Sunshine Whumpee who gets extremely aggressive when someone tries to poke at their mask.
Someone new joins the team, and they can tell there's more to Whumpee than their sunshiney persona. Maybe they're Whumper or someone who knew him. Maybe they're a Telepath who can hear Whumpee's brain recontextualize the world to fit life after Whumper, and it's so different from their personality that they think Whumpee has ulterior motives.
Newbie starts trying to get Whumpee to show their true colors. Whumpee starts out kind and bright like they always are, but the more Newbie pushes, the more Whumpee shuts down around them, going from talking a mile a minute as they always do to shutting down conversations and giving the barest hint of acknowledgment that they can.
Newbie thinks that they're getting close and keeps pushing. And everything goes according to plan.
Right up until one comment makes Whumpee launch at Newbie and try to claw their face off like a rabid animal, screaming, "SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! YOU DON'T KNOW ME, GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"
Read Part One // Master-list // continued from here
***
A snap of fingers and Kit jolted forward. He blinked, head pounding as if it was filled with an expandable wool that pushed against the edges of his skull every time he took a breath. He blinked again, his brain screaming at him to go back asleep, to stop his consciousness from taking over, to lull him back into the nothingness of before. His cracked his eyelids open despite himself, thankful for the shadowy room with its dim lighting… his memory hazy as he tried to remember how he got here. Wherever here was.
He was standing up, he realised, his arms above his head which was a strange way to sleep and wake up he thought, his thoughts heavy like lead. When he tried to pull his arms down, he heard the snap of chains. Warning bells sounded clear in his mind, setting the expandable wool on fire in his brain, setting all his nerves alight with panic as he tugged them down again with a clink, but they didn’t budge. Tingles that came before pins and needles skittered down his arms like a hundred angry insects. He groaned as he tilted his neck back to look up at his hands, squinting at the dim white light that was somehow too bright for his eyes. Heavy duty metal cuffs encased his wrists, attached to a chain that went all the way to the ceiling.
“Good. Very good, Atlas. So responsive. So suggestible,” a silvery voice purred behind him.
Kit froze for a split second before his reflexes kicked in. He snapped his fingers on instinct reaching for the electricity in the air. The faint light dimmed as familiar blue lightning sparked to life and Kit screamed as his entire body jerked in the chains. His body seized, winding tight as his own electricity turned on him, the bolts of his making attacking the nerves in his body, weaponised against him. Kit clenched his teeth, his jaw snapping up as his body was forced to endure. The chains holding him up rattled as Kit fell like dead weight on his wrists once the currents ran its course through his body.
A couple aftershocks jerked Kit’s muscles. He gasped as he sucked in a second cry of pain at the strain on his shoulders, trying to alleviate it through haggard breaths.
A cool hand rested on the back of his neck. Kit froze, his muscles in his legs riding out random spasms from the aftershock as Kit forced his legs to stand up straight. His feet slipped as he tried to get his balance, accompanied by a sloshing sound. Kit glanced down to see his feet in a basin of water. His boots and socks taken off and his trousers rolled up to the knees. Kit sucked in a breath, panic overwhelming him as he lifted his dead shoulder to his cheek to ensure his mask was still on his face. He almost wanted to cry when he realised it was.
“You’re not as bright as I heard you were, Atlas,” said that horrible voice behind him. Kit’s heart thundered against his chest, as the hand slinked around Kit’s neck to come and stand in front of him.
It was Omen.
It was… it was Omen.
Kit knew it was Omen, obviously, he just didn’t really want to believe it.
That meant that Omen had actually taken Kit against his will. Taken him and made him forget the way to Omen’s fucking dungeon, and Tempest was still at the fairground. And nobody knew where Kit was, least of all himself and fuck!
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!
“Hey, Atlas. Calm down,” Omen said, his voice so far away. Kit’s head dipped, gasping on air, choking on it, trying to breathe, but his body wouldn’t let him. Instead, he was panting, chest rising too quickly and falling too shallow for him to take in any oxygen. The wool burning in his brain pressed against his skull as if it was trying to explode out his ears, nose and mouth and he couldn’t breathe.
Fuck.
Not in front of Omen.
He was trapped with Omen.
Tears streamed down his face as the realisation settled loud into Kit’s mind.
No one knew where he was.
No one was coming to find him.
He was chained in front of Omen, his… the—
Two cold hands on his cheeks brought Kit back into the present and he gasped. Wide, cyan eyes went to the villain, recoiling as much as his chains would let him which was barely an inch. Omen’s fingers tightened on Kit’s face.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.
Kit gasped, looking into two abyssal eyes, drawn down and down and down into the lightless depths. He wanted to cry as Omen spoke again: “Atlas. Oi, Atlas, Relax.”
Kit’s body obeyed the command. His lungs inflated and forcefully deflated in an even rhythm, forcing Kit to breathe, his muscles unwound from tightness like nuts being loosened from bolts against his will, his mind still screaming at him that this was wrong as his body flooded with the ice coldness that followed Omen’s commands. Kit’s breath didn’t shake, though he felt it should, as he stared at the villain in front of him, another icy sensation flooding his body that Kit knew wasn’t the effects of Omen’s power, but the aftereffects of being in the villain’s presence, fear.
“There we go,” said Omen, grinning, as his thumbs rubbed the tears from Kit’s cheeks. When did he cry? “I knew you were scared of me little hero, but having a panic attack over me? I’m honoured.”
“G-go fuck yourself,” Kit ground out with a shiver. Omen tsked stepping back from Kit, his grin spreading into a horrible smile on his pale red lips. Kit yanked at the chains holding him up and tried to steel his expression into a (hopefully) threatening one. At least when he could breathe properly, he was in a better position to resist, to fight Omen’s will and not to take this lying down.
A panic attack, really Kit? At least that wasn’t the first impression he made on the villain, at least Omen saw Kit’s fight and defiance before he saw him have a minor breakdown. It was a small panic attack, he told himself, just a little one. He ignored the voice in his head that told him it would have been bigger if Omen hadn’t intervened. Nope, Kit avoided that thought, jutting his chin up a little in defiance of his own thoughts that betrayed him.
Omen hummed, a terrible, amused sound that curled Kit’s stomach, tilting his head as he slipped his hands into tailored trouser pockets.
“Hmm, I think you should be nicer to me, Atlas,” Omen said, his smile and happy tone contrasting his words: “If you piss me off, I might just forget to come down here and give you food and water, let you use the bathroom. Keep disrespecting me and I’ll leave you to die in a pool of your own faeces. Understand?”
Kit didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to agree. He didn’t want to do anything other than not be here. Not be standing in front of Omen, the man who ruined his life. Fucking Omen of all people! Forcing his body into a synthetic calm.
Kit licked his lips, asking: “What do you want with me?” He cursed his voice for coming out quiet. Quieter than he’d like to have it be in front of this monster.
Omen’s smile seemed to grow if that was even possible.
“I want to know why you fear me so much,” Omen said, that horrible amusement lacing his curiosity. He didn’t get closer, he gave Kit space, but his eyes. His stare. It felt so invasive.
Too invasive.
“You can just look, can’t you?” Kit snapped, pulling at his chains just to do something. He hated this, standing here and being observed like a prized pig to be slaughtered. Every place Omen’s stare roamed left a trail of invisible cockroaches crawling over Kit’s skin. Omen’s eyes flashed at the emotion, flicking lazily up at the chains then back at Kit.
“You know, Atlas. Taking you was a spur of the moment thing, so I had to prepare all this for you,” Omen said, gesturing to the chains and the water. “To keep you. To hold you. I know Archangel, know how hard he tried to keep you secret from me.”
Kit yanked at his restraints again, a snarl curling his lip back over his teeth. “A secret from you? You think so high of yourself, don’t you Omen? After your last battle everyone thought you retired, so don’t give me this bullshit of you lying in wait to attack the heroes again.”
Kit surprised himself with how angry and threatening he sounded during his little speech, a well of pride bloomed in his chest. Then Omen stepped forward and Kit flinched. He cursed himself for it as Omen let out a dark chuckle.
“I don’t think I’ll get used to that. That raw, primal fear— like I’m the most repulsive person to ever live.”
“You’re a villain,” is all Kit said in reply, cursing the croak in his voice.
Omen cocked an eyebrow. “You flinch at every villain? Then you don’t have the stomach for the job, heroling. Sorry to be the one to tell you.”
Kit’s hands balled into fists above his head as Omen took another step closer. Kit forced himself to stay still.
“What’s with this stupid game of cat and mouse, huh?!” Kit demanded, leaning forward slightly. If Omen wanted to close the gap to intimidate Kit, why shouldn’t he do the same? “You can read minds. Just take all the information you want and leave me alone!”
Omen grinned. His eyes drilling into Kit’s. Kit suddenly became very aware of his body, his blood drumming a death knell in his ears as the villain said nothing. He just stared. That penetrating, skin-crawling stare. Kit felt himself drawn to the depths beneath onyx eyes that seemed bright even in the dimness of the room. His gut twisted with dread as he seemed to be locked into the villain’s eyes, wanting desperately to escape, to look away, but his body wouldn’t obey him.
“Here’s the thing, Atlas. I know you’re new on the hero/villain scene so I’m willing to go easy on you,” said Omen casually, finally breaking the thrall of his stare. He shrugged a shoulder as he walked around Kit’s left, past his line of sight. Kit tried to turn, but his body wouldn’t move far enough, no matter how hard he tried. He let out a huff as he was forced to stare ahead as Omen continued.
“I’ll tell you why I won’t take your source of fear from your beautiful, terrified mind. It’s because—” A hand went to the back of Kit’s neck, fingers lacing through his hair and yanking his head back. He cried out as he found Omen’s cold eyes staring down at him. “—you protest too much. Clearly, that’s part of why I’m so terrifying to you, isn’t it? You want it to be easy like it was with Noble. You want me to twist your mind until you can barely see straight.”
Kit tried to yank his head free but hissed as Omen wrenched him back further. His shoulders screaming at him to stop struggling.
“I’m not going to do that, Atlas. You’re going to tell me why you’re afraid, and I’m going to be there. Watching every micro expression on your face as you do. Maybe there’ll even be some more of your delicious tears…maybe not.”
Omen wrapped a hand around Kit’s throat, grinning as he felt the hero swallow under his palm. He tightened his fingers ever so slightly.
Kit loosed a breath, going impossibly still in his chains. Playing dead. Playing possum, hoping Omen wouldn’t kill him. Not like this. Not like this. And as if on cue, Omen’s fingers tightened until Kit’s common sense was replaced with a wave of sudden, blinding fear. Logic left him in a flood of panic, incapacitating as Omen cut off his air.
He couldn’t breathe.
Oh god… he couldn’t breathe.
No! No, he had to remain calm, the villain didn’t want him dead. He was testing him, but… fuck, Kit couldn’t breathe! No, stay calm.
Omen stared down above him drinking in every pathetic struggle. Kit’s arms flailing in the chains, his feet slipping in the water below, every effort in his body to try and get a sliver of air into his lungs. Darkness encroached on Kit’s vision as he struggled, a vignette of consciousness threatening to take him blissfully into oblivion of sleep.
No! He had to stay awake; he had to remain calm… he had to… he had to breathe!
“Listen to those sounds you make, Atlas,” Omen said, his silvery voice the only solid thing Kit could hold as he desperately thrashed in Omen’s grip. Omen watched, basked, waited until he saw the electric blue flash through Kit’s eyes. He waited a beat longer before seeing Kit’s resolve settle.
Omen let go at the last second.
The exact moment that Kit’s power took over in his panic and his body erupted in crackles of cobalt lightning that coursed through his veins, and he screamed. Every fibre of his being erupted in flames as electricity burned through his nerves, tearing them to shreds and leaving only pain in its wake. His jaw clenched so hard Kit thought his teeth would break from the force; his neck stretched at an awkward angle as he twitched unable to correct it. His muscles riding out the body-locking shocks of his own power, his ability that betrayed his body, his mind going white with static as he spasmed. Black encroached further on his vision as his body seized against his restraints.
A normal person in Kit’s circumstance would be dead by now. In a basin of water, his wrists trapped in metal above him… it turned his body into a perfect conductor. Omen may as well have put Kit in an electric chair.
He should be dead, but his ability, stemmed from a sensitivity to electric currents rippling through the air, gave him a robustness to electricity. He thought that meant he could withstand electric currents passing through his body easily.
That was until now.
Until Omen used Tempest against him.
Until he nearly burnt himself unconscious not a few seconds ago.
He should be dead. That’s the first thought that cut through the fog following his currents leaving him limp.
Now, he just hung lifeless in his chains. His feet slipped and so his toes were the only part of him on the floor; his knees bent from exhaustion. His entire body weight rested heavily on his toes and wrists. He didn’t have the strength to pull himself up. Omen walked around Kit at some point during his second taste of his own power and dipped his head, so he was eye level with the hero.
Kit didn’t have the energy to move his head as Omen took his chin in his cold grip, tilting Kit’s head to meet Omen’s black eyes.
“See? All this effort to try and escape me out of your delicious fear. Why in the world would I just take what I want when you’ll destroy yourself not to give it to me?”
Kit wanted to reply. He wanted to tell Omen to fuck off, but his body refused, finally allowing Kit a respite as the darkness around his edges flooded his vision, and he was dragged blissfully into unconsciousness.
***
Continued here
I learned today that ceased and seized are not interchangeable words, don’t worry guys, I love english, mmhm… it’s fine okay?! english is hard
ANYWAYS CONSISTENCY?! ON THIS BLOG?! TWO PARTS IN TWO WEEKS?!?! DO NOT GET USED TO IT, OH MY GOD I AM BEYOND SHOCKED TOO, let’s all enjoy this for what it is and not make any expectations for the future, alright?! Great B) hope you enjoyed it :)
Tag-list {lmk if you wanna be added/removed}: @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts
whump idea: telepath whumper, leading to a whumpee who is not only punished for their words and actions but also for their thoughts. possibilities for whump with this are numerous, and so are the possibilities for after-rescue whump.
feel free to add to this or write something around the idea, but please tag me if you do, I'd love to see what people do with this idea
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
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
He tries not to sleep. Sleep is just a gateway to vivid, horrifying dreams that seem too brightly real, oversaturated with detail compared to his waking hours, which more often than not pass in a bleary smear of weariness. It's gotten so bad Ezra thinks his mind is trying to cope by imagining a dark figure over him when he sleeps. It always disappears in the first smudged, disoriented moment of waking, though, so it can't be real.
He doesn't have time to be anything less than fine. Fern is still weak from nearly dying in the hands of that pasty-faced fucker, and whatever Siena's doing with them to help with their memory seems to be going through a rough patch before it gets better. At least Axel seems to be fine, if a little quieter lately. She's probably just feeling the stress like they all are.
"Hey," he murmurs one morning, shuffling blearily past her to reach for the coffee pot.
It takes Axel, standing at the sink with a half-washed plate dangling from one hand while she stares out the little window over the sink, several moments to respond.
"Oh. Hey," she finally returns as Ezra finishes adding cream and a hefty spoonful of sugar.
"What's up? You seem a little zoned out."
"Oh, nah. I'm fine, just tired."
Ezra sips his coffee in agreement. "Same. Anything I can help with?"
Axel glances out the window again. Outside, Ezra catches a flash of bright hair. Siena's picking cucumbers.
"No, everything's fine," Axel repeats.
Ezra is too tired to catch the distant, repetitive quality the words take on.
brontide for the word prompt thing? (definition is "low rumble of distant thunder")
brontide (n.) - the low rumble of distant thunder
thank you for the prompt, anon!!
cw: memory loss, mind reading
"Ferny," Siena's voice filters warm and too bright through the door. It's summer sunshine, casting its glow across everything it touches, gilding edges gold and then wilted brown. "Open up, sweetie, it's time to work on your memories again."
Fern shoves the book they were reading under their pillow and sits up.
"Can we, would it be okay if we did it later?" they call back, tugging nervously at their sleeves.
They like what they picked today, leggings under a soft long tunic in a lavender so pale it's barely a color at all, more like a cloud than a flower, with thumb holes in the wrists for if they want to put their fingers out but still want the extra protection of sleeves over their palms. Siena's been busy with Axel lately, and Fern thinks they feel... clearer. Steadier. It's hard to tell, since their memory blurs everything into one hazy smear, but they think-- they hope that how they feel now is better than before. There’s a paper in their nightstand which they read every night. They don’t remember writing it, usually, until they read the memory of themself doing so, but when they do it comes back for as long as they hold the paper.
Siena lies.
"Don't you want to get better?" Siena opens the door and crosses the room to perch on the end of the bed.
Fern draws their legs up, folding into a cross-legged tangle and tucking their hands under their ankles. "I, I do, I do want that, I just--"
"Well then let's get to it!" Siena tosses her hair over her shoulder with another too-bright smile. "Hands, Ferny."
Their hands are out, palm-up, before they remember why the command spurs such instinctive, immediate obedience. Siena's fingers close over their own, and with them her shields, and Fern's spark of outrage is smothered by blank grey.
"Let's take a look at that first recognition again," Siena's thought-tone prompts.
She pauses, tugging the glimpse of the book cover they left under their pillow into better clarity.
“Oh, Ferny. A book on repressed memories, isn’t that a little dense for you? You don’t need that book, you have me.”
Fern can’t hide their thoughts from her. The second-hand bookstore, their hesitant query to the clerk, and Ezra’s enthusiastic support loses its warm tinge under the too-bright glare of Siena’s amusement. The memory wilts into faded shame until Siena at last releases it and returns to her original purpose.
The yielding, rubbery texture of their cubby surrounds them, then peels away to the feel of cold steel soaking through their thin scrubs and cold, bony fingers digging into pressure points along their skull.
"This one..."
Siena shouldn't be here, it's wrong, it's not how it happened, but they can't push her out. Fern can't get to this memory without her, they can't find it behind the haze and the drifting, obscuring uncertainty, but they don't want her here when they do get to it, poking and commenting and tainting what should be theirs with her presence.
"This one knew what he was doing." Unwillingly, Fern's memory focuses on the feel of the Path's fingers on their skin. Shields, different than Siena's, press against memory-Fern's mind. Shields on shields on shields, walls slamming shut around Fern, around memory-Fern, around another Fern behind all the others.
Fern trembles. They can't tell which fear is coursing up and down their spine, which lungs are tight with anxiety, theirs or memory-Fern's or both. They can barely breathe. Something feels like it's spinning, maybe the floor or the walls or Fern themself.
Pain spikes through their skull. Siena's breaking something open. She takes her time, pinning them into stillness as surely as the padded restraints held memory-Fern. Tears paint their cheeks, doubled against memory-Fern's older pain. Fern sobs, writhing uselessly against the feeling of things splitting, old scars they don't remember getting tearing open across their mind. Siena's touch lingers, drawing pain out of them with fixated, attentive care.
Something's breaking open.
Siena's breaking something.
Fern feels their chest hitch, terrified. Something's breaking and they can feel a certainty deeper in their bones than memory has ever reached that once it breaks it won't go back.
Something's breaking, and behind it something waits.
"Please," they whisper, perhaps. Their lips are numb.
She doesn’t hear them, or doesn’t care. They can feel, as her shields start to slip a little, how much their hurt fascinates her. She’s not doing this to help them.
“Stop, please...” the words drop like stones to the table, the bed, the floor.
Something’s breaking, something’s coming, and Siena doesn’t care. Their head feels like it’s peeling apart, exposing everything inside to raw, open air, and Siena’s too engrossed in the feeling of it to see what’s coming.
Something breaks, and Fern wails.
Something shatters, and Siena screams.
The thunderclap of something jolting into place breaks Fern’s consciousness under them, and they fall.
