my boo my aaaaaa MY ANGEL. my comfort muse for real. i love writing him PERIODDDDDDDD.

😩 Hardest thing about writing the muse? 

nothing to be honest LOL. he is my loudest most active muse.

lemme yap abt yuji

[sasouken]

@huntershowl asked: ok bet. bites him hard actually. ❤️

"ouch." his gaze flickers to her, affectionate. the bite did hurt, might have broken a bit of skin, but he let it happen. he turns, taking her hand in his. . . and then he's biting the inside of her wrist in return. ❤️

[oneheir]

@huntershowl asked: ❛  i have contained my rage for as long as possible,  but i shall unleash my fury upon you like the crashing of a thousand waves  !!  begone,  vile man  !!  begone from me  !!  ❜ (student era sillies!!! weeps)

【 ★ 】 — send me memes ! ;

eyes widen as he turns to look at her, lips parted in surprise. she had been so quiet up until now, he almost fell out of his seat on the couch beside her. the others cheer around them, feeding off of persephone's energy. she was ethereal, brows furrowed in concentration, nose crinkled cutely as she smashed buttons like a madwoman.

"wow, midoriya, i can't believe you lost !" it's kaminari's voice that brings him back to what's happening and his gaze snaps back to the television where his character now lies dead on screen.

"ah. . ." he'd gotten so distracted by her that he'd forgotten they were playing a game. he feels his cheeks warm with blush and he awkwardly clears his throat, shoving the controller into the next person's hands. "aha, guess i need to practice more. that-- ahem -- that was a good game, aisa."

he sinks into the couch, trying to make himself invisible as he casts a sidelong glance her way. his heart rattles his ribcage and he's afraid someone will hear it. his gaze flickers over to jirou, but she's too busy cheering persephone on to kick kaminari's butt. he exhales, a hand to his chest. that. . . was a close one.

[bldrdsh]

@huntershowl / hellhound karter kane

"I can hear your enraged breathing from here."

He glances over his shoulder at her, humming softly as he rubs the back of his neck. He doesn't turn to face her properly until he finally rises back to his feet fully before speaking softly.

"I take it you've not been having much luck with your recent...DUTIES?"

He had a feeling that would be understandable considering the fact that he has been hunting this same soul for nearly two weeks.

[milfyclaus]

"the tulips are dying about now, but i always thought lilies suited you better." and indeed, lilies are the star of the bouquet — white blossoms stained with deep, blood-red centers, surrounded by snapdragons and pale roses cut from the garden. she's wrapped them carefully in paper and twine; one of her fingers still bears a small scratch from being snagged by a thorn. "happy mother's day, mama. care to go to breakfast together?"

Peace was always such a fragile thing - never a moment of quiet within hallowed halls; never a minute to breathe. Politicians and visitors and staff that all had to be entertained and fed; doctors and nurses to manage and schedule — Our Lady is a paragon of strength; she is tireless, diligent. They say she prayed seven days and seven nights when The Lamb took ill; they say she nursed The Prophet to health and The Lord Himself had lent her his endurance. Exhaustion is what finds her most days; and she has selfishly tucked herself away for a moment of respite - lounging in her sitting room when she hears steps she would know anywhere, in any world, in every lifetime - and when the Sainted Lady looks upon  the Miracle Child, all she can see is Anna. Her mother’s features are blurred in her mind’s eye; but upon @huntershowl, they come back into sharp focus - a family portrait spanning decades written in the slope of her chin, her upturned mouth, the blue of her eyes. Our Lady cannot remember her mother, not truly - but she knows that Elizabeth would have been loved. It is a blessing, indeed, that The Lamb looks nothing like the Prophet - and at her approach, a smile breaks the Holy Mother’s normally serene expression. “ How darling of you, Dot. ” Her hands are grasping, reaching things - always holding on too tightly when they take the flowers from Elizabeth; head dipping to bury her nose into the array. There had been lilies at her father’s funeral. Her mother’s, too - there had been lilies planted by the somber statue of the Virgin at the church she had frequented in her youth; growing tall and proud. How fitting that they had made their way into her hands; pretty pinks a soft contrast in her hands. Mother to all, Mama to just one. “ Thank you. I will have to press them later - they are lovely. ” And the lives of flowers are all too short; albeit happy. 

For a moment, Our Lady looks upon Elizabeth - more woman than girl now, as much as it pains her; taller than she ever had been at that age. A world of possibilities at her feet, and every door but one closed to her. Any other patriot might find her heart filled with glad joy - her own sinks; giving way to something heavy. Dread. The Blessed Mother does not know what her own had imagined for her; only that she cannot fathom what has been ordained to come — and wonders if she is powerless to stop it. “ You are hurt. ” She remembers when Elizabeth had been younger; smaller - how tenderly she had kissed every scrape, every bruise. You are such a brave girl. Elizabeth is too old for that now - it pains her, still. Her free hand moves, taking Elizabeth’s in her own, scrapes and all as she stands, looking up ( always looking up ) upon her daughter. It is only a scratch - she can almost hear it now. Yes, and I am only your mother. She squeezes. “ Come. Let us attend to that scratch, and then breakfast. ” And as Our Lady is wont to do, she leads her by the hand.

[sevenbulletsavior]

❛  i'm sorry. i didn't know where else to go.  ❜ @huntershowl didn’t sound sorry. In fact, the tone used by Hellhound sounded indifferent, the dark of the night stretching around the two.

Whether there was somewhere else for Hellhound to go or not, Karen physically stood in the middle of her doorway barring the other woman’s entrance. Did it matter that Hellhound towered over her by a good half foot and could probably pick her up bodily and remove her from where she stood with ease? No. No it did not. What mattered was the fact that it was late and Karen was exhausted (mentally, physically, emotionally). Arms crossed over her chest, the faded University of Vermont logo covered in the process.

“Lot of abandoned warehouses for you to go to.” A pointed look was given to Hellhound for emphasis. “So why come here?”

[s-aint]

1, 12, 16, 18!

One , why did I pick this character?

I don't know; guess I'm a little fucked up. Kidding. Maybe? I like Bullseye because he's a sociopath without any excuses. Like, yeah, he had a shitty mom and dad, but his brain was probably scrambled from the moment he was born. There's no sob story here. He's evil, and that's that. No redemption arc to be hand. I like both his MCU and comic counterparts, but I really like his comic side because he's just absurdly deranged, funny, and human?? Unlike Hawkeye who trained to be a good archer, it seems Bullseye has always been innately and inhumanly good at hitting his targets with any objects. It's really cool. I like writing my heroes and I like writing my villians, and Bullseye really hits the spot for crazy. Adding to this — I think (most) people are drawn to villains as long as they have an attractive quality to them. "Yes, he's a serial killer, but he had a sad childhood." "Yes, he's a killer, but he's hot." Bullseye has no redeeming qualities nor should he. Wilson Bethel as great as he is at Benjamin is way too attractive. At the core, Bullseye is a villain's villain. Dreadful but fun, not handsome nor brooding.

Twelve , most unique trait about Bullseye?

Touched upon this in the previous answer, but he's stupidly insane with his accuracy. One of my favourite quotes from him is, "I'm Bullseye. In my hands, anything is a weapon." and that is a fact. You don't see it that much in MCU, but this man can literally kill people with a paperclip. As far as we know he's human, yet he has godly, demi-god, mutant-like powers. One of my favorite comic panels is a scene where's he's in an office, flicking paperclips outside the window, and it's just utter chaos.

Sixteen , personal ship biases for Bullseye.

Hmmmmm. SO, I don't think anyone in the right mind should be with Bullseye. There are plenty of people in their wrong mind, certainly. Bullseye has gotten laid in the comics which is just . . a trip. I really cannot imagine he'd be any good in bed; he's likely very selfish and sadistic. Daken and Bullseye would be really interesting to explore; I kinda dig it in a very weird manner. MCU wise however, he'll probably die a virgin. I do like Benjamin and Karen Page, but it's definitely more on the humor/creepy side of things as opposed to anything real.

Eighteen , how long have I been writing as Bullseye?

Good question. I've written as so many Marvel characters on and off for many years on different sites. As far as my memory serves, not very long. I wrote as Bullseye on my former blog, but it was only for a fraction of the time I had the blog. Few months I guess? Half a year? Fun thing about Bullseye is that I don't need years to develop him. He's a fucking psycho. I've had a good handle on him from day one because I read his comics years before writing him. We'll see what the new Daredevil uncovers and see if I modify my MCU portrayal any!

[spungolden]

 ❛ if you die, i’ll kill you. ❜

&. 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. // @huntershowl

There's a small grumble from the woman as she feels an arm wrap around her, helping her to her feet. "As if I'd die, let alone in front of you." She just needed to sleep. Sure, she had many, many wounds- ones that would kill a normal person. Her vision was fuzzy, but not enough to stop her from opening the door. Someone threatening to kill her after death was something new. Something that makes her laugh weakly. Half lidded eyes look at Persephone, a teasing glint in darkened ruby eyes. "Afraid someone won't be able to match your strength if I die?"

[bladedwoe]

huntershowl asked : why did you bring me here ?

𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑺. / @huntershowl -- selectively accepting

        𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬, her clothes perfumed by the smell of campfire while her fingers were powdered with the pollen of a blue mountain flower. She overheard her guest’s voice and turned her head, smiling beneath the hood of her cloak.

        ❝ Ah, you’re awake. Good. ❞

        Her confusion wasn’t hard to understand. She had found her injured by the roadside--intentionally but that were details for later--and brought her half-awake to her campsite. 

        Astrid wiped her hands together, setting aside her mortar and pestle, it knocked against a stained bowl. She stood up, peering over at Hellhound on the sleeping bag.

        ❝ You’re lucky that I caught you in time, that dart would’ve proved deadly if I didn’t intervene. The roads are fraught with peril recently, it seems. What a shame. ❞ She pulled down her hood, fixing her blonde hair into a quick braid. Clouds had loomed overhead all morning, foreshadowing the events that were to come. Astrid wasn’t one to make business trips unless it was important, but after learning Hellhound had killed one of her clients before Astrid had the chance to gather the pay, she packed her belongings into a bag and left the sanctuary.

        ❝ If you still feel some pain, that will be taken care of soon. I’m making a health potion that will remedy that. ❞

[rcguish]

plotted starter. / @huntershowl.

home has felt less and less like home and more like a confined space, a tightening of the shackle around his throat. something he'd thought had been long since shed. a resurgence of memories, back to back to back and he's falling in between the cracks with nothing to hold on to because he refuses. aizawa is there in the other room, he's there within arms reach and he's there and he's willing but how could silver possibly admit to what had happened? how could he possibly look to the man that exemplified a life of heroism, when it seemed he couldn't possibly outrun a life, a destiny, of villainy after all?

silver had found himself staring at his ceiling for a long time. fingers drummed without any thought of rhythm against his knuckles, held tightly to his stomach as all the time and yet none of the time had passed. the sunlight on his ceiling is warm, signifying sunset ; he swings his legs over the side of the bed and gets himself to stand. his father was still asleep for a little longer, but he knew one person who he might be able to share this burden with. without having the judgment of his fears.

he's quiet, quickly making his way across the apartment to the other hallway. holds two knuckles up and gives two firm, yet softer knocks.

" are you awake? "

[never-surrender]

@huntershowl gets a thing

The Unseen intimidated Suk-ja almost as much as the people in the League intimidated her. The Hellhound was an imposing figure to her, one that demanded respect... respect that her father did not give to the woman despite Suk-ja's protests. It was difficult living with him, more difficult living with him while he had delusions of grandeur ... she and she alone knew of his plans to overtake the League of Villains, to make them his own organization....

She just hoped to be out of the group before it came to a head.

In a side room now with an injured Hellhound, Suk-ja was mostly quiet as she gently pries up the blood soaked cloth that hides away the injury she had sustained, her expression the picture of worry and concern. "How did this happen?" She questions gently, her fingers gently prodding the skin around the injury to check for fever.

[bcdomens]

" I should have killed you. That was my mistake. I wanted to meet you first. ” ( katsuki :D )

meme. / @huntershowl.

" like you fucking could have. " he retorts. he hesitates though, something he doesn't often do. " what , have something you need to get off your chest ? -- spit it out. " he didn't want to wait to hear about it. honestly, the anticipation was more than enough to dig under his skin about it. an unsettling itch and still the desire to know just why.

[sasouken]

@huntershowl liked ❀ for a starter from one oc to another !

"i've never really viewed myself as a monster," he admits, glancing over at them. his breathing is labored, wiping sweat from his brow. "but a weapon?" he huffs a quiet laugh. "yeah. yeah, i've always been a weapon, even before i knew i was. what about you, hellhound? are you a weapon or a monster?"

[oneheir]

@huntershowl asked: you should get some sleep. you’ve had a rough night.

【 ★ 】 — send me memes ! ;

he's surprised to find them still here after his patrol that night. it's almost three in the morning, according to the digital clock on the wall, and he'd half expected them to leave soon after he'd left himself. he won't ignore the way his heart flutters, offering them a soft, tired smile.

"yeah," he agrees, setting down his bag. he scrubs a hand over his face as he pads towards the kitchen, knowing they'd follow. "i showered there so i wouldn't come back stinky," he jokes. his hair is damp from the speedy shower he took, wanting to get back to persephone. hoping to get back to them-- and it looks like he was right to hope.

"did you eat?" he asks as he opens the fridge, pulling out what he needed to make a sandwich. "we can go half-and-half if you're not that hungry. how does that sound? and then," he adds when he sees them frown at him, "i'll go to sleep after. i promise."