#hangover writing

[pa-pa-plasma]

I know the concept of more supernatural/paranormal elements is cool but it will never stop being funny to me that in every series ever, when a ghost shows up the main characters have to do rituals & research the history of the haunted item or house or even whole town & use specific items like salt & incense & talisman to banish the ghost all dramatically & supernaturally, but in Danny Phantom this kid just shows up with nothing but his fists, a thermos, & pent up aggression. put em the fuck UP, you ectoplasmic son of a—

[wynnyfryd]

Robin gloats at him over a stack of smiley face chocolate chip pancakes while a beam of sunlight through the diner window does its best to drill a hole in his head.

Fucking hangovers.

"Never. Drinking. Again," Steve groans around a mouthful of waffle. He rubs at his eyes, heels of his palms pressed gently to the throbbing ache behind his lids; gets a little smudge of syrup on his temple and can't even really be bothered to care.

"I can't believe you did coke," Robin says.

"I can't believe you smoked weed."

"I know."

Steve hesitates for a moment; nibbles a slice of bacon; swallows a sharp piece. He hasn’t tried weed again since... "Was it okay?"

"Yeah," she answers seriously. "Yeah, it was okay. It was nice, actually." Then she perks back up; runs a finger through the whip cream smile on her plate and boops some onto Steve's chin because she's an asshole. "Anyway," she grins with pancake crumbs stuck to her teeth, "it's officially time for you to fess up."

Ugh. Steve slides a glass of water her way, hoping she'll take the hint and swish. "Fess up to what?"

"To me being extremely correct?" She spears another bite of food; gives her fork a victory twirl. "You two are sooo disgustingly into each other."

"Shut up," Steve hisses. He drops his voice to a paranoid whisper, "Also, no, it’s not time to do that because we were only talking about... about him being into me."

"Steve." Robin looks him dead in the eye. Soul searching again; God, he hates that. Makes his armpits feel all sweaty.

He darts his gaze around the room, and Robin lowers her voice to match his volume and leans halfway across the sticky table so he can still hear. "You were literally giggling with your nose two inches from his belt line last night. But whatever you say, Sweetheart."

"Okay, no." Steve wags a finger in her face. "No. Absolutely not, you’re not allowed."

Robin cackles and tilts her fork so the sunbeam hits him right in the eye.

—

this is a cut scene from “i don’t know, you figure it out” and takes place between the end of chapter 6 and the start of chapter 7

[sicktember]

Sicktember 2024 Prompt-Based Resources to Help You Get Started! 💚

**Sicktember 2023 prompt-based resources can be found [Here]

Hangovers

What is a hangover [niaaa.nih.gov]

15 hangover horror stories [buzzfeed.com]

7 ways to cure your hangover [health.harvard.edu]

How to Write a Drunk Character [allwritealright.com]

Over Indulgence

Dealing with Food hangovers [health.usnews.com]

4 Ways to Stop Digestive Discomfort  [michiganmedicine.org]

I Ate Too Much. Now What Do I Do? [osfhealthcare.org]

Is It Possible… Stomach Explode? [popsci.com]

Campus/Con Crud

Crushing the Campus Crud [hercampus.com]

So What is Con Crud  [granitcon.com]

Coming Down With the Crud  [bmhsc.org]

Rogue Organs

What Is Appendicitis? [hopkinsmedicine.org]

Gallbladder Removal [nhs.uk]

Tonsillectomy [mayoclinic.org]

Spleen Problems and Removal [nhs.uk]

Dizziness/Vertigo

Understanding Vertigo [on.bluecross.ca]

Types of Vertigo [acare.abbott.com]

Dizziness vs. Vertigo [cornerstonephsio.com]

Medieval Treatment

Medicine in the Middle Ages [ncbi.nlm.nih.gov]

6 Medieval Medical Practices [guavahealth.com]

Healing Power of Maggots/Leeches (Modern) [mountainview-hospital.com]

When Medicine was Humorous [merryfarmer.wordpress.com]

Mononucleosis

About Mono [cdc.gov]

Mono For Teens [kidshealth.org]

How to Test for Mono [mountsinai.org]

Sick People Food

What People Around the World Eat When Sick [businessinsider.com]

Sick Day Foods Across the Globe  [nyubiteclub.com]

8 Best Foods to Eat When Feeling Sick [forbes.com]

Toxin/Poison

Poisons and Toxins [sciencelearn.org]

Poisoning. What The Doctors Do [thedoctorwillseeyounow.com]

Common HouseHold Poisons [cincinnatichildrens.org]

FAQs Carbon Monoxide Poisoning [cdc.gov]

Brain Fog/Spaced Out

What is Brain Fog [everydayhealth.com]

Understanding Brain Fog [henryford.com]

Causes of Zoning Out [verywellhealth.com]

Aches And Pains

What Causes Body Aches When Sick? [uclahealth.org]

5 Tips For Writing About Physical Pain [louiseharnbyproofreader.com]

Hypochondriac tendencies

Illness Anxiety Disorder [my.clevelandclinic.org]

Signs You May be a hypochondriac [centerforanxietydisorders.com]

10 Health Anxiety Myths  [happiful.com]

How To Write Anxiety [writerscookbook.com]

Anaphylactic Response

What is Anaphylaxis  [betterhealth.vic.gov.au]

Anaphylactic Shock: What You Need to Know [healthline.com]

Waiting Rooms

What happens in the emergency department [advocatehealth.com]

Triage and Emergency Assessment  [ncbi.nlm.nih.gov]

Setting Description: Emergency Waiting Room [writershelpingwriters.net]

Summer Flu

Can You Get the Flu in the Summer? [verywellhealth.com]

Leisure Sickness  [avogel.ca]

Catching a Cold When It’s Warm [newsinhealth.nih.gov]

Heart Condition/Cardiac Arrest

Types of Heart Attacks [www.healthline.com]

Common Heart Conditions [summahealth.org]

What Does a Heart Attack Feel Like? [health.clevelandclinic.org]

How to Describe a Heart Attack in a Story [writingtipsoasis.com]

Pulling a Ferris Bueller

Define Pulling a Ferris Bueller [urbandictionary.com]

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off Summary [gradesaver.com]

10 Things Ferris Bueller Taught Us [dailyedge.ie]

A Note From the Mods [Tumblr Post]

Sick While Traveling

Take Steps to Stay Healthy While Traveling [cdc.gov]

Motion Sickness [sciencefocus.com]

How to Remove Vomit From Car Interior [wikihow.com]

Sick on Vacation Tips [apartmenttherapy.com]

Hospital Bed

How to Write a Hospital Scene [writersdigest.com]

Hospital Bed Components & Safety [robsonforensic.com]

9 Way to Help When Someone is Hospitalized [upstate.edu]

First Aid Kit

Make a First Aid Kit [redcross.org]

Travelers First Aid Kit [hopkinsmedicine.org]

Health Plan and First Aid for College [uh.edu]

Flushed Cheeks

Causes of Facial Flushing [verywellhealth.com]

What Can Cause Flushed Skin?  [medicalnewstoday.com]

Doctor's Note

Obtaining a Dr Note for Work [inhersight.com]

How to Get A Dr. Note for School  [solvhealth.com]

[radarsteddybear]

Writing fic set in the past is a constant struggle of "Wait, did that exist yet?" *checks Google* "NOOOOOOOO"

[laswells-ashtray]

Does Nik do anything for John the day after he visits his mother's grave?

The day after visiting his mother's grave John knows he fucked up. The big flashing "you fucked up again, moron" sign presents itself in the form of his head leaning over the toilet as he vomits for the umpteenth time that afternoon. He can see a little blood which means he's been retching hard enough to tear the inside of his throat, again.

Nikolai is being far more gentle than he should be. Instead of treating John like the idiot who fucked up again he's treating him with care. He brought him a glass of water a while ago and John knows there's a plate of crackers with two painkillers next to it on his nightstand.

He spits out another mouthful of bile, leaning back and slumping against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall before the smell leaves him gagging. There are hands on him in an instant, one brushing the sweat-soaked hair from his face as the other wipes around his mouth with a damp cloth.

"Are you done?" Nikolai questions him quietly. He can't bring himself to look in the Russian's direction as he makes a vague noise of acknowledgement. He has no clue and he doesn't feel like moving to test it out.

He can't remember a lot from the previous night and trying only hurts his head more. He went to his mother's grave, he went to a bar and then he woke up and dragged himself into their bathroom to spare Nikolai from watching him vomit on the bedroom floor.

He hasn't been this hungover since he was in his twenties and that morning he woke up on Mac's bathroom floor next to a pool of his own vomit that the Scotsman had been forced to clean. He had never apologised for that incident and he still wouldn't, that was the captain's fault for offering to pay for shots.

The hand that moves his head to the right is far more careful than he deserves. "Do you want to talk about it?" Nikolai's face is deliberately blank and it almost frustrates John. He wants to see the other man lash out at him, call him a stupid wanker and leave him to his suffering. It's the least of what he deserves.

"No. I don't- I can't." John's father would've taken a belt to him for how shaky his voice is, for cutting himself off in the middle of s sentence like that. Nikolai just nods and trails his thumb across John's cheekbone.

He chooses to believe that the reason Nikolai eventually turns his head away is to avoid getting vomit all over their floor and not because he cares but because one is much easier to handle in his current state.

He also chooses to ignore the hand that rubs his back because he isn't sure he can handle crying while hungover as a grown man,

[shitouttabuck]

oh my god nina!!! 8 for the bedsharing prompts if it takes your fancy <33

thank you sweet peach this scratched an itch !!!

bed-sharing prompts: whispering “Oh, you are going to be very embarrassed when you wake up.”

Eddie’s not old—he’s not even 30, despite the near-constant jokes about his senior citizen-isms he seems incapable of shaking. And he wouldn’t even say he’s a man of creature comforts. He just likes familiarity, and routine, and his own goddamn bed.

Quarantine has brought a lot of change: being away from Chris, living in a single-occupancy apartment with three other people, and sharing a bed with all six-foot-two of Evan Buckley.

Currently, this means waking up at some wretched hour and squinting in the moonlight filtering in through half-open blinds, because the aforementioned best friend has stolen Eddie’s pillow from right under his head yet again.

Eddie groans quietly, easing his neck out of the crick it’s cramped in. He glares at the enormous lump snoring serenely beside him and pats the mattress blindly for his pillow. Eyes adjusting to the dark, he’s greeted by the same sight he’s woken to at ungodly hours thrice this month already: Buck with his gigantic thieving arms wrapped happily around Eddie’s goddamn pillow as he clutches it to his chest, dead to the world.

“Fuck’s sake,” Eddie mutters, reaching out and tugging the end of the pillowcase to no avail. Buck’s vice-grip doesn’t falter even in sleep. Eddie’s usually able to coax it out of his grasp without waking him, but it takes a minute, and their last shift had been a full-body workout from hell, and Eddie just wants to go the fuck back to sleep with a single measly pillow supporting his exhausted head. Surely that’s not too decadent a luxury to expect.

He tugs again, harder and meaner than he normally would. The pillow inches out of Buck’s hold, and Eddie grabs a firmer handful to yank it away, grunting triumphantly when it pops free.

“Hrmmph,” Buck grumbles, crease appearing between his eyebrows. Eddie stills, holding his breath as he gauges Buck’s proximity to consciousness. He thinks he’s in the clear, but then Buck murmurs unhappily and rolls ever-so-slightly towards Eddie.

“S’your turn to be th’ li’l spoon,” he slurs, and Eddie freezes even further. “’M th’ big spoon t’night.” He pats half-heartedly at the mattress between him and Eddie, jaw going slack again after a few seconds.

Eddie grins, just barely containing the snort that bubbles up at Buck’s sleep-talking. There’s enough distance from Ali and even Abby, post-train debacle, that means he can wring weeks’ worth of teasing out of this. Whichever one of them it is Buck’s dreaming of, Eddie thinks multiple nights of interrupted sleep allow him a little good-natured—if merciless—ribbing.

He shifts onto his back, shoving the pillow under his head and shutting his eyes with a sigh, but the movement has Buck mumbling again. His face is mashed into his own pillow, words barely intelligible when he says, “Y’re littler than me. C’mon, lemme be big spoon.”

The snort sneaks out of Eddie then, just a bit. He barely knew either woman, but he can’t quite picture them indulging Buck in this line of conversation. It’s—sweet, if deeply mortifying for Buck himself to know anyone else has heard it.

Buck snuffles discontentedly, forehead scrunching as he reaches out in search of the pillow, still asleep.

“Oh, you are going to be very embarrassed when you wake up,” Eddie whispers, wondering if there’s more entertainment about to be provided and if it’s worth getting up to unplug his phone and catch the tail end of this on video.

“Urgh,” asleep-Buck responds, patting the bed a little more insistently when he’s unsuccessful in his pillow-retrieval endeavours. “Wh’re—c’mere. Eddie. Y’re li’l spoon.”

This time when Eddie freezes, it’s such a sudden locking of every joint in his body that his neck cricks in the opposite direction. He barely feels it, singularly focused on Buck’s latest garbled complaint, because—is Buck awake? Is Buck dreaming about him?

He’s frozen so still he doesn’t realise Buck’s questing hand is now well in range of Eddie himself, and he jolts back into his body when Buck’s strong, calloused fingers wrap around his wrist.

“C’me back,” he whines, tugging at Eddie while shuffling closer at the same time. Eddie holds himself carefully still, hardly daring to breathe as Buck slowly but surely plasters his long, long body along Eddie’s side, hitching one leg over Eddie’s thigh before flinging an arm across his torso and dragging him nearer.

“Mm,” he hums, brow smoothing out. His cheek rests on Eddie’s shoulder, face smushed but seemingly satisfied. Eddie’s arm is trapped between his own side and Buck’s stomach, and he worms it under Buck’s body almost on autopilot, more to get comfortable than anything else. This leaves him basically cradling Buck to him, and Buck gives one final happy grunt before burrowing his face into Eddie’s neck and going limp, a dead weight over Eddie’s right side.

Eddie makes his fingers relax where they’re clutching the back of Buck’s t-shirt. This is—fine. Normal and fine. So Buck isn’t dreaming about cuddling an ex-girlfriend, he’s dreaming about holding Eddie. They’ve been living out of each other’s pockets more than usual recently, leaning on each other a little heavier through a global pandemic and missing Christopher. Eddie’s told himself it’s because of constant proximity, and maybe it is, but whatever the reason, if Buck’s subconscious is embracing that vulnerability in this way, that’s fine. He’s an affectionate guy, and while it’s relatively new for Eddie to be on the receiving end of that from another man, he’s not one to shy away because of someone else’s archaic ideas of masculinity.

And—hold on. Y’re littler than me? Was that what Buck said? Eddie huffs indignantly, and then huffs again for different reasons, feeling his cheeks heat. He doesn’t know why, but he pulls Buck a little closer.

It’s still normal and fine, he finds, turning his head to press his nose into Buck’s curls. That surprises him a little, that there’s no freak-out of any kind accompanying—whatever this is. Buck smells like vanilla, because he used Chim’s fancy shampoo that’s actually Maddie’s fancy shampoo because both of them are missing her something fierce, and he’s definitely drooling onto Eddie’s neck, and now that he’s not sleep-talking he’s back to snoring like a motorcycle, and Eddie’s slipping under before he can marvel any more at just how normal and fine it all is.

When the moonlight is swapped for sunlight, Eddie stirs to Chim singing along to radio in the kitchen downstairs. Buck blinks awake right alongside him, cheek imprinted with creases from Eddie’s collar and turning pink as he hastily peels himself away.

“Oh, um, sorry,” he says, voice rough with sleep. He contorts his body in surprise trying to roll off Eddie’s arm. “Did I—sorry, Eds.”

Eddie works his arm back under Buck, easy and deliberate. “S’fine,” he yawns. “It was my turn to be the little spoon.”

In his peripheral vision, Buck turns a brilliant red, and Eddie gives him a reassuring squeeze before taking great joy in telling him just how embarrassed he should be about the contents of his dreams.

(Buck’s mortification is blessedly short-lived, since the contents of Eddie’s dreams are equally embarrassing in the very exact same way, as it turns out.)

[imakatperson22]

OK, walk with me here:

So Buck and Eddie get married the night of the bachelor party as a joke but then the next morning they both have zero memory of it.

Jump to the season finale!

Buck and/or Eddie has to do something mundane but legally related (similar to how madney found out about their “tax fraud”) separately. They are confused the whole episode on why whatever they’re trying to do isn’t working and THEN at the very end of the episode one of them checks their mail and there’s a certified letter and they open it and it’s their marriage license and you just get an “oh shit” look and then fade to black.

DO YOU SEE THE VISION?

[b1mbodoll]

thinking about dom! wolf hybrid! momo, g!p.... she would be so cute in a moment and in the other?? oops... she is fucking the reader like crazy.....

pairings: hirai momo x f! reader

warnings: hybrids + g!p + creampies + breeding + knotting + biting + a/b/o dynamics

💌: so sorry for the late reply my love </3 i hope this is to ur liking and lmk if u enjoyed it !! ^^

it’s easy to forget momo’s not an overexcited puppy, her nature as an apex predator only showing when she fucks you.

she lets you get away with a lot of things because she’s a sucker for your cunt and soft pout when she tries punishing you. it’s somewhat laughable how whipped the wolfgirl is, but who can blame her for letting you off easy if it results in her fucking you within an inch of your life and you calling her “alpha”

“slow down, momo” you plead, cunt spasming around her length as she works it deeper, the tip kissing your cervix with each thrust.

she pays you no mind and continues her movements as she slots her face in the crook of your neck, sharp canines planted deep in your skin.

the pain causes you to squirm and she growls at you before slamming her hips against yours roughly in an effort to prove ber dominance.

“momo! alpha, calm down,” your whines only serve to spur her on, “it hurts.” you add.

she doesn’t let up for a second, not until you’ve climaxed at least three times and then you feel it.

her knot beginning to inflate drives you crazy, legs wrapped around her hips to pull her even closer as her semen floods your womb. “oh god, you’re such a good alpha. always makin’ sure im well bred n makin’ me feel so good.”

your praise goes straight to her dick and it makes her cock twitch inside of you as a content whine escapes her, the noise slightly muffled due to her teeth still stuck in your neck.

after reaching her orgasm momo begins to rut against you, her knot causing shocks of pain when she moves too fast and you know she’s far from done. she won’t stop til your cunt is gushing, her thick cum pooling on the bed as she fucks it out of you

[butteronabun]

diluc driving a car… protective diluc driving you home after a night of drinking with your buddies… diluc driving manually… diluc’s biceps flexing while driving… diluc reprimanding you for drinking too much when he knows your tolerance is so low

diluc having an unimpressed expression throughout but you can see in his eyes that he’s just concerned… diluc assisting you to help you get into your apartment… diluc gazing at you with such fondness when you apologize and drunkenly confess that you appreciate him so much, after he hoists you in his arms…

diluc huffing when you jokingly call him a grump… diluc allowing you to pinch his cheek during your rambles with a soft and tiny smile on his face as he takes you to the elevator…

diluc making sure that you’re comfortable when he gently drops you onto your bed…

diluc malfunctioning after you pull him close and peck him lightly on the lips, before passing out—

[elkkiel]

I'm so fucking exhausted today i'm having a hard time literally just operating my computer at work ;w; taking cuddle applications because I'm planning on hibernating for a year and it might get lonely :(

[diazsdimples]

Several Sunday Sentences

It's actually Monday but here's a tiny bit more of Dosed from my Sleepy Mornings Fic. I've started the second morning but it doesn't seem to be flowing as well and chances of me getting anything done before Tuesday or Wednesday what with my test today and birthday tomorrow, I figured I'd share a little bit more of this. Cause they're dumb and I love them.

Tagged by @spotsandsocks @evanbegins @smilingbuckley @thekristen999 @elvensorceress @rainbow-nerdss @wikiangela and @daffi-990 thank you friends!

“Whassthetime?” he slurred, fumbling for the alarm clock on his bedside table. Buck winced as Eddie knocked it to the ground, the loud bang as the plastic hit the wooden floorboards reverberating through his skull as if someone had clanged a pot next to his ear. “Too early,” Buck replied as he flopped back against the pillows. “How did we get here?” Eddie gave up on the clock and collapsed over the side of the bed with a huff of frustration. Buck turned his head and was met with the bare expanse of his best friend’s shoulder and back, the covers having slipped to just above Eddie’s waist. It was definitely the drugs and dehydration that made Buck’s mouth go a little dry. “I don’t remember,” Eddie whined as he slowly rolled back over to his back with a groan. “Last thing I remember was Athena bringing me home and someone throwing up in my bathroom –“ “That was me, sorry,” Buck winced apologetically. Eddie’s gaze rested on him, and he saw a flash of amusement through the sleepy haze behind Eddie’s warm, brown eyes. “Well, I figured it wouldn’t have been Athena, that would have been unprofessional to say the least,” Eddie smirked as he slowly pushed himself to sit, propping himself up against his pillows. Buck watched as Eddie took a few deep breaths, his face draining of colour as he swallowed thickly. Recognising the signs of someone imminently about to lose their lunch, Buck swiftly grabbed the trash can from the side of the bed, ignoring the way his own stomach lurched at the sudden movement, and thrust it in front of Eddie’s face.

Tagging @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @thewolvesof1998 @disasterbuckdiaz @puppyboybuckley @bucksbackwardcap @fortheloveofbuddie @aroeddiediaz @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buckbuckgoose @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @wildlife4life @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @nmcggg @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @kitteneddiediaz @epicbuddieficrecs @actuallyitsellie @spagheddiediaz @loserdiaz

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XXIV)

Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing (part I)

Read part one // masterpost // continued from here

{Unedited and very rough, but this one’s a kind of two parter, so maybe an update before Saturday and then another Saturday? It depends, but anyways~}

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tides untied Sawyer wordlessly, gathering his shallow breathing body in her arms and bringing him over to where Kit was still restrained, propping him up against the wall. Kit didn’t even know if Sawyer was conscious, but the heat from his body was nice, comforting and Kit hoped his could comfort Sawyer too.

His face was shredded with cuts. In multiple directions, some from cheek to cheek crossing his nose, others arcing down from his forehead over the bridge of his nose to the opposite side of his jaw. A bad one went straight over his left eye and down his cheek. The blood had coagulated into sticky gelatinous goo, patching the wounds with crimson glue. Barely any space on his face was free from caked blood, dried and crusting, the wounds sometimes leaked a clear pus when he moved slightly or moaned.

Tides whispered her apologies, tears still streaming down her cheeks, her breath hitching every now and then. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been stronger. I should have fought him harder. Sawyer, I’m s-so— I’m so sorry…”

Sawyer lifted a weak hand with a grunt and pressed it against Tides’s cheek, thumbing away the tears. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

Tides dissolved into sobs that wracked her body, hiccuping her shoulders up and down violently. He extended his arm and she lunged forward into a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. Sawyer grunted lightly, but tightened his arms around her and held her while she cried, running his hand through the strands of her hair. “It’s okay.”

Kit stared forward at the opposite wall. Supervillain would be coming down again. Supervillain and Jude. And who knows how many others? If they were going to make Jude use his powers on them to hurt each other, it would break them down quicker than anything else they could do to make them change their minds.

“I think we should give up,” Kit said, hollowly. Sawyer stiffened beside him. Tides sniffed.

“Kit…” she said.

“We can’t—” he began but cut himself off. “We can’t do this to each other. They’re going to come back down and they’re going to force one of us to torture another. There’s no…”

“Kit,” Sawyer said then hissed as one of his cuts opened in his face again. Tides shot up, lightly dabbing at the bleeding with the sleeve of her shirt. Sawyer grabbed her wrist. “Don’t, you’ll ruin your shirt.”

“I don’t care about a stupid shirt.”

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat. He shouldn’t have said anything, but he couldn’t just sit here and watch his friends get hurt and not be able to fight back. If only he had his powers he’d be able to—

Kit blinked, straightening suddenly. His head snapped to the side. “Why didn’t Supervillain lock you up again?”

Tides shrugged. “I don’t think he cares.”

“But… the cuffs,” Kit said, rattling his for emphasis. “They’re power dampeners so why would he leave you loose? Isn’t he worried you can break down the door, or?”

Sawyer shook his head with a groan. “No,” he said. “Supervillain told me that he— he compelled us to not use our powers so now I can’t access them. I guess he just assumes we’re not a threat without them.”

Kit’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” he said with a breath. No, not a breath. A sudden, startled laughter. Borderline hysterical but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. “Oh my God!” He screamed, his laughter turning into whoops and hollering as he drummed his feet on the floor as if his team was just winning in a football match.

“Kit?” Tides asked, concern lacing her voice.

“I think he’s lost it,” Sawyer said.

Maybe he was losing it. Maybe. But it didn’t matter. He felt tears climb his face, bubbling over in disbelief down his cheeks. “I need to get out of these cuffs,” he chuckled, trying to fight the fucking giggles trying to spring free from his chest.

“Kit—”

“No, no. You don’t under—” he cut himself off with another bout of sharp laughter that caused his chest to tighten and his abs to tense. It was starting to hurt but he couldn’t stop it, and he didn’t want to stop it really. Even though it didn’t feel appropriate with Tides’s guilt pouring over Sawyer and Sawyer’s face all bloody and bleeding, it felt light. He didn’t remember the last time he laughed as hard. Was it before Ambrose? Was it ever?

God, there was a time before he knew Ambrose. It didn’t seem like it. Though, he supposed Ambrose was always there, in the background. Mentor’s unknown and forgotten son that should’ve got the love that Kit did from him.

Kit’s laughter died down to a few stray laughs before settling into a smile, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. God, if he never knew Ambrose he wouldn’t be able to pull this trump card on Supervillain and Jude and fucking save the day; get Tides and Sawyer out of here to safety, and then come back to finish the villains off.

Kit’s smile fell off his face. No. That wasn’t right. Kit didn’t kill people. It’s why he suffered Ambrose so long, because he couldn’t imagine a world where he was that cold and ruthless. The world was dark enough without him adding to the misery.

Yeah… but those two deserve it, look at what they did to Sawyer? Look at what they made Tides do to her boyfriend, the voice hissed, sounding like static in his mind. Kit curled his hands into fists, uncomfortable at the intrusive thoughts leaking through his mind, but that’s all they were. The voice agreed with him merrily: Intrusive? Turned into external action, what’s the difference?

“Kit?” Sawyer asked, a sharp breath of pain huffed out.

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and forced his thoughts into the back of his mind. He turned to face Sawyer and Tides. “I need to get out of these cuffs,” he said. “And I need you two to help me.”

Tides blinked, a frown pulled across her face. “Kit, we don’t have our powers.”

“I know,” he said. “I know. Just trust me. If they come back and they let us choose who gets tortured, tell them to do me, make it convincing, both of you. Say that you’re madly in love and that Sawyer couldn’t endure another round.”

Sawyer pushed off the wall, his brows drawn incredulously over his face. “And if they uncuff you and get you to torture Tides? You expect me to just watch that?!”

“It won’t come to that.”

“Bullshit, Mallory. How the fuck would you overpower them? Huh?”

“Sawyer…”

“No,” he said, cutting his hand through the air as if trying to chop the rest of conversation off. “No. We are not doing that, Kit. I am—” Sawyer’s eyes raised to Kit’s blue ones. “We will find another way.”

Kit jolted his hands forward in the cuffs, slamming them against the metal and throwing his head forward. He could feel the strain in his shoulders, tensing every muscle so he could feel them be so fucking powerless, then mumbled out a fine.

Another way?

They didn’t have time for another way, but sure. Another way.

They chatted mindlessly for who knows how long about who they thought Supervillain was how they knew him. Tides suggested one of the heroes that were beaten out by Superhero to get Mentor’s position.

“Yeah, but then again,” Sawyer said, “no one really wanted Mentor’s position after Omen.”

Kit swallowed at the mention of Omen, and Mentor. He shouldn’t have split up with Ambrose. He should have stayed with him and they could have found Supervillain together and none of this would have happened.

The conversation drifted to where they thought they were.

“Probably still downtown,” Kit said, but it was Tides that rebutted him, and said: “but with Omen’s power, we could be anywhere and he told us to forget.”

They drifted then, half awake, half catatonic. None of them really wanted to fall asleep in the arms of the enemy, and Kit had only just slept. Tides dozed off on Sawyer’s lap, curled like a child against his chest, Sawyer’s arms wrapped tight around her, resting his chin on her head.

Kit thought he must’ve been asleep too, so it was a shock when he said: “is it bad?”

“Huh?” Kit asked, glancing at Sawyer.

Sawyer’s face was neutral, but his eyes burned with something Kit had never seen in them before. A mix between fury and humiliation, and disgust.

“My face,” he repeated in the same tender voice. “Is it— do I look… am I horrifically deformed now?”

Kit blinked. “No more than usual,” he said reflexively, and cringed at the scathing glare Sawyer shot his way. “Sorry. Sorry, it was by accident, I swear.”

“You’re such a dick, Mallory.” Sawyer said without any real bite to it. A silence blanketed them after, Kit looking for the words to reassure Sawyer that he was still as annoyingly good-looking as he always was, when Sawyer continued. “I just… do you think she’ll still—” his voice cracked.

“Yes,” Kit said immediately. “Of course she’ll still love you, Sawyer. She’ll probably love you more now that you have badass scars. You could be the next Bond.”

Sawyer chuckled, tears glistening the bottom of his eyelids. “Maybe Bond villain.”

“Nah, you’re too good-looking for that,” Kit said with a sigh. “It looked bad earlier, but now that the blood has dried on your face it looks okay. Maybe if we get out of here in time a healer can fix it, or at least reduce the scars. But you still look good to me.”

“Yeah,” Sawyer said wistfully. “Maybe.”

A beat.

Then, “so you think I’m good looking?”

Kit groaned, staring straight ahead at the wall again. “If you tell anyone I said that they won’t believe you.”

“Yeah, but you’ll know it, and I’ll know it, and it will be torture enough.” Kit laughed quietly. “Thanks, Kit.”

Kit let it hang in the air, seeing Sawyer lean his head on Tides’ again and cuddle her closer. Kit was awake even as Sawyer dozed off too, his breathing light and even beside him. He sighed, wishing he could sleep too, or break out of his cuffs, but his mind couldn’t rest.

Where was Superhero? The explosion, was he dead? How many heroes were injured from Supervillain’s attack? Where was Ambrose?! He always seemed to show up at the worst times that Kit half-expected him to rush in, kill Supervillain and save the day. But he was still cuffed in a basement god knows where. He thought of Ambrose then, remembered that one time he stayed in Mentor’s house, how he could reach Kit’s mind from across the city. He was about to say his name when he stopped, paused. If Supervillain had Omen’s ability he could probably read Kit’s mind so Kit scrubbed all thought of Ambrose from it and replaced it with Omen.

Think of Omen only from now on.

Omen, wherever you are, find me, please. Supervillain took me, please.

It was a prayer of sorts, Kit realised after, but he was desperate. He couldn’t do anything else, so he just stared at the wall across from him and waited, annoyingly conscious.

*~*~*~*~*

Omen, wherever you are, find me. Please. Supervillain—

“Kit?” Ambrose murmured, groaning as he opened his eyes, assaulted by the light and shutting them tightly again. Took me please. I’m with Tides and Crow in a basement somewhere. Supervillain has your ability.

Ambrose groaned agin, forcing himself up by his hands until he was on his hands and knees. His head pounded and Kit’s fucking thunder-like thoughts were rattling his skull. He turned with an effort and sat on his arse, dipping his head and placing a palm against his temple.

He’s not alone, there’s a guy called Jude too, who owes you one apparently. They’re trying to stop us being heroes but the city was attacked and I don’t know if Supervillain is alive or—

OKAY! Alright, Ambrose boomed back and let out a grunt of pain at the force of his power.

Kit’s eyes widened at the concrete. He could hear him? He could… he could hear him!! He could hear him!!!

Kit, Jude’s a monster, he has the same power as me.

Kit shot back a sad: I know.

Ambrose pulled his hand away glancing at it to see a sheen of oil like blood in clumps of coagulated balls on his palm. Fuck, that bastard hits hard.

Ambrose pushed himself to his feet, the world tilting as he did and he stumbled sideways into a tower of boxes. Fuck. The world spun up and down and back and forwards and Ambrose wanted to throw up. He didn’t usually get like that, but then he remembered how much Jude made him drink last night and he paused.

Kit?

Yeah?

When did they take you?

Last night I think, why? Is it day time yet? Ambrose cursed, looking out the windows of the old storeroom, the light stinging his eyes. Yeah. It was daytime which meant Ambrose was out cold all night.

Shit. Ambrose struggled a little to get to his feet again, slower this time half climbing to them and when he did he grabbed the wall and righted himself until the world stabilised itself so he could risk a step forward. Then another, and another.

Omen? The voice threw him and he nearly lost his footing again, but he caught himself in time.

I need you to shut up, Kit, I’ll talk to you when I get myself together.

Why did something happen?! Kit asked, his voice raising in pitch with worry. Ambrose stopped walking. He was beside the door now, hand on the cool, metal handle, the taste of iron in his mouth. He probably had a concussion, maybe that’s why Kit sounded so concerned. Ambrose opened the door and stepped out into the street. He was still in Old Town, on Fagan’s lot. He would go back to Max’s and apologise if he was still there. Maybe try and recruit him into teaming up with him to save Kit and the other heroes.

Ambrose scoffed at the ridiculousness of it. He was spending too much time with Kit, he was starting to think of saving people instead of himself. That fucking kid.

I’m fine. I had a nasty run in with Jude, watch out for the girl with shadows. She strikes from them and can shadow walk— like phase through them into solid objects. I’ll talk when I have more information.

Omen… Please, when you find out if Superhero’s alive, a pause, hesitant, will you tell me?

Ambrose walked towards Dead Man’s Fingers, his body finally obeying his commands again. He needed a hangover cure immediately. Sure. Kit, sure. He pressed his hand against the door and stopped himself, considering if he should try and reassure the hero or not. He really shouldn’t. He was a villain. Kit was a hero, this was a liability of his job. Just hang on, okay?

Kit breathed out a sigh of relief. Okay.

Ambrose nodded stiffly, even though he knew Kit couldn’t see him and pushed on the front door to the Dead Man’s Fingers pub. It was locked, so Ambrose walked to the windows and peered inside. There was a light on in the back so he went to the side entrance where the delivery guys came through and found it open.

The bar was quiet, static and eerie. Then there was shouting and Ambrose quickened his pace, not running because his head wasn’t compliant enough to do that yet. One of the voices he recognised as Max’s but he didn’t know the other. He walked through the hall to up the little staircase to the main bar and pushed the saloon door open.

Max was behind the bar, a spreadsheet of inventory in front of him and standing on the other side of the bar was— “Oskar,” Nathan grinned, exposing his pointed canines. “So good to see you again, mate.”

Ambrose didn’t care about the hangover in that moment, his brain and body united in one goal to knock the bastard out. “Oskar!” Max said in warning, hopping the bar and standing in front of his friend. Ambrose didn’t even look at him. “Stop, he’s not worth it.”

Ambrose pushed forward, ignoring him when Max put a hand on his chest and shoved him back. This time when Ambrose looked at him, Max was pointing his index finger at him like a scolding mother.

“You are not starting a fight twice in my pub in the span of 24 hours, you dick! Just calm down,” Max yelled, running a frustrated hand through his black hair.

Nathan leaned his elbows on the bar, reaching over it to grab a bottle of whatever he could reach while Max was turned around. “Put that back,” Ambrose spat. Nathan waved him away.

“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Oskar, what’s a drink between friends?” He asked with a shit eating grin. It had been years since he saw Nathan, years since he buried that chapter of his life, and now here he was, in Max’s bar. The fucking nerve of him. Max walked back around the bar, smacking Nathan’s hand away.

Nathan retracted it, his mouth forming an o shape as he hissed and shook the pain away theatrically. Everything a show. “Why’re you even here?” Ambrose asked.

Max answered, though not out loud. Ambrose felt the guilt rise in him, consuming him, and Ambrose turned to face Max who was grabbing the edges of the counter with a white knuckled grip.

“You still talk to him?”

Max glared. “Get out of my head, Oskar.”

“It’s kinda hard to ignore when your whole body lights up with guilt!” Ambrose yelled, groaning as the pounding in his head throbbed and ignited, setting it on fire. He shot his hand out to lean on the wall beside him, and glanced at Max. “Can I steal a few eggs?”

Max rolled his eyes but didn’t say yes or no. So Ambrose disappeared into the kitchen while the other two continued to speak. He could hear them through the hole in the wall where the trays of pub food could be passed through, but he didn’t have to look at Nathan to know he was still grinning.

Dick.

“Still on the raw eggs and orange juice cure, Oskar?” Ambrose ignored him as he walked to the fridge and grabbed the eggs and orange juice.

“Stop trying to rile him up,” Max said.

“I’m not trying to do anything,” Nathan said, feigning innocence without dropping his grin. “Besides, he already knows we’re still in contact, no point hiding it anymore, Henders.”

Ambrose rolled his eyes, grabbing a class and cracking the shell of the egg against it. He lifted it over his mouth, tilted his head back and cracked it properly into his mouth. He swallowed it in a gulp and exhaled a long: “ahh,” as the slimy liquid slid down his throat like a slug. He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, then opened the orange juice and downed another two gulps. Then he rinsed and repeated, another crack, another egg, he screwed his face up, grimacing as he dunked the shells into the glass and drank more of the orange juice.

Better.

When he opened his mouth he felt better.

He put everything back and then walked back out to the bar. “You better not have drank straight from the carton,” Max said.

Nathan grinned and said: “you know he did,” at the same time that Ambrose nodded and said: “I did, yeah.”

“Fucking animal.” Max fumed, enunciating the words. Ambrose took a seat at the side of the bar, while Nathan stood in front and Max behind closed his inventory book as he sensed the conversation turning more disturbing than the argument they were having before.

“So, Oskar, starting fights, drinking to a hangover, aren’t you getting a little old for that kind of thing.”

“You would know, you’re ancient.” Ambrose replied deadpan, schooling his features until they were impassive. “Why are you here, idiot? I’m giving you one more chance.”

“So scary,” Nathan cooed, raising his hands as if he were defending himself and walking around to where Ambrose was sitting. He slung a lazy arm over his shoulder, pinching his cheek. “Come on, Oskar, there was a time where you worshipped me.”

“Yeah,” Ambrose said, elbowing Nathan in the chest. Nathan fell back with an oomph dropping his arm from Ambrose’s shoulder. “That was before I got some common sense.”

Max ran a hand down his face and sighed. “One of you piss off. It’s too early to deal with you.”

“I’ll go,” Nathan said, rubbing his chest. “Because I’m a nice friend who actually cares about you, Max.”

Max and Ambrose shared a look, but then Max dragged his eyes to Nathan. He nodded heavy, turned to grab the open tabs book and put it back on the counter under the light. “Sure. What’s your friend’s name again?”

Nathan walked around to the front pulling out his wallet, though his eyes never left Ambrose’s face. His grin turned to a smirk. “Jude,” he said handing the card over the bar. Both Max and Ambrose stiffened.

Max raised his head, steam rising from his shoulders. “Come again?”

“Jude,” Nathan repeated. It wasn’t Ambrose that went for him this time, it was Max who grabbed Nathan’s forearm in his hands and yanked him over the bar, throwing him to the ground. Before he could recover, Max had his forearm on Nathan’s throat, practically snarling at him.

“Why the— how the fuck do you know Jude?!” Max demanded, nostrils flaring but Nathan’s smirk didn’t leave his stupid face. Even as it went red from Max leaning on his windpipe.

“You know he started the fight last night and brought Superhero sniffing around here you dick, and then you call me your friend?!” Max hissed, his body temperature rising as his skin turned radioactively red, as if he was being looked at through a heat monitor. Which was not a good idea if he wanted to keep his bar.

“Max, calm down,” Ambrose said, lifting the hatch to go behind the bar. “You’re right beside very flammable substances, and your fire won’t even affect him!”

Ambrose’s head swam as he stepped forward, the wood and floor all blending into a swirl of black and brown before he righted himself again. Nathan wasn’t powered, but he did have the ability to negate other people’s abilities. Not through touch or anything, he just couldn’t be affected by magic, but a bullet? A knife? A punch?

“Talk!” Max demanded.

“Max, come on. It’s me we’re talking about.”

Max punched him in the face. “Why the fuck do you think I’m pinning you down?”

Nathan tilted his head down to meet Ambrose’s wide black eyes. “Oskar, darling, tell Max to get off of me.”

Ambrose’s eyes narrowed, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m quite enjoying the show,” Ambrose told him, letting his anger show. Max punched him in the face again, and Osk

Nathan let his head rest against the floor again. His shoulders twitched in a half shrug. “Alright. I guess I’ll just tell Jude to hurt Kit next.”

Ambrose’s blood ran cold. “What?”

Max went to punch him again, but Ambrose’s hand shot out: “Max, don’t move!” Max froze above Nathan, his fist still drawn back.

“Oskar! What the fuck!” Max seethed, his arm vibrating with the effort of trying to disobey his command, but Ambrose wasn’t really listening. His heart was pounding in his chest and his headache was exacerbated again by using his powers in such a short amount of time. While hungover, and Max was strong.

Nathan’s smirk didn’t leave his face, looking at Ambrose through his half lidded eyes. “Get him off me and I’ll take you to Kit.”

“Who the fuck is Kit?” Max demanded, his arm trembling where he held it aloft. “What’s going on here?”

“Aw, Oskar…” Nathan said, shaking his head and tsking. “Naughty, naughty. Don’t tell me you’ve never told him? I thought you and Max were best friends.”

Ambrose’s eyes burned like black coals, glaring at the monster hidden behind a human face and body. He clenched his jaw. “Max, get off of Nathan.”

Max stood, then turned and punched Ambrose in the face. Ambrose stumbled back his arms flailing and would’ve fallen if it wasn’t for his elbows catching on the counter and keeping him up.

A hand fisted his shirt and yanked him forward, the world rushing in his peripheral vision. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again,” Max hissed, plumes of smoke rushing out his mouth and nose. Nathan got to his feet behind Max, wiping invisible dirt off of him, smirk still on his face.

Max turned to face Nathan again. “What are you talking about? Not telling me what?”

“Nathan,” Ambrose said, his voice wobbling. Nathan’s smiling eyes met Ambrose’s lost black gaze across the bar, slowly shaking his head at him. Max pivoted again, pointing a finger at Ambrose.

“I swear to God, Ambrose, if you open your mouth one more time I will explode the whole fucking bar and you with it,” Max said enraged, turning to Nathan. “Tell me!”

“Kit is Oskar’s pet hero.” Ambrose swallowed the lump in his throat, tightening his hands into fists as he straightened. He watched Max’s back knot tight at the words. “Who was Mentor’s prodigy back when he was the Superhero in the city.”

“You’re friends with a hero?” Max asked his voice unnaturally low and quiet. Ambrose’s heart stuttered in his chest. His black eyes went to Nathan’s, pleading for him to shut up. If Ambrose tried to wipe Max’s memory he wouldn’t be able to do the same to Nathan, and then Nathan would tell Max all over again. Just to torture him.

“How long?”

Ambrose almost didn’t hear the question. “Max, it’s not like that.”

“How fucking long have you been friends with a hero?!” Max demanded, whirling. “Was it before or after you came to me for help about Supervillain? Huh? When you know— you fucking know—”

“Supervillain?” Nathan asked, his brows raising.

“Shut the fuck up, Nathan,” Max growled. Nathan winked at Ambrose, bending to scoop up his wallet from the ground and his card, and walked back around the bar. Safe from Max’s rage and kept walking until he was in Max’s sight line, behind Ambrose. Ensuring that Ambrose was sandwiched between the two of them with nowhere to flee if things got hairy.

How had Ambrose even let it get this far? Nathan was always a wild fucking card, it enamoured him with Nathan at first. The only person, it seemed like, in the city that Ambrose couldn’t boss around or read the thoughts of. With Nathan he felt like a real person, how real people feel when they’re born without telepathy, and it was dizzying.

Now, all Ambrose wanted to do was kick the fucker’s teeth it and leave him dead in a ditch somewhere. He knew too much, he always, somehow, knew too much. Did Jude tell him about Kit? Or did Nathan tell Jude, and always keep tabs on Ambrose after they fell out? It didn’t make sense.

“Heroes took everything from me, Oskar, so why?” Max asked. All the pain and grief of losing his family to heroes, all the long nights that Ambrose had to stay up to ensure that Max’s nightmares didn’t set his bed on fire from panic attacks. Max told Ambrose he found out his Father died on television when he was eleven, and it was Mentor who broke the news.

A good hero, Mentor said, and an even better friend.

Max told Ambrose how much he hated heroes after that. How he hated Mentor for filling super-people’s minds with all these ideas that they needed to risk their lives to protect others innocent people from bad ones. That it was their moral duty, because they were chosen to be born with gifts, they had to use them.

“Fucking answer me!” Max howled, tears springing to his eyes. “You owe me that much!”

“Max, I— Max, look, it’s not like that. It wasn’t, we aren’t friends, it’s more like business acquaintances.”

“What are you even talking about? Did your little hero pal get into any legal trouble, Oskar?”

Nathan leaned on the bar, putting his elbows on it and propping his chin up with his hand. His smirking eyes drinking in the chaos he caused.

“Max, please, can we talk about this in the kitchen, please? Where there are fire extinguishers?”

“Are you seriously trying to school me on how to use my powers? I own this fucking bar! I can blow it to kingdom come if I want to.”

Nathan chuckled behind Ambrose. “If he’s angry about this, Osk, wait til he hears about Mentor.”

Max shot his hand out, a tongue of flame shooting from his wrist and catching Nathan’s jacket. Nathan fell back a step, eyes wide as he slapped the small ember to extinguish it. He shook it out and the flame died, but the flames burning like hell’s fury in Max’s eyes didn’t.

“I told you to shut the fuck up, Nathan. Get out. Now. Before I fucking incinerate everything you’re wearing.”

Nathan scoffed. “Fine. I’ll be outside when you’re done here, Ambrose.”

Ambrose stiffened at the words, the two of them following Nathan out the door until he disappeared. Black eyes turned back to Max who was pulling at the strands of his hair at the base of his neck, turned away from Ambrose. His back muscles prominent from how hard he was tensing. Ambrose watched his ribs rise and fall and hated the fact that he caused that.

Well, not him, Nathan, but this never would have happened if Ambrose had just told him about his life. About his family. About his dad.

“Max,” he began, straightening. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I haven’t seen you since I met Kit, but Mentor—” Max straightened, his hands forming fists at his sides. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I wanted to but—”

“Tell me, what?” Max demanded, his voice a mixture of rage inflected with impatient tiredness.

Ambrose breathed out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. He needed a shower. “You know all that bullshit with my dad, right?”

Max walked forward, leaning his hands against the counter behind the bar. “Yeah.”

“Mentor is my father.”

Max’s eyes found Ambrose’s black ones, studying his shame flushed face that he never saw on his friend before. He looked conflicted and upset at the revelation, like he wished he was born to anyone else.

“I just know how much you hated him, and how could I tell you when I found out what happened to your parents, and I—”

Max surprised him by turning his body while Ambrose babbled and placing a hand on his shoulder. His lips twitched up at one side into a mockery of a smile, but the effort floored Ambrose and he cut himself off.

“Why wouldn’t you give me another reason to hate the bastard, you dick?” Max asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I didn’t—” Ambrose began but cut himself off. Well, if he was being honest, why not go all the way? “I didn’t want you to hate me too.”

Max didn’t answer. His smile turned up a little as he scoffed and then he pulled Ambrose into a hug. Ambrose froze, not knowing what to do but feeling an urge to cry.

“What’re ya, a dead fish? Hug me!”

Ambrose obeyed, wrapping his arms around Max’s shoulders and letting a breath out through his nose. A breath of relief and shame and all the guilt he carried around keeping this from Max. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, you can’t control who your dad is, besides,” Max said leaning back with a grin. “I don’t think I could ever hate you, Oskar. Don’t let Nathan get in your head again. And, I’m sorry for not telling you about him too.”

Ambrose nodded. “It’s fine,” he echoed, running a hand down his face. He wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep, he felt like he had been up for hours and being knocked unconscious didn’t exactly constitute proper rest. But he had the funny feeling Nathan had other plans for him when he stepped outside. No doubt delighted at the fact that he could lord Kit’s life over him.

Fuck, he should have played it cooler when he mentioned Kit. He could have if he wasn’t hungover and tired and possibly concussed.

Ambrose took a breath and glanced at the door. He looked back at Max, “are we good?”

“Yeah,” Max said with a smile. “We’re good. Go save your hero, or whatever you do these days.”

Ambrose shook his head lightly with a smile and walked through the door, down the steps out towards the side entrance. Through the open door he could see Nathan leaning against the opposite wall, one foot against it, a cigarette dangling from his long fingers and a smirk on his lips when he saw Ambrose follow him out.

“You came.”

“Don’t get a big head,” Ambrose told him, sliding his hand into his jacket pockets. “Max wouldn’t open the front door.”

“Mmm, don’t want to piss him off,” Nathan said, cocking a brow and tilting his head to the side, his eyes flashing with cruel interest. “But because you’re not ashes right now, I assume you didn’t tell him about Mentor. Did you wipe his mind?”

Ambrose stared into Nathan’s silver eyes, wishing he could get inside his brain and crush it in the palm of his hand. His silver eyes swirled like liquid mercury, entrancing and unsettling, and it’s why people always assumed he was powered somehow. He was, but not in the way everyone else was. His ability was defence not offence.

He should lie, and he did. “Yeah, no thanks to you,” Ambrose spat. “Why the fuck would you tell him that? After everything that happened to him? I thought he was your friend!”

Nathan grinned, bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag of it, locking his gaze onto Ambrose’s black eyes as the butt burned red and excess ashes floated lightly to the ground.

“He is. I just did it to fuck with you.”

“What the fuck is your problem?! How do you know, Jude?” Do you know Supervillain?! Ambrose didn’t say because he knew he wouldn’t like the answer. Why are you back? Where the fuck did you crawl out of?

A million questions ran through his head, his heart throbbing in his chest as the memories of Nathan flooded back to him. He fought the flush of anger and shame that rose in him as he stared into his rolling silver eyes.

“Let’s chat while we walk, Oskar, have a nice little catch up.” Nathan said, plumes of smoke exhaling down his nostrils and over his lips. He pushed off the wall and started walking down the little alley. Ambrose didn’t move.

“Are we going to Kit?”

Nathan didn’t stop walking. “Eventually,” he said, not bothering to even turn around, and why would he have to? He knew Ambrose would follow. Ambrose sighed, mentally kicking himself and followed Nathan down the alley and back into the winding streets of Fagan’s lot.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Continued here

Author's Note - Can I just take this moment to say that the Oskit discussion all week has had me laughing my heart out, and I have loved every second of it. As someone said, our brains rotted while considering Ambrose's sex life which, I'll be honest, I didn't consider before XD So to everyone who ships and everyone who doesn't, thank you for the giggles this week, I was thoroughly entertained <3 I hope you all have a great week!

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @tippytappytyping g @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios s @whatwhump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter

[w1ngedsoul]

going on your honeymoon with phil...

warnings: mentions of sex, sexual themes

requests are open!

You both had booked the Bahamas as your chosen honeymoon. Soaking up the sun while sipping on a cocktail sounded like paradise, so why not go ahead and book it.

Alan had almost tried to come as well, he hadn't actually looked up the definition of honeymoon and assumed it was something that friends could tag along to.

Unfortunately, you had to break the news to him on the day that you were leaving even though you felt terrible to see his excited expression fade.

He even brought a whole suitcase as well 😭

Phil just told you that you did the right thing and that he was relieved he wouldn't have to spend the next week with a living man-child.

Before you had even arrived at your destination, you had dragged Phil to the plane bathroom, claiming you couldn't wait another ten hours.

During these plane activities, a flight attendant had knocked on the door and demanded you both step out of the bathroom.

Enter the walk of shame.

Getting to your hotel room was easy, except for the lift up to floor fourteen.

We don't talk about that lift ride.

As soon as you entered that room, Phil had you pinned you down on the king-size bed and ravished you for the first time of that evening.

Then you went to a nice little restaurant where you met the locals, although Phil cut one of your conversations short by taking you to the bathroom and ravishing you for the second time that evening.

And then for the third time, when the food was taking a little long to arrive...

Throughout the course of the week, you and Phil had turned off your messages so you'd have no distractions so you could full relax with each other.

Honestly, being on honeymoon with is a god send 😩

@bradleybeachbabe hope you enjoy! 🤍

[writing-intheundercroft]

February 1899: Precious cargo arrives in Cairo

“I have a feeling you’ve been waiting quite some time for this particular shipment.”

Posted the last chapter of my long fic, When We’re Older, to AO3 this past weekend! Thank you to everyone who has been with me along the way, and thank you thank you THANK YOU to @myokk for illustrating Theo and Seb’s reunion 🤍 You can read When We’re Older in its entirety at the link below!

[heavilycaffeinatedsblog]

reading tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and I need a palette cleanser so mf bad…. expect something new within 48 hours

[swordsandholly]

Waking up to a message that somebody hocked one of my fave drabbles during what is basically a mental health hiatus was not on my 2024 bingo card but I guess it means I’m officially a real fanfic author now.

Thanks to the anon that brought it to my attention!🫡 I didn’t want to post ur ask publicly bc I don’t want to dogpile and it was handled privately but it’s much appreciated!