#>> IN.

[huntershowl-moving]

@alreadybrcken​ | modern: trouble needs a place to sleep

for most people, past midnight on a weeknight is a pretty terrible time to go to a bar. it's a bad bet for those who want to socialize. for hellhound – a woman on the run from persephone's failed legacy, on the run from a devil lurking just out of sight, and a woman unable to fucking sleep – it's the perfect time. of course, best not to let the bartender and late-night stragglers know that she's hellhound. her hair remains tucked into a hoodie, a leather jacket slung over it with black leather gloves (quite scuffed by now, but no holes yet) hiding her hands well enough. an outfit that say do not fuck with me, for days when she does not want to be fucked with. which is every day. it's every goddamn day. she's only been in here a couple of times – three or four, maybe – but hellhound's already had to twist a man's arm behind his back until he yelped for trying to reach out and touch her shoulder. set an example. now, no one comes near her, which is exactly the way she likes it. it's been the same bartender every time she wandered in. kind-looking man, sharp jaw, pale eyes like hers. just like the rest of them, no doubt, albeit a little easier on the eyes. not that that's relevant to her; being pretty doesn't save him from being untrustworthy. hellhound takes her usual seat off to the right side of the garrison's bar, raking a gloved hand through her hair with a low sigh. chased by ghosts. on nights like this, it's hard to step outside without feeling fear crawl up her spine, even when the anger sleeps. a whiskey or four is just about the only thing that takes the edge off. 

❝ hey. ❞ shit. don't sound accusatory. the guy is just doing his job, and he hasn't been rude yet. she flashes two fingers to indicate a double. ❝ ... scotch, neat. ❞

[howlrs]

❝ go on. try to hit me. ❞

[gravesung-moving]

" how terrible it is to love something that death can touch. "

❝ ... ❞ ORION'S BRUSH STILLS ON THE CANVAS. presses down a little too hard. it was halfway through an upward stroke completing a wisp of pale blue hair. he hasn't been able to stop working since oboro died; in each of their ways, he and his sibling deal with grief by letting overwork swallow them whole, and they have certainly been doing so lately.

he hasn't looked up at shouta once, because if he did everything would fall apart. ( not a problem he normally has with this particular boy. ) now, though, he actively casts his gaze away. ❝ yeah. ❞ there's a lump in his throat. he hates this. ❝ it fucking sucks. you said it better, though. ❞

water collects in the corners of obsidian sclerae, the white rings of light within darting to the window, to the empty desks under it. he blinks the water away. he can feel shouta's eyes on him; the tips of his ears go red, heat prickling the back of his neck under the scrutiny. ❝ i wish we were all immortal. like... vampires, or something. ❞

[lipsticktrail]

"Now... Consider this... We make it go boom"

[huntershowl-moving]

@alreadybrcken​ said:

“please… please don’t go.” Still have to answer the other one, but !!!

send “please… please don’t go.” for my muse’s reaction. ( accepting )

a hand rests on the doorframe as hellhound stops in her tracks. her body is barely visible from behind, just the endless veil of smoke and dark hair crowned by the sliver of a cheekbone as she turns her head slightly. she didn’t realize he was awake. shelby’s voice is barely audible, a low, exhausted croak. she could pretend she didn’t hear. end this cycle of gentleness before it turns into something she cannot repress away –– but, lately, it’s become harder and harder to do that.  hard to refuse someone’s company when you feel safer in their presence than you ever have.  she sighs, the sound soft, and makes her way back to sit on the floor next to thomas’s bed with her elbows resting on top of the covers. he’s half-unconscious from morphine, still healing, but she supposes she understands if he feels safer with her around. thomas could not be more physically vulnerable right now. hughes could come and slit his throat – whoever ratted out the plan could let him in, treading the ground with feet scorched by the hellfire that waits for him. hellhound won’t let that happen. she’ll break him if he comes near.

❛ alright, blinder. ❜ she yawns, but that familiar, vigilant awakeness keeps her from slipping away so long as someone else is in the room. tired eyes watch his face, half-lidded, checking for any flinches of pain. ❛ if you insist. ❜

[huntershowl-moving]

@vsagis said:

❝  it’s okay—  you can touch it if you want.  doesn’t hurt anymore.  ❞ from villain Izuku scar prompts. ACCEPTING

THEY WERE STARING, ADMITTEDLY. the scar her eyes linger on is a nasty burn stretching across midoriya's shoulder and collarbone. at his permission, persephone's eyes flick up to his face for a moment, hesitant. if someone tried to touch the long gash across her throat, or the gruesome mass of torn scar tissue fusing her shoulders to her torso, she'd break their arm.

she's not sure what she's looking for, really. a lie? a trick? he isn't easy to read by any means, but — midoriya is putting his trust in her. so she lets her guard down, just a bit, to match.

once the cut along his ribs is cleaned, persephone lifts a mechanical hand and brushes the silicone fingertips along the shiny flesh. they can't feel it, as predicted, but ... there's something about this allowance, still. something shifts, deep in the back of their mind. seph traces the blurred border of the scar where it meets unblemished skin, a knot furrowed between her brows. ❝ this is a flash burn. an explosion? ❞

[huntershowl-moving]

@nclled​ said:

Can’t sleep? ( litho ! )

❛ never had an easy time of it. ❜ it’s true that a good night’s sleep is a rarity in hellhound’s world. doubly so if there’s another person nearby, even in the same building – like every alarm bell is going off at once. it’s ... different if she’s near sanya, but they’re so far away that hellhound feels ... terrifyingly unsafe. she relaxes the muscles she didn’t realize were coiled and tense, forcing out an exhale as her exhausted brain slowly processes lionel’s presence. what has it been, two days, three days without much sleep?  it’s an unfortunate necessity that she’s here with him, and so hellhound doesn’t fault lionel for coming near her. no biting remark, like there usually is. she reaches over in the darkness to grab her flask instead.  ❛ you? ❜ she’d wager he’s up late working, but – hey. who knows. maybe he’s just as much an insomniac as she is.

[huntershowl-moving]

@chaoslulled said:

is that  …  blood ? *gojo

IT IS BLOOD. A LOT OF BLOOD. though it blends near-seamlessly into persephone's clothing under the pitch-dark sky, the dark splatters on her face — and the iron tang in the air — are unmistakable.

shit. bad luck. normally, hellhound's blind rage only cools down once everyone in the vicinity is dead. they're careful to plan their kills so that minimal, if any, bystanders are caught in the crossfire and mauled, but occasionally someone is quiet enough that she doesn't notice them. either someone escaped her and called that stupid school, or ...

... well. it wouldn't be a stretch to say he found them on his own. hellhound isn't exactly stealthy — the barely-human screams of rage, the ripping and tearing. most simply lock their doors and windows when they hear it beginning.

most.

dark eyes lock on the spindly form in front of her; hellhound bares her teeth, takes a step back. even now, after expelling so much of it during her attack, cursed energy leaks from her body through the ends of her hair. if he were anyone else, they would simply push themself farther than usual and kill him on the spot. ( but he is not anyone else. ) time is ticking — they need to get out of here before the adrenaline crash hits.

❝ walk away, ❞ she calls out, voice a low snarl.

[huntershowl-moving]

@vsagis said:

❛ you look good like this. ❜ from villain izuku 💚

dialogue prompts. ACCEPTING.

MIDORIYA'S COMMENT RENDERS PERSEPHONE momentarily speechless. no quick retort, no glare or roll of the eyes or move to shove him ( which would have been a bad idea, but that would not have stopped her. )

instead, her eyes briefly find his, wide and still like a deer staring at an oncoming car, before immediately lowering to avoid his gaze. she blushes furiously, a deep watercolor-wash of red through their ears, cheeks, neck, visible even under the expansive smears and splatters of blood across their face.

it isn't an uncommon state for them to be in — persephone knelt beside midoriya's seat as they smooth a bandage over a wound — but it is certainly a different look than usual to do it covered in red. taking on as many people at once as they did, it was bound to happen — blood in their teeth from sinking into throats, blood soaked and stiff in the fabric of their shirt, blood streaked in their hair. they've pulled its dark expanse over their shoulder to get it out of the way, a crescent sliver of moonlight haloing the curve of exposed skin from throat to collarbone. the dividing line of a long, thick scar roping around one side of the neck. all bloodsoaked, some bruised.

it takes so much time for her to respond that she's not exactly sure how long she's silent. it could be ten seconds or thirty, movements frozen, staring down at the bandaged injury instead of his face. finally, a deep breath breaks the trance and they blink a few times, force their shoulders to relax. a low huff of a laugh. ❝ what — covered in blood? or below you? ❞

[huntershowl-moving]

@vsagis liked x for a soft moment.

THE NIGHT PULSES AROUND THEM, ALIVE AND BRIGHT, as persephone steers the bike expertly past clumps of cars and pedestrians hurrying across the street. their hair is coiled into a tight braid and tucked into the biker jacket. if izuku presses close enough, the familiar smells of persephone — leather, coffee, campfire smoke, the vanilla oil rolled onto her pulse points — nearly overpower the motor-oil scent the bike gives off.

eventually, she comes to a stop outside a line of hole-in-the-wall stores closed for the night, all except one open door that has no sign in front of it but shines from the inside with gentle yellow lamplight.

there look to be no customers inside, nor on the streets around them in this part of town at this hour. seph does not seem overly concerned about this. on the contrary, when they swing their leg off the bike and pull the helmet off, her face is flushed with exhilaration and her eyes are incredibly bright. ❝ you good? didn't make you sick or anything, did i? ❞

[huntershowl-moving]

@never-surrender ( shouto. )

❝ YO. TODOROKI. ❞ SEPH'S VOICE ALWAYS sounds harsher and more pointed than they mean it. in this particular case, she calls his name like she's about to confront him about some personal slight. but as she approaches him where he sits, seph's face is neutral, if not a little bright with intrigue. rather catlike, they hop up to sit on the table next to him, letting their gangly legs dangle off the edge. ❝ question for you. why don't i ever see you training without your quirk? like — don't get me wrong, you're strong as fuck, but. ❞

a pause; she runs her tongue over her teeth, spinning a little throwing knife between her fingers. how does she word this. ❝ okay — hypothetical. let's say aizawa's not on our side. or let's say there's a villain with a very similar quirk. coordinated attack, you're grappled from behind. what would you do? ❞

[huntershowl-moving]

@vsagis.

as promised, because u held me at gunpoint and definitely not because i'm feral

THEY'VE BEEN WAILING on the heavy bag for close to half an hour now. the punches and kicks come in lightning-fast combinations, broken up by step-pivots and dodges against invisible return fire. it is a desperate attempt to distract herself. as soon as her mind begins to drift, thoughts of dark green and a voice and a laugh creeping in, she ups the intensity. the burn in their muscles, the rattling force of their own strikes in their skull, keep them grounded in their body. whatever has sparked between persephone and izuku is bad news. she hasn't been this consumed with thoughts of another for a long time — and back then, her future wasn't promised to a revenge mission that will likely kill her.

it might have worked, or at least tired them out to the point where they could go find a hideout to pass out in, if the haunt himself didn't walk through the fucking door before she could really get started.

the space lapses into silence as seph drops her arms, breaths heaving, face flushed. it's an old boxing gym tucked away into the grimiest part of the city, one she never gave midoriya the location of. the lights are dim, filmy; the punching bag sits directly underneath one, like a spotlight. with her training gear consisting of leggings and a sports bra, the sprawling back tattoos are on full display, as are the scars across her abdomen: old stab wonds, gunshots, and a nasty burn stretching up her right side. she's tied her hair back in a long braid that sways languidly and snakelike with each sudden movement.

despite herself — despite the whole purpose of this — seph can't help the frayed-wire spark of warmth in their chest when they turn to look at him.

❝ . . . midoriya. you found me. ❞

[huntershowl-moving]

@alreadybrcken​.

1924 ( two years later. )

light raindrops mist the tops of gravestones, some leaning, some standing straight. moss creeps up the side of an obelisk, one of hellhound’s fingers brushing along it as she takes quiet steps among the resting.  so peaceful. their struggles are over; no longer do they have to content with the aches, the  desires, the threats that come with living. in the evenings, hellhound stares at birmingham’s smoke-blanketed sky and yearns to join them. she would, if she didn’t have something she needed to do first. one target to put down the moment he shows his face again, just one goal to keep her heart beating. then ...  then nothing. then the hound will take her place in hell. wet grass rustles beneath her feet as she spots shelby’s telltale silhouette. intel told her that he would be here, but after the guns were buried in that man’s grave, to what end she did not know. turns out, it was a much simpler visit. he kneels by his dead wife’s graveside, face obscured by the lip of his cap, razors gleaming faintly in hellhound’s periphery. their relationship has been increasingly antagonistic over the two years she’s been stationed in birmingham: sometimes her targets aligned with his and they would clash. they’ve been on the receiving end of each other’s weapons almost countless times now, both smart enough to get away, both brutal enough to leave the other in pain. usually, hellhound beat him to the actual target, but he managed to outsmart her last job and she had to tell sanya that the man got away. her employer did not punish her for failure. instead, they did something worse: gave her a new objective, one that sent fear and fury racing to grip her ribcage and squeeze until she couldn’t breathe. a peace offering from one increasingly powerful figure to another. the unseen loans out one of its assets for the peaky blinders’ use – treated like a fucking weapons deal. that part hellhound doesn’t mind much, as she has understood for a long time her status as a weapon for sanya’s use. it’s the power that tommy fucking shelby will have over her that worries her more.  maybe this is a punishment. sanya is smart; they work in mysterious ways, speak in metaphors. hellhound approaches shelby from behind, allowing her shadow to betray her so that he knows she is there. it would be so easy. shelby is obviously in a place of vulnerability – she could reach down and snap his neck. if only she’d caught him here before he caught sanya’s eye.

❛ blinder. ❜ monotone as ever. hellhound looks up for a moment at grace shelby’s grave, at the flowers laid next to it. do not let it affect you, persephone; let the hound take over today, do not think about her. focus on your job, yeah? good.

[huntershowl-moving]

@vsagis said:

stolen kisses while hiding away from a crowd . 👀

kiss & tell. ACCEPTING

THIS WAS A MISTAKE, ALL OF IT. persephone knows this logically. she knows. but the two of them haven't spoken about it, instead electing to mutually repress and try to move on after their first (second) kiss — and for a while, it worked. persephone shoved down the feelings that threatened to drown her every time izuku got close. she took his teasing lightly and responded in kind. they ignored the uptick in heartbeat, the warmth in their face, the tight, fluttering feeling in their chest at his touch, his attention, even a long look across a room.

it's not good for either of them. they cannot create a new weakness to exploit.

unfortunately, mutual repression can only take you so far. it was one of those long looks across the room that did it. last time they infiltrated a party together, the tension between them was that of forced proximity. loathing. and it was significantly more fancy. this time, it's only a mixer at a guy's house. the space is tighter, the liquor is harder, and the light is lower; worse, it's much easier to lock eyes across the room. even as he talks and laughs with a cluster of three people, his gaze finds her. a long look. there's a heady intensity to it that makes her feel like something is trying to claw its way out of her chest. persephone downs the rest of her drink and slips past laughing, drunk bodies until she finds a hallway, a stairwell, an empty third bathroom completely undiscovered by guests.

the intent is to loosen their tie and splash cold water on their face. the reality, not so much. some part of her knew izuku would steal away from the crowd and go after her. some part that loves the chase, the same part that seeks him out again and again even when they don't need to, that indulges his teasing and responds in kind. loosening their tie they do manage. but they know those footsteps anywhere. she could close the door — she could turn him away. instead, persephone drifts out into the hallway to meet him.

they don't need to say a word. before she knows it, she's up against a wall and he's kissing her. perhaps it's because of the alcohol or the strange intimacy of the setting or the amount of times they've tried not to think about doing this, but all thoughts of mistakes and weakness fly out the window as persephone kisses him back, a desperate, forceful thing; his hands are on their body and for once, for once, they don't need to ground their mind, because she knows his hands even with her eyes closed. there is no fear. there is only the pounding of their heartbeat, the cold wall pressing into her back, the soft gasp of her breath, and izuku's hands and lips, izuku's caramel scent, izuku, izuku.

[huntershowl-moving]

@hcppiier​ ( shuni. )

❛ why are you following me? ❜ the city has passed well into the night, buildings’ looming shadows against the sun dissipating in favor of ambient darkness. hellhound stands on a rooftop and watches a shadow of a different kind, her stare sharp and cold. ❛ i will not hesitate to cut you down if need be. you’d better think carefully about your answer. ❜

[huntershowl-moving]

@ownsherlife​ liked [ x ].

❛ i took care of it. ❜  hellhound drops through the window, landing a bit unsteadily on her feet. her face, arms, and clothes are coated in others’ blood – a lot of men were coming after isadora, aiming to send a message to their rivals. it got messier than expected. she had to improvise. but that’s what she’s here for. sanya loaned her out for one reason and one reason only: to protect isadora from harm while she’s away from her own family’s territory.  it’s not the ideal use of hellhound’s abilities, but it’ll have to do. the tricky part is not being seen in the same place as isadora. she has her own reputation to maintain, after all – hellhound works alone, and due to the fact that the public sees her as an animal to be put down, she has a track record of accidentally ruining others’ lives just by being seen with them. we can’t have that.  it’s late – the middle of the night, but isadora is still up, for whatever reason. the hood comes off and she lets her hair down, black tendrils tumbling down her back and letting smoke off of the ends. the unseen will take care of the bodies from here; they have people for that sort of thing, undercover custodial workers who know exactly how to dispose of fifteen corpses without being caught. it takes a few moments for the adrenaline coursing through hellhound’s veins to subside. once it does, she chokes back a gasp as pain radiates through her side – shit. one of those bastards must have clipped her and she didn’t even realize it. no wonder she’s feeling woozy. ❛ ... pardon. ❜ the bloodsoaked woman shuffles further into the room, skirting past isa on her way to fumble for some first aid. ❛ they won’t be coming after you anymore. get some sleep. ❜