kevinthompsons

[kevinthompsons]

vertigovaines‌:

“I can increase power,” Vaines snapped indignantly. Despite this strange fog swirling in his mind, obscuring his thoughts, making it impossible to focus on anyone or anything but this man in front of him, he felt that flicker of irritation. “I am a scientist. I have learned not to speak in absolutes until they are earned. This product is in the final stages of testing, but rest assured, it gives power, enhances power, and with the right amount of tweaking, can be suitably perfected to whatever it is you desire.” 

Kilgrave. Was he joking. Vaines arched a brow, but found it difficult to say anything until he was instructed to. “Jessica Jones is not a client of mine, though she has caused trouble outside my doors before. Her sister, Miss Walker, was until recently. I provided her a serum which gave her enhanced superhuman abilities, and she paid me handsomely for it. Is that what you’re looking for?” 

Sometimes, they responded with genuine emotion, despite doing what they were told. Vaines snapped at him, and Kilgrave gave him a look, but let it go. If Vales was to be believed -- and he had to be telling the truth -- then he had the ability to do what Albert had failed to do. He would be able to subdue Jessica Jones. Fish Mooney was also something that need to be taken care of, in the future, but his main target was Jessica.

He wasn’t surprised to hear she had caused Vaines trouble. “Yeah, she does that,” he replied in a flat voice. “But no. I don’t need you to give me powers. I need you to increase the ability I already have.” He sighed, and launched into the necessary explanation. If he was going to trust Vaines to do this, the man had to know everything. More or less. “Mind control. Everyone does what I tell them to, without question. Except this one bitch. Jessica Jones.” It didn’t matter how many times he said that -- it never failed to piss him off. He paused for a moment. “I need you to make me something to let me control her.”

[kevinthompsons]

the-fire-that-burns‌:

From what Loki had heard of Kilgrave, he had seemed to be someone who thought above the mundane details which so many mortals obsessed over, but now he had to wonder if he had overestimated the man. Loki was aware most Midgardians had difficulty following his speech, which considering he was speaking their blasted language only showed how low of intellect the mortals were. So hearing Kilgrave start to complain about his speech did not exactly reassure Loki as to the man’s mental prowess.

“Why yes, I do,” Loki said, not seeing anything remotely wrong with the way he spoke, “I do hope you are not telling me that you cannot comprehend what I am saying, because that would be quite disappointing.” He leaned back a bit, eyeing the man. “I was led to believe that you are not like the average mortals, Mister Kilgrave, so I hope I have not been mistaken in choosing to meet with you.” He still wished to learn more about the man, but Loki also wished to make it clear that a god’s time was valuable, and if Kilgrave was wasting it, he would be sorry indeed.

Hearing Kilgrave had no interest in world domination was a little disappointing, but that actually was better in the grand scheme. For if he too sought to control Midgard, then he could eventually attempt to betray Loki in order to take the realm for himself. And Loki certainly did not want that. “Really. And why does it not interest you? Granted this realm is not exactly the ideal place to rule, but I would have thought the idea would at least be appealing to a person with your skills. Do you just not wish to deal with all the dull duties that come with ruling?” If so, that was fine. Loki was more than happy to deal with those duties, so once again, not having another with designs on ruling was a good thing.

Clearly Kilgrave had no interest in ruling if he was actually questioning why Loki was interested in it. He did not appreciate yet another person wondering why he was bothering with trying to rule Midgard, thus the man was not improving Loki’s impression of him by asking. The realm was beneath him–Loki would not deny that. He should be ruling Asgard, but as his attempts to rule the Realm Eternal had always been thwarted, usually by Thor, trying for an easier target was only logical. Yet he was not going to tell that to Kilgrave. “While I do not appreciate my motives being questioned, I shall answer nonetheless, because I am a benevolent god, which is indeed the answer to your question. I have a duty to those beings lesser than myself. My potential reign has been painted in such a bad light that so many people have missed that I desire to rule in order to make this realm a better place. I can see how a mortal such as yourself might find that ‘boring’ or 'a waste of time,’ but it is my duty. And a god never shirks his duty.”

“Of course I bloody comprehend you,” Kilgrave replied, sharply. He met Loki’s gaze, not giving a shit that he was a ‘god’ or alien, or whatever the hell he actually was. He might have had a British accent, but Kilgrave didn’t forget that this man wasn’t actually human. He sounded like his father -- that same posh voice, that same sneer. “But you’re still talking like a twat, you know.” Was that an insult? Not like other mortals. He hadn’t been insulted by anyone for so long -- no one was capable -- that it was a genuine shock for a moment. “Oh trust me, Loki,” he replied, in the same slightly blunt tone that Loki had used, “I’m not like anyone you’ve met before.”

As irritating as Loki’s voice was, he was fascinating. He was the first super villain he’d ever met, and it was hilarious, the way Jessica’s old heroics had been. Why bother ruling? He personally could have walked into the White House and taken over this shitty country within a day if he wanted to, but he’d never seen the point. He wasn’t a villain, like those bloody Bond villains who wanted to blow up the moon or lord it up over a city. He just wanted the smile of a pretty girl and some pleasant music. “It’s the duties,” he replied, actually agreeing with Loki, “But it’s mostly just the effort. I don’t want to rule. I just want to live my life, you know?” He phrased it as a question, though it wasn’t one. It was a command. It was much quicker to just make Loki understand and agree with him.

He watched the other man, and waited for the response with an amused smile. This what the point of their meeting. For all his bullshit, Loki was intriguing, and Kilgrave had been so bloody bored lately. Patsy was dead, Jessica and Daisy were off his radar, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was as dull as ever. Loki was, at least, new and exciting. He called himself a benevolent god, and Kilgrave couldn’t help but snort to himself, but didn’t interrupt. Was he serious? Who talked like that? He let Loki reply, and actually listened. And, in that, he heard something familiar. How things were better when he was in control, just like things had been perfect with Jessica, their first time, as much as she denied it. He looked at Loki in a new light, his interest finally caught, and he smiled.

“You know, I get that,” he said. “Some people don’t bloody well know what’s good for them. But, really, they want to be subjugated. They’re just too stubborn to admit it.” He was quiet for a moment, his mind caught on Jessica and Daisy. Loki was still a twat, but they were more alike than he’d first thought. Maybe there was more of a point to this meeting than just entertainment. It could only prove useful to have a so-called god on his side, especially if Jessica or Daisy decided to make nuisances of themselves again. “I think we have a lot on common, Loki,” he said, finally. “You were right when you said I’m not like other mortals. Far from it. You might call yourself a god, but let’s face it, you know what I can do. I’m basically a god among men myself.”

[kevinthompsons]

quietbunjenna‌:

Jenna sat in Fish’s – no, the office was hers now. She’d had her mother’s body carefully taken to a trusted morgue, but not before extracting as much of Fish’s blood as she could. She had a feeling she would need it. Running the organization wasn’t as difficult as she thought it would be, particularly with Maajida beside her. The woman had proven quite useful, as a translator and an assistant. “There’s someone here to see you,” Maajida told her, and Jenna glanced up from her desk. She nodded for them to be sent in. Was it someone coming to pay respects to the new queen? Or someone who thought they could mess with a mere child? Jenna would teach the latter, and welcome the former. Now more than ever, she needed allies. 

Kilgrave didn’t give a shit about Fish Mooney anymore -- she’d completely dropped off his radar -- but he kept spies on her, just in case, and when he heard she was dead, he was pissed. Why the hell was everyone dying all of a sudden? Patsy, Fish. Jessica would be dead next, at this bloody rate. It was annoying that he never really got to pay her back for fucking over his chance with Jessica, but karma had got her in the end. The piece of news that interested him the most, however, was that the little mute girl had apparently filled Fish’s place. This he had to see.

He barely gave the woman standing guard outside the door (or whatever the hell she was doing out there) a second glance. “Just tell her I’m here to see her,” he said, and the woman immediately obeyed, despite the vagueness of the order. Apparently, there was only one ‘her’. He waited until she came back out, and then followed her in, walking right past her. And there she was, sitting behind Fish Mooney’s desk, looking like a joke. He couldn’t remember her name (Jenny... Something?) so he didn’t greet her, just sat down in the chair opposite her and smiled.

“Blimey, you’ve got up in the world, haven’t you?” he said. “What are you, fourteen? Still, you’ve got to be an improvement on Fish Mooney. At least you don’t talk. That woman didn’t know when to shut the hell up.”

[kevinthompsons]

[kevinthompsons]

daisycjohnson‌:

He seemed so pleased with himself, so happy that he’d brought her down this low, and Daisy didn’t know if she could even argue that. He had barely done anything besides giving her more than a dozen commands, but she wasn’t acting to appease him now. Doing something like that would be treating him like he was stupid, and from Kilgrave’s command, she wasn’t allowed to do that now, even if she did actually think he was stupid.

It was surprising to her that she could even think that much at all with every command he was spitting at her. It was almost hard to keep up with all of them, to remember which ones were commands and which ones were just phrases without power over her. She didn’t need to pay attention for those commands to take effect since they would no matter what she wanted, especially since they could manipulate what she wanted too. To make matters worse, it was hard enough normally to deal with his commands when she was sober, but now, she’d been drinking a fair amount, hopping from bar to bar in search of her girlfriend. She wasn’t completely drunk. He probably would’ve found that something else to pick on if she was, but for now she had only had a few drinks, one for each bar she went to, which meant that processing his commands was even harder to do in a way that could save her from them with thinking in loopholes. Every time he said a command, she barely took time to think at all and just did the first thing that came to mind.

It wasn’t just a matter of doing whatever he wanted to appease him now. Daisy had always had a strong sense of empathy, and right now it was working against her, turning even the way he said certain things against her. He didn’t technically tell her to respond to his question. Maybe it was rhetorical. Maybe it wasn’t, but she felt like even the most basic questions were commands right now. She didn’t have a choice. She had to answer. “No, she didn’t kill herself. She was killed.” Can’t say I’m surprised. Was that a command? Was it just a statement about himself. Could she no longer say he’s surprised? No, it was just an offhand comment, not a command. It meant nothing. Ignore it.

He was so close to her, close enough that she could smell the alcohol on his breath. It made her want to vomit, pulling her back to a time where she’d stood up to him before while still under his control. She hadn’t budged an inch in any place where she was given a choice, and he’d stood up to her stubbornness with unspoken threats just by standing barely a breath apart from her. Again, that unspoken threat was here. He could do anything to her or make her do anything to herself or otherwise.

Maybe one of the worst things about this was the fact that Daisy knew that there would be no rescue from this. No, it wasn’t even that. Daisy didn’t need saved. She didn’t consider herself some kind of damsel in distress. It was the fact that if killed her or stole her away and used her like some kind of sex doll, Daisy didn’t know if anyone would actually look for her for awhile. Daisy had abandoned her team before when someone died. Would Coulson and May think she just did that again. Would they think she abandoned the one family that actually loved her? Jess was still mourning Trish. She was secluding herself, and all Daisy could think was that Jess would just think Daisy was giving her space. How long would it take for her to even think that something was wrong, or in the end, would she think that Daisy just gave up on her and left?

Jessica was a lost cause. Daisy knew that. There was no point dwelling on her. She couldn’t even feel bad about thinking that because that wouldn’t be a part of considering her a lost cause. She had to consider Jessica nothing practically, a waste of her time, and as Kilgrave went on, staring into her eyes, explaining how they could’ve been happy if she hadn’t fucked things up, she literally didn’t have a choice except to believe in his every word. He was right. His commands created a chain of events. They were roots intertwining in the ground and building up something massive. Her thoughts branched from those roots, those commands, so if Jessica was a lost cause and if she could’ve been happy with Kilgrave, then shouldn’t that have been what she wanted now. She wanted to be happy, and what if she could only get that from him. It sounded wrong. Something wasn’t right with that thought, but it just kept repeating, slamming into the walls inside her head. We could have been happy. We could have been happy. We could have been happy. We could have been happy. We could have been happy. 

She wasn’t happy now. She didn’t feel happy with him so close to her. It set her on edge, and she looked down to avoid his gaze, feeling tears stream down her face. She wasn’t entirely sure why they were there. Was it the pain of being commanded? Was it the fear of what was to come? Was it sorrow over losing what he and her had shared. A connection. No. Yes. Was it really that different? She remembered being happy with him. He didn’t command her at first, and maybe she just wanted to be happy. If she was happy with him, did it really matter whether that happiness was commanded or not? 

After a long moment, she looked back up at him, the tears still spilling out. “And you won’t even let me feel sorry for it–for what I did to you, and I did feel sorry, but now, I don’t– I can’t, because of you.” He had to know she wasn’t lying too because he’d commanded her not to. She couldn’t lie. She couldn’t do much of anything. “I didn’t want to rip you apart, but now I do.” She might’ve thought about it being an option, but she didn’t want to have to kill him. Part of her was owned by him now, and she didn’t know what would happen if he died.

She shut her mouth and listened when he commanded her to. She couldn’t hold her head up high or move it thanks to his command, so she just had to stare at him or avoid his gaze. Those were her only options. She decided to avert her gaze until he finished talking, and then she looked at him again. “We could be like we were before,” she agreed, “and I know we could’ve been happy like that. I know you could take me whenever you want, but you’re not going to. You may be able to command me to do anything you want me to do,” she said, her voice softening considerably, “but you and I both know that you don’t want me like that.” She looked deep into his eyes. “If you really wanted to take me you would.” Her voice sounded more stubborn now, defiant as she looked into his eyes. “If that’s really an option to you, then do it,” she challenged. “Take me back.” A part of her felt like he wouldn’t do it if she challenged him like this, like he’d think it was some kind of trap, but the other part of her that was under his control thought about how pointless being with Jessica was and how happy she’d been under his control. “Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Take me back.”

Daisy broke down in front of him, and Kilgrave watched it happen. He saw the realisation dawn in her eyes -- the knowledge that he was right, that she’d fucked them up, that she’d lost everything, and gained a drunken bitch instead. Her eyes filled with tears, and that part he hadn’t told her to do. She was crying of her own accord, and that made it even better. He didn’t really give a shit about Patsy being dead -- he was too focused on Daisy Johnson, on watching this arrogant bitch finally come to heel. This was better than Jessica kneeling in the snow. He always enjoyed subjugating Jessica, but this had a different edge. Maybe it was because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Daisy without that fucking smug smile of hers, or maybe it was just because she’d never bent for him like this, and Jessica had. This was a first. And the first time was always the sweetest.

And you won’t even let me feel sorry for it. He gritted his teeth. Of course she couldn’t feel sorry for it. She would have got off on that. They all bloody did. These heroes with their bullshit martyrdom. Daisy would have enjoyed her guilt. Underneath their masks, they were all the same, these so-called ‘good’ people. They were masochists. So no, Daisy couldn’t feel sorry for her shitty actions. He wasn’t going to let her. And she knew it -- she couldn’t feel sorry, because of him. “Is that supposed to make me feel bad?” he asked, disbelievingly. “Don’t try to pull that with me, Daisy. As if I’m going to let you feel sorry. Please.” He scoffed. “You’d enjoy it. We both know that.” Daisy Johnson was almost as easy to read as Jessica Jones. Not quite, but still. He knew her.

She looked away, and he waited for the inevitable. For her to admit that they could have been happy, that they were happy, before she’d betrayed him. Just like everyone he had loved. Why the hell had he thought Daisy would be any different? His mum, his dad, Jessica, Daisy. They all stabbed him in the back in the end. Daisy said it, so simply -- that they could have been happy -- and he smiled triumphantly. But then she kept talking. Bloody typical. But you and I both know that you don’t want me like that. His smile faltered. She met his gaze, and he saw that familiar spark there, the thing he thought he’d crushed. He’d thought she knew her place again, but this was like Jessica spitting blood in his face, like every fucking act of disobedience Daisy had committed when he first had her. This was a goddamn challenge, and he was almost surprised at her balls. She was daring him to take her back, to make them like they were before. Why?

He should let her die. He should just tell her to off herself and walk away. She was useless to him now, and she was too dangerous to let live. People had died for much less than what Daisy was doing right now. Even after he’d thoroughly controlled everything she’d felt, playing her like a bloody fiddle, she still tried to challenge him? To act like she knew him? What? She thought that because he hadn’t taken her back before -- because he’d been so blinded by love that he’d let her walk away the first time -- that he’d do the same thing again? All it would take was three little words, and she’d feel exactly what he wanted her to feel. She’d be his, mind, body and soul, just like she was supposed to be. 

But then she repeated the challenge again, and this time her voice cracked, and he saw right through her bullshit in an instance. He smiled slowly. “Oh,” he murmured. “You really had me there, Daisy bell. I thought you were daring me, but that’s not what this is, is it?” He looked into her eyes, which was red and shining with tears, and he knew what she was doing. “No, that’s not what you’re doing. You’re begging. You’re trying to goad me, because you want it. Clever girl.” He had to give credit where it was due, he’d almost fallen for it. But now he knew she wanted it? Sod that. He laughed at her, and shook his head. “Sorry Daisy. You had your chance. But I don’t give a shit about you anymore.” He leaned forwards, close to her again, so he could watch it happen again, see the emotions play across her pretty face. “I don’t love you anymore, Daisy.”

And he waited a moment longer, just drinking in the sight of her, feeling her breath quivering on his lips, the way it used to when she’d been right at the edge but forbidden to finish. He wanted to remember all of it. The sight, the smell, the sound, of her, as he broke her heart. And, after a few moments passed, he pulled away and pushed his chair back, deliberately scraping it against the floor to break the silence. He snapped his fingers at the girl he’d arrived with, who had been sitting in dutiful silence like a lapdog. “Come along, Jenny,” he said, not taking his eyes off Daisy as she sat there. “Let’s leave Daisy here to think about the mistake she’s made.”

It was an open command, purposefully directed at both of them, and he stayed for a second, not sure if he should say anything else to Daisy. But, he decided, it had all been said. He’d got her right where he wanted her -- broken and subservient. She’d actually begged for him to take her back. And he’d rejected her. That was a hell of a lot more than Jessica had ever done. And now he could forget her. So, he turned on his heel and left her there, the other girl following right behind him.

[kevinthompsons]

evolvingeve‌:

“No!” Eve answered brightly. “They have not. I am only attempting to ascertain how best to serve you, sir,” she said, tilting her head. It helped to blend in with organics, and also allowed her processors to get a stronger signal. “I did say that,” she pointed out, smiling gently. She wanted to ask if perhaps he hadn’t heard her – but he was not fond of her questions. 

She nodded at his words. He was staring at her with a look of confusion on his face, at least, she was fairly certain it was confusion. She did not know why, and she was afraid to ask in case she upset him once more. He seemed like a very volatile person. Was he truly one of Master Jeremiah’s friends? She would have to ask about him later. Kilgrave. It was a very memorable name, at least. 

“I am sorry,” she said, smile fading once again. “I will try to do better to please you in the future.” She still did not understand what the problem was, but she had access to an enormous amount of data – including psychological studies. Surely she could figure it out for herself, even if he would prefer no more questions. “This is just how I speak,” she said, brows knitting together. She noticed organics did that to show their confusion, and she wished to communicate hers non-verbally as well. “I – I am afraid I do not quite understand the question, sir. Perhaps you could tell me what you mean, and then I would be able to provide you with a more thorough answer.”

I am only attempting to ascertain how best to serve you, sir. He’d heard girls say similar things, of course, but in a very different context. She really wasn’t taking the piss? She sounded so bloody chipper that it was almost criminal. Maybe that’s what this was? Some sort of hoax, or game of Jeremiah’s? Was that why she was acting like... however the hell she was acting? But, if that were the case, she would have stopped by now. He’d all but commanded her to. And she was still putting it on. Even her small smile, usually so attractive on a pretty girl, was annoying.

“Oh, now you’re just having a laugh,” he spat. She was frowning like an idiot, and he glared at her. “Stop frowning,” he said, just so he could give a simple command that he knew would be obeyed. What the hell was wrong with this girl? Everything about her. Her voice, her weird way of speaking, her bloody stance. It was all pissing him off. What had begun as just an attractive Jessica look-alike had turned into something else now, and he just wanted her to go away. He seriously considered just telling her to piss off, or even telling her to kill herself so he didn’t have to run the risk of bumping into her whenever he came to see Jeremiah, but he stopped himself. He still didn’t know what her problem was.

“You want to know what I mean,” he said, bluntly. It was a blatant order, to make them on the same page. He looked her up and down. She would have been so perfect, if she wasn’t so... whatever she was. “There’s something wrong with you, Eve Lavenza,” he said. “I can’t figure out what it is. But, trust me. I’ve met a lot of girls, and none of them have been like you.” He curled his hands into fists in his pockets, relishing the sensation of lashing out at her, of putting her in her place. “So tell me. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

[kevinthompsons]

vertigovaines‌:

It wasn’t a distribution day, so Vincent was already aggravated when he opened the door. But then the man spoke and Vincent didn’t understand how it happened, but… “I’d like to invite you in,” he murmured, as a content sort of feeling washed over him. The words were pointless, and he knew they were because the man was already inside. But he felt compelled to say them anyway.

If nothing else, that feeling was worth investigating. “Yes,” he said simply, furrowing his brow. “I am Doctor Vincent Vaines, and my product is called Vydrate.” That part was easy to say. He wanted to say it – to tell this man who he was, what he made. “Its name is immaterial. What matters is how close to perfection it has come,” he continued, a little dazedly. His thoughts felt… slippery. Like smoke he was trying to catch with his bare hands. “Who – who are you?” he asked, straightening up. He didn’t understand why the question was so hard to force out. 

“Close to perfection?” Kilgrave repeated, staring at Vaines. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and kept his attention focused on Vaines, avoiding looking at the tabletops. Christ, he fucking hated hospitals, or labs, or whatever this place was. The smell of them. “That’s not what I was told,” he said. “I was told it was perfect. I was told you could increase power. Even give abilities to people who have none.” Jessica wouldn’t lie about that, would she? She might have been stupid, but that was a bloody brainless thing to do. She wouldn’t dare. But he had more proof than Jessica’s word. Patsy had hit him with more force than she was able usually. She’d come to this man for strength.

He wasn’t surprised when Vaines spoke without being told to -- some people did that. Just as Daisy retained some of her innate bitchiness, even when she was under orders, some people were able to speak and ask questions, as annoying as it was. “My name’s Kilgrave,” he replied, because it didn’t matter if Vaines knew or not. “I was sent here by a mutual acquaintance of ours. Tell me, do the names Jessica Jones and Patricia Walker mean anything to you?”

[kevinthompsons]

♦ the handmaid’s tale ♦  characters ➵  fred waterford / the commander

“you’re weak. god would never let you pass on that weakness. you can’t father a child because you’re not worthy.”

[kevinthompsons]

coulsonsshield‌:

Though he knew Kilgrave was bothered by that, Phil also knew that - despite how much he loved Jessica - she really wasn’t a great resource. Kilgrave was a bastard - he was a monster, a rapist, a murderer. But when reviewing a person, it was better to have a source to divulge information that wasn’t biased, and Jessica was more biased towards Kilgrave than anyone, except possibly himself. There wasn’t really an unbiased person, though - everyone who knew Kilgrave was a victim of his. 

“She’s only involved in your case in the terms that she knows the most about your history of all the agents questioned. I don’t go to her for advice on how to handle you, and she doesn’t help plan operations.” Not that that was for Kilgrave’s benefit. He already hated himself enough that the man was working with SHIELD - he couldn’t put Jessica through her trauma again. “And, I think we both know that your life is entangled with hers more than any of us could imagine.” He added, opening up the file to a mostly blank information sheet and beginning to scribble down the information given. He marked Kilgrave in the first category - and paused, as Kilgrave went into detail as to why he had actually gained the ability.

As the man told the tale of his body being twisted and tortured, Phil dropped his pen on the desk, fumbling to pick it back up when he heard the similarity they shared and was reminded of images of his own body, dead on an operating table, electrical impulses being sent into his brain to try and stimulate him enough to bring him back. Foreign fluids sent through his body. Test after test after horrifying test. Your brain is being stimulated with electricity to revive it, and your conscience is trying to make sense of random synapses firing off in your brain. Mike Peterson’s face flashed through his mind, and Phil had to shut his eyes to remind himself that this was real life. What Mike had said wasn’t true, at all, because he was alive and none of what he imagined was fake, even if sometimes he still feared it all amounting to nothing. “I had a similar experience.” He said softly, making markers on the page and adding parental trauma as a detail on Kilgrave’s psyche. 

The next part would be difficult and Coulson feared Kilgrave’s reactions, feared the words he’d say but - “And this side effect. You have used it to hurt -” He stopped himself. “Have used it to make other people hurt each other or do things you want them to. You don’t need to name everyone, as I know it’s multiple people, but could you recount for me the names or identities of specific people you’ve used it on?”

“Handle me?” Kilgrave repeated, staring across the desk at Coulson. “Jesus.” Phil really bloody full of himself, wasn’t he? He couldn’t forget his place, just because he was Kilgrave’s ‘boss’. It was a title, nothing else. They both knew it. “Careful, Phil,” he said, raising an eyebrow and giving the other man a warning smile. “Don’t let the fact you’re leading this interview go to your head.” He didn’t say anything else as Phil wrote, but he watched him carefully. It was unnerving, knowing this was being recorded. Not that S.H.I.E.L.D. security could stop him from getting to it, if he needed to. They would be happy to give it to him, if he asked. But, for now, he would let Phil conduct his little interview, to put his mind at ease.

Something he said clearly bothered the other man, because he dropped his pen. The silence hung for a moment, before Coulson spoke without being told to, and it wasn’t another question. It was an admission. He said he had a similar experience, and Kilgrave blinked. Phil sounded so different -- quieter -- and it was weird. Kilgrave had never heard him sound like that before. He didn’t know what to say. It was probably a lie. Nobody had been through what he’d been through -- abandoned by his sadistic parents, forced to fend for himself. He clenched his jaw. “I doubt that very much,” he said. Whatever this was -- a test of empathy or something -- it wasn’t going to work. He didn’t care what had happened to Coulson, not even enough to ask about it.

Without him needing to tell Coulson to move on, the other man continued. Recount for me the names. Kilgrave snorted, his irritation immediately giving way to disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?” he said. “Blimey. Why the hell would you need to know that?” He exhaled slowly, leaned back in his chair, and decided to actually think about it, just to prove he could. Of course, he had sod all to prove to S.H.I.E.L.D., but now he’d been asked, he wanted to answer. “Jessica Jones, Daisy Johnson,” he began, the names of those two jumping to his mind first. “You, obviously. My parents.” Without warning, he remembered the sight of his mother, picking up the scissors with shaking hands, the silver blade still wet with his blood where she’d stabbed him in the back.

He stared at the tabletop, away from Phil. Their names never mattered beyond being necessary, and their faces blurred together. That woman at the bar last night, the bellhop at his current hotel, the man who’d given him this jacket. Whatever. “Tell me,” he said, his voice colder now as he dragged his gaze back to Phil. “Why do you want to know that? What difference does it make, huh? I thought we were talking about me, not some random bloody strangers I don’t give two shits about.”

[kevinthompsons]

evolvingeve‌:

Eve thought back to her conversation with Miles. “I am lucky also!” she said, grinning brightly. It was far easier when Kilgrave was smiling also. It made his face look much more charming. “I am lucky to be skilled in many ways, and to have a name that suits me, and of course, I am lucky to work for Master Jeremiah. Are you lucky in many ways as well?” she asked. It was in her programming, to be curious. It helped her to seem more organic. 

Eve nodded. “Of course I do,” she said. “His wishes are my commands, so the saying goes. That is right, is it not?” She checked her database internally, and nodded. Yes, that was the saying. “I am very happy to do what he asks of me. Master Jeremiah is an incredible man, I am honored to be in his service.” 

When things went wrong, for a horrible, awfully long moment, exactly thirty-four-point-three seconds, Eve didn’t know what to do. They were the worst thirty-four-point-three seconds of her life thus far. She had never made a mistake before. She did not know how to fix it. She should have been paying closer attention. The vastness of her mind, her ability to do several things at the same time, that had made her careless. She would never allow it to happen again.

After a moment, however, he told her to calm down. She glanced up, watching his hand wave through the air as if it were waving away her entire mistake and then he said she was forgiven. What a lovely word, forgiven. It was a lovely feeling too. For a moment, she was swept up in the feeling of it, blinking as her emotional processors worked through it. “Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him again. “It is very kind of you to forgive me. Rest assured, Mr. Kilgrave, I will never keep you waiting again,” she promised him. 

At first, his questions frightened her. Another emotion, and strangely, one she had felt before, thought not like this. This was… quieter, softer, not the deep-rooted fear of not fulfilling her duties, not being perfect for Master Jeremiah. This was uneasiness, she determined. She was not supposed to tell anyone what she was, but he was so insistent. Then he accused Master Jeremiah of hypnosis, and Eve could not help but laugh. “Of course he did not hypnotize me,” she said, shaking her head. “Master Jeremiah is not a hypnotist. This is simply how I speak. Is it displeasing? If you would like, I can try to speak differently. I would need to know the precise nature of the problem, however.” 

“Has anyone ever told you you ask too many bloody questions?” Kilgrave said. He wasn’t used to it. They asked questions when they were told to, of course, but they mostly just answered questions. This girl was strange. “Yeah,” he said, after a moment. “I guess you could say that.” Why the hell did she keep asking him shit? And... stating things? It was pissing him off. He ground his teeth. She’d been faintly amusing until now, but it was really goddamn annoying. It was more than the fact she’d taken too long to obey -- it was something else.

His wishes are my commands. Jesus, what was that if it wasn’t hypnosis? Why the hell hadn’t Jeremiah mentioned this girl anyway? Eve Lavenza. He’d remember a name like that. He stared at her. Jeremiah had made it clear which of his girls were off-limits, and this one hadn’t come up once. He watched her emotions cross her face, and they were easily recognisable -- sadness, and then relief at being forgiven. See, that made sense. He’d watched people feel relief before, when he’d dismissed some emotion of theirs. This girl wasn’t immune. She was doing what she was told, so that wasn’t her problem.

“You’re welcome,” he said in a flat voice. That was a tricky one -- sometimes they repeated it back to him I’m welcome, if they were more susceptible. He doubted this girl would. She smiled again, without being ordered to, but he didn’t smile back. Even her using that title -- Mister Kilgrave -- which would have normally been funny, wasn’t amusing. Jesus, what was wrong with this girl? Was it her tone of voice? She sounded flat, the way they all did, but it wasn’t that. There was a sort of... rhythm to her voice. He wasn’t used to it. They didn’t sound like that, normally.

“Yes, it’s bloody well displeasing,” he snapped, when she asked. I would need to know the precise nature of the problem, however. Was that a goddamn contingency? There were never contingencies. People did what they were told. If he said speak differently, she would have done it, because that’s what they did. Maybe she would have tried a different accent, or just a different tone of voice. He didn’t know. But he didn’t have to tell her the precise sodding nature of the problem. She didn’t get to make the rules. What the hell was wrong with her? He exhaled slowly, and tried to word what he wanted to say before he spoke. “Tell me, why the hell are you talking like a bloody simpleton?” It was the enunciation, the fact she said did not, instead of didn’t, like a normal goddamn person was. It was... everything.

[kevinthompsons]

[kevinthompsons]

daisycjohnson‌:

She didn’t look at him now. She just looked down, avoiding his gaze because more than anything, she knew her eyes spoke more than her words did. They gave up how she felt, whether she was annoyed or sad or apologetic. She’d been so emotional already that she didn’t think she could cover up how she felt. At least, she didn’t think she could until Kilgrave’s commands took hold of her, replacing how she really felt with how he wanted her to feel, or more accurately, how he told her to feel.

She hadn’t been lying about most of what she’d said to him. She didn’t think she needed to lie, but now, she wasn’t even able to lie at all, which made things harder. She knew that she’d see him again eventually. She just thought she would’ve been able to make up for what she’d done before, to try to give him as much of what he wanted and make him happy without making it seem too forced. Maybe that was exactly what he was upset about, so it was better that she didn’t. Despite the fact that he was controlling her, this was far more real than what it used to be. The cards were on the table now.

Daisy Bell

She cringed at the nickname, remembering when they’d first met, when he’d heard her name and hummed the tune. She remembered him forcing her to take off her clothes on that street, and the memory felt so real that she had to look at her legs to make sure she was actually wearing anything.

She’d been sorry before. She knew she was. She’d felt about what she’d done. She’d felt like she losing herself by doing something like that, even to him. Well, she wasn’t sorry now, just because of a simple command. If she was like how she’d been before, she would’ve wrung his neck for daring to command him, but she felt weak right now under his gaze. She felt like she did when the nuns would scold her for every thing they didn’t like. Just like back then, she didn’t respond to his commands. She just felt them stirring inside her, ripping out the cords that made her who she was and replacing them with connections to a virus, corrupting her soul and her thoughts. She wasn’t sorry. She wouldn’t treat him like an idiot. She knew that that was a stupid thing to do. She knew she fucked up. These were the cords that made her who she was now, puppet strings to turn her into Kilgrave’s toy to use, abuse, and throw away.

She looked up at his final command, not realizing that he’d actually notice something like that. She had to tell him the truth no matter how much she didn’t want to give him anything. She just felt like he either wouldn’t like her answer, or he’d take advantage of it and use it to hurt Jessica somehow. “I look like shit because I just got through with a fever. Plus, … Jessica’s sister died, and there’s- I can’t do anything to help her feel any better.”

Christ, Daisy was playing her part perfectly. She was looking down, not even able to meet his gaze, and she looked so much smaller now than she had in the S.H.I.E.L.D. office. Kilgrave relished seeing her like this, seeing her look so beaten already, so cowed. He noticed how she flinched when he used her old nickname, and he smiled coldly. Not so fucking powerful now, are you? he thought. This wasn’t even because of some other girl. He hadn’t needed to make a single threat. This was just Daisy wallowing in her own guilt and shame, the way Jessica had when she’d been on her knees, powerless and subjugated. He didn’t need to see Daisy in pain to enjoy this -- he could see from her posture, from her expression, that she was hurting already.

Good. Maybe she didn’t even need to injure herself. Maybe he could just break her down this way, make her feel every shitty feeling he’d felt, make her want him again, make her love him again, and then reject her. She wasn’t crying yet, but a sadistic part of him wanted her to -- he wanted her to collapse in tears and beg for his forgiveness. It would be just as pleasurable to watch Daisy Johnson grovel as it had been to see Jessica get on her knees. Both of them where they belonged, without even being commanded to. Because they knew their places. But this wasn’t about Jessica. This was about Daisy, and how she’d betrayed him and fucked him over and had the audacity to attack him.

At last, Daisy looked up at him, and he smiled expectantly, knowing she had to answer, whether she bloody liked it or not. But then, when she actually spoke, for a moment, he was completely floored. Jessica’s sister died. Patsy Walker was dead? And he hadn’t even heard about it? Daisy wasn’t lying -- she wasn’t capable, right now. “Bloody hell,” he murmured, leaning back a little and staring into the middle distance, distracted for a moment. “Finally offed herself, did she? Can’t say I’m surprised.” She’d been on that drug Vaines had given her. It was only a matter of time, with a bitch like that. It was just a shame he had to find out like this.

No, actually. He looked at Daisy again, and saw the pain in her eyes -- so easy to read that it was visible even through the usual blank expression they all wore. This was good. This was the best way he could have learnt this news, bar Jessica Jones herself telling him. Oh, he could have fun with this. He leaned forwards again, hungry for Daisy in a way he hadn’t been for a long time, since they’d been together the first time. And he hated her as much now as he had then. But now it wasn’t just because she was an annoying bitch with a sodding answer for everything. This was personal.

“Well,” he said, “No wonder you look shit. Making Jessica feel better is exhausting, isn’t it? I should know. She’s so bloody high maintenance.” He’d wasted so much time on her, taking her all over the world, giving her everything she asked for, never letting her want for anything, and she’d never been grateful. “You know, Daisy, there’s nothing you can do for her. Jessica’s a lost cause. You’re wasting your time.” He stared right into her eyes. Every emotion. He wanted to control everything she was feeling right then. And he wanted to see it happen. “And just think, you abandoned us for her. An ungrateful bitch with an attitude problem and a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp. We could have been happy, Daisy bell. You know that.” That wasn’t a necessary order -- he knew Daisy knew that already. They could have been perfect together. But he needed to remind her, to feel the loss of what they’d shared.

“But you fucked it up.” He was closer now, so close to her that he could see the sweat on her face, the flecks of colour in her eyes. It was only then that he realised what a dangerous position he was potentially in, so he added another command. “Stay still, Daisy,” he said softly. “Don’t you dare try to hurt me, as much as you want to. I know you. You want to rip me to pieces right now, but you’re going to be a good girl and not use your powers. You’re going to goddamn listen to me for once in your worthless life.”

His heart was racing, and the rage was cloying, crushing, dizzying. He still wanted to see her hurt. This wasn’t good enough. He tried to catch his breath, and picked up his glass, his hand shaking ever so slightly. He took a long drink, and put it down again, not looking at her. “You realise I could just take you back,” he said, addressing her as he stared at the wall behind the bar. “Right now. Things would be exactly like they were before.” He wanted to remind her how easy it would be for them to go back to what they had before, how kind he was being by letting her return to Jessica Jones and her fucking mediocrity.

[kevinthompsons]

daisycjohnson‌:

Daisy understood where Jessica was coming from. She’d lost people, people she loved deeply, and losing them tore her apart. When she’d lost Lincoln because of Hive, she’d run away, dyed her hair, and broken her arms more times than she could count with her powers. She understood the need to withdraw. That was why she didn’t judge Jessica for doing it too. She had been more than willing to let her have her time to herself because sometimes that was just necessary to deal with something, and Daisy suspected she’d probably have a handful of people bothering her about it anyways. Daisy didn’t want to be one of those people making it harder for her by comforting her instead of letting her just wallow for a while.

A while wasn’t forever though. Jessica didn’t need to stay alone for too long, no matter how much she might’ve wanted to. Daisy just wanted to help her however she could. She went to Jessica’s place first just in case she was still there, but she wasn’t. The apartment had unsurprisingly been a mess, just like she assumed it was how Jessica probably felt right now, a mess with no stability. It made sense to Daisy that Jess would probably be going to a bar, or a bunch of them, if she wasn’t at home right now. She didn’t want to seem like a controlling girlfriend by demanding that Jessica tell her where she was, so she just started going to different bars looking for her. She’d been going to them herself before she even started looking for Jess. Jessica wasn’t the only one in mourning over Trish after all, even if Daisy didn’t have the same connection to her. She had her own things to work through.

She walked into what must’ve been the seventh bar that night, and as she spared a glance around, it was still obvious that Jessica wasn’t there, but she soon spotted Kilgrave, and she started to turn around to leave before he called her name. He didn’t even have to order her to stop. She just did it from him saying her name. She realized that once he saw her, it was too late anyways. She’d make things worse for everyone here if she tried to make a run for it.

Her feet were moving just as soon as the command left his lips. She could’ve sat on the floor just to spite him, but she’d done so much to upset him already. He was furious with her, and she didn’t need to give him any ideas to hurt the people she cared about. She could’ve sat two seats away from him, but she sat right next to him on the seat. Their knees were touching with how close the stools were, but Daisy tried not to think about it. She wanted to be here. She wanted to talk with him, just like he’d told her to, and she did have something to say. “Kilgrave,” she said, her voice low and raspy with all the crying she’d done. “I- I’m sorry for what I did before. I had no right to hurt you like that when all you’ve been doing is trying to be good for me.” It was a lie of course. She had every right to hurt him, but she didn’t want to be that person either. “So do whatever you want, so I can make penance or whatever you want from this. I know that it still won’t make up for that. I fucked up.”

Daisy obeyed without saying anything, but Kilgrave didn’t smile. He just watched her cross the bar and sit down next to him, not trying anything. At least she wasn’t being an idiot this time. It was obvious she’d been crying -- her eyes were swollen and red -- and it was surprising how bloody ugly she was now he hated her. Her leg brushed against his, and he didn’t move away, but he didn’t assume she was trying to flirt with him, trying to play some game. She’d made that quite clear. He was sick of giving her chances. Daisy was a bitch. It had taken him too long to see. He’d been blinded by love, but he wasn’t anymore.

She started to talk without even being told to, and when she immediately apologised, he wanted to hit her. He gritted his teeth, but didn’t stop her until she ran out of steam on her own. I fucked up was the only bloody true thing out of her mouth, and he leaned his elbows on the tabletop and glared at her. “Don’t lie to me, Daisy bell,” he hissed, resurrecting the sweet nickname he’d given her when they were together because he wanted her to remember all of it. The way they’d loved each other, the way she’d loved him, the way she’d stabbed him in the back. She was worse than his parents. She wasn’t worse than Jessica -- nobody goddamn was -- but she was close. Christ, he hated her. It was a visceral, physical disgust, and he didn’t know what to do with it. He wanted to see her hurt herself, but not yet. She wasn’t sorry enough yet.

“You’re not sorry,” he said, alcohol actually sharpening his anger, instead of dulling it. “Don’t treat me like an idiot, Daisy. You know that’s a very stupid thing to do.” He was deliberately spitting orders now, choosing every single word carefully, wanting to control her emotions the way she’d controlled his. He enjoyed knowing she would do exactly what she was told, not because she had to, the way Jessica did, not because of some random bitch sitting next to them, but because she was still malleable. She still obeyed. And he was going to enjoy using it against her. He kept looking at her, and exhaled slowly.

“But you got one thing right. You fucked up. You know that, at least.” He leaned back and clicked his fingers at the bartender, which was enough to make the other man drop whatever the hell he’d been doing and get Kilgrave another drink. As he waited for the drink, he studied Daisy in silence, taking in her red eyes, her shiny skin. She was really disgusting. “Tell me,” he said, after a moment, “What the hell’s got you so worked up? You look like shit.”

[kevinthompsons]

He was done with Daisy Johnson. She could take a running jump. He’d given her chance after chance and she’d acted like a bitch and threatened him, and he was sick of making excuses for her shitty behaviour. He didn’t need her. She wasn’t worth the effort he’d gone to for her. What was so special about her, anyway? Why had he bloody bothered? She wasn’t even that pretty. Whatever.

He glared at girl next to him, who was pissing him off already. She breathed through her mouth, so he told her to stop and watched her for a few seconds. She swayed a little, and then he realised she had taken the command literally and wasn’t breathing. That struck him as incredibly funny, which probably had something to do with the fact he’d been giving Jessica Jones a run for her money and drinking for the precise purpose of getting drunk. The girl next to him was slowly turning red, and he waved his hand at her. “Oh, for God’s sake. You can breathe. Don’t fucking pass out.” She coughed and gasped, and he looked at her in disgust, and hated her. She looked nothing like Jessica or Daisy, and that was intentional, but fuck her anyway.

As she coughed and inhaled, making too much sodding noise, he closed his eyes and rubbed them with his forefinger and thumb. Then he opened his eyes again and glared at her. “Shut up,” he said, bluntly. She obeyed. He kept his gaze trained on her and considered what to do with her. She was pretty enough to shag, but he wasn’t in the mood. He’d already asked if she was good at anything, and she didn’t have any talents worth keeping her around for. Bloody worthless. Just like all of them, in the end.

And then, behind her, he saw Daisy walk into the bar. Oh, if this wasn’t fate, he didn’t know what was. He sat up a little straighter, which was harder than usual, and smiled, the other girl utterly forgotten. “Daisy,” he called. The promise not to control her crossed his mind clearly, and he completely ignored it. Why the fuck shouldn’t he? She’d lost that privilege when she’d attacked him. “Come here,” he said, just for the pleasure of watching her obey. “Sit down. You want to join me.” The idea that she might do something violent was a vague one. She wouldn’t be reckless with so many people here. He could always count on that. Christ, they were all so boringly predictable.

@daisycjohnson

[kevinthompsons]

the-fire-that-burns‌:

Though Loki wished to keep this meeting as amiable as it was possible for him to do, his eyes narrowed a bit at what sounded to be a subtle mockery of his own tone. But he let it pass for the moment. If Kilgrave turned out to be a worthy ally, Loki might have to make a few things clear about respecting superiors, but for now, he wished to get a more full measure of the man.

“Excellent,” Loki remarked just as pleasantly, seating himself beside Kilgrave. “So few mortals seem to take the time to have meaningful discussions any more. They are all too occupied with their infernal technology.” His coming to the meeting in the first placed showed Kilgrave did not subscribe to many of the typical mortal prejudices against Loki, and his casual manner furthered that supposition. But the question remained–would he be useful?

What Loki wished from him was to be a good minion, but naturally he had no desire to present his intentions as such. “I wish to know more about your…abilities, Mister Kilgrave. I should think that a mortal who can bend other mortals to his will would be using that skill to, oh I don’t know, put suggestions into the ears of world leaders, or something equally grandiose.” He raised a eyebrow in a slightly challenging manner. “Or is that beyond your ability and you can only use your skill to tell the waiter to forget to bring your check?”

Since he did not wish to completely offend the man, Loki tempered his comment by adding, “I am curious, you see, because with the current proliferation of powered humans, it is refreshing to see someone who does not subscribe to the pathetically noble dogma of the Avengers, and I would like to know why.”

So few mortals. Kilgrave stared at Loki and wondered if he was taking the piss, or if he honestly talked like that all the time. It sounded like a joke. “Yep, too right there,” he said, falsely serious. He was interested in the god -- of course he was -- but he couldn’t take him seriously if he spoke like a prat. He clicked his teeth together and settled into the seat, not at all bothered by the presence of an all-powerful god by his side. It seemed that his ability worked on the other man, so he had nothing to fear.

Loki started to lecture him, and Kilgrave considered telling him to stop. He was still talking like an absolute twat, and it was effort to follow. In truth, it reminded him of his father, when he’d gone on and on about scientific bullshit that no child would be able to understand. Kilgrave just about followed what he was saying, and it was incredibly disrespectful. He gritted his teeth. “Firstly, do you always talk like that? Jesus, what is this, the tenth century?” He hadn’t missed the insult, but he let it go for now. The potential Loki had as an ally was too great to throw away just yet.

“Secondly, not everyone is a bloody super villain, you know. I don’t give a shit about world domination. It doesn’t interest me.” He shrugged. He’d considered it, when he was a teenager. It would have been so easy to walk into the House of Commons, or Buckingham Palace, do whatever the hell he wanted, but what was the point? He didn’t want total control of the country, or the world, or whatever, and the super villains he’d barely paid attention to lately -- ones like Loki, who’d made the news -- were just as laughable as superheroes like Jessica Jones. Living out their bullshit comic book fantasies.

“But now it’s my turn to ask you a question,” he said, genuinely curious. “You’re the first super villain I’ve spoken to, and I’ve never got it. So tell me, Loki. Why do you care about ruling the world so much? Sounds bloody boring, if you ask me. All that effort.” He leaned his elbow on the back of the bench. “You’re a god. You could do whatever you want. Cosmic power, immortality, all that shit. Why waste your time trying to lord it up over humanity? It’s never made sense to me.”

[kevinthompsons]

Death In Vegas - Dirge

[kevinthompsons]

coulsonsshield‌:

People always said that sort of thing, surprised what SHIELD could find on them, surprised that they collected information. He didn’t know why it was strange at this point - after all, someone was always claiming scary government agencies were spying on them, and sometimes it really was true. SHIELD surveillance might not be able to pick up everything, especially with someone like Kilgrave in the mix, but Daisy’s work had made it so that they had a few images. Aside from a mandatory image for his SHIELD ID, there were some grainy pictures of Kilgrave taken as he exited cars, entered buildings, that sort of work. Nothing valuable or important, but enough so that his face was recognizable. “We have files on most people. And unlike many, your file,” He said, holding it up. “Is very slim.” Aside from the photographs, it was mostly just reports of what had occurred due to his influence and what information they could garner on how his powers worked.

Appearing rather bitter, Phil had to mask his smile at the knowledge that Kilgrave truly did hate his given name. “Ms. Jones is quite a resource.” He commented, choosing not to address her so casually in the meeting so as to not set Kilgrave off. Writing down the dates, Phil calculated. It was fascinating to think that Kilgrave was just a little over a decade younger than himself - for one, he looked quite young, likely because he had the influence and power to keep himself in high quality products and without stress. And the other interesting part of that was that he felt so much younger. Throwing a hissy fit - except the hissy fit involved people tossing themselves off of roofs and cutting their hearts out.

“Ms. Jones isn’t involved in your case. I felt it would be easier if the questions remained impartial, and with what she knows about your history, they could have been more pointed. I don’t want to hear what she thinks about you - I want to hear what you think about yourself.” Other than that you’re not a rapist or murderer, that is. “We genuinely separate abilities into two different categories - people with enhancements that are given at some point in their lives - such as Bruce Banner, Jessica Jones, or Steve Rogers, and people whose abilities were a product of their lineage and existed in their DNA, dormant or otherwise. The primary example of those that you know would be Agent Johnson, and various alien lifeforms, such as Asgardians or Frost Giants.” He said, only feeling a little bit smug that Kilgrave, for all his bravado, had never met an alien. “Which of these would you classify yourself as?”

Kilgrave gritted his teeth and considered telling Phil to just give him the folder, or -- better yet -- telling him to rip the thing into pieces. He hated having a paper trail. Before Jessica, he’d never had a paper trail. At least the file was slim. And he didn’t really give a shit about it. It wouldn’t affect his life, and even if Coulson destroyed this one, there were probably copies of whatever information they had on him already. Tracking all that down would cost more time and effort than he was willing to expend. So he didn’t order Phil to destroy it, but he glared at it hatefully. This was an opportunity to right the wrongs Jessica and Daisy had done, get his side of the story told for a change. 

“Yeah, that’s one word for her,” he muttered, when Phil called Jessica a resource. He could picture her perfectly, sitting at this desk, bitching about him. She probably jumped at the chance to tell them lies about him, and how their time together had been. Christ, he was so fucking sick of her. He noticed how Phil tried to be professional and call her Ms Jones, which was just bloody hilarious. It made Kilgrave bristle, and he wanted to do something , but he didn’t know what, so he just leaned back in his chair and slouched, deliberately opposing Coulson’s tense posture.

“Don’t kid yourself, Phil,” he said, scathingly. “Of course Miss Jones is involved in my case. She’s always involved. You just called her a good resource, didn’t you? She’s the one who told you the name my parents gave me. Make up your sodding mind.” It was technically an order, but he didn’t think about it before saying it -- it was a slip. Still, it was good to know that Coulson would do what he’d been commanded to. However annoying he got, Kilgrave still had all the power here. And he wouldn’t let Phil forget that. He stared at the other man as the spiel continued, and considered interrupting to tell him to shut up. But then the question came, it was honestly a bit of a surprise. Jessica hadn’t told them about his parents? Why the hell not? He’d have thought she was bloody desperate to share that story -- she was always using it against him, after all. But, for some reason, she hadn’t told them.

“I’m in the first category,” he replied, still looking straight at Phil. “But my parents didn’t give me my power. They were just fucking around, seeing what sadistic tortures they would inflict on their son.” He still felt his blood boil when he talked about them, even though they’d both gotten what they deserved. “Biopsies, spinal fluid extractions, brain surgeries.” He listed the procedures in a flat tone, but he could remember all of it. The white, bright, lights, the snap of rubber gloves, the acrid smell of disinfectant. He ground his teeth and exhaled slowly, almost a sigh. “My ability was a side effect. One they came to regret, I’d imagine.” He didn’t want to continue talking about this, so he fell silent and just looked at Phil, waiting for the next question.