killsupe-arch

[killsupe-arch]

WELL finally moved blogs <33 you can find me @killsupe !

[killsupe-arch]

WELL finally moved blogs <33 you can find me @killsupe !

[killsupe-arch]

One of the most heroic things you can do is refuse to be cruel in a world that makes it so difficult to be kind.

[killsupe-arch]

anyway i love hughie's recurring theme of humanity and how he perseveres through everything life throws at him while still treating those around him like real people who deserve dignity and respect. like when translucent threatens and mocks him, he responds to it by bringing him a glass of water and later begging him to get back into his cage because he doesn't have to die. when a-train, who gloated about murdering his girlfriend and then tried to murder him, too, has a heart attack he risks his life trying to save him, even when it would be simpler and easier to just let him die and no one would blame him for it. he sees a crying stranger in a park and despite all the problems currently plaguing his life, he goes out of his way to ask her what's going on and give her some true, heartfelt advice. even the fact that he trusts mindstorm, a man whose power literally relies on eye contact, enough to uncover his eyes and then promises him to teleport him anywhere he wants if only he lets butcher go, when they both know he doesn't deserve it <3

[killsupe-arch]

i should be allowed, or even encouraged, to beat the shit out of kr*pke for saying that " hughie's [compound v] craving was selfish, to make himself feel macho & save a woman who doesn't want saving "

[killsupe-arch]

𝘉𝘜𝘛 𝘐𝘛 𝘛𝘜𝘙𝘕𝘚 𝘖𝘜𝘛               𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘠'𝘙𝘌 𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘋 𝘖𝘍 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝘈𝘞𝘌𝘚𝘖𝘔𝘌. indie, selective & private 𝙝𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙞𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙡 from 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝘀, est. september 2022, show + headcanon based. minors don't interact. ©

[killsupe-arch]

toonsupe​

Cornered, like a rat, in the dark underbelly of a subway. They squeal and squeak the same, with an arm bent crooked like the disheveled scraps of railing and track. A body’s distance lays between them, and Black Noir’s plastique shadow casts itself over them with the premeditation of a show-curtain. Their lips, cracked and caked with thick, metal-like blood that oozes from splits, purse into an ‘O’ following the nasal block of an n. Adrenaline simmers and pools around Noir’s middle like a belt drawn fast. Behind him, Butcher and Hughie stand – somewhere, side by side, with their hearts beating in uncomplimentary paces. The ‘kill’ is as rough as the hairs of Butcher’s unkempt beard, as grisly as the fleet-footed steps of Noir’s boots that carry him into a sudden zip – the belt unfastened, unleashed, in a burst of speed like a panther’s fine jaws. He aims for the neck, tucked between the parting of his thumb and his fingers, and scrapes them against the pocked wall like red chalk to a board. To the side, a curve, that lands them back to the floor, to the railing.    ( “Get them!” )     They will kick, so Noir’s leg stomps down on their knee ; crack. They will bite, so his free hand clamps over their mouth and squeezes at the tendons coating their jaw.    ( “Almost there!” )     His suit is unmarked by their frantic hands, and their neck gurgles and splutters under his increasing grip. ‎

Murmur, murmur, murmur.    ( “Kill!”    The Birds whoop. ) ‎

Quiet … The falls of their chest slow, and Noir’s grip loosens with the lull of unconsciousness.    Out of most circumstances, these are nice. Their eyes are closed, like Sleeping Beauty, and though her apple was poisoned, wasn’t she still remembered to be so pretty?    There’s few creases with the lax of their face, and their heart doesn’t ricochet in stabbing paces towards Noir’s own padded one. His legs come back together, stood over the sleeping body, and he presses a boot to their forehead. He shifts his weight forwards – ‎

“Alright, stop.”    @killsupe‘s voice pulls his weight back. Through the length of a chest-shuddering sigh, the aggression of his body oozes out to join the pools of blood in the gravel and rubble. All the sharp points of his suit seem to curve, and round, though no less deadly and astute as the motion he makes to face the source of the command. The concave sockets of his mask whip to the side, from prey to handler, and his attention falls solely onto Hughie. Golden Hughie, like a pretty necklace around Butcher’s neck ; who’s not as monochrome, not as edgy, a sore thumb to an otherwise gritty costume. His boot leaves a red print on his target’s forehead, the same ominous print Butcher leaves in the air as his coat graces his turn and trails him on his way down the subway’s path. Just he and Hughie, now – OK, he will wait. Noir’s hollow stare briefly attaches itself to Butcher’s leave, but not for a second longer than necessary. Taking a heavy step past the body, he grounds himself to the floor and faces Hughie, chin pointed down and looking through a glassy smear of blood that drips through the crevice of his mask’s cheek and joins the flood on the floor. ‎

Kill. It assumes something un-breathing, but Hughie’s rabbit breaths mix with the calm ones of Sleeping Beauty. With enough time spent in this new environment, Noir supposes he should be used to the indecisiveness.    ( Buster complains often about them not making up their minds. Do this – wait, no, do that! Sit by and watch Butcher do it himself ; or watch him unravel a perfectly fine plan. Buster hops up onto Noir’s shoulder and gives him an affirming pat, each time, to tell him that it’s not his fault he can’t maintain a routine here. )    Unfulfilled or not, Noir transitions in a statue-like idle, waiting for Hughie’s next prompt.

the chaos of violence that doesn't feel unprecedented,  disturbing only in the way it insists on establishing itself in the crevices of hughie's life,  a layer of dust he can't get rid of.  butcher leads him and their shadow through a labyrinth,  his feet uncharacteristically light on the pavement until it is not necessary anymore and the word is out—  the shadow whizzes past them.  it blends with the darkness around and like a wild cat pouncing on a mouse,  they do not stand a chance against such determined step,  matched to that of a fired gun.  almost a magic trick,  the flipping of the coin goes unnoticed until hughie is looking at the head of it and it differs from the one he's grown comfortable with,  the black noir that marks sheet after sheet of paper with portraits and stares as if he isn't quite sure what to do with the eagerness pouring off of him,  but entertains it anyway to see where it will go,  a switch into the one that towers over hughie,  staring down the barrel of a gun through an eye on his palm—  the snap of bone with the easiness of a child stepping on a twig,  gloved hands strained but firm on their decision to end it.  he looks at butcher,  an agitated thing resting between cornea and nerve,  at the maniacal twist of the old man's mouth,  and sings;  the miner ignores it,  caught amidst the surge of power like injected green and burning eyes.

his decision,  then.  the hesitation lasts as long as the argument,  rough voice cutting through him with the persistent unwillingness to listen,  and hughie gives up on standing tall and straight in favor of turning his head towards black noir,  a second longer and it would be over.  “  alright,  stop.  ”  it's a long shot,  a weapon darting in the dark of an alley that he's not sure is going to hit the target,  but the way noir's head twists around to face them has to hurt,  like hughie is yanking on the leash still firmly attached to his neck,  released but only for a moment by butcher,  who doesn't trust the dog to unclip it fully but lets him run free as long as he can step on the leather once it's done the mauling.  though the edges seem more mellow,  when he looks,  and his leg has released the unforgiving pressure upon the man's head,  for a prolonged second hughie wonders if he's next—   he waits for the frantic beating of his heart to increase,  make his whole body tense with anticipation,  but it does not come;  it follows the consistent pulse of anxiety that begun with butcher telling noir he should tag along instead,  though it does not leave alongside him,  the click of his tongue and stomping boots slowly fading away,  loud frustration at the canary that doesn't keel over,  at the attack dog that follows its song.

standing with the shadow between him and the body on the floor,  previously cohesive shapes that were cracked and disfigured under the hard sole of a boot,  left puffing and huffing like he's the big bad wolf about to blow the house down instead of a man one second away from turning around and following the trail left by butcher's coat,  hughie waits,  not entirely sure for what.  noir,  a doppelganger with a mask,  does the same.  he always is the one shattering the silence,  isn't he?  “  did you...  is he really dead?  ”  hughie misses the high of temp v,  sometimes,  though it never gave him the acute hearing much of the other supes seem to have,  and yet how he strains to catch a breath,  the sound of clothes rustling on the floor,  a sign of life.  there's nothing,  nothing.  he focuses on the blood,  like a broken faucet,  watches little drops join the growing smear on the pavement.   “  he...  he better not be.  this is a mess.  ”

[killsupe-arch]

just so you all know, i have a hard time with first-time interactions that have not been plotted a little bit; i don't require extensive ooc plotting most of the time but if we've never talked before it might take me longer to respond to memes / threads simply because i don't want to assume anything, and i don't feel comfortable establishing a dynamic on my own. my dm's are always open and i don't have an issue sharing my discord so <33 yeah.

[killsupe-arch]

CHARACTER STUDY CHART

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐇

# 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚂:    1    /    2    /   3 +

𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚅𝙾𝙸𝙲𝙴:     high    /    average    /    deep

𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃:   yes  /     soft   /    no

𝙳𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚁:    confident   /    shy    /   approachable    /    hostile    /   other

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴:   slumped    /   straight    /   stiff   /   relaxed

𝙷𝙰𝙱𝙸𝚃𝚂:     head tilting   /    swaying    /    fidgeting   /    stuttering    /    gesturing    /   arm crossing   /    strokes chin    /   er, um, or other interjections    /   plays with hair / clothing    /    hands at hips    /   inconsistent eye contact    /   maintains eye contact    /    frequent pausing   /    stands close    /   stands at distance

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐓𝐘

𝚅𝙾𝙲𝙰𝙱𝚄𝙻𝙰𝚁𝚈:     ◼ ◼ ◻ ◻ ◻.

𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽:    ◼ ◼ ◼ ◼ ◼.

𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚄𝙲𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴:    ◼ ◼ ◼ ◻ ◻ .

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘

𝙵𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈:     ◼ ◼ ◻ ◻ ◻ .

𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙸𝚃𝚈:     ◼ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ .

𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐘.    arse.   ass.   asshole.   bastard.    bitch.    bloody.   bugger.    bollocks.    chicken shit.   crap.    cunt.    dick.    dickhead.   frick.  fuck.    horseshit.   motherfucker.    piss.    prick.    screw.    shit.   shitass.    son of a bitch.   twat.    wanker.    pussy.    dipshit.

𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓.     christ on a bike.    christ on a cracker.   damn.    goddamn.  godsdamn.    hell.    holy shit.   jesus.    jesus christ.   jesus h christ.    jesus h.    roosevelt christ.    lord sithis have mercy.   jesus, mary and joseph.   sweet jesus.  seven hells.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓?     contractions or enunciation ?    straightforward or cryptic ?   jargon or toned ?    complexity or simplicity ?    finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind ?    masculinity, neutrality, or femininity ?    formalities or abrasiveness ?    praise or equivocation ?    frankness or lies ?    excessive or minimal hand gestures ?   name-calling or magnanimity ?   friendly or blunt nicknames ?

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

𝙳𝙾 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 ?  almost always    /    frequently  /    sometimes    /    rarely    /    never

𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁’𝚂 𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙰𝙲𝚁𝙾𝚂𝚂 𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙻𝚈 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙰𝙺 ?  almost always    /    frequently    /    sometimes    /    rarely    /    never

𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 ?    almost always    /   frequently   /   sometimes    /    rarely    /    never

𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 ?  almost always    /   frequently    /    sometimes    /    rarely    /    never

𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚄𝚂𝙴 ‘𝚆𝙷𝙾𝙼’ 𝙸𝙽 𝙰 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 ?  yes    /    no    /    only ironically

𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙰 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃. 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙳𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚄𝚂𝙴 ?  but    /    though    /   although   /   however  /    perhaps   /    mayhaps

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 ?  walk away    /    ask if that’s everything    /    say that that’s everything    /   give a proper goodbye   /   tell their company they’re done here    /    remain quiet   /    they don’t

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙳𝙳𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂 ?  titles    /   first names   /   surnames    /    full names    /    nicknames

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚂𝙾𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙲𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚂 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝚃𝙾, 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙰𝙺 ?  upper    /    middle    /    working    /    lower

𝙸𝙽 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚈 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙰𝙺 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂 ?  accent    /    vocabulary    /    tone    /    level    /    politeness   /    brusqueness    /    it doesn’t

[killsupe-arch]

@antisupe : [ lit ]  your muse lighting a cigarette , spliff , etc. for mine .  you knew this one was coming *

there's a valley between their knees, soft cushion amidst two high mountains. hughie is much too aware of all the places where they could be touching, connecting points like a ridge, and disappointed at all the places where they aren't; it would be so simple, is the thing, closing this gap between them: he imagines being subtle with the shift of his weight, shoulder brushing leon's casually to indulge in the limited warmth that would seep from it through the layers of their shirts. he imagines being purposeful, being loud, how he'd press their thighs together with the sole intention to melt, become a two-headed calf beneath the crushing weight of his urgency. he restrains himself— instead focusing on the soft rise of the supe's chest when he breathes in the smoke of his cigarette, ribs halting while he holds it in and the inevitable fall once he blows it out, blue eyes following white wisps that catch the light and curl much like hughie's own fingers, hands deliberately folded atop his stomach.

leon says something he fails to catch, after another drag, his own attention divided between the thin puffs of air that float out of the man's lips as he speaks and the way his thumb flicks at the butt of the cig, accumulated ash on the end. “ sorry, what... what did you say? ” hughie thinks of a plethora of excuses to justify why he wasn't listening— the staticky sound of the television overwhelming him, the innocuous way a car swooshed by outside. how he's still unsure if he should be disgusted or not by the closed windows keeping the clinging smell contained, claustrophobic in nature— but leon looks at him and something inside sputters, this puzzling thing that has no place here or anywhere. “ can i, um... ” tongue presses against teeth, a sudden stop to the absurd thing that threatens to come out, and his hands sweat a bit as he reaches out for the pack of cigarettes laying on the table, redirecting the tension somewhere else; they shake, too, as hughie takes one out to place it on slender lips, full of a confidence he does not feel.

unfinished question deftly answered when he hears the gentle switch of the lighter, flame and fingers with the same catastrophic capacity moving close to his face, both the tobacco rolled tightly between paper and himself coiled up tightly within himself lighting up with its heat. an inhale, the burn fills his throat. familiar and not, it tastes heavy on his tongue and the roof of his mouth, hughie can't help the scrunch to his face when he holds the filter with index and pointer to pull it away from his mouth; he exhales and the visible breath follows leon's, bending and writhing together for less than second before it vanishes. hughie leans toward the ashtray, lingers with hesitation, but when he leans back and turns his head to look at leon, “ uh... thanks, ” the valley shrinks.

[killsupe-arch]

Ⅰ  .  the canary

A bird follows Butcher, like birds follow Black Noir. Hughie, this bird is called, a little yellow-feathered cagebird with clipped wings. He is small, unassuming, but he has a big role to play. He screams when the world closes in like a hungry set of claws, when too much blood is drawn. Butcher’s heart quickens, and Noir tosses a knife through the bloodshot eye of the hungry world that threatens Hughie.    ( “He’s important, like you. O - o - o - or any of The Seven! Before it all happened, you know?” )    True or not ; not for Noir to know. A bird follows Butcher, and Noir follows Butcher. ‎    ‎

Ⅱ  .  the spider

Noir comes in with a shake of his hand – don’t! The high-pitched scream stops, and Hughie backs his boot away.  ( The Birds dip down, and cover the spider with their wings until Noir can scoop it up into the warm, safe platform that his gloves provide. )   Hughie gives him a Hughie Look, the one with the deepened lines above the eyelids and the thin marks between the eyebrows. Noir holds the spider in his palm, and carries it out of the office, to the dumpsters outside where it may find some roaches to feed on. It won’t hurt Hughie if it’s not hungry! ‎ ‎

Ⅲ  .  the argument

Butcher’s words seem to cut Hughie like any of Noir’s knives would ; make him shrink back, afflicted, and dip his head down.    [ “You’re just not fun. What, you scared of a little roughhousing? Look at me.” ]    The tension in the air is half as tense as Noir’s chest. Thick vines of unease that furl over the length of his arm. His hand bats at a glass. It shatters. Butcher turns, and the knives are on Noir, wolf teeth bared, but it’s for the better. Hughie doesn’t wear a padded suit. ‎ ‎

Ⅳ  .  the car

The tires, unnatural, brush the tips of reeds, natural. The slope of the hill fits a castle, as he and Hughie look up, and the shadow cast by the airborne car causes a thump thump thump thump to his right. Noir hooks his arm around Hughie, and pulls him to his chest ; like the way a cat would hook a bird between its claws before its hind legs would kick. Only, Noir closes over him more like a cat protective of its kill ; covering it from the big, scary machine. The car rocks him to side as it collides with his back, then flips and screeches and bangs its way further down the hill. ‎ ‎

Ⅴ  .  the rabbit

It is not in a cat’s nature to protect a bird, but around Hughie, Noir feels more attached to the nature of a sheep. They don’t mind when the little birds rest on their wool, peck at their fleas. They are happy for the company, welcoming of it ; but it’s not in Hughie’s nature to peck. More to burrow, as he does now, painted red with the fallout of another messy situation. Noir bends down next to him, a cloth in hand, and gently scrubs the gore, the battle, the blood, away. Maybe, they are not animals at all, in this moment – just Noir and Hughie. ‎ ‎ ‎

( five times the receiver was protective of the sender ) ﹔ @killsupe

[killsupe-arch]

my fear of abandonment? well that comes from my experience of being abandoned

[killsupe-arch]

[killsupe-arch]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏don’t let some murderous, mute psycho get in your way. ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎     ‎‎independent Black Noir of The Boys ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎       ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎loved by C‏‏‎

[killsupe-arch]

❥      NON - SEXUAL   ACTS   OF   DOMINANCE . 

feel free to edit or elaborate as you please .   ( add  ‘ reverse ‘  to your message if you’d like to see how my muse would perform the action ) . otherwise , send in one of these for my muse’s reaction to   …

[ lit ]  your muse lighting a cigarette , spliff , etc. for mine . 

[ order ]  your muse ordering for mine at a restaurant or bar .

[ guide ]  your muse putting a hand on mine’s back to lead them .

[ pay ]  your muse paying for mine at a store , bar , restaurant , etc . ( you can specify where or for what . )

[ open ]  your muse opening a door for mine .

[ dry ]  your muse drying mine off with a towel after a shower , bath , swimming , etc . 

[ instruct ]  your muse giving mine instructions / telling them what to do . 

[ groom ]  your muse adjusting mine’s appearance , such as straightening a tie , fixing their hair , or buttoning their shirt for them , etc . 

[ direct ]  your muse taking mine by the chin and telling them to look yours in the eye .

[ disagree ]  your muse sternly telling mine  ‘ no ‘ .

[ rest ]  your muse resting their arm over mine’s shoulder / s .

[ clean ]  your muse cleaning a smudge of something off mine’s cheek , forehead , etc .   feel free to specify what and how . 

[ answer ]  your muse answering a question meant for mine . 

[ coat ]   your muse holds mine’s coat out for them while they put it on .

[ pilot ]  your muse taking mine by the arm , hand , shoulder , etc . to lead them . 

[ stare ]  your muse staring mine down . 

[ placement ]  your muse telling mine to sit down .

[ teach ]  your muse taking control of mine’s hand , arm , hips , etc . to make sure they do something correctly .  

[ patience ]  your muse telling mine to be patient .

[ tears ]  your muse wiping away mine’s tears .

[ swat ]  your muse swatting mine’s hand away from something they’re not supposed to touch .  

[ jewelry  ]  your muse clasping a piece of jewelry for mine , such as a necklace , or earrings . 

[ enough ]  your muse commanding mine to stop talking . 

[ retrieve ]  your muse requesting or ordering mine to retrieve them something .

[ invite ]  your muse inviting mine to sit on their lap .

[ lean ]  your muse inviting mine to lean into their side while they’re sitting or laying together . 

[ calm ]   your muse telling mine to  ‘ just breathe ‘ .

[ scold ]  your muse scolding mine for something .

[ comfort ]  your muse pulling mine into a reassuring hug .

[ approval ]  your muse complimenting mine on a choice they’ve made .

[ beckon ]  your muse beckoning mine to them without speaking . 

[ laces ]  your muse lacing , tying , or zipping something for mine , such as shoes , a dress , or a jacket , etc .

[ stay ]  your muse telling mine to stay in the car . 

[ defend ]  your muse defending mine’s reputation , dignity , or safety for them . 

[ feed ]  your muse feeding mine something , feel free to specify what .

[ volume ]  your muse demanding mine speak louder .

[ read ]  your muse reading something to mine .

[ refill ]  your muse refilling mine’s glass for them . 

[ possessive ]  your muse resting their hand on mine’s leg or the small of their back while they’re sitting beside each other . 

[killsupe-arch]

toonsupe​

Fight is a language of its own. In a spar, it’s banter and laughs and the connotations that curl under words not meant to be taken with strength. Noir’s favourite, but not one indulged in often – instead, the acetic diatribes that come with telling someone of their demise.    I’m going to hurt you now.    That’s what one step says.    I don’t want to, but I’m going to.    says the other.    Please don’t,    says the frantic bend of the knees, legs tucked to the quivering chest.    You don’t have to do this!    says the trembling lips and the wide, blood-shot eyes.    I’ll see you on the news,    says the swing of the knife, or the boldness of the hands, or the force of the boot that would crack a skull. The better half of Noir’s conversations take place in this way, he thinks, and for that, maybe he’s spoken more than anyone in the world! Met more people than anyone would know! He doesn’t shake their hands, he doesn’t smile at them. There’s a greeting in death as much as there is a goodbye. With every body that comes to oppose Black Noir, they unwittingly enter a conversation ; millions and millions, he’s had to have met, however brief those interactions were. How many people know him beyond the pearly gates?    ( “Maybe even more than Homelander!” )    Would they sing his praises, too?    ( “I mean, you d - d - d - did kill them, Earving.” )    And that’s where the conversations end, where they become something to disregard. If his cruelty goes beyond a corpse, what hope does he have when he becomes one himself? If all he had to say were omens? ‎ The talk with Hughie is light-hearted, and like a barrier within the same language. Hughie’s movements aren’t fluid, or confident, or coherent ; his speech in battle reflects on his spoken word, unsure of his next move. Noir watches with a mild, earnest amusement at the bat of his knee against the air. Some confidence seeps through. Hughie tells him he’s learning! He steps forward, too, and claps two hands on either of Noir’s arms. The lightly wrinkled pads of fingers grate against the roughess of his suit. Head straight forward, Hughie’s eyes are an open window to the unreadable thoughts inside.    ( “Do you think he does anything without thought?” )    The silence is long enough for Noir to being to wonder if he should show Hughie again, but a movement is made and the lightest of taps presses to the back of his leg. Noir’s head twitches, a half-hearted tilt, as if he can’t grasp if that’s it. He should’ve expected it. But there’s something about Hughie that gives him the impression there’s something to see. That, if he’s patient enough, he will be surprised. Hughie looks on with a smile, and thumps the side of Noir’s arm.    ( “Good try, champ!”   Buster says, in the rare fleeting moment his eyes settle on anyone that isn’t Noir. )    ‎ Fight is a language of its own. Noir knows a lot about languages – more than anyone assumes, he likes to think. A language is a foundation for someone. It begins, but it doesn’t adapt. No one speaks them the same. Noir’s knives might apologise, but another’s will laugh. Hughie is trying to speak like him, but Hughie isn’t him! He will not tap a leg in the same way, not now or ever. In the way that he’d once held a gun, he’d told Noir that he was loyal. In the way that he’d once cowered under his consuming shadow, he’d told Noir that he was scared. Similarly, here, he tells Noir that he is trying. Trying in motive of something that alludes Noir’s slow blink. Hughie wants to speak, but he won’t form a word this way! Sometimes there are tools needed. Flesh, or metal, or wood or bone. Noir comes to freeze in a tense, awkward fashion reminiscent of Hughie’s own pause. He thinks ; mulls. His gloves come up to cast shadows over the thinner cast by Hughie’s own fingers, and pries them from their grasp on him. Then, one glove moves down, to curl around the hilt of one of hip-blades and pry it from its snug fit. He offers the knife to Hughie, point eyeing his chest, firm in his movements and unyielding in his stillness. What would Hughie think to say if given the chance?

what would a rabbit do,  if it suddenly sprouted the sharpest set of teeth?  evolution is a lengthy process,  but so is trying to change the nature of what hughie has growing inside his chest,  the foundation of what he wants to be,  what he needs—  the rabbit would still freeze under the pertinent gaze of the wolf,  never knowing it can bite until it meets its demise,  but hughie takes a deliberate look at the offering on noir's hand and the process feels quicker,  thousands of years pass in a matter of seconds.  eyes alternate between the blade and the stillness of noir's mask,  at the sharp outline of where he knows his eyes are,  this dark curtain that has not been drawn yet;  well,  the fabric might shield the inside quite well,  but when hughie's hand moves so slim fingers can wrap around the handle of the knife,  it feels like a gush of wind allowing the smallest of a peak inside the home.

the few times he's been given the opportunity to bite,  hughie made himself comfortable with the idea of it:  with translucent,  a leap for the jugular.  with butcher,  nip and release,  a warning of sorts.  with homelander,  what often feels like a lunge that does not land.  all of them underestimated the edge to him,  what prey is capable of doing when cornered too long.  it doesn't feel like that with noir—  this one neither corners nor minimizes,  the proposal comes from what hughie can only assume is sheer curiosity,  wanting to know what will happen if you give the rabbit equal ground so that he and the wolf can speak the same language,  and it does a great job at sparking some curiosity of his own.  another moment of pause while hughie pulls the knife from the other's hand and surveys the weight of it,  how it turns this way and that under delicate palm,  and then looks up to meet his likeness staring back at him on the dark tint of noir's eye cover,  a private question for both himself and the man in front of him,  what is this?  he's no better with a weapon than he is with his body,  but what the latter lacks in strength and experience,  the former makes up for with confidence;  the knowledge that this,  for a second or two,  can do the damage his body does not know how to.  it's interesting,  he thinks:  give a man a knife and the possibilities are truly endless—  he might use it to hunt,  to provide;  he might cut up a slice of fruit with the same delighted thrill as when cutting into another man's stomach to get a look at his insides,  not to harm,  no,  but to see,  to taste.  to learn.

give a man a knife and something will shift within him,  like it shifts within hughie —  not out of violence,  but of deep interest for the opportunity being presented to him.  where black noir could've laughed for his poor attempt at a hit,  where he could've shaken his head with thinly-veiled disappointment after his leg was pathetically struck,  he instead hands hughie what he perceives as an alternative to what could be considered his failure.  gaze remains hyper-focused on the blade for a moment more,  then it travels up again to remain,  fixate itself on noir's face.  a constant frown deepens just the slightest bit.  “  wh—what,  am i supposed to...  i'm not going to,  uh,  stab you.  ”  voice that does not match the tight grip he keeps on the handle,  the duality of it:  where unease meets tenacity lays the question of where one begins and the other ends,  where it all begins to blend.  he does not want to hurt noir  (  he's getting ahead of himself.  his heart pounds again  ),  doesn't want the blade to puncture through padded suit and do the damage hughie knows it can,  warmth washing all over,  though realistically he knows how fast the supe could disarm him,  little to no effort:  a turn of his arm,  a clink on the floor.  the opportunity to bite,  disconnected from the frantic need for it,  does not have the same impression—  it doesn't have the same urgency.  a step taken back,  then another.  he still holds the knife.

[killsupe-arch]

*lying* why would i lie