#CW: strangling

[badaziraphaletakes]

this one is just cruel

[aseriesofunfortunatejan]

(puts down American Psycho) Kabru being obsessed with Laios the way Bateman was obsessed with Carruthers. Staring at him in a restaurant because he wants to kill him so fucking bad. He follows him to the men's room to finally strangle him and Laios completely misreads and thinks he's finally making a move. Is that anything. (Gets banned for comparing Kabru to Bateman

[amity-amygdala]

When you look at be like that, darling, what did you expect?

[disintegore]

attack patterns

[opeothalmologist]

The Ellison Files: 1 - Edge of A Small World

by peonneswrites/opeothalmologist

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Tags: Old person (reluctantly) in a found family; The Vast appearance; fear avatars

Warnings: Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 3 (worldbuilding reveals). Mention of suicide attempts; mention of strangling oneself; astrophobia-triggering content; contemplation of meaninglessness/nihilism

Gordon Ellison is a researcher at the Usher Foundation assigned to preparing the Archive of its new San Francisco building. But quickly he receives another task: take care of the Siblings Verne, two avatars of The Vast and The Dark.

Archive Of Our Own Link

Author's Note (Start): This is written in a transcript-like format to mimic TMA's audio format. If you'd like to make a podfic adaptation, please tell me in my askbox! Cover illustration is by me.

[The tape recorder clicks open.]

ELLISON

Recording the statement of Astrid 'Asta' Verne—regarding an incident at a Los Angeles cinema in winter 2017. Recorded by Gordon Ellison of the Usher Foundation, San Francisco, on January 17th 2018.

You may start, Verne.

ASTA

You can call me Asta, y’know. Only my teachers use my surname, especially Mister Yang.

Or you can be my mom and call me my full name, like, [imitates mother’s voice] “ASTRID JANET VERNE!” when you’re angry.

ELLISON

Make the statement, please.

ASTA

Right. Back to the point, back to the point. As you said, I fell off a cinema roof.

I just fell. But there was more to it before that.

My big brother Van was there that day. He’s mostly away, at college in the east coast. Last year, he came home.

[Asta's clothes rustle as she turns to Ellison.]

Oh, you said something about using full names? His is Sullivan Verne. At first we called him Sully, but he said he’d liked not to sound like a Monsters Inc. character. So it’s Van instead.

[sighs]  That day started with him telling me that. Remembering the jokes of that ‘stupid old kids’ movie’ made about him.

We went to this cool noodle place and saw a movie. A space movie with astronauts and all.

I forgot the title, but it was great. The scenes were so wide! It was almost as if space itself engulfed the whole cinema.

And it did.

Audience members around me felt more like asteroids drifting by. When they talked, it sounded like whenever rocks collide and shatter into several smaller ones.

I could tell they were talking—I knew they spoke English, yet somehow I only could hear asteroids. Their forms were asteroids, even if I rationally knew they were people. In a cinema. Around me.

Some kids in the audience ran around, at least in my head—but to my eyes they were comets. The protagonist watched them keenly, a scene in the movie. Then again , I thought, was it just a movie?

The protagonist was this super-cool astronaut lady, I think named Charlotte? Charlie? 

Either way, the movie’s outer space just grew around me. Looked a lot like virtual reality. 

I was transported to the same space Charlie was in. She was many feet away, and her back was to me. I could breathe in this place, but she was in her suit. And she didn’t see the crowd of asteroids.

Charlie said… [pauses, exhales]

"Where am I?"

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know what to say. I wondered if she could even hear me. Then, again and more desperately:

"Where am I?"

Charlie turned and looked at me. I saw my own face in the reflection of the helmet window.

After minutes of silence, she drifted away.

"Who are you? Where am I? Do you know?" Her questions only kept on coming.

The space between us grew. I said that word already, huh? I can’t describe it any other way, let me try—extended, uh, expanded, stretched… There were more void and stars between us. It shifted weirdly, made me feel so small.

I couldn’t see Charlie anymore. It didn’t matter, because the stars around would engulf me. Planets alone were whole worlds already. Look at the Earth! Frisco’s as big as one million mes. Think of the Sun—that would be like. Nine hundred quadrillion mes?!

The asteroids floated off too. They were no longer human, just dark dots in the distance. Van was nowhere. I couldn’t see him.

My brother and I used to watch the night sky together. He was an edgy type who liked the color black. I liked the stars dotted around. It’s fate I was named Astrid.

[Asta pauses.]

The sky was so much more than me. It was infinite. I was just Asta. Do you get me, Mister Gordon? That was the exact feeling in that cinema. I didn’t believe it all was a cinema anymore. The world was so, so much more than a cinema.

It terrified me. Deeply.

And yet it was serene.

Nothing had to matter. I could just be among these stars. The Milky Way itself was only a dot, and me an atom.

I could just watch the world like a movie. And you know what? I loved it.

I was among the stars. Yes, maybe I was insignificant. One billion years is the blink of an eye to the universe.

[Asta's voice fills with awe and a strange peace] Nothing I love matters.

Nothing you care for matters.

Not this foundation, not my brother.

I was unchained, and could freely flow.

Looking for Charlie didn’t matter. I just floated there, my mind empty, and watched the scene of the growing space. It breathed with starlight, movement of plasma clouds, asteroids who were probably people that I no longer cared about.

This scene was just like earlier in the movie, when Charlie and her spacecraft had drifted through the same growing space I was seeing.

[exhales]   Soon, I let myself wander away from my spot there. The space below me felt like a roof I stood on. Stellar clouds were just like wind on my skin.

Though I knew I was jumping from the theater roof, it was letting myself go.

Then I blacked out. And Van was there, hugging me tight. I could tell we were in a hospital room because of the sound of his IV drip.

Blah blah blah, the nurse told me everything about the getting-to-the-cinema-roof-and-jumping thing. What surprised me was what happened to Van. He had… strangled himself? In the cinema, while the movie was playing and I wandered to the roof. I tried asking him about it, but he shut me up.

ELLISON

Hm.

Since we took you in, we’ve been tracking down your brother too.

ASTA

Really?

Well, it feels empty without him. And I’m the kind of person who wishes for empty!

ELLISON

Well… Van is your new legal guardian, isn’t he? He should be here. And we have more in store to tell him.

Is that all, Vern— Asta?

ASTA

Yup.

I feel brand new. It’s a new era for me!

ELLISON

Under me and the Foundation's guidance, okay?

ASTA

Yes.

ELLISON

End of statement.

Good, thank you, Asta. But don’t call me Mister Gordon again.

ASTA

Yes, sir!

ELLISON

You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ either. I told you earlier this month.

ASTA

Okay, okay. Will Gordie do? I mean, you’re like, fifty, so a nickname’d be weird. Uncle Gordie?

How about just Gordon?

GORDON

[groans]  …Fine.

[The tape recorder clicks closed.]

[The tape recorder clicks open.]

GORDON

Addendum on January 20, 2018.

I should preface—or, er, postface—this by saying that I’m just a researcher at the Usher Foundation. Not any fancy Archivist or something.

This new LA building only opened two months ago and I was assigned to take care of its budding new archive.

I have to say, getting Asta to DC then back to California was easier than expected. She still says the same strange things about insignificance and smallness and stuff, but she’s well-behaved for a kid her age. Let alone an avatar.

And, being closer to LA, I managed to get findings on the Verne cases.

According to a police officer on the scene of Sullivan’s strangling, he wasn’t attempting it on himself—yet there was no trace of a culprit either.

[Gordon pauses.]

To make matters worse, a blackout had been going on. And, of course, they found Asta minutes later.

In her case, the catch was she didn’t jump.

At least, we’re not sure about it. It was the best conclusion the police came to, but there was no witness at all who saw it with their own eyes.

And she had no injuries when she was found unconscious, lying at the entrance of the cinema. The IV drip mentioned was Sullivan’s, and she was only in the hospital to be looked after.

After this incident, Sally and Adam Verne both passed away. Sullivan became Asta’s legal guardian, but then disappeared. He was last seen in February 2017.

A month later, the Foundation tracked Asta down and took her in, seeing as she had no other family to return to.

We identified her as a new avatar of the entity they call The Vast—there’s no other explanation. She fits the bill perfectly. The Magnus Institute, our sister organization in the UK, has had a similar jumping case of their own.

We haven’t informed her of this guess yet, but somehow tells me she already knows.

Either way, nothing explains her ‘people-become-space-objects’ and ‘movie-character-becomes-real’ things.

[whispering] Her speech patterns are rubbing off on me. [sighs]

Sullivan’s still missing. I’ve heard of sightings of him, and my coworkers are doing their best, so maybe we’re closer and closer.

That all being said, the one assigned to Asta’s care is, well, me. According to Leo, it’s because I’m the closest to her and my apartment’s large enough. Shit.

[clears throat] Addendum ends.

[The tape recorder clicks closed.]

Author's Note: Thank you for reading if you got this far! The blog where I collect all my fanfiction and reblog fanfic-related stuff is @peonnes-writes.

[sundaysstrawberrykombucha]

TW/CW: Blood and strangling?

Believe it or not, I'm feeling a lot better then I did yesterday. This is still a little vent art, but it's more just sobering that came to my mind.

To be honest, I wanted the hand to be hers, as if she were holding her neck, but I mucked that up so I just made it some shadow hand. I don't exactly want to GO this route with my art, though... I want to get creepy, and I'll go with graphic body horror type stuff... Buuuut... this really isn't my style, and I don't want it to become my style, so I don't think I'll continue with stuff like this. If I do blood and stuff, it's going to be in the vein of creepy body horror stuff, not... Whatever this is.

[niftysaurus]

i’m never drawing him ever again

[lazycranberrydoodles]

canon

[afterartist]

It’s badly layed out and the colours are wack but COMIC

Parallels between playable, blue coded, murder robots that drink blood and like coins

(I was thinking of also adding N from Murder drones here as well but i couldn’t fit the coin motif in with him :/ )

[north-noire]

I trusted you, Uncle Will.

Color palette from this post (Don't you trust me?). This artwork has been stuck in WIP hell for a while, finally got it out thanks to the color palette challenge post.

Inspiration for this artpiece

[mrkida-art]

Doodles of Prince Farin, son of Borin

[wynandcore]

Okay lemme go crazy for a sec

Season 2, episode 9: Guilt

When Tron’s simulation machine malfunctions while he’s attached to it, Beck has no choice but to manually figure out what’s wrong, getting transported into Tron’s system. Time for a trip down memory lane.

As Beck travels through Tron’s system, things start to freak out, as it slowly starts trying to fit Beck into these simulations so as not to disrupt or alter them. This leads to him being put in some weird positions.

When Beck finally gets to the dream simulation that led the machine to malfunction, he finds a horrifying sight.

If Tron doesn’t stop, he’ll end up not just hurting his subconscious.

[chosokamosbf]

ᑎIGᕼT ᒪIT ᗪEᔕIᖇE.

☆ 18+ only/no minors. | jason todd x gn! reader.

SUMMARY: a nsft fic waking up jason from a nightmare by bringing him to the edge

WARNINGs: 18+, (consensual) somnophilia, gn! reader, (jason receiving) oral, nightmares, minor mentions of blood and scarring.

WORD COUNT: 1600+

NOTEs: second person & no plot. ["babe/baby," and no pronouns used to refer to the insert/reader.]

Sprayed over silk sheets of a bed with more than enough space, in your all-consuming unconsciousness, your body managed to wedge itself in close to your boyfriend, where your head is settled right in the empty space of his shoulder. The weather hasn't been kind of as late, and so all fabrics other than the blankets pushed to the very edge of the mattress hours ago are short to combat the heat.

It hasn't helped much. The fan Jason had set up on your side to turn in place is losing the war as you're both covered in sweat. It isn't made any better by the fact he's been using that shoulder to cradle your head from underneath, the rest of the arm resting over your chest.

The deepening of this velvet night is broken to a steady close as he stirs hard enough to knock you out of that position.

You slowly blink the fog from your mind and rub the crust from your eyes with the one arm that isn't being partially buried under his weight.

The city pours in through even the smallest cracks between the curtains, enveloping their own designated areas in multicolored amalgamations of beams formed from sirens and electrified billboards nearby. It seeps over the sheets until it's reached the ceiling, leaving Jason's arms painted in its light, giving a full show of just how much they're twitching.

The other couple in the complex, whom you have gotten to know real well from their screaming matches (as muffled as they may be), seated only a few apartments away, have nothing on how loud his heaving is getting.

His face is turned away now, and you get up on your elbows to find pale lids pinched tightly together, brows in a deep, settled frown. It's not a far cry from what usually makes him intimidating under the helm, but there's a pout pulling at his lips all the while.

Recently, there's been no notable injuries, but his hands have found either one of his arms just to hold them steady and prod his fingers into anyway.

Sometimes your voice is enough alone to call him out of his head with how much he loves it. "Jason?"

He stays in place, and you sit up to speak his name into the night again while your fingertips trail down an arm.

This time around, a groan answers your inquiry.

His forehead is slick with a growing layer of sweat. The white tank top he was just teasing you about after catching wandering eyes earlier in the night is stuck to his broad chest, and barely is it settling with every pant. 

"Jason, you okay?"

It's always an uphill race with the few hours of rest he's allowed in between 'work.' Some days are better than others, and this clearly isn't one of them.

If plain intuition is serving you well, it's another nightmare.

Your teeth catch on your lower lip. "Baby?"

Rationality by damned, your voice stays weak as the thought of waking him up properly stays just that, a thought.

At worst, Jason's going to get moody if you interrupt his sleep, and he'll carry that over into the morning. Sure, he's trying to get better at communicating, but leaving behind the go-to of never doing just that has given way to taking hours to open up. Still, he doesn't seem like he's enjoying the dream.

There are a thousand or so possibilities as to what this one is exactly about, and you don't need to be a genius to know that he might head straight to the bathroom to get rid of the nasty pit in his stomach by the end of it. As much as you'll usually do your best to help out yesterday's dinner and hold his hair up if need be, there has to another option.

And there is.

Unconventional as it may be, you've talked about it before. When exactly is a fuzzy memory. At best, it stirred from another night of endless rambling, something to fill the silence when you both were left awake.

Most others he's all by himself when he gets back. It isn't the worst, as long as he isn't bleeding to death. Put away everything and make sure nothing gets on the carpet—a steady tradition. Sometimes, he's left with excess energy, though.

He mostly took the offer with little chance in his mind that he'd use it. The rules were set, and Jason made it clear that it was allowed on either side. Wasn't like he was going to make much use of it anyway.

And technically, he hasn't. Three times over a year or so ago, and each one was a gentle transition back into consciousness before he'd shown just how much he appreciated it: appreciated you.

Carefully, you get his nails to pull away from his skin and settle him on his back again. His shirt has etched up over the night, leaving his stomach and the happy trail growing across to the melt-worthy temps.

Trying hard not to wake him up, you press your head onto his chest, slowly rubbing down on his belly. 

Instantly, his breathing stutters.

Even in sleep, he's so gorgeous it hurts to even look at him, not in spite of the stubborn scowl still hanging on his mouth. Those thick eyelashes frame closed eyes. Instead of them blinking awake, his head rolls back over to the side, and the long-since healed gash sprayed over his neck gets stretched into the light peering into your two's home before he's yawning.

And you exhale softly. It feels as if you're breathing in nothing. You swallow hard—once, then twice—and inch your hand past the waistband of his boxers.

He's warm in your palm, and then his breath hitches while you freeze in place.

But Jason doesn't make a move to break your hold on him.

In slow strokes, your hand wrapped around the thick of it glides across, using the pre-cum to make it easier on the both of you. It's not taking much for his cock to start holding up on its own at the attention, but it's taking up the space you need. Your wrist is going to sting in the morning either way, but still.

Gaining more courage, you dare lift your head and softly kiss his cheek.

You form a better grip around it, continuing to kiss every scar and the edge of his lips while your thumb circles the cockhead. A leg swings over another, and the purrs he's basically humming out by now—his lips sealed in his sleep—nearly muffle how the bed creaks when you move to take place between his.

After grabbing the elastic band of his underwear, you slowly pull it down enough for the length to slip free, already drooling and half-hard.

You lean down to slide your tongue down the side to see if that wakes him up, and it doesn't. 

The taste of him coats your tongue, and you hollow your cheeks, gradually taking it down till it's almost hitting your throat. The second a groan slips, undiscouraged even through the girth, your hands come around his hips to settle them back down more gently after they subconsciously jerked forward.

Musk overwhelms your senses. Your head tilts up to find through lashes that an arm's moved to rest over his forehead.

Bobbing your head in tune with the same shaky movements moments ago, you suck on the flushed tip, the nib throbbing hot and insistent, pinning your tongue down. 

It starts off quiet, but then the breathy moan filling your ears begins to overshadow the whirling fan. What you can't fit down your throat, you use your hands to give equal attention to. Your face slots closer to his taint to kiss at his balls with spread lips.

Thighs flex over and press against either side of your head, clenching and undoing their tense stances every few seconds while the sheets shift with the writhing further up the bed. You grant yourself time to breathe before kissing the head and then trying to take his thick cock back inside.

So deep into the intimacy, your eyes close just to feel a hand in your hair. A sharp tug pulls you off to see the dark curled back over you.

Seeing him from your angle below, there's a thousand things he could do—instead, his nose scrunches up, and rather than rub his own fluttering eyes open, he holds up a hand to block out the stream of light poking through into his space. The other is laid aside as he props himself back onto an elbow.

His voice isn't anything but a slur. "What're you doing?"

"You were having a nightmare, so I woke you up."

Jason's exhaustion rings through the growl that slips. He doesn't need to look at you for long to tug you towards him and press his lips to yours. In a messy drawl, both of your jaws end with salvia glistening over the skin.

They crash insistently onto yours in heated breath.

Although you're definitely going to remember to clean out your mouth in the afterglow of tonight due to the morning breath.

"Don't remember asking for a wake-up call." His breathing stays the same as it has been: heavy while he's pulling you closer to rest his head over one of your shoulders. "But thanks, baby."

White strands of curls stick to his forehead and roll against you. Meanwhile, he's making use of the little space to trace the muscles of your back with the rough pads he has for palms.

He talks against your lips, refusing to pull back even while the edges of his tug at his own.

"You wanna use that mouth again and finish what you started, babe?"

[nastylittleghouls]

Dewdrop: *watching true crime at 3.30 a.m*: Damn, there's a man that strangled his husband to death out of nowhere. Can you imagine just snapping like that? Aether, trying to sleep next to him: *mumbling* Yes.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XVI)

Surprise visitor

TW: strangulation, choking, strangling

Part one // Masterpost // continued from here

~*~*~*~*~*~

The commute home was quiet for the most part, uneventful. Kit wore headphones to silence the world around him and let his mind go blank as he stepped out from the underground into the cool night air. The sky was halfway through its change, streaks of purple and red striking through the slowly darkening blues. Kit’s breath reflected back at him on the air, and he pulled his jacket tighter around him as he walked up the steps to his apartment.

Thoughts of a warm shower and dinner was tantalising as he unlocked his door and stepped in, pocketing his keys. He didn’t get a chance to close the door when his head was slammed again the wall. Kit cursed, clicking his fingers as electricity pulsed around his hand like a glove.

He swung his hand out blindly, hoping he’d hit his attacker. His attacker stepped back, to avoid Kit’s wild swing or because Kit managed to land a blow, Kit didn’t know or care as he stumbled further into his apartment. His eyes searched the darkness futilely, with a click of his fingers his lights came on and he was faced with the familiar dark eyes of Ambrose.

He was dressed in his usual suit, crisp and free of any wrinkles or creases. He wore a white shirt and a red tie today, a five o’clock shadow covering his jaw that somehow made his dark hair and eyes look darker.

Kit’s lip curled back as he threw his hands wide. “What the fuck! How did you even get in here?!”

Ambrose’s lips moved, but Kit couldn’t hear what he said over Bring me the Horizon playing at top volume in his ears. Kit’s anger dissipated as a realisation came over him and he laughed right in Ambrose’s face.

“Hey Rosey, can’t give me commands if I can’t hear you, dickhead.”

Ambrose tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes as Kit stuck his middle finger up at Ambrose. “Get out of my house, or I’ll give you electro-shock therapy free of charge.”

Take off your headphones, Mallory.

The command was like a snake made of ice slithering through his brain, his body reacting before his mind became aware of the order. Ambrose smiled as Kit’s expression turned sour.

Did you forget that I don’t need your ears to make you obey me, Kit? I just need your mind.

“Fucking show off,” Kit muttered, turning his headphones off and discarding them on his couch. He took off his jacket and did the same, deflating as his prospects of a nice quiet evening and a shower dissipated with his guest’s arrival. “I had a long day. Sue me.”

“Still, you forget your manners around me, Kit,” Ambrose said, beginning to remove his tie from his neck. Sensing the direction Ambrose was about to go down, Kit clicked his fingers quickly and was only starting to raise his hands when Ambrose ordered: “don’t move.”

Kit tried with everything in him to fight the order that settled thick over his body like cement, locking his limbs in place. His hands still sparked with electricity as Ambrose undid the knot of his tie, starting towards Kit.

“Listen, Rosey, I know you’re into some kinky shit, but doesn’t it have to be consensual? I get it, I’m a good-looking guy—”

“Stop talking.” Kit’s lips wired shut and all he could do now was glare up at Ambrose as he stopped in front of him. Ambrose smirked down at him. “You’re so much more palatable this way, Kit. You should consider never speaking again.”

You’re such a dick, Kit thought as loudly as possible, pointing it straight into Ambrose’s mind. Ambrose didn’t reply, his smirk staying on his face as he wrapped his tie around Kit’s neck. He looped it, once, twice and pulled it tight until Kit made a noise in the back of his throat, his breath getting slightly more laboured.

Kit glared at him as Ambrose said: “you may speak.”

“You piece of sh—” Ambrose pulled the tie even tighter until it cut off Kit’s words and tied a knot to secure it properly.

Ambrose chuckled as Kit coughed, his breath catching as Ambrose wrapped the loose end of his tie around his palm.

“Now,” Ambrose hummed, pressing a hand to Kit’s shoulder. “On your knees.”

“Are you serious?” Kit barked, his voice coming out harsh and breathy. Kit fought his shaking legs that ached to obey Ambrose’s order, glaring up into two dark eyes.

“As the plague, you need to learn respect, Kit. Which is why, from now on,” Ambrose grabbed Kit’s face with two hands, forcing Kit to look into his eyes that were enthralling and far too intense to look away from. “When you see me, you will fall to your knees.”

This time Kit dropped like an anchor, his knees smacking off the ground was the least of his concern. Ambrose yanked up on the tie and Kit was choking as his airways were cut off from oxygen. Kit wanted to reach up and claw at Ambrose’s arms; to try and relieve the pressure on his throat but his arms were still locked to his sides. His electricity cackled with his panic before weakening to dull sparks and dissipating altogether.

“See? This just feels right,” Ambrose hummed above him. “You would have the women flocking around you if you just shut up for once in your life. You look almost decent when you’re not running your mouth.”

Kit fought his way through a coughing reply. “Fuck… yo—ou—ou—.”

Ambrose yanked the tie harder and Kit airway was cut off completely. Kit gasped, struggling to breathe trying to pull in air through his nose but there was nothing coming. All thoughts left his mind replaced by a blinding, hot panic.

Kit’s desperation was plain on his face, pleading with Ambrose to let him breathe, but one glance at Ambrose’s coal-like eyes and he knew there would be no mercy.

“I can wait until you pass out and we can try this again, or you can submit to me, and we can move on. It’s your choice, dog. Blink twice if you’ve had enough.”

Kit glared up at him, trying desperately to hold out but his face was going purple, and he thought his head was going to explode. Hating himself, Kit blinked twice, and Ambrose stopped pulling on the tie.

“You can move,” Ambrose told him. No sooner had the words left his mouth that Kit fell forward, hands hitting the floor, gasping bucketfuls of air into his scorched lungs. He choked on the air as it overwhelmed his airways, falling further to rest on his forearms and knees, wheezing as he tried to collect himself.

“You-ou-ou,” Kit wheezed, punctuated by short coughs between, “fuck-king ah-arsehole.”

“Oh, stop flirting, Mallory,” Ambrose said waving the comment away.

Kit satisfied at the amount of oxygen he had now pushed himself back up to his knees. One hand on the floor he began to push himself up again, but Ambrose interjected: “ah-ah-ah. Stay on your knees, good dog.”

Kit wiped the tears from his face, sharpening his gaze to a glare. “I hate you.”

“Standing privileges are earned, Kit. Someone has to teach you manners now that your only parental figure is indisposed.”

Kit’s heart thrummed in his chest, a quick flash of anxiety and hurt at the easy comment. “You—” he began but no other words came to him as humiliation crawled hot and red up his neck and flooded his face.

“I?” Ambrose asked with a shit eating grin, sitting down in Kit’s favourite armchair and spreading out as if it were a throne.

Kit looked away from his coal-like eyes and turned his attention to removing Ambrose’s tie. Until Ambrose stopped him again. “Don’t touch your leash, doggie.”

“Quit calling me a dog!” Kit barked, running a shaky hand through his hair because he couldn’t do anything else.

“I’ll call you whatever I like, Mallory. That’s the beauty of being me. If you want to stop me, then stop me. If you want to disobey, then disobey.”

“I can’t,” Kit spat through gritted teeth.

Ambrose spread his hands in a shrug. “Well, that’s not my problem, is it?”

“It’s your orders I’m following!” Kit said hotly, looked away, his anger getting him nowhere. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. “You know what, forget it. What do you want?”

“I missed you. Can’t an old friend come by and see his favourite pet?”

“Evidently you can do whatever you want,” Kit muttered, sitting back on his heels to alleviate the pressure on his knees.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Ambrose hummed.

An easy silence fell over them, interrupted by Kit’s growling stomach which neither of them commented on. Kit just wanted a shower and food and his bed, to process everything that had happened at work. From his theorising with Tides, to interrupting his meeting Superhero was having with Mr Silver, to his argument with Superhero to put him on the rota for patrols.

“Not now, you’re still recovering.”

“I know myself,” Kit protested. “Put me down on patrols, Superhero. I’m fine! I wouldn’t be back at work if I was still sick!”

Superhero stared at Kit. Kit stared at Superhero imploringly. Superhero sat back with a sigh. “Okay. Fine, but you’re not patrolling the inner city. I’m putting you on residential.”

“But—”

“No buts, it’s residential or nothing.”

Kit pouted like a child, folding his arms across his chest and looking away. “Fine,” he said after a beat. Something was better than nothing.

Ambrose unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, drawing Kit’s attention to him. He had already unbuttoned his suit jacket before he sat down, and Kit scoffed.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

“You really are so accommodating, Mallory.”

Kit glared at him. something strange struck him. “How’d you get into my apartment?”

Ambrose pulled out a key in reply. Kit shot forward, remembered he was on his knees and had to stop himself before he fell forward. “I made a copy of your key.”

“Yeah, I sort of got that,” Kit said, running a hand through his hair with a huff. “How’d you make a copy?”

“I asked you to give me your key and made you forget that I asked,” Ambrose replied as if it was the most casual thing in the world. “It really is easy to get what I want.”

“Must be nice,” Kit muttered.

Ambrose looked at the key, something flashing over his expression as he turned it over between his fingers. “You would think.”

Kit scoffed, crawling over to the kitchen. “Is this the part where you tell me how hard it is to be able to control everything and everyone to your will? Because I’m all out of sympathy for psychopaths today, so come again another day.”

He had only put the kettle on when Ambrose spoke again. “Come here, Kit.”

“Are you serious?” Kit whined, crawling back towards Ambrose. Kit stopped right in front of Ambrose, glaring into his impassive face. Ambrose reached forward and grabbed the end of Kit’s tie, yanking him up.

Kit yelped and shot his hands out, grabbing the red fabric with his hands trying to alleviate the pressure.

“Let go, Kit.”

“Wait, Ambrose, please. I—” I’m sorry didn’t come to his tongue, his pride wrestling with his self-preservation and winning.

Ambrose tilted his head, black eyes dancing with amusement. “You?” He prompted, wrapping the tie around his knuckles once.

Kit pinched his lips into a thin line, halfway between a grimace and a frown. “Look, I’m—”

“You’re a rude, insolent child?” Ambrose supplied, wrapping the tie around his hand again, drawing Kit up closer towards him. Kit was now high on his knees, his face inches from Ambrose’s. “You need to be taught some manners?”

Kit didn’t say anything.

“I think you—”

“Do you not like my rudeness?” Kit rushed out, straining his neck to try and get more air into his lungs. Ambrose’s death grip didn’t make it exactly easy to breathe. Ambrose tilted his head at Kit, a silent motion for him to continue. “You like that I fight back. You like that you’re able to be rough with me and make me submit because I hate you. I fucking despise you when you do it.”

“You are so bold.”

“And you like it!” Kit all but yelled. Kit cried out as the heel of Ambrose’s palm slammed up into his nose. Blood gushed instantly and Kit’s hands went to his nose instead of the tie, which Ambrose used to his advantage, tightening the tie until it cut off Kit’s air supply.

Ambrose got to his feet dragging Kit along the floor behind him until they cleared the couches. Ambrose released Kit in the open space of the living room, to gasp and curse and choke on blood.

“Don’t bleed on my suit, Mallory. Honestly, were you raised in a barn?” Ambrose asked, removing his suit jacket swiftly and undoing his cuffs as Kit pushed himself to his hands and knees. “Oh wait, I almost forgot. You’re from the Rookery, aren’t you? No wonder you have the manners of a swine.”

“Fuh— fuck off, Rosey.”

“Mmm,” Ambrose hummed, something dark in his tone. a dress shoe was flying towards Kit’s cheek, and he was thrown off balance, his shoulder hitting the ground hard. “That was rude, Mallory. Don’t worry. I’ll whip you into a model citizen.”

Another kick to the face and Kit was on his back on the ground. He didn’t have time to move or blink before Ambrose was on top of him, two molten black eyes gleaming down at him. Kit put his hands up, trying to push the villain off of him. Pain, anger and fear blunted his reflexes, leaving him dizzy and weak.

Ambrose didn’t touch him again. Instead, he started to slowly, methodically roll up his sleeves, his weight pinning Kit to the ground, knees straddling Kit’s waist.

“You know, Mallory, you caught me off guard the last time I was here. I mean, your connection to Mentor, how poetic could all this be, hmm? What sort of God hated you so much that he drew me to you, after I disposed of Mentor?”

“Shut up,” Kit hissed, throwing his fist up. Ambrose caught it and punched his nose. Kit cried out, warm blood beginning to gush again as he bucked his hips trying to throw Ambrose off.

“Manners, Kit. Your elder is speaking.” Ambrose chided with a sickening smirk, tucking his sleeve all the way to just below his elbow. “So, I decided to do some digging into you, into your— oh what did you call it? Your tragic backstory, and damn. Talk about pathetic. Not only did your parents not want you, but apparently neither did any of your precious heroes.”

“Shut up!” Kit roared, grabbing Ambrose by the shirt and planting his foot on the floor, bucking his hip and they went rolling until Kit was on top of Ambrose and started to rain down punches.

Ambrose threw his arms up, forearms protecting his face from Kit’s furious onslaught. Kit let out a roar as he punched, switching from his face to punch Ambrose in the stomach. He managed to get one solid hit on Ambrose’s solar plexus and Ambrose gasped, curling up as he gasped.

Kit’s nose curled up, grabbing Ambrose’s shirt and sending a nasty left hook to his jaw. Ambrose saw blood flying across his face, though it wasn’t his. Ambrose grabbed Kit’s tie and yanked him down. Ambrose slammed his forehead into the bridge of Kit’s nose and Kit cried out.

Ambrose used the distraction to flip them again, slamming his palm into Kit’s nose once more. Kit let out a harsh cry, kicking uselessly, struggling to get away, to get Ambrose off of him.

Ambrose laughed as Kit writhed beneath him, hands cupping his stomach where Kit had punched. If Kit could see right now, he would see the crazed look in Ambrose’s eyes, that were always so impassive or subtle. Splatters of blood painting his alabaster skin with bright red freckles that were starting to dry in.

“Fuck, Kit! This is why I just can’t leave you alone. You’re too much fun, you know that? If you were boring, maybe I’d’ve gotten bored by now, but no.” Ambrose leaned down, grabbing Kit by the collar of his shirt, fists twisting into the fabric. “Look at me Kit.”

It was more of a growl than a command, but still Kit obeyed. Tear-filled blue eyes met sparkling onyx and widened in fear. Ambrose looked insane in that moment, and something primal took over.

One of Kit’s blood-stained hands went to Ambrose’s wrist trying to dislodge it from his shirt while the other pushed at his crisp white shirt, trying to push him off.

“Look at you,” Ambrose whispered, cupping Kit’s cheek and digging him thumb into Kit’s cheekbone. “Knuckles beaten raw, nose broken, blood dripping down your lips and chin and still you try to fight me?”

Ambrose let out a boisterous laugh, verging on hysterical. His eyes narrowing as if Kit was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

“What makes you think you’d stand a chance against me? Like are you stupid? Delusional? Is there something wrong up here?” He asked, tapping Kit’s temple with his finger.

“I think…” Kit said, tightening his grip on Ambrose’s wrist. He sucked in a breath through his mouth, feeling the energy rippling in the air and his eyes turned a static red. “That you talk too much.”

Ambrose was thrown off of Kit before he had time to react. His back smacked off the wall with a dull thud before he slid down. Kit’s entire body cackled to life, his lights flashing in the apartment, his TV turning on and off. All the electrical appliances in the kitchen beeped and buzzed, sparks flying.

Kit got to all fours, gasping in laboured breaths through his mouth, his nose too clogged with blood to breathe through as his body thrummed with an uncontrollable energy. Sparks flew from every part of his body, even his blood which was dripping onto the wooden floor beneath him seemed to glow with the eerie red hue.

Ambrose let out a startled, broken laughter, his muscles spasming as he drew his knee to his chest with a wince. “Phew, Kit. You… you’ve got a dark side. You would be a truly, magnificent villain.”

Kit looked over his shoulder like some wild animal, baring his blood-stained teeth at Ambrose. “Make it stop,” Kit growled, his words filled with static. A particularly nasty strike of lightning erupted from his chest and Kit faltered, crying out. “AMBROSE! Make it stop! Please! Argh!”

Kit’s arms shook and faltered as another shockwave of red electricity thronged from him and he hit the ground. Ambrose watched, licking his lips as Kit fell again to the ground. He let out a soft scoff, pushing his back against the wall to get himself standing again. He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair and took a deep breath. he said, “Kit, stop using your powers.”

 Another shockwave of energy blasted from Kit, staggering Ambrose and pushing him back against the wall. Ambrose’s eyes narrowed. “Kit… hey. Kit! Shit.”

Kit cried out again as another wave of energy was torn from his body. Ambrose kicked Kit onto his back, grabbing the tie and pulling it taut. Kit gasped, wide eyes on Ambrose’s face, kicking out at his legs. “Ah, fuck. Kit! I’m trying to help you, stop … nng… fighting –”

Another red wave hit Ambrose square in the chest, and he was sent flying back against the wall again. The whites of Ambrose’s eyes disappeared completely, his lips turning a deep crimson red. “Kit. STOP using your powers.”  

Kit’s body went impossibly still. The only movement was aftershocks spasming through his body as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. His eyelids grew heavy when Ambrose stepped into view, his lips a bright red against his marble skin. It faded back to their normal colour, still more vibrant than most. Kit couldn’t really focus on them though, thoughts moving through his brain like sludge, heavy and muddled.

Ambrose crouched down beside him, pushing Kit’s hair off his forehead, almost tenderly. “That’s it, Kit. Just relax. I’ll make us that tea while you get your bearings, hmm?”

Kit didn’t move while he stood; he just rest his worn body while his tormentor left to go make him some tea. He wished in that moment that his electricity would consume him, tear through his veins and kill him swifter than an electric chair or a noose. When he closed his eyes they were still gleaming an unnatural red.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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[mayasaura]

I'M GONNA KILL YOU MYSELF YOU SUICIDE-FAKING SON OF A BITCH. RIGHT HERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE POLICE STATION