#supesup

[outsidelost]

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna punch him in the nose.” 

          Alan’s gaze bounces back and forth between Claus and the man in question, assessing the situation. A few words had been said, something to the affect of Alan holding up the line. He hadn’t taken offense but Claus’s robust nature certainly did and it had been a spectacle to behold his tongue lashing.           There are times when Claus is reminiscent of Alan’s father. John Hammer is a man of proud tendencies and vocal about them, to boot, with an infectious energy Alan learned to emulate early in his years. He’s become less and less like his father over time, something else to lament as he drives farther down this road of bleak direction. He sets a hand against Claus’s clothed arm and pushes him towards the kitchen.            “Let it go,” he implores. This is something he’s used to, something that comes with the territory of being a visibly troubled human being. “I’m still waiting on my-my-my burger, y’know.”

@supes-up - THE MIST - accepting

[intcable]

“ i’m just saying, ”   he munches on his lunch.   “ god, this tastes like cardboard. ”   he feels his mask shifting upwards, but before it reveals anything beyond his nose, he pulls it down – stopping just shy above his lips.   “ this is crap, but it’s cheap crap. not everyone makes 10 billion dollars a year. i’m still taking out student loans for god’s sakes! ”

@supes-up​   /   s.c.​

[dxsole]

Eventually

@inmarcesiblcs​

@mystiika​

@supes-up​

@galaeus​

@onlydevilsleft​

He’s aware of what he looks like; the irony is that it’s not because of anything malicious this time. He smells of fresh beef, pork, with a hint of old blood that clings to his skin regardless of the number of times he’s washed his hands today. “...I work at a deli...Butcher’s shop.” It explains the stains on the apron and the stench but not so much the fresh crimson lodged beneath his fingernails.

“Sorry, if I reek,” He smiles bashfully, the action boyish and hopelessly innocent looking. “I swear it all washes off...eventually.” No it doesn’t. Not when he continues with the knife long after he’s clocked out for the day. “Um, have you seen a teenage girl around? Red hair like mine? She’s my sister, I’m supposed to pick her up here...” 

[outsidelost]

“I’m just impressed you haven’t needed a nap yet."​

          Alan tips his head back and throws the last dregs of a double shot espresso down his throat. It’s coming up on two in the morning, they’ve been at this cram session for hours already and they’ll be at it for a few hours more if they know what’s good for them.           “As you should be,” he agrees, pitching the cup into the wastebasket beside his dorm desk. “But gimme three more hours and I’m gonna be nothing but a puddle of brains.” Sighing, he sits back in his chair, stretches his long legs in front of him, and lays his notebook against his chest. He thinks about what a lucky break it is that math comes easily to him or he might’ve jumped weeks ago. Spinning in his desk chair, he extends his foot and nudges Joaquin’s writing arm.            “Let’s take a break. Shots for Jock.”

@supes-up - FREE FIRE - accepting

[brvisedmorality]

THERE IS SOMETHING THAT FEELS SURREAL FROM the doorway. It’s the warmth that spreads in her chest like a foreign object, but for once, it’s not intrusive, it’s inviting. Watching him with the child, it’s something like a movie scene, where she’s finally the main character that finds happiness while the credits roll. Regardless, this fantasy isn’t quite her own. “You realize we do have to give that baby back when Mina is done tonight, right?” She whispers, a soft pull back to their reality as she crosses the room, hand pushing back through his hair gently. The gesture has always been rare, but it’s ten fold when it’s so fucking filled with affection it makes her heart ache all over again. @supes-up​

[brvisedmorality]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 | @supes-up​

PEOPLE PREACH FAMILY DIFFERENTLY. Some stress the importance of love based just upon bloodlines, shared genes. Others are smart enough to realize that some of the best family, the strongest family, are the people who don’t owe you shit - they just love you. Simplified, but never truly easy. It’s a reflection that shines in the hollows of her usually glazed over eyes as she’s glancing at the other. A piece of popcorn is picked out of the bowl, and tossed across the table, aiming to hit just the very top of their head. “Hey asshole, I said have you eaten yet? I don’t know why I ask, because I know the answer, but I guess I’m a sucker for punishment.”

[outsidelost]

"It feels like… there’s a big blender in my gut. And inside that blender, there’s everything. love… hate… fire, ice… polonium, ice cream, tarantulas- everything.”

          Clarence almost sounds like his brother. Reggie was always the thinker, the philosopher of the family. He could wrap his head around all the big concepts Buddy couldn’t, but this is something Buddy knows quite well.           “Sounds like you need your stomach pumped.” It’s a glib remark meant to soothe Buddy’s unease at how soundly Clarence’s statement resonates within him. His disorder, of course, lends itself to most of those feelings. Maybe not polonium but he’s felt those spiders in his gut more times than he has fingers and toes to count. That wriggling, buzzing feeling right under his diaphragm. Paired with the knowledge that this is the way he was made and there’s nothing to do but take his medication on a mostly regular basis, it can be scary. Terrifying, even. Frustrating Buddy is rarely angry or even irritated, but when he feels that hate and love and fire and ice start to crawl around inside him, unbidden and unwanted, he feels rage. Indignity. Envy for others who have never had to feel that way.            “Maybe we both do,” he adds after a beat.

@supes-up - from some meme somewhere cant be assed to find it (-:

[outsidelost]

          “Do--- hic--- do the thing again.”           Buddy’s head occasionally lolls from side to side, following his wavering, drunken gaze as he struggles to focus his sight. He waves his glass and pointer finger in the air in a vague conductor’s shape, amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the lip. Do the dance, monkey.           The sofa is softer than usual, cradling his heavy, limp body like a bassinet and his body is warm. His work jacket a comforting weight against his chest, weighed down by the various accoutrements typical to all emergency medical personnel. Part of him laments leaving his radio at the hospital, he feels like serenading the night shift. The nearly empty bottle on the coffee table he’s elected to use as a footrest tells him things are exactly as they should be and he is feeling exactly as he should.            “Could you make yourself made of--- hic--- made of cheese? If you wanted to?”

@supes-up plotted a starter