#huntershowl

[clarchive]

NIMBLE FINGERS TYPE OVER SOLID KEYS, knowing full well that his strokes are being tracked.  by morning, jogo will have deciphered them and sent them off to mahito in order to see where to proceed to next.  each one is typed harder than necessary  ––  the frustration is building and has been building since that damn gala.   the sweats that he wears now complete with the black tank top do nothing to hide his form like the tailored suit had;  all muscle is put on display, along with the tattoos that label him as a member of the cursed souls.   foundation has been wiped clean of his skin and his tattoos are on display there too  ––  he feels a little more human once the disguises are off, once the act is dropped, even if it's only behind closed doors.  

being back in the safe house is both relieving and frustrating all in one breath; coming in means double checking every corner, knocking against every wall and stomping against every floor board, ensuring that they haven't been tapped.   he leaves the actual perimeter sweep to persephone  ––  at least she can be good for something.   another harsh pound of fingers against keys before he's sending the email off  ––  something absolutely mundane, but the strokes have now been logged, the mission now ready to actively be debriefed without having to say a damn thing. 

good.  he doesn't want to hear kenjaku's bitchfest after he finds out how this had gone belly under.  they've been waiting for this moment for three months now.  all they had to do was get close to the target, close enough for the circular scanner on the back of persephone's bracelet to skim the information off of the card in the target's pocket, and then they could actually go home.   OF COURSE IT DIDN'T WORK OUT THAT WAY.

a growl settles in his throat as his fist comes down on the table, pushing away from it as he whirls around on @huntershowl.   they don't look particularly bothered and they have the height advantage on him, but he has the build advantage.  not that it'd do anything against their prosthetics, but it's just the point of the matter.

❝ son of a bitch, seph!  why couldn't you have just let him cop a feel for two minutes while it loaded?  you can't even tell me that that's sexist, because if he had made a move on me, i would have done it. ❞    a finger reaches out and jabs at the center of her sternum firmly, eyes narrowed.   it's not their fault, not really  ––  he would've wanted to break the guy's hand too if he had just made a move on him.  but it was the damn mission that was at stake here and an opportunity like this wasn't going to come knocking again.  if anything, the asset was going to end up suspicious as hell and things were about to get far harder from here.

jaw ticks, moving the ink that rests there.   ink that wasn't entirely his choice  ––  but it branded him as a member, was his initiation as their newly acquired pet assassin.  so now he bares their marks and he has nothing to show for it.   a seasoned assassin on his own, and he's been forced to work with a newcomer because they want to impress the tower.   he has more of a reach than they do, and he knows kenjaku is practically champing at the bit in order to gain more alliances, more power, more more more.

another quick jab of his finger into her sternum before he crosses his arms.  ❝ got anything to say for yourself now that you probably just lost us the best chance we're ever going to have at the satoru gojo? ❞

[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.

[vsagis]

ya bitch is feeling soft today so hey lets have a shoutout to my beloved rp partners 💚

first and foremost my dear friend bee, @rigelig! we clicked so quickly, and i am so happy that i followed you and messaged you, because i cant imagine what it would be like if you werent my friend. youre such a kind-hearted person, and i can never thank you enough for always being by my side and helping me through the low points and celebrating the highs. and of course our muses! god, how much i love ibuki and izuku, theyve grown so much together, and i cherish their every interaction, and every thread we have with your other muses! wouldnt change it for anything. thank you for being in my life, because it got so much better when you appeared in it.

then of course caitlin, @spungolden. if someone were to ask me, how long do we know each other? i would say, havent we forever? joking around and talking with you never fails to brighten my day, and i am immensely grateful for having met you. i can always count on you if i need advice because of your logical mind, but also because of your big heart. when it comes to izuku and blake, we created so much together, angst and fluff and drama and funny moments, the same with dio, and with blake and shouto. we have our own lil shared universe (and then all of the aus!, and i love it so much!

last but not the least it's time to talk about raine, @huntershowl. we havent known each other for a long time, and while i do get attached to people easily, i know this friendships not going to fizz out. youre stuck with me youre always a pleasure to be around and throw ideas at each other, and the shit(tm) we went through together showed me whos my real friend (thats you). it was hard and painful, but i wouldnt go back and change anything about it, because it all lead to a healthier place. (doesnt mean we cant be a lil mean in our little group of two and have a shittalking session!) then comes our timeline of izuku and seph and boy! you know how much i enjoy these two, i keep talking your ear off about them all the time, but thats my love speaking. theyre rotting my brain, but in a good way.

theres many more people who made my experience on tumblr a happy place, but you guys are just. top notch. chefs kiss. never let anyone make you feel low, because youre all amazing. 💚

[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

[eraserisms]

@huntershowl These shit memes are a consequence of following me. Sorry, but not really.

[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.

[chaoslulled]

" hey , look at me -- it's not real . it's not real . " ( for sukuna. <3 )

HE TWITCHES IN HIS SLEEP;   the rem cycle isn't something that is comforting when you lead the life that he does.   there are dreams filled with blood, with the wrongs that he's done, and that's the good dreams.   the nightmares are much more graphic, his body held down and his screams not enough to make the pain stop.   over and over again kenjaku stands over him, unamused and frustrated, his favorite toy not working right.   ryomen begs, pleads  ––  he can be good, just give him a chance!  ––  but it never matters.   no, yuji is brought in next, and his head is cut clean off in a slow, torturous motion that has his brother gurgling on his own blood before the head drops and rolls at his feet.   sukuna screams but nothing comes out, dry heaves but nothing comes up  ––  it can't get any worse.  

but then he brings in another familiar shape, one that he can't make out, not at first, and their feet slip in yuji's blood.   their shoes kick his head and it goes rolling across the room like some sort of morbid soccer ball.   but then their face is brought into the light, the artificial sweep over their features far too bright.   at first it's nothing but blinding reflection  ––  and then there's her.   persephone doesn't look like herself:   she is dead in the eyes, she does not fight like he knows them to fight.   no, instead they happily lay their neck down on the chopping block, don't make a sound as the saw cuts through, but their lips form the simple words:   this is your fault, ryomen.

and then their head joins yuji's, rolling across the floor, thumping and stuttering until they face one another  ––  their eyes are dead but their mouths keep opening, some demented maw with a chorus of your fault your fault your fault  ––

when he wakes, it's not with a casual start;   it's with a full on launching of his body upward in the bed, fingers clutching desperately at the sheets that cover him.   crimson eyes are wide;    he's still stuck in that moment of half asleep and waking terrors, sweat coating his skin thickly as he tries to make out where he is, who he's with  ––

persephone's face swims into his vision and for a long moment he just stares  ––  he can see the red line across her throat, but it wasn't kenjaku who put that there.   her head is very much attached to their shoulders, firm and attached to their body.   he swallows hard and then registers the metal against his cheeks, how cool it is in contrast to how warm his skin is, and he breathes out shakily as the world around him comes crashing down.

"seph––"   their name is low rasp from somewhere deep in his chest, and then he's reaching out, tugging them in until they are flush against him.   it's awkward;   their limbs don't fit right from this angle and his head is swimming, and they shouldn't be like this at all.   this isn't something that he should be demanding from them because it's not fair.    it's not fair because somehow she has begun to sneak up, creep up, in every single thought that he has.   when they aren't together, he wonders what they're doing.   when they are together, he's paying more attention to them than the job  ––  and it should never be happening.   but every inch of him has begun to call out for her and it's a curse.

ryomen tucks his head into the space of their chest, head aching and stomach roiling.   he needs this, needs the contact, feel the warmth:   they are alive.   they are not a head rolling around on the floor of kenjaku's torture room and blaming him for their death.   no, they are very real, very solid, and he lets out a shaky breath that turns into an embarrassing sob.

this isn't the behavior that he should be displaying tucked away in their safe house that they regularly sweep, casual in their movements but purposeful.   he is meant to be the steady one because he has dragged persephone down into this hell and there still is part of him that's unsure as to if they'll double cross him eventually.   but something strange has happened when it shouldn't have, and he knows it, without a doubt;   the dream has confirmed it.

ryomen sukuna is in love, and he may have just signed his own execution order because of it.

[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.

[sanctamater]

"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.

[clarchive]

❝  i’m  not  afraid  of  you.  ❞ ( toji !! )

frustration pools in his chest as he breathes out heavily through his nose.   he has been trying to avoid them for at least a week now;  they keep popping up though, and part of him thinks that shiu is behind this.   a special way to annoy him for all the damn shit he's put him through and the times he's shaved a little bit of money off the top of his payment.   somehow they keep finding his location, no matter how many times he moves, and it's starting to get on his very last nerve.

❝ you should be scared of me.   i can kill you in two seconds flat and never feel a thing for it. ❞    it's a lie   ––   he will feel some regret because she's not exactly doing something wrong.   she's just being absolutely infuriating.   no matter how many times he's turned her down now, she keeps coming back and asking him again.    it reminds him of the kids of the zen'in clan  ––   foolish, ready to be devoured if it means favor and learning.    it brings back memories that are much better off forgotten. 

he breathes in harshly through his nose and rubs at his temples.    there's a grumbling in his stomach   ––   the need to actually eat something, to do something other than try and avoid the girl.   but she's even followed him to the damn racetrack.    again, it makes him think shiu has something to do with this.     this is absolutely a payback technique that he had never foreseen coming.

teeth grind, ticket for his bet crushing in his palm.    ❝ look, kid, i'm sure you're great.   i don't do that.   i'm not a sorcerer, so for the love of fuck, go away. ❞

[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?”

[vsagis]

continued from @huntershowl !!

Midoriya’s body moves in fluid, leisurely lines, a stark contrast to tension in the way Hellhound carries themself around him. A ghost of pain in his arm or a deliberate decision, it’s hard to tell when the hero approaches, full and hands in full view as if closing in on an animal rabid with fear.

It’s always the ones backed into the corner that bite the hardest.

“Why?” When Izuku asks, he chooses the simplest question. It holds so many more inside of it, why not humanize you, why do you kill, why, why, why… It depends only on Hellhound how they decide to take it.

Another offered gesture of peace comes with the man removing his own earpiece and then shutting it off, a small click and a diode blinking off once he does so. And then—even more surprisingly, he’s standing right by the one who almost killed him—he sits beside them, legs dangling over the edge of the building and elbows propped on his knees.

[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?"