#telepathic villain

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XVII)

Unforeseen Side-effect

Part One // Masterpost // Continued from here

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kit sat up with an effort, his entire body tensing as he moved. Aftershocks still singed his nerves as he moved, eliciting sharp hisses of pain.

What the hell was that thing, that red lightning? And why did he only get it around Ambrose?

“I assume that it’s a wild manifestation of your abilities,” Ambrose said from the kitchen. Kit rolled his eyes, about to curse the villain out if a sudden wave of nausea didn’t hit him and stop him in his tracks.

The world was spinning, lethargically slow, and closing his eyes didn’t exactly help matters. What the fuck was that red lightning? Why did it leave him so… weak?

Kit stopped beside the couch, pressing his back against it while he caught his breath and stifled the whine that threatened to spill from the back of his throat.

“You are as pale as a ghost,” Ambrose told Kit with a smirk. “Except for those eyes of course. And your veins.”

Kit’s eyes widened. His veins? What was Ambrose talking about now? Kit brought his hands in front of his eyes, any colour left in him draining as he saw the same angry, neon red colour had permeated all of his veins. Kit rolled up his sleeves, and there they were. Then the cuffs of his jeans, and the veins were there too.

“You’re like a walking glow-stick.”

“For fuck’s sake, just shut up.” Kit said with a groan, gfalling to his hands and knees and pushing himself to get up. He froze, hitting an invisible wall and plopped back down to his arse again. Red eyes met Ambrose’s black ones. “Can you let me stand up?”

I thought you told me to shut up, Ambrose’s voice sounded in Kit’s mind, the same stupid smirk on his same stupid face.

Kit banged his head against the couch with a groan. “You’re such a dickhead! You can give commands through thoughts! Why are you even here?! Why do you love to torture me?” Kit demanded, his voice turning hysterical. “Is this all part of Supervillain’s plan? To drive me mad too?”

The humour vanished from Ambrose’s face in the blink of an eye. “Do I look like I work well with others, Mallory?”

Kit blinked, his eyebrows pinching together, forming a furrow between. “What?”

Ambrose walked forward, closing the distance between them, stopping in front of Kit’s outstretched legs. “Do I look like I take orders from people?”

“No?”

“Then why,” Ambrose began, his voice darkening. “Would you think that I would throw my lot in with Supervillain of all people?”

Kit bent his knee and pushed himself into a straighter sitting position. He threw his hands up in a helpless gesture. “Then what the fuck were you doing on the docks that night?”

Ambrose’s features hardened. “The night I met you?”

“No, the other night on the docks.” Kit deadpanned.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Ambrose said with a shrug. “You can blame that preppy little water hero, what was her name again?”

“Tides.”

“That’s it,” Ambrose said with a click of his fingers. “Tides. The perfect foil to your electricity, Kit. Maybe I should bring her over someti—”

“If you touch her, I’ll fucking kill you.” Ambrose raised his brows, slightly taken aback. Maybe it was the vibrant crackle in his eyes or the echo in his voice, but something about him at that moment didn’t feel like Kit. It felt like something else. Something… wild.

“Promises, promises,” Ambrose said with a wave. “You can stand, Mallory. Clearly, we need to have a long overdue conversation.”

Ambrose walked back to the kitchenette, and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet preparing their coffee and tea. Kit slowly, achingly slow, got to his feet, his entire body zapped of energy. He dragged himself to his table and settled heavy into the chair, ignoring how breathless he was from such a light movement.

Ambrose joined him a few minutes later, neither of them speaking to each other. Ambrose set the coffee in front of Kit, and Kit said: “thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ambrose told him lightly. Ambrose stood again and walked towards Kit, reaching out.

Kit flinched back, throwing his hands up, red eyes pleading. “No, Ambrose no more, please.”

“Relax, Mallory. I’m just undoing the tie.” Ambrose told him. He waited until Kit relaxed, his hands lowering, a wary glint in his eyes as Ambrose started forward again. He quickly undid the knot in the tie, Kit refusing to look at him, instead focusing on the wall behind him. He could smell Ambrose’s expensive cologne from the space between them. It smelled nice, but it was deathly silent.

It was awkward, to say the least.

Ambrose finished with a flourish, gently pulling the fabric from Kit’s throat, sending shivers down his spine. Ambrose folded the tie neatly as he sat down again opposite Kit. When his black eyes flicked up to Kit’s he let out a low whistle, his eyes going to the red bruise around Kit’s throat. It would fade in an hour or two.

“What?” Kit snapped.

A ghost of a smirk flashed over Ambrose’s lips as he picked up his steaming mug. “Let’s just say you have a necktie of your own, now.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck right off, Rosey.” Kit took his own mug and took a sip of the steaming black coffee. His arm spasmed as the liquid met his tongue and spilled coffee all over his arm. Kit hissed, cursing as he wiped the liquid off, humming the pain away.

Ambrose’s dark eyes narrowed over his cup. “Aftershock?”

Kit shook his head. “I don’t know what this is,” he said weakly.

“Hmm.” Ambrose set his mug down on the table, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “In any case, we need to discuss your theory on Supervillain.”

“You said you’re not working for him.”

Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not, but I am interested to hear your theory.”

“That night on the docks,” Kit repeated.

“I didn’t start a fight with Tides on the dock, Kit. She started a fight with me. I was simply defending myself.”

“And I’m sure you forced her to radio for help, right?”

Ambrose blinked. “No.”

Kit scoffed. “Sure you didn’t.”

“No,” Ambrose said again, straightening his spine. “I didn’t. If I did, I would tell you, Mallory. I’m an honest man.”

“She radioed Superhero and I while we were fighting a fire Villain that was threatening to burn down the residential area in seventh.”

“I never told her to do anything like that, Mallory. I wanted a quiet night. Tides somehow recognised me, and then I had my fun with her.” A shadow of a smirk passed over Ambrose’s face. “Though she wasn’t half as fun as you were.”

Kit frowned. “But that night there was— it felt like there were a series of co-ordinated attacks across the city.”

“Except I didn’t attack your water hero. How many times must I repeat myself?”

“Sorry if you’re a little hard for me to trust right now, Rosey!” Kit growled, slamming his hand on the table. The red in his veins pulsed and burned brighter. Even the blood vessels inside his mouth were emitting light, as if he had just swallowed the sun. “All you’ve done since I’ve met you is torture me, use my own powers against me, broke into my apartment—”

“Kit—” Ambrose said, but sparks flew from Kit’s body as he continued, getting angrier and angrier. Burning hotter and hotter, the light getting brighter and brighter.

“Laughed at me while you beat me, terrorised my every waking moment, kidnapped me and tied me up so you could hurt me some more, or shall I go on?!” His voice crackling at the end like static over an old radio that had lost signal.

“Kit, you need to calm down.” Ambrose said softly, eyes weary at the sparks and heat that was coming off the hero in front of him.

“Wow, look at you, Rosey. How far we’ve come. You’re scared of me for once,” Kit said, planting his hands on the table and rising to his feet. “Good.”

Kit raised his hand, pointing his index finger at Ambrose and raising his thumb, curling his hand into a finger gun. Then he lowered his thumb with a soft: “pew.”

Ambrose went hurtling back against the wall to Kit’s room, cracking the plaster on impact. Ambrose groaned as he fell to the ground, forcing his eyes to focus, but his brain was fried. Everything was coming too slowly for him to react.

Kit stepped around the table, following the telepath. Each step sent jolts of energy through his limbs but Kit couldn’t help it. He kind of liked it. This raw power coursing through him. It made him feel in control.

He ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him to stop. That this was wrong, that this wasn’t him. Oh this was Kit alright. This was all of Kit’s bottled up emotions, finally breaking free and showing Ambrose who really had the power in their relationship.

Kit stopped in front of Ambrose, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him to his feet. He shoved him against the wall, not shocking him, not yet. He just wanted to savour the look of fear in the villain’s face for once. The villain’s disheveled state, where strands of his perfect hair fell over his face, out of his control.

“Mallory, this isn’t you,” Ambrose told him.

Kit tilted his head. “Aww, is that really all you can think of in your defence, Rosey? It’s hard to think with electricity shocking your nervous system, isn’t it?”

“Kit—”

“Kit’s not home right now,” Kit cut in, chuckling darkly. The sound echoing in static across the apartment. “Or, well, he is. He’s me, I’m him. Let’s just say, his compassionate, heroic side isn’t steering the ship at the moment.”

Ambrose clenched his jaw. “Then which part am I speaking to?”

“The one that you created, Rosey.” Kit told him with a threatening purr. His smile widened as Ambrose paled. “The beaten, pathetic, powerless one that gathered every time you told us — not to use our powers. Every time Kit reached for them and couldn’t find them, guess what happened? I was born. A well of kinetic and potential energy, bubbling under the surface, safe in Kit’s subconscious.” Kit laughed and Ambrose flinched. “I liked you, Rosey. You just kept building, and building, and building me up until I spilled over. But y’know what? I like being in the driver seat. It’s fun being conscious.”

Ambrose didn’t know what to do as he stared at the monster in front of him. The monster that he created? Nobody had ever had side effects like this before, well, none that he of. Certainly not enough to make another personality emerge in the subconscious, but then again…

Ambrose set his mouth into a thin line. Kit was top of his class for a reason. Mentor chose him for a reason, and if Kit wasn’t lethal enough with just his skills his ability — electricity — was pure energy, pure force. It would take a lot for Kit to be able to control it, let alone suppress it. Ambrose vaguely recalled studying electricity in school, and all the different types of it.

No, that’s not what he should focus on.

His mind quickly poured over Kit’s words again until he found it, the important information. “Kit’s not home right now. Or well, he is. He’s me, I’m him. Let’s just say, his compassionate, heroic side isn’t steering the ship at the moment.”

Perfect. That meant all Ambrose had to do was reach in and pull the real Kit out to the forefront of his mind. Put him back in control.

Ambrose reached into Kit’s mind, quickly searching the strange cavern until he saw him. Not Kit, but a pulsing ball of blue electricity buried deep in the darkness.

“Mallory!” Ambrose called, his voice echoing in Kit’s mind. “Mallory wake—”

Ambrose screamed as he was pulled out of Kit’s head. It felt as if his body was burning under a stream of molten lava, singeing every nerve and fibre of his being. Every muscle seized and contracted, robbing every thought from his brain before eventually it stopped and he fell forward. His head fell onto Kit’s shoulder, his body riding out the aftershocks with a cry.

“Naughty, naughty Rosey. It’s rude to ask for someone else to join us when the fun’s only beginning! You get to play with Kit all the time, I never get to play with you.”

“Kit—” Ambrose said with a breath, his voice coming out weaker than he had ever heard it.

“Don’t worry. I know how much volts it takes to kill a human, and I only used a fraction of that on you, Rosey. See? We’re still friends! I would be nothing without you.” Kit grabbed Ambrose’s head and straightened him back against the wall. “So, how about we make this party really fun and use half the amount it takes to kill—“”

Kit shut up suddenly, stepping back. Ambrose slid heavy down the wall, mind racing. He had the right mind to glance up at Kit to see a resolute expression grace his lips.

“Ambrose, put me to sleep. Now! Fucking—” Kit dropped to his knees, screaming as red and blue sparks erupted around him. No, not around him. From him. Ambrose looked away, throwing his elbow up to shield his eyes. “AGGGGHHH! NOW! DON’T—”

Ambrose took a sharp breath and slammed his hand out. He reached into Kit’s mind and pulled the plug. Kit’s muscles went rigid, his arms dropping to his sides before he fell to the ground. Ambrose let out a gasp, falling forward to his hands and knees.

Ambrose sucked in a breath, his muscles trembling to keep him up. Fuck.

He pushed himself back onto his arse, eyes locked on the unconscious hero in front of him. His body still pulsed with energy, but at least he was out cold. Ambrose pressed a hand against his chest, still feeling the burn from Kit’s hand on his chest.

He glanced down, brows pinching together when he saw the char mark in the shape of a handprint on his shirt. Ambrose scoffed. “You little shit,” he said to Kit. “This shirt costs more than your apartment.”

Ambrose got to his feet with a groan. It has been a long time since somebody hurt him like that. Well, not counting all the times when Kit had surprised him. He let out a breath, that sounded eerily similar to a laugh, when he remembered Kit knocking him out and waking up tied up and gagged. Oh, those were the days.

He walked over to Kit’s coatrack by the door and rooted around in his overcoat pockets until his fingers touched the metal rings. He pulled them out and released them with a dull thunk.

He personally preferred not having to use Kit’s power dampeners. They weren’t exactly a tool that Ambrose needed. Besides, it was much more fun to force Kit to inhibit his own ability, but Ambrose had told him not to use his powers. He had done that, and somehow, the other Kit somehow managed to access his electricity to overpower Ambrose.

Ambrose walked over to the Hero, staring down at him with something unreadable crossing his expression. This was the kid that Mentor took under his wing, huh? He could see why Mentor would choose him, of all the heroes in the world, never mind the city, he’s the Hero Ambrose chose too, coincidentally.

Entirely coincidental.

It was strange.

There was something about Kit, something about him that drew people in like moths to a flame, but looking down at him now, Ambrose took in how young Mallory looked.

He was everything Ambrose wasn’t; where Ambrose was pale, Kit had a honeyed tan to his skin, and where Ambrose was dark haired, Kit’s hair was light brown. Not to mention the differences between Kit’s ridiculous haircut and Ambrose’s. Honestly, would it kill him to run a comb through his hair every once in a while?

Then again Mentor always had a soft spot for broken things, and who could ever compete with some scrappy orphan?

Ambrose sighed as he crouched in front of Kit, reaching forward to grab the boy’s wrists. A jolt of electricity passed through Ambrose’s arm and he cursed, yanking his hand back and shaking it.

“Even unconscious you’re still a pain in the ass,” Ambrose muttered, carefully reaching forward again and snapping the cuff around Kit’s wrist without touching him. The brightness in his veins dimmed and went out completely after Ambrose snapped the cuff on other his wrist.

He touched Kit’s hand again, testing the waters, and there was no shock or jolt that ran through him. Good. Ambrose got to his feet, satisfied that Kit wasn’t a live wire anymore and walked towards Kit’s bedroom. He opened the wardrobe and grabbed one of Kit’s sweaters, then paused, stretching the fabric.

God. The boy didn’t look this skinny. Ambrose had broad shoulders, something he was proud of, but at the moment he wished he was the same build as the young hero. He put the sweater back in and pulled out a larger hoodie. It was ugly but it’d do.

All of his insulators were back at his house, which meant he’d have to take Kit back too. He needed answers. He needed to understand why Mentor chose Kit, why he took him, why he raised him to follow in his footsteps.

He needed to know why Kit thought Ambrose was working with Supervillain. Too many unanswered questions for his liking, too many variables, and all of them hinged on the volatile hero in front of him. Well, Ambrose never got to where he was today without a little hard work.

At least, he noted, it was dark outside, so he could throw the unconscious hero into the backseat without too many questions.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @stefaniesblogs @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump

[nitewrighter]

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

plot twist: Ruby is the Master under chameleon arch

[sapphyreblayze]

The J'onnMax toxic yaoi in Booster Gold 2007 #9 was crazy. Love loses 💔

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know it's just mindlessly assigning personal significance to what truly are complete random acts of circumstance or etc, but I still enjoy casually adopting the attitude that I am somehow Nature's Most Favorite Little Babey Boy. If it's hot outside and a cool breeze randomly happens, that wind was created for me specifically. A bird lands near me? They were sent here just for ME personally to see. If it rains at just the right time when I was thinking of rain earlier that day, the rain was created as a gift to me. etc. etc.

[disaster-bi-shan]

unsubbed (until i get the urge to play again) it's been a real one

ngl this blog is pretty inactive these days it's basically on hiatus now

[st-just]

Tell us about blorbo from your Masks game! I love Masks but have never been able to play it

Oh it's great, would recommend! literally the best supers system I've ever seen (in large part because of the crucial realization that 'superheroes' as a genre is impossibly incoherent and vast, and it's better to focus on one subgenre and do it well).

Anyway my PC was a nova! Her name was Amal, assigned codename of 'Galaxy Girl' by the SHIELD analogue, which she despised. Add 'cosmic energies' powerset interpreted incredibly literally, with the ability to create micro-singularities and gravity wells and burn things with flashes of solar plasma. Was, uh, not good at doing much besides flight without incredible amounts of collateral damage - we literally did the 'accidentally destroy a major bridge in the course of chasing down some villains' thing, and it was ~60% her fault. Very much teenage delinquent hiding incredibly existential dread about her future and of hurting people under a thick layer of rule-breaking and excess for the sake of it.

The game ended before her weird dream-visions were revealed to actually be the result of an alien empire telepathically diving her location and invading to conscript her as their imperialist faction's messiah/god-empress/idol of conquest, but it would have really fuckd her up when it happened.

[autumnfangirler]

well yk. personally speaking its the way cyrus was a hero with utterly unshakeable conviction and then carried that exact same conviction through with him as a villain. idk abt u tho.

[jw-penrose]

Hisser

Watchdog: Part Two

Part One

Watchdog followed behind Stonewall nervously, hoping he wouldn't Take notice of him. It never went well when he did.

"Windrider," Stonewall said abruptly, startling Watchdog. He glanced up quickly, and there was Windrider.

Windrider was a fairly new hero, but he was rising quickly. He was charismatic and handsome, and had a strong ability. He was quickly gaining reputation as effective against pyrokinetics and the like due to his ability to starve their fires of oxygen.

Watchdog wondered briefly at his presence. He wasn't aware of any particularly strong fire-users in Persephone's employ, but, then again, he wasn't aware of most things.

"Stonewall," Windrider greeted. He glanced at Watchdog, who quickly looked back down. "You retrieved the captive?"

Stonewall grunted. It was less that he'd retrieved Watchdog and more that after he'd scared off Persephone, Watchdog had followed him.

"Good. Any contact?"

"The plant bitch. Haven't seen the others."

"Probably best. That is why I'm here, after all."

Stonewall grunted again. "Watchdog."

The amount of adrenaline that shot through Watchdog at that second is indescribable. "Y-Yes?" He looked up to see Stonewall and Windrider looking at him expectantly. "Oh! S-sorry, I didn't-"

Stonewall's characteristic glare intensified, so Watchdog stopped talking and Linked Stonewall and Windrider.

Windrider twitched and made a face. Watchdog looked back down. Interesting floors Persephone had. Old concrete with weeds pushing through the cracks.

"Watchdog."

Again, Watchdog started. The others, right! He briefly dipped into the pair's thoughts, reading the composition of the team, before Linking to each of them.

Hey, comms are up!

Feeling a bit slow today, apparently. Taking it's goddamn time.

Don't be too rough on it. nothing it could do would make it worse than the ones issued by upper management, am I right?

There was a round of amusement and agreement, and Watchdog shrank as Stonewall and Windrider went back to doing important things. Oh look, dandelions.

The heroes talked and bantered over the Link, and Watchdog dutifully conveyed each message to its intended recipients.

And he yearned.

It would be nice, he thought, spying what looked like sourgrass, to have something like that.

'It would be nice' was an understatement. It would be amazing, he'd give anything not to have this hollow, this ache, in his chest.

A stray thought caught his attention, and he did the mental equivalent of glancing over.

Stupid stupid stupid should've followed the plan this is why you have Hecate-

Persephone?

His heartrate spiked as he followed the Link which he had apparently made earlier, while she was-

While she was lying.

She was ahead of them, and moving, if slowly. Her leg was injured, maybe broken, she was moving towards help.

They're chasing her, he realized. He hadn't really been paying attention, but he ran over the heroes' thoughts, letting her lead them to the others. Stonewall and Windrider had gained a few other heroes, but the vast majority were still wandering Persephone's complex, searching it and trying to flush out any of her allies.

What I wouldn't give to have that kid with me now,

Watchdog's attention was caught by Persephone again, and again, he couldn't help but bask in the thought.

She's lying though he thought,She has to be. I'm... I'm just Watchdog.

Would it be so bad, a small part of him whispered, to be lied to, if being lied to feels like this?

Watchdog reached for Persephone's Link.

--------------------

Phoebe, known to her enemies as the Dread Persephone, couldn't keep from cursing herself as she limped away from Stonewall's party. Why oh why had she let Stonewall rouse her temper? She shouldn't even care about that boy anyway, he was probably with Stonewall and his bastards for a reason anyway.

He was just so small though. She brushed aside the thought.

Then she felt... something. Like when someone sneaks up behind you and none of your senses tell you there's somebody there but somehow you just know.

Persephone? said a small, shy voice.

She blinked. Watchdog?

Yes.

She waited for a moment.

Did you have something you wanted to ask? she thought gently.

(Could you think things gently? She wasn't sure. Hopefully the point got across anyway)

Do, um. He hesitated, words charged with uncertainty in a way she couldn't describe. When you said-

Abruptly, a memory flashed in her mind. It was herself, standing over someone sitting down-

Your abilities are simply incredible!

You think I'm squeamish enough to dismiss the most powerful mental ability in recorded history in the name of whether or not I think it's weird?

What I wouldn't give to have this absolute goddamn powerhouse on my side.

-Pacing around, ranting like a madwoman.

She stumbled at the sensations of herself from somebody else's perspective. Was she hearing her own thought through the thoughts of somebody else, who could read thoughts?

Watchdog shrank back, something she could feel in a way she didn't know how to describe, and she shook herself out of her stupor, trying to reach out as one might touch somebody's shoulder to keep their attention.

Of course I meant it all. You're incredible.

Watchdog, who had stopped at the reaching, shrank back some more, watching her closely in a way she couldn't describe.

Stonewall and Windrider are following you, he thought suddenly, in a distinctly blurting fashion. and- another memory came over her, a scene from the perspective of somebody small, following behind three heroes walking with Stonewall.

Which one's Windrider? She asked after a moment, a stupid grin spreading across her face, more than one hundred percent okay with what was currently happening. and why is he important?

The lanky one, the thought came with an impression of the hero, his looks, how he sounded, what his mind was like-

and, she noted, how he treated Watchdog.

She mentally marked down the name 'Windrider'.

An anti-pyrokinetic, you say? was what she sent. Thankfully, he didn't appear to have noticed the other thoughts. She conveyed an impression of amusement.

Confusion, in return.

Let's just say I have a feeling that won't work out too well for them. You'll see.

Alright. Um, the others are- A semi-complete map of the building, with glowing dots scattered across the area. Immediately after, he sort of- flinched, would probably be the best word for it.

She grinned, pushing down her anger in favor of awe, which was a much more useful emotion when there wasn't anyone around for her to beat the hell out of, and there was a new ally whose endless usefulness needed to be known. Can you keep that up?

He didn't send anything, but listening(?? what word do you even use to describe telepathy?), she could clearly feel his astonishment.

Um. I don't- I'm not sure? No one's ever- I can keep sending you that but- I don't know if I can make it live or-

That's alright, she cut him off, feeling the rising panic. Just try your best. This is already very useful. She inspected the map as he fiddled with their bond a little.

Is this everyone?

Uh?

Is there anyone else in the building? If you can't tell that's alright.

Uh, That's just who I'm Linked to, he sort of frowned, but mentally, and she noted the term. Maybe I can- another map, this one very odd. There were no glowing dots, just sort of... impressions of minds. She cross-referenced the maps, and touched one of the impressions that wasn't on the first.

She grinned, changing direction to move toward it. Can you keep me updated? I'm moving toward this one. She sent the Impression

He inspected it. Y-yeah. Then, quieter, Who's that?

My second, Hecate, he started slightly, and she wondered if she had been meant to hear that. Are you familiar with my allies?

Hecate and Hisser, he thought with a sort of nod. The names weren't just words, they came with the entire impression they had made on him. She felt the frustration Hecate caused in the heroes, and the unbridled fear that shot through their minds at the second name.

Hisser? She thought, in the half second before she got it. She burst out laughing. Is that what they call him?

Confusion. Is that not his name?

He doesn't have one, she shrugged doesn't want one, apparently.

Oh,

If you see him, Link him to me immediately, she ordered, levity fading. If you don't, he might think you're with them.

I- he hesitated. I can only Link people to myself, but I can Link to him and transmit between the two of you.

That works, she thought, mind taking off at the implications.

--------------------

Watchdog's heart was beating out of his chest, and he honestly couldn't tell why. Could be because he was betraying Stonewall, could be because he had found somebody who thought his ability was incredible(!?!?) and who couldn't seem to stop complimenting him.

Could also be because he might be about to encounter the most terrifying villain in recorded history, who, after several bodies had gone missing after his debut, had taunted the heroes at his second appearance by saying that their comrades had been delicious.

...Probably the compliments.

He checked for what might be the fifth time in the last sixty seconds that Persephone was still on track toward Hecate.

...tss...

Hecate, abilities umbrakinesis and pyrokinesis, fights by darkening her surroundings to pitch black and throwing fire at her opponents form unexpected angles. Weaknesses include the fact that in throwing flames she casts light around the room, giving heroes a glimpse of her position.

...Tss...

Don't know much about Hisser, reports usually center around how terrifying he is. And the hissing. Why does he hiss anyway?

...Tssss...

He glanced up toward the party of heroes, wondering what he'd heard, but they were still stalking towards Persephone, talking only occasionally.

Watchdog,

His attention snapped to Persephone.

If you can only Link people to yourself, does that mean you could mess with the heroes' comms?

He sent back an affirmative, and received a glee-touched Perfect.

Should I cut the Links? He glanced nervously at Stonewall.

No, no. She thought. That's far too obvious. Just screw with them a little. Send their messages to the wrong people, switch around locations, make them think their messages were sent when they weren't. Her thoughts were increasingly tinged with mischief.

Watchdog. Felt a bit mischievous too. That was a new one.

...TSsss...

He glanced behind their party at the sound.

Watchdog?

He started before sending back an affirmative, and getting to work.

It was. Actually pretty fun.

A message stifled here, a delivery to the wrong recipient there.

...TSSsssss...ss..

A rendezvous where everyone has a different position.

...TSSSsss...sSSsss...

Some tampered-with directions.

...TSSSSssss...sSSsss...Tschsshhh...

Watchdog glanced back. What was that sound?

He stared back for a long second, and when he faced forward again, the heroes were staring at him. Stonewall's glare was even more intense than usual.

Uh, he thought, panicked. Was that out loud?

Windrider scoffed. "What, your own heartbeat too loud in your ears? Don't worry... what was your hero name again?" He sneered the word 'hero'. "'Watchdog'? Commlink is more like it." The two nameless heroes chuckled, one of them giving a muttered 'good one'

Watchdog shrank at the insult to his hero name. He'd come up with it himself, back when he'd bee foolish and hadn't realized how terrible his ability was. He'd pictured himself watching over his friends, warning of danger and guarding from villains.

It hadn't worked out that way.

The three turned back forward, but Stonewall was still staring straight at Watchdog.

"What did you hear?"

Windrider glanced back. "Come on Stonewall-"

"Do not forget who it is we are facing!" He snapped at Windrider, before turning back to Watchdog. "What is it. That you heard?"

Watchdog trembled under the full force of Stonewall's rage. "I-I-I-"

Stonewall snarled. "We don't have time for your incompetence!" He seized Watchdog by the throat with a granite fist, slamming him against the wall. "WHAT DID YOU HEAR?"

"I-it sounded like-," Hissing. It had sounded like Hissing.

Watchdog got it a half second before everybody else.

The hissing sound was continuous now, scattered with the occasional small pop-ish noise, rising and falling like-

Footsteps, Watchdog somehow realized through the pure terror pumping through his veins, his heart beating so fast he could actually hear it.

Everything was silent, everyone staring, as a man stepped around the corner behind them.

Watchdog didn't need to notice his ability slipping off the man's mind to know he was insane. it was written across his face, his wide eyes shining with a mad light, his smile more a baring of teeth than anything else. It was written in the twitching of his eyebrows, in the trembling shudders that traveled up and down his form, written in the blood flecked on the fireman's axe resting over his shoulder.

Written in the unholy mixture of a growl and a chuckle he gave when those mad eyes alighted on them, steam pluming from his mouth.

Steam and smoke wreathed his form, making him look ethereal, almost unreal. Watchdog noticed those hardy plants blackening underneath his feet, and for a second he thought Hisser was some kind of god of death, killing everything that dared touch him with his very presence, but then he saw the smoke rising from the blackening grass and realized that it was heat. Hisser was giving off so much heat that when he touched the grass it burnt too fast to even catch fire.

But not too fast too let out a loud hiss.

"Hisser," One of the heroes said, almost reverently, voice cracking with fear.

His grin widened, steam pouring from his mouth, joining the smoke swirling around him.

Is that his saliva? Watchdog thought semi-hysterically.

Stonewall stumbled backward, releasing Watchdog a half second too late. He tripped, recovering his balance but ending up front and center between Hisser and the heroes.

Hisser, still grinning that mad, too-many-toothed grin, opened his mouth, the hissing and popping of his saliva boiling getting louder, and spoke, just one word.

"PREY."

Then Watchdog was thrown into the air, hitting the concrete hard and tumbling sideways, pain shooting through his ribs.

He wheezed, trying to inhale but unable to, for a long moment.

Watchdog?

For a long moment he lay there, Persephone's thoughts passing over him almost unnoticed, waves of heat washing over him.

WATCHDOG!

She was turning around. Heading towards him.

He sent her a negative feeling, the impression of Hecate.

She hesitated. What happened? She demanded, sounding worried for some reason.

What had happened?

Watchdog looked up.

Stonewall and the heroes were nowhere to be seen, but there was a dome of concrete in the center of the hallway, so their whereabouts were hardly a mystery.

I must have been thrown when he raised the dome, Watchdog thought, able to breathe again, but not really doing so because it sent spikes of pain through him.

"COME OUT, COME OUT, SSSSSTONY-BOY!"

Outside the dome was Hisser, sounding like a child playing hide and seek, if not for the way his words were obscured by the hissing that came from his mouth whenever he opened it.

Hisser had one hand raised, and, as Watchdog watched, flames erupted from his open palm.

Now, Watchdog knew about pyrokinetics. He'd seen them in Heroes' memories, heard about them from rumor. They made some of the most dangerous villains, and not a single one had ever joined the heroes. They were dangerous, plain and simple. But the point was, he'd seen them, he knew what they were like, with fireballs and fire breath.

Hisser's fire was nothing like that.

From his palm, a pressurized geyser erupted, hitting the dome and deflecting off to the sides, landing around the room and setting the plants ablaze. Watchdog could feel the heat of the blast from here, and had to cover his face. Even if it hadn't been too hot to face, it was near too bright to look at, orange so bright it was practically white, leaving behind spots in his eyes. Even cowering against the concrete floor, he could hear the flames, not like a crackling campfire, but from the way they ploughed through the air so quickly and from the sheer impact against the concrete dome.

Watchdog had sort of wondered, when the heroes were so afraid of Hisser. What could he have possibly done to evoke such a reaction from some of the most powerful individuals on the planet?

Watchdog no longer wondered.

After a ten-second eternity, The sound cut off.

Watchdog, talk to me!

Watchdog looked up slowly to see Hisser inspecting the concrete carefully, smile still partially on his face, but more like he has simply forgotten to take it off than he was still wearing it intentionally.

Watchdog please,

The demented grin spread back across his face.

Watchdog made a pathetic sort of sound.

He tried to send something back to Persephone, but all he could manage was

Hisser.

[lumilasi]

UPDATE: I came to the conclusion that the pinkish purple glow wasn't menacing enough for Angus, + I'd already used it with too many characters, so I changed it to red (with yellow eyes for his dragon heads)

Old description below:

I am SUPER happy with how this came out, especially given I decided to just use the sketch I made yesterday while in sleepy zombie-mode, instead of linearting like normal.

I was watching a playthrough of a horror game (The Evil Within) out of random bout of nostalgia, and I was inspired to doodle stuff about Angus, since he's loosely inspired by the game's main antagonist, Ruvik/Ruben Victoriano.

Also I'm finally showing his demonic, three-headed dragon aura yaaaayyy. OFC this isn't a full look at it, just a sneak peek. (in the story Reverence Demons like him have animal themed auras, that function as part of their offensive/defensive power. Angus rarely shows the full one, and majority of people think its just a relatively weak snake - until it is not and they're dead lmao)

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (Xiv)

Wake up call

Continued from // Masterpost

This one was a struggle, I’m not happy with the end of it, but… the first half is good enough

*~*~*~*~*

Kit woke in the middle of the night, his head on fire as if there was poison lacing through it. He lurched to the side of the bed, rolling over the damp sheets sweat clinging to his forehead and hair. He hit the ground on his hands and knees, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain and resting his forehead on the cool wooden floor of his bedroom.

He groaned, nausea climbing up his throat that he fought not to throw up. What would he even throw up? Bile? He hadn’t eaten anything all day.

Fuck… Kit let out another moan of pain, the terrible clanging pain of it quieting from the hammer on an anvil level pounding. Slowly, dreadfully slowly, Kit sat back on his hips, raising his head to try and sit vertically. He shivered as he set his shoulders against his bed frame, his sweat freezing on his skin, teeth chattering as he looked to his clock.

6.15 a.m.

He needed to get something, painkillers something, water— anything. He grabbed his shirt by the collar and yanked it up over his head, throwing it down beside him on the floor. It landed with a heavy wet slap, but Kit didn’t care. He did the same with his bottoms and pushed himself to his feet, his muscles aching as he walked to his wardrobe and grabbed some fresh pyjamas, pulling them on. Some fresh socks.

The house was almost expectant, eerie, as Kit opened his door and padded down the hall, hand on the railing as he took the stairs. As if the house had been woken with Kit’s nightmare or… something. It felt like he had eyes on him, but he didn’t care enough to investigate the shadows peeking at him in his mind.

He grabbed the painkillers, filled a glass with water and turned to walk back up the stairs. Rain pattered heavy against the roof, wind creaking the gutters and trees outside. The changing shadows were just that, shadows as the dawn tried to yawn awake. The skies oppressed with the rainclouds and poor weather, and Kit fell asleep before first light broke, curling up in Mentor’s bed, arms wrapped around himself, shivering to sleep while the house’s shadows watched over him.

Kit woke again later with that same ear shattering headache that drew a cry from his throat. He didn’t wake in a cold sweat like last time, but the headache was somehow worse like a migraine. The pressure was unbelievable and it felt as if someone had reached inside his skull and took his brain, squeezing it in the palm of their hands like putty and Kit opened his eyes as a single name crossed his mind: Ambrose.

“Motherfucker,” Kit ground out as he got his feet on the ground, the room swaying as he stood. Shit… where did he leave his phone? Kit’s feet stumbled forward just before he reached the door, hand flying out to catch himself on the wall. He wasn’t going to make it downstairs if Ambrose didn’t at least let up a bit.

I’m coming! Kit thought as loud as he could, over the thunderous rolling of sound and pressure. He didn’t even know if Ambrose’s power worked like that. How far was his reach? Could he even hear Kit’s thoughts from so far away? Kit paused at the railing of the stairs, white knuckled grip keeping him upright.

The headache lessened in pressure, but remained there in the back of his mind, thrumming impatient for Kit to reach his phone. Kit walked down the stairs carefully, dreading every step closer he got to his phone. He turned it on and waited for the screen to reboot. There’s no way Ambrose knew where he was, did he? Did he have to be close for his power to work? Or did it just matter that he was in the city — could his reach be that strong?

Kit had only put his pin to unlock the phone in when Ambrose’s name flashed across his phone. Kit answered after the fourth ring, just to piss him off.

“What?”

“Christopher!”

“My name’s not Christopher, Rosey.”

“Fine, Mallory,” Ambrose drawled, far too chirper for Kit who was just dragged out of bed. “You slept in.”

“I would have slept longer if you weren’t so fucking needy.”

“I did knock first, but you weren’t answering your door.”

Kit froze, turning his head to the front door. “I didn’t hear you,” Kit said, voice thankfully even.

“That’s fine. You can see why I went to plan B then. Just let me in now, it’s cold outside.”

Kit didn’t answer. A beat passed between them. Then, “Kit. I’m waiting.”

Kit licked his lips. “Can you even force me over the phone?”

Ambrose laughed a cold, humourless chuckle. He didn’t answer, instead he said: “Kit, open the front door.”

Apparently he could. Kit felt his feet carry him forward, his heart thundering in his ears, because what if Ambrose knew where he was? What if he was waiting outside that door? Kit didn’t want him in his house. His childhood home, where he had countless memories with Mentor.

Kit swallowed hard as his hand settled on the lock. It clicked open and Kit opened the door. He let out a small laugh as he did, seeing his porch empty of any sadistic villain.

“Kit, I’m getting impatient.”

“I opened the door, Rosey,” Kit told him. Kit felt a sudden sharp streak run through his mind, as if searching for a lie.

“I told you that you weren’t allowed to run, or disappear,” Ambrose said. Kit could hear the cold anger in his voice and could imagine Ambrose’s face right now.

“Maybe you’re losing your touch, Omen,” Kit said with a laugh. “Better luck next time. I’m going back to bed.”

“Kit—!”

“Bye, Rosey. Have a nice day.”

Kit pulled the phone away from his ear to hang up on the bastard when Ambrose’s voice rang out again. “Do you want me to find that water Hero instead, Kit? Oh, what was their name? Tides?”

Kit’s thumb hovered over the red end call button, his heart hammering against his chest. He should hang up. He should hang up. He wanted to hang up. Hasn’t he suffered enough? Wasn’t it somebody else’s turn to suffer the sadist?

His hand was shaking and he wanted to scream. Just end the call! It’s not your fault what a fucking Villain does. You can’t control his actions. Nobody would ever know that you could’ve saved Tides, it would be a tragic accident and—

Mentor’s face flashed through Kit’s mind and he balled his free hand into a fist at his side. Did he really want to have to visit two people in hospital, especially when he could have prevented one of them from being there in the first place?

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick—”

“Fine!” Kit spat into the phone. He could almost see Ambrose’s horrible smile.

“If you are not at your apartment in an hour, I will make good on my threat, Mallory. See you soon.”

Ambrose hung up. Kit stared at his reflection in the black screen of his phone and cursed, slamming the door shut and letting out a long, guttural: “FUCK!”

His voice crackled and echoed with electricity, his phone like a battery in his hand that he was draining. He let out a breath, straightening and focused on moving the charge back into his phone until the screen blinked up at him.

Fuck, at this rate he would need to wear power dampeners just to ensure he didn’t cause any power outages on the way back to his apartment. His apartment… His apartment where Ambrose was waiting, and probably pissed off.

God… how long had he been free of the bastard? Two, three days? Such a short amount of peace, and the first day Kit had spent most of it sleeping! He didn’t even consider enjoying it because exhaustion had forced him into bed.

Kit had a quick shower and left, taking the metro back to his apartment. The entire way his mind raced with the sheer power that Ambrose possessed. How was any Hero ever meant to beat him? To defeat him?

A smaller voice in his mind echoed a poignant: how will I ever defeat him?

But… No, if Ambrose was really as strong as he wanted Kit to believe then he would have taken over the city at any given moment. He could have wiped the minds of the city’s entire population and made them think that Ambrose was the number one hero, and why stop there? Why not the mayor? Or something else more grandiose and Ambrose-y.

No… There’s no way Ambrose would just let the world be if he could do that on such scale. There had to be something local about his ability. Some restraint. Something that stops him from controlling whoever he wants, whenever he wants.

The information didn’t stop his palms from sweating, or the dread from building in his stomach as he came to his stop. The doors opened with a soft whoosh and a creak and Kit stepped out into the underground. His apartment was a five minute walk from here.

He checked his watch. He still had fifteen minutes. He could hang back for a minute, maybe dawdle away some of the time so he wouldn’t have to see Ambrose again for as long as he possibly could. Then Mentor flashed through his mind again and he found himself ascending the steps to street level and walking towards his apartment.

Towards Ambrose.

Towards Omen.

Towards his tormentor.

His heart shudders to a stop when he sees Ambrose in his charcoal overcoat he wore the first day Kit met him on the docks. No doubt he was wearing some expensive suit beneath.

He looked so out of place in front of Kit’s small white block of apartments. He looked too much like a stranger, a foreigner who wasn’t properly acquainted with the style this side of town — as if Ambrose had just walked the wrong side of the river and was about to knock for directions.

Kit’s apartment was on the rougher side of the city because he liked it that way, and too many times he had seen people who dressed like Ambrose getting jumped or mugged on the street in certain alleyways.

Kit almost scoffed at the thought of someone jumping Ambrose. He pitied the imaginary thief who would cross Ambrose’s path.

You crossed my path, Kit.

Kit blinked then stopped. Ambrose was standing on the small path that led up to Kit’s apartment on the second floor. His back was turned to Kit, standing relaxed beside the railing. Ambrose knew that he was here and he didn’t turn his head to show he knew.

You’re so dramatic.

Ambrose turned his head this time, his dark eyes capturing Kit’s and smiling. Tick, tock, tick—

Kit started walking after that. He didn’t want to give the bastard any reason to go after Tides. He checked his phone for the time to see he still had four minutes. He took a breath as he ascended the steps to where Ambrose stood waiting patiently.

Ambrose regarded him with a cool look. “Where were you?”

“Not here.”

Ambrose stared at him for a beat. Then he said, “fine. Open the door.”

Kit didn’t fight his body as it obeyed the command. To be honest he was happy he didn’t have to look at Ambrose for those few precious seconds, his alabaster skin closer to some statue than an actual human.

The lock opened with a click. Kit pushed down on the handle and the moment the door cracked open, Ambrose shoved him inside. Kit stumbled forward, half expecting the attack and turned to face Ambrose once he regained his footing.

Ambrose smiled coldly at him, closing the door behind him and locking it again. “Kit,” he said with a drawn out sigh. “I trusted you to obey the terms of our deal.”

“No, you forced me to obey the terms of our deal,” Kit snapped in reply. “And if you fucked up the terms in the first place, it’s not my fault.”

Ambrose took a step forward, and Kit fought himself not to match it with one back. “Where were you, Kit?”

“If you thought I was just going to wait here like a little puppy for you to drop in whenever you feel like it and torture me, you are sorely mistaken.”

Ambrose clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I knew it was too premature to trust you with your freedom. You’re still so defiant. What have you got left to prove?”

“If you think I’m just going to obey every command you—”

“Get on your knees.”

Kit’s knees hit the floor before he realised what happened. He had only begun to push himself up when Ambrose’s black eyes flashed above him, his lips that horrible red against his marble skin. “Stay on your knees.”

“You’re a fucking—”

“Bark.”

Kit did his best imitation of a dog. He could feel the humiliation crawl pink up his neck at the sound.

“Look at me,” Ambrose said, and Kit glared up at him, fists balling by his sides. “See how you obey every command for me? You’re so good at it, like a little puppy.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“I wouldn’t have had to do any of this if you just told me where you were hiding.”

Kit’s lips curled back into a snarl. “Make me!”

Ambrose clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and walked past Kit. Kit turned his head, but stared back at the door when Ambrose told him to not turn around. He could hear Ambrose taking his jacket off behind him and laying it somewhere. Then he heard the sound of his tap turning on, and a moment later the click of the kettle.

Kit’s lips curled up viciously, his nose crinkling at the sound. What the fuck was Ambrose doing?! It’s ridiculous. Well fuck that. Fuck him. Kit reached for the electricity in his kettle and pulled it from the plug. The kettle stopped thrumming. Ambrose sighed behind Kit and shoes clacking off the wooden floors got closer and closer until Kit could feel Ambrose standing behind him.

“Show me your electricity,” said Ambrose.

“No,” Kit said.

“Show me your electricity, Kit,” Ambrose said again, and this time against his will, Kit’s fingers clicked the spark into his hand and he held up his arm for Ambrose to inspect.

Ambrose hummed behind him. “It’s not red anymore.” Ambrose walked around Kit to face him, and stared down into his eyes. “Hmm.”

“What?” Kit snapped.

Ambrose reached his hand forward and pressed his finger to Kit’s forehead. Kit shivered as the familiar ice cold sludge of Ambrose’s power flooded his brain and his electricity stopped cackling in his hand. The kettle thrummed to life again, back to boiling and Kit stared mutinously ahead at his floor.

“Good lad. You haven’t forgotten the futility of struggling in my absence it seems. You can stand up now.”

Ambrose walked back to the kitchen, but Kit stayed on his knees for another moment before getting to his feet. He walked to his table and sat down at it, running a hand down his face as he watched Ambrose get two mugs from the cupboard and grab the instant coffee.

He hated seeing him. He hated seeing Ambrose so at home in his apartment, as if they were roommates or friends. He wanted so bad to just murder him in that second, but the heaviness of being back here, under Ambrose’s control it was… exhausting. Kit was so tired and it hadn’t been what? Ten minutes yet? Twenty?

“You should really think about getting a cafetière Kit. The coffee is better than instant.”

“Sure, i’ll take your word for it.”

“Oh come on now, you’re not already defeated are you? Are you sulking?”

“Sure.”

Ambrose hummed his disapproval but didn’t say anything else in reply. He walked to the fridge and opened the door, his eyes going to the milk and grabbing it. He frowned staring down at the expiry date. The 21st… that was four… five days ago? Ambrose’s frown deepened as he put the milk back in the fridge and closed the door. His eyes skimming over Kit at his table, expression dazed.

He hadn’t been home in days, or he would have noticed his expired milk. Interesting.

Kit only snapped back into reality when Ambrose placed a cup of steaming black liquid in front of him. “Thanks.”

“Oh Kit, don’t be so glum. This was our deal, right? Your life for a couple visits a week.”

Kit let out a deep sigh as he grabbed his mug closer and stared down into his coffee. Ambrose’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t want this. He wanted Kit to have more life, not less.

“So,” Ambrose began, schooling his features into a more neutral expression. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“My life, right?” Kit said, his eyes finally raising to meet Ambrose’s black ones. “That means you don’t ask about it.”

“Oh come on, tell me what you did while I was gone. The first thing you did.”

Kit immediately thought of his minor breakdown the second Ambrose left and he grimaced, setting his lips into a thin line and bringing the mug into his hands letting it hover just beside his lips.

“I went for a run.”

“And how was your run?”

“It felt… good.” Kit wasn’t lying. The run was the one thing that kept him sane after his minor meltdown. He hoped Ambrose was true to his word and staying out of his mind. Otherwise he would see everything… just in case Kit tried his best to make his mind go blank.

“Now, see? It felt good. I give you back your life, your autonomy in return for a few visits, I’m not unreasonable Kit.”

Kit scoffed and took a sip of his coffee.

“What else did you do? Where did you go?”

Kit stared down at his coffee. Ambrose rolled his eyes. “Do I have to force everything out of you, Kit? I have no qualms about using my powers on you as you know. In fact, I quite enjoy it.”

“I went to see my mentor,” Kit snapped, eyes locking onto Ambrose’s black ones. “Happy now?”

Ambrose smiled. “Ecstatic. How is Superhero?”

Kit’s grip tightened on his mug of coffee. Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Was Superhero not your mentor?”

Kit set his jaw and looked away. Ambrose wouldn’t know, of course he wouldn’t know. As far as Ambrose knew, Mentor was before Kit’s time. Before Kit ever became a hero. Ambrose probably thought Kit came up through the ranks with Superhero, not Mentor.

And if that’s true then that means Ambrose wouldn’t know what Mentor meant to Kit, and Kit liked it better that way.

“I thought I said I don’t want to talk about my life outside of you,” he said instead of telling Ambrose to fuck off.

Ambrose hummed. “Look at me, Kit.”

Kit obeyed, swallowing as his eyes found Ambrose’s. The two black pools seemed to swirl like a storm, drawing Kit further and further in until he was lost in their abyss.

“I don’t want—”

“I don’t care,” Ambrose cut in, effectively silencing Kit’s protests. “Answer me honestly, is Superhero your mentor?”

“Why do you care?!” Kit snarled.

The corner of Ambrose’s lips tilted up slightly. “I care because you’re trying to hide something from me, and you know how much I love—”

“Torturing people, yeah I know.”

Ambrose sat back in his chair and shrugged his shoulders casually. “Always the hard way.”

Kit’s brows furrowed at the villain. Shit.

“Tell me who your mentor is, Kit.”

“Why?” Kit asked, anger leaking from his voice, replaced with a guarded almost pleading sadness.

“Because you’re protesting too much.”

“Please,” Kit whispered then froze. Ambrose froze too. Then his lips turned up into his smirk and Kit knew Ambrose was going to force him to tell him about Mentor.

“Tell me who-”

It was Kit’s turn to cut Ambrose off. “Mentor,” he ground out through gritted teeth. Ambrose’s eyes widened slightly, his eyebrows twitching up in surprise, his lips slightly parted, froze mid-sentence.

A moment of silence passed between them. The moment turned into a minute, and Kit just closed his eyes and drank his coffee in the silence. He could feel and hear the cogs working in Ambrose’s head trying to match the timelines up and coming up blank.

“You’re joking,” Ambrose said eventually. Kit looked away, it felt as if someone had a hand around their heart and squeezed it. “Oh. I see. You’re not joking… but Mentor was Superhero before—”

“Yeah,” said Kit. “I know.”

“Then—”

Kit’s scoff cut Ambrose off, his eyes going back to Ambrose’s. “What? You want my whole tragic backstory, Rosey?” He asked with a sardonic smile. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Mallory, I—”

“Didn’t know?” Kit supplied, his voice rising in pitch. “You didn’t know? Does it look like I give two shits about what you know or not?! I don’t need your false pity, or your remorse for your actions, Omen, because we both know you don’t mean it.”

Ambrose’s expression darkened. His features schooled into neutrality, but Kit could read him by now. The subtle too-tight wind of his jaw, the coolness in his eyes, Ambrose was pissed and he was about to take it out on Kit. Honestly? Kit didn’t care. He preferred it when Ambrose was cruel to him, at least then he didn’t have to think about Ambrose possibly having human emotions, or being human at all.

When Ambrose was hurting Kit he was just a villain, and Kit could hate him completely without second guessing himself.

Ambrose stood up and Kit braced himself for impact, whatever it was. Then Ambrose grabbed his jacket, and walked towards Kit’s front door. Kit frowned, staring after the villain. “Hey! Where’re—”

“I’ll see you later, Kit.”

The door opened and closed. Kit flinched, his heart pounding in his chest and his thoughts racing through his brain.

Mainly: what the hell was that all about?

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper r @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl l @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast t @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @lovethiswriting

[elgaberino-mcoc]

spreadsheet cleanup EMMA STEED

Black Queen of the Hellfire Club in the main Marvel continuity; apprentice to the Shadow King in the Age of Apocalypse reality

10-15 comics, 2 variants, 1 video game

low priority for #mcoc @MCOCwishlist 

- Other Gabe

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"HIS DESIRE TO RULE GORILLA CITY BROUGHT HIM INTO CONFLICT WITH THE FLASH…"

PIC INFO: Resolution at 1988x3056 -- Spotlight on character and/or profile art of Gorilla Grodd, super-gorilla and member of the dreaded Legion of Doom, from "Justice" Vol. 1 #3. February, 2006. DC Comics. Artwork by Alex Ross.

MINI-BIO: "Grodd comes from a hidden civilization in Africa populated by a society of highly-evolved and extraordinarily intelligent gorillas. Before his betrayal of the leader of this city, he was the greatest scientific genius among these exceptional primates.

But Grodd was not satisfied with living in peace with the other gorillas. He wanted more. He used his limited telepathic powers to read others' thoughts, and learned how to "force the mind" and create mental illusions. His desire to rule Gorilla City brought him into conflict with the Flash and the rest of the Justice League of America. Grodd's abilities have only been amplified since this first conflict.

His hunger for power is a reminder that crime is not merely the result of social inequalities. Nor is it limited to humanity."

-- BATMAN, from Bruce Wayne's Private Files in the Batcomputer (script by Jim Krueger)

Source: www.zipcomic.com/justice-2005-issue-3.

[cringe-sunday]

"Hey wanna team up against these losers lmao"

"Obviously lol"

*cue awesome corruption arc*

Your are your normal, boring self. Today, however, you’ve been abducted by the government to interrogate a super villain from another dimension - Yourself!

[romanceyourdemons]

i love when settings have a place called Evil City or something and the citizens are all campy villains in flamboyant little outfits. and it’s just a functional city with a mayor and taxes and cafes, it’s just your barista has a giant spider on her head and you’re unsure if it’s a decoration or a pet or if it’s mind controlling her and this very nice cappuccino was made by a telepathic spider

[deadsetobsessions]

Ghost King Phantom was an odd addition to the League. J’onn was often the last to find others odd but from the get-go, Phantom was the only quiet spot he’d have in his telepathic field. At first, it was off putting as most of the people that slipped beyond the reach of his immediate field tended to be villains and the like. But as Phantom remained in the Justice League, J’onn had come to learn to appreciate the calm spot in the turbulent sea of his friends’ and coworkers’ thoughts.

“You have taken to me faster than the others. Why is that?”

Phantom hummed purringly, another peculiar sound that J’onn had yet to see any of his human or alien heroes recreate with any success. They sat at their usual spot, face facing the cosmos and backs guarded by their friends. Plus, J’onn and Phantom could look directly into the sun without painfully loosing their sight.

“I guess I’ve always been fond of the stars. Of space, and everything in it. What about you? Why did we become friends so fast?”

J’onn shook his head, a human motion he’d learned a long time ago to imitate. “No, we became slower friends than most, as my telepathic abilities allow for easier communication and understanding of one another’s motives. With the exception of Batman but I have found he is often the exception to most expectations.”

“That checks out,” King Phantom laughed. “Well, I’m glad we became friends. It’s very cool to meet a Martian. Space is one of my Obsessions, you see.”

J’onn nodded. “I see. I am sorry that I am the only Martian you will meet.”

“You are?”

J’onn nodded again, slower. Sadder. His facial muscles, in this form, does not imitate human patterns well and he knew that most people could not pick out his emotions without his verbal expression.

Intuition tells J’onn that Phantom knew regardless.

“Would you mind telling me what happened?” His voice is gentle, the emotions that Phantom pushes at him are gentle and questing, but not demanding. It has been a long time since anyone has asked him of memories he clung to. And so, J’onn J’onzz speaks in the way that was natural to him, the way his people communicated.

With his mental voice flowing into Phantom’s head, J’onn tells him of the wonders that used to be his home. He provided images and sounds of how his home shone as the sun rose, how the shadows that fell when the sun dipped beneath the horizon felt as comforting as a Martian’s first telepathic cradle. He tells Phantom of his twin brother, grief and agony entwined in the memories of someone he had loved. He spoke of his wife and their daughter, and their cozy home on the windswept plains of Mars.

King Phantom sat still with him as the Watch-Tower moved along, around a king and his friend who was recounting the stagnant grief of his past.

J’onn tells him of the virus, borne of his twin’s hatred, and how he watched everything around him burn. How he had desperately tried to prevent his wife and daughter from using their telepathic abilities. He spoke of his failures. He wove together a tapestry of insanity and grief, built upon the burning bodies of his wife and their beloved daughter. He tells Phantom how the Mars now was just ashes and dust of his former home. How he could not look upon the planet and not see the shades of his wife and daughter and parents and friends, walking upon a barren planet that no longer held anything familiar to the last Martian.

Phantom had hummed again, a soothing rumble. Sadness dripped from the edges of his consciousness.

“If it was not for the Doctor, I would be dead and shattered.” J’onn spoke for the first time in three hours. “It is… less painful to live. I have purpose.”

“I am glad that you are not either of those things.” Phantom stood. “Come with me. I have to show you something.”

J’onn trusted Phantom, and thus followed the king into the glowing green portal.

They flew past many doors, Phantom often glancing at him before shaking his head and changing directions.

They stopped at a door that felt familiar. J’onn knew it from somewhere.

“Go ahead, open the door. But know that you can’t stay long. You don’t belong to this realm quite yet. Not for quite a while.” Phantom moves, hand gesturing towards the door without a knob.

“How..?”

“How else? You have telekinesis, don’t you?”

J’onn blinked. Right. He opened the door and- oh.

The door warped with the screaming storm of grief and love and oh-how-I’ve-missed-you that J’onn unleashed.

Because there in front of him were M’yri’ah and K’hym, his wife and daughter.

The door was an imitation of his home, back when he had not known true loss.

“Impossible,” he stumbled back.

“You are in the realm of the dead. You didn’t think the title of the Ghost King was for fun, did you, J’onn?” Phantom smiled and- a move J’onn would definitely engage in petty payback for, later after he’d gotten over the shock- pushed him flying right into the room.

M’yri’ah and K’hym cradled him with telepathic swirls of love and husband!-dad!-love-love-love-safe!

And J’onn shuddered and gathered the his world in his arms to say goodbye.

——