#antisupe

[artisanals]

starter call !

for someone capable of great violence ( two people, you realize with a pang of guilt ), @antisupe ‘s hands are remarkably gentle and surprisingly skilled at weaving long locks behind her. sophie sits, nestled between his knees, the television buzzing along some old movie. ( you’ve always been the elder sibling, the one to braid, the one to care. never the one to be cared for ). she hooks an arm around his calf, swiping palm up and down his shin in a display of affection as something unfamiliar and warm washes over her. ❛ you’re good at this, ❜ she tells him finally, tilting head to try to cast a look back at him without interfering with his work.

[killsupe-arch]

@antisupe for a tweet / post that reminds me of your muse

[whitesuited]

for all the countless things she’s been eager to tell him now that he’s back and safe, it’s now apparent that there’s been a glaring omission when it comes to the drastic changes in her sleeping habits ----------- she’s not the girl who always was the last one up out of the two of them; the one he took so much delight in nudging awake when he got tired of being the only one up. now it’s flailing arms and tangled sheets in the middle of the night; gasping sobs cutting his name in two. she isn’t yet thinking about how she’ll try to explain this away over the breakfast table later on ----- maybe she’ll insist it simply slipped her mind in favor of much more important things, but it’s only a matter of time before it becomes glaringly obvious that the forgetfulness on her part was planned and not the accident she’d like to hope he’ll think it is.

@antisupe​​’s hand finds the small of her back now that she’s sitting up ------- it’s just as warm as she remembers; and he still has the gift of giving her goosebumps over the slightest brush of skin against skin. but despite how grounding something as simple as a touch is in this moment, all she can think about now is how she’s woken him up ( and how ridiculous it is for her to be making any kind of fuss after everything he’s been through. ) “i woke you up, i’m sorry,” she pulls her knees in towards her, resting her cheek against the top of them as she tries to make out his face in the darkness while simultaneously dreading the look that she assumes will be waiting for her once she finds him.

       “bad dream,” she begins to explain while knowing she doesn’t really have to, considering the fashion with which she managed to wreck the linens and wake him up all at the same time. she rocks once, lifting her head long enough to transfer her chin from the tops of her knees to resting in her open palm . for a moment she thinks it might just be better to leave that statement where it is, let it be enough --------- but she knows that the odds of her seeing it all again when she closes her eyes is too much to bet against an encore. “dreamt about you being gone again.” gone being a kinder word than ‘dead’; but that’s what it was --------- a reoccurring dream born out of grief and guilt, frustration and resentment towards herself and everyone around her that had been all - too - eager to move on. ‘i’m alive. i’m not dead. remember?’

her chin slides off the meat of her palm, teeth gently sinking into flesh while she takes a moment to let his words sink in a little deeper. i’m alive. i’m not dead. words she’s sure she’ll never tire of hearing now; words she might need to hear over and over again before she’ll stop worrying that all of this is a dream, too. maybe that’s why she bites down on her palm a little harder a second time ---- just to make sure. “i know,” but really, she’s always known ----------- the problem was that no one wanted to believe her. “i’ve just heard everyone else say you are for so long,” she presses her palms to her eyes, eclipsing what little light there is in the room so she can sit there in a secondary level of darkness for a few moments ---------- or at least until she can manage to get her heartbeat back in her chest where it belongs and not up in her ears. even now with eyes covered, she’s able to find him in that self - made blackout, leaning over so she can rest her forehead against his arm. him being tangible again ( finally ) seems to help, at least a little.

she exhales quietly, finally free of the sound of her heartbeat in her ears --- at least for now. “i asked them where you were. i asked them why weren’t they looking for you.” she doesn’t need to explain vought’s way of doing things; he knows just as well as she does how they operate. and he knows that they’re capable of everything and nothing at all. ( that, coupled with edgar’s eagerness to ‘mourn’ and move on with his own aspirations ------ everyone seemed to be in agreement, except for her. and not even lady luck can topple vought all on her own when the odds are stacked that highly against her. ) “i shouldn’t have stopped pushing vought to keep looking for you ... i should have kept looking instead of just coming here.” a point those nightmares like to make over and over and over again.  

[nightmdic-a]

It’s a quiet night at the clinic when shes alerted if someone at the entrance, swiftly jumping into action to get herself ready for a new patient. A few silent signs given to Butcher to prep, getting herself to the entrance to open it and reveal-

Someone unknown to her; taller, worn attire, an exhaustion to him; he could easily be labeled as someone homeless from how he appears coming in. Someone who maybe just needed some rest, cleaner clothes, food maybe. Door is open wider now, a invitation to let him into the comforts of the Clinic.

“-Come in, come in. You … don’t look injured or anything; you ok?”

@antisupe

[xxxtrasupe]

@antisupe​​ sent “ff + I want one too 🥺” for “send ff + a character name for Mandy’s reaction to finding a graphic fanfic about her and the other”  

You know, she’s pretty comfortable right now as she reads through the fanfic. Cozied up next to Leon, flipping through AO3 for titles that have the two of them in the tags. She finally picks one out and starts flipping through it-- grinning a little at first. She gets through it quickly-- or at least it feels that way and she’s honestly a little upset that it’s over. Oh, she knew how to fix that-- she scrolls to beginning.

“Leon. Leon.” She doesn’t so much wait for a response before sliding the phone into his hand. “--read.” She’s not going to tell him anything more just smile at him while resting her chin on her hand.

[killsupe-arch]

@antisupe : “ do not start a food fight with me, i am a grand master. ” *

“ i wasn't trying to— ” hughie stops talking, lips pressed into a tight line, with the same tired conviction he imagines a parent uses when they try to control a particularly naughty child. from every logical point of view, he should pay no mind to it, continue as if the other man had said nothing at all; starting a food fight with one of the most powerful supes he knows is, of course, extremely dumb— he pictures butcher coming back to a hotel room full of wasted food, along a sulking, defeated image of himself attempting to clean it up ( oh, you fucking cunts ) and lets doubt hold his tongue back... for a moment, at least.

under normal circumstances, the distinct feeling of disadvantage would deter him from participating in a discussion about it, about anything, really; but the temp v still has his insides feeling sort of agitated, like he could jump out of his skin at any time. hughie sips at his drink and, after a second of consideration ( because it is, unfortunately, still a dumb idea; he hasn't yet reached a level of delusionality capable of making him ignore that important point. he imagines what his friends would say— what annie would say— to him using an experimental drug, without knowing how it's going to affect him in the long run, to challenge the soldier boy to a food fight, no less, and thinks it's a good thing they're not here to witness it, because that would for sure grant him the title of stupidest man alive, no contenders known ), then sets the cup down, “ okay, let's see it. i can— i can teleport, man. you can't win if you never hit me. ”

[whitesuited]

it should be acknowledged that this has been the featured post in my tag for over three weeks now, and i think that’s Correct @antisupe​. 

[nonsupe-a]

maybe it shouldn’t be that easy,     maybe he should get it encrypted like the rest of his work equipment,      but he doesn’t know of anyone thats stupid enough or has much of a death wish to try and reach for his personal phone while its on his person.      people know to avoid him and to not touch his shit,      and those who don’t learn very quickly.

leon has been the only exception to that rule.      he’s only person that could ever touch his shit and get away with it,     the only hand he won’t break.     and that is mostly because he doesn’t have anything to hide from him.      vought might but he doesn’t;      whats given to shiloh is given to leon.

“is that seriously your password?” ,      @antisupe .

“   is that judgement in your tone ?   ”          cue the arch of his brow,      the faint smile that curls but a single corner of his lip despite how much he tries to appear upset.      it never works,      not with him.         “   its easy to remember an’ not a lot of people can even guess that.   ”          his mothers birthday.      was it more than a little cheesy ?     maybe,      but his birthday was too predictable.      while on the other hand,      at his defense,      very few people even have knowledge of his mother.          “   you’re even more of a dinosaur than i am ...    whats your fuckin’ password ?   ”