#Creative Kit

[telpelote]

He only gives cloaks to those he really really cares about, Keyleth. Really cares about.

Mid-campaign look with a closeup under the cut :)

[itscolossal]

Are you as obsessed with these embroidery kits as much as we are? Stitch a new friend in the Colossal Shop. 🪡

[potato-jem]

executive producers joe locke and kit connor has a nice ring to it

[leafryoworks]

Some Kaufmo Merch

Close up .

All art used is by @sm-baby . I just used my creativity to make my own Kaufmo standee while using the stickers I have as my background .

[vespidclan]

[MOON 25 PT 3]

NEXT

The Aftermath… and surprise!!!!

This is the most effort I’ve put into a moon thus far. Watch as I never put this much effort ever again lol

[stygiansauce]

Hey gamers! I'm gonna give you an entire lesson on hyphens, Em dashes and En dashes via tumblr, right now.

Lets preface with this: Grammar has two modes of use.

Prescriptive: A set of rules that dictate how a language "should" be used.

Descriptive: How grammar/language is ACTUALLY used.

This is an important distinction for this lesson because I am going to start with a powerpoint that explains the rules/uses of hyphens and dashes. THEN after, we will talk about the rhetorical effects dashes have on readers and how authors can use them to their advantage. COOL lets begin.

The first thing you all need to know about hyphens and dashes is what they look like.

Please note how the EM dash is the longest, the EN is next, then the minus, and the hyphen. The sizing and name of these dashes was historically decided because Em dashes were the size of an M and an En was the size of an N.

This is wonky now considering typing and fonts and all that jazz, but the size still matters (haha).

These are how you type them! I am a google docs user, and the short cuts in docs are weird. You will want to go into Insert then go down to special characters. Type in the dash you need, and click it to insert.

Hyphens so these things! What is a modifier? It's a word that MODIFIES the noun. like a light rain, or a long drive. these are adjectives/adverbs (depending)

Hyphens can link two modifiers. They can also link compound nouns.

These are the things Em dashes do! If you take a gander through Margin of Error (Chapter 4 would be best because that's where I learned the special character function) you'll see all of these examples in action!

En dashes aren't as common as EM dashes or hyphens. These are used strictly in a prescriptive sense. From my knowledge there is no way to use these rhetorically. only for clarity and these are the three times you'll see them.

COOL! Now lets talk about how Em dashes are used rhetorically. What does an Em dash do to your writing? How does it effect a reader?

Emphasis Em dashes create pauses in speech. If I were talking to you and I wanted to pause-- or cut myself off, I could use either an elipses or an Em dash. Where an elipses is more of a trail off... the Em dash draws the readers eye. It makes the reader stop and look at what is around them.

THATS IT! Thats what it does! It's more emphasis than a comma or a parenthetical. You could in theory use a comma, but think of how much stress you want on something.

FOR EXAMPLE, in this line from Margin of Error.

With no Puncuation: “Ah well Grian and I weren’t really getting along at the time…” He trails off in a way that screams I’m done talking about this something he does a lot when talking about his family so Tango moves the conversation in a different direction.

With Commas: “Ah, well, Grian and I weren’t really getting along at the time…” He trails off in a way that screams I’m done talking about this, something he does a lot when talking about his family, so Tango moves the conversation in a different direction.

With Em dashes: “Ah—well, Grian and I weren’t really getting along at the time…” He trails off in a way that screams I’m done talking about this—something he does a lot when talking about his family—so Tango moves the conversation in a different direction.

Notice how it's different? The commas certainly do their job at making the reader pause. They help insert the phrase, but its not the same as the dashes. The dashes make the reader LOOK at what is between them. it becomes the focus of the sentence. We are no longer worries about what Jimmy's tone is, but that he uses it often when talkin about his family.

Look at this example with parenthesis too, and see how those change the effect.

With parenthesis: “Ah—well, Grian and I weren’t really getting along at the time…” He trails off in a way that screams I’m done talking about this (something he does a lot when talking about his family) so Tango moves the conversation in a different direction.

Seeeee? it makes a difference! The parenthesis make it more of a passive thought. Something for the reader to consider, but is overall not important to the story. This is why us authors sometimes hem and haw over grammar! I certainly think that Em dashes can be used based off vibes (I do this all the time) but now you know what its really doing for your reader! I want to look at one more example of this before we wrap up.

With no Puncuation: “Your eyes are pretty.” Jimmy says wistfully suddenly like he can’t hold it in any longer

With Commas: “Your eyes are pretty.” Jimmy says wistfully, suddenly, like he can’t hold it in any longer

With Em dashes: “Your eyes are pretty.” Jimmy says wistfully—suddenly—like he can’t hold it in any longer

With Parenthesis: “Your eyes are pretty.” Jimmy says wistfully (suddenly) like he can’t hold it in any longer.

TADA! You can now use hyphens, em dashes and en dashes!!! Thank you for coming to class. Your homework is to play around with these in your writing. I will accpet questions via the Ask box or the comments of this post. Happy writing nerds, go use your new toy.

xoxo Ms. Sauce

[firstelevens]

Dealer's choice, 🃏⚔️🌹 if you'd like!

⚔️ - Hidden Weapons

Just before Jack actually started speaking, he’d figured out that if he touched his hand to something and made an inquisitive little noise, Sam or Bucky would identify it for him. Mornings for the next few days were just a litany of nouns, and it only got more expansive once they started carrying him around the house for the express purpose of reaching more things. Every time they named something for him, Jack's eyes would light up and he would bob his head in a little nod like he'd just been testing them.

Sam is pretty sure that all those educational breakfasts are why Jack's first word (dada) was followed almost immediately by his second through fourth words (cado-poon-papa), the last of which had been growled in frustration because Bucky had been so sidetracked by his delight at Jack’s first word that the spoonful of mashed avocado in his hand hadn’t made it to Jack’s mouth.

He's a quick learner, their son. He masters most of the toys he gets within a few days of getting them, goes from crawling to walking to full on running much faster than either of them is prepared for. He learns Bucky's scowl and the rhythm of Sam's laugh, picks up tunes from songs he's only heard once and hums them to Alpine while she supervises his time in the playpen. Sam didn't realize just how much Jack was observing and absorbing until one night after bath time, when Jack wriggled out of Sam's arms and proceeded to make a round of the front room, tapping each door and the wall below each window after stopping in front of them for a moment, a perfect imitation of Bucky's regular nighttime lock and alarm check.

Still, as observant as Jack is, he's always got about twelve different things in the room that fascinate him, so if a little bit of the spy life does occasionally bleed into Sam and Bucky's domestic life, it's hardly the end of the world. When Bucky busts a knife out of the pocket of his unnecessarily tight jeans just so he can jimmy open the lid of a coffee can at breakfast, Sam gives a cursory glance in Jack's direction, but he's pretty focused on his Cheerios, so Sam doesn't give it a second thought.

Sam doesn't give it a second thought the next day at lunchtime, either, when he hears Bucky say, "Sorry, Jitterbug; I thought I already gave you a spoon." He doesn't think about it it when Jack manages to unlatch the top of one of his toys after he's fit all the shapes through the right holes, or when he plays with his big, safe-for-babies Legos for an hour and sticks a bunch of them together but somehow never asks for help pulling them apart.

He doesn't think about it at all, really, until one day Sam is sprawled out on the couch, his head in Bucky's lap while Bucky reads aloud from the most boring recon report of all time. On the carpet in front of them, Jack plays some kind of game that involves him and Boo the sheep and lots of colorful blocks being jammed into a tiny bucket.

Whatever the game is supposed to be, Jack has worked tirelessly at fitting the blocks into his bucket. When it comes time to empty it, he raises the bucket and turns it upside down like he usually does, but it's too packed and nothing comes out. He shakes the bucket a few times, too, but nothing changes. Sam has to bite his lip to avoid intervening, but he gives Bucky's knee a little poke to catch his attention so neither one of them misses it.

Jack tries to go in with his fingers next, but the blocks are slippery and he can't get a grip on any of them. His little face is starting to look more frustrated now, and Sam is on the verge of asking whether he'd like some help when Jack lets out a classic Bucky Barnes Exasperated Sigh and reaches into the bib of his extremely cute overalls. Sam is prepared to write it off as weird baby behavior, and then he watches Jack extract his favorite Blues Clues spoon from inside his clothes.

("Guess I didn't lose it at the park after all," mutters Bucky, and Sam elbows him quiet, although now he does feel bad for suggesting that that had been the case.)

With a look of concentration on his face, Jack wiggles the spoon between the wall of the bucket and one of the blocks. He works it back and forth a few times, and the block finally springs free, skittering across the floor and landing right in front of the couch. Looking delighted, Jack claps his chubby hands together and lifts the bucket again, turning it inside out and laughing gleefully as all the rest of the blocks fall out.

Then he reaches for his spoon, very carefully turns it over once in his hands--almost like he was imitating someone in his life who always flips his knives before tucking them back into his belt--and then pops the spoon back into his overall bib.

Sam rolls onto his back so that Bucky can see his raised eyebrows more clearly. "This one's your fault," he says. "Hidden weapons and subterfuge are your thing."

Bucky snorts, looking more than a little bit proud as he glances back in Jack's direction. "You say that now, but that makes climbing onto unnecessarily high shit your fault, and I foresee that coming up a lot."

"You're by far the worst husband I've ever had," mumbles Sam, pulling a face at Bucky.

In response, Bucky just boops his nose. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

Sam blows a raspberry at Bucky, mostly because he can, and pushes off the couch, joining Jack on the floor instead. Without hesitation, Bucky follows.

[exilynn]

Every day is like this for us writers and creators, We are fucking warriors creatives but...

Every day like this, dude 🫂😭

I don't know if this shit makes sense with this video, but. Yes, I had to create a meme, this man is simply a walking meme that wins hearts 😆💛

[our-clangen]

When designing cats from the game’s sprites, how close do you design them impose from clangen? Is it accurate or do you get creative? Minus the powers since obviously you need to design them from scratch

I try to keep them as recognizable as possible, always try to keep colors that I picked directly off the sprite

I also do try to keep the most notable shapes off of whatever marking type they have, but like Goldpaw is REALLY simplified because I find the marbled pelt extremely hard to draw

My priorities are Making them recognizable, making them stand out from other cats, AND most importantly, making them easy enough to draw that I don't want to pass out when I look at a ref LOL

Other than the colors though I just think of a cute feature (small ears, inner ear fluff, ear tufts) and put it on a cat lol I don't put as much thought into that, I just add that for the diversity and to change some silhouettes a bit more

[retrocgads]

USA 1993

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (Xiv)

Wake up call

Continued from // Masterpost

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

*~*~*~*~*

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

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

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

6.15 a.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Christopher!”

“My name’s not Christopher, Rosey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kit, I’m getting impatient.”

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

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

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

“Kit—!”

“Bye, Rosey. Have a nice day.”

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

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

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

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

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Towards Ambrose.

Towards Omen.

Towards his tormentor.

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

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

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

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

You crossed my path, Kit.

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

You’re so dramatic.

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

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

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

“Not here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get on your knees.”

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

“You’re a fucking—”

“Bark.”

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

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

“You’re such a dick.”

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

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

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

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

“Show me your electricity,” said Ambrose.

“No,” Kit said.

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

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

“What?” Kit snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, i’ll take your word for it.”

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I went for a run.”

“And how was your run?”

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

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

Kit scoffed and took a sip of his coffee.

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

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

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

Ambrose smiled. “Ecstatic. How is Superhero?”

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

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

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

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

Ambrose hummed. “Look at me, Kit.”

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

“I don’t want—”

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

“Why do you care?!” Kit snarled.

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

“Torturing people, yeah I know.”

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

Kit’s brows furrowed at the villain. Shit.

“Tell me who your mentor is, Kit.”

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

“Because you’re protesting too much.”

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

“Tell me who-”

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

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

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

“Yeah,” said Kit. “I know.”

“Then—”

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

“Mallory, I—”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see you later, Kit.”

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

Mainly: what the hell was that all about?

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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

[abunnsburrow]

so uh- bad news everyone. i've gotten REALLY into sonic. it's bad. so all those who follow me for ninjago- sorry but i do not control the hyperfixation

[ravinoforre]

I've long been inspired by @edgymilkshakeart's Shadow Lugia model repaint and today I finally made my own!

I got this Lugia kit for my birthday a couple months back and figured spray painting this might be easier and quicker than trying to repaint it (or my other Lugia figure) with acrylics. Couldn't really go outside to spray so outside in the apartment building hallway it was.

In the Lab lol ...unfortunately the grey paint was somehow a thicker and goopier consistency than the purple one? So I ended up with this lumpy, peeling tummy part . Ah well.

"have you ever been told that you have... eyes?"

XD001 ready! Keep it away from open seas with large ships sailing by.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

watching all these other anons debate whether charles has the abilities to be in rivals or not and none of them bringing up that he's already been a playable character in a fighting game (mutant academy 2) (obviously not directly comparable gameplay but it's something. also i'm obsessed with his moveset in it)

marvel rivals aint ready for the wheelchair hurricane maneuver i'm afraid

[artern]

a love letter to the pairing

dear ‘the pairing’,

you’re the story i’d thread my fingers through, as you’re sitting comfortably on my lap. the story i’d grin from ear to ear, lay my head on your shoulder. feel the thrum of passion for life, for taking up space and art in my whole being.

you’re the divine intervention in this recharging season.

you’re the story that has enveloped a new galaxy in my vast cosmos.

and as rilke wrote, “how will i keep my soul from touching yours?”

[post-punk-revival]

Partitioned alters and/or parts who see themselves as their own identity over the identity of the host (the latter is more the case with former flickers, which sort of work like non-partitioned fictives sometimes). Switches are often highly dissociative and fronting and most of the system members mentioned here actively see themselves as highly separated from the rest of the system, especially if they are both partitioned and fictional. These are the only headmates who may occasionally come with memory gaps for actual events and actions rather than just emotional amnesia.