#anyway about the au. it might take me a while

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

So this is random but in the Blossom Reverse story does poison ivy ever think about her daughter or care I was just wondering anyways have a good night/ day

Oki dokey, so I plan to involve ivy in my story later on. But it will take a while.

And let me characterize Mom Ivy for you guys, since I want to give you some crumbs. A little spoiler Ivy as a mom is also a yandere. In my eyes, she would be one even in a non-yandere AU. When she found out she was pregnant after the affair with Bruce she was at first stunned. Ivy never imagined herself a mother—she sees herself as a force of nature, not a nurturer. But once it settles in…

The idea that she is growing something inside her, something that is half her and half him, turns into a kind of sacred obsession. This bloom will be perfect. No toxin. No corruption. Only life.

Ivy would swear off toxins and even isolate herself to ensure the child’s safety. She talks to her belly like it’s a seedling. She tells her growing daughter that daddy may be gone, but Mommy will protect you from everyone. Always.

Ivy sees her daughter as the most perfect thing in the world—a living blend of human and nature, something divine. She raises her like a rare flower. Ivy controls her environment, ensures no pesticides (aka people) get too close.

On the surface, she’s the gentle, nurturing garden mom, brushing her daughter’s hair with rose-petal fingers and telling her stories about nature spirits and betrayal. But there’s a line—and when crossed, Ivy becomes terrifying. One raised voice at her child and you might end up buried under a blooming bed of vines, face frozen in fear.

She feels conflicted about Batman, since he is also responsible for the sweet little bloom in her arms.

And when she gets captured and send to Arkham? Oh yeah that‘s her reason to crashout.

It was foolish of her to join the other goons in their plans of robbing a building. She had just wanted a bit more money to provide a better place for her sweet baby, but when Batman but the cuffs in her she knew she was done for.

t begins the moment she’s captured. Bloodied, cornered, and restrained, she reveals the existence of their child—not as a threat, not to manipulate—but as a mother whose world just shattered. For the first time, Batman sees something behind her eyes that isn’t cruelty or seduction, but raw, trembling fear.

As she’s locked in Arkham, her psyche begins to decay in silence. Her obsession with control twists into delusion. Without her daughter, Ivy becomes unmoored. The natural cycles she once worshipped feel meaningless. Seasons blur. Her grip on reality slips.

She stops seeing Arkham as a prison—she sees it as rot infecting the roots of her life. She turns inward, building a world of vines and fantasy where her daughter is still safe in her arms. She cultivates that world obsessively in her cell: sculpting figures from leaves, whispering to blossoms, assigning names and memories to plants.

She is a grieving mother redefined by obsession.

Not out for justice.

Not for balance.

Only for her daughter.

In the quiet of her cell, surrounded by creeping ivy and the scent of damp earth, she closes her eyes and breathes in the memory of her daughter’s laughter—soft, high, blooming. She knows Y/N is safe for now. Bruce may be many things, but he protects what’s his, and he knows how to raise broken little souls with steady hands. Still, Ivy’s fingers curl against the cold stone floor, the vines at her wrists tightening like promises. This separation is only temporary. One day, the walls will crack, the roots will reach, and when they do, she will take back what was stolen. And this time, her little bloom will grow only in her garden. Forever.

[sincerelystarry]

( ☆ ) . * if u saw my tears wld u touch me . . . kiss me on the mouth say u love me !!

modern au — f!reader x best friend!steve harrington

starry’s sweets — order #007

ask : “Hello, I'd like to place an order. Could I get a medium caramel tea cake with strawberry puree, oreo crumbles and rainbow sprinkles?

Thank you!” — @xplrnowornever

summary : “king steve” always knew how to throw a fucking rager, and who were you to miss your best friend’s party? things only get a little complicated when he sees you with some other guy’s tongue shoved down your throat.

warnings : hurt/comfort, reader and steve have liked each other since middle school  but they’re both fucking cowards abt it, suggestive content aka they make out and also there’s tit grabbing, what can i say steve harrington likes boobies, i’m not writing the smut part but it’s basically all the shit leading up to them having sex, steve and reader are both inebriated DONT HAVE SEX WHILE INEBRIATED

word count : 1.2k

You didn’t realize grad parties could become absolute ragers so fast, but those might just be the perks of parents never being around. Music is blaring, some sort of upbeat song everyone knows the words to about snorting coke that you think is fine, just a bit too loud. You shove through the crowd of drunk teens (though most would probably argue they’re adults anyway, being freshly 18), attempting to find the host, your best friend from childhood, none other than Steve Harrington. 

Attempt is the key word here, as you don’t see him anywhere. Instead, you’re taken aside by some guy, who you don’t really care enough to remember the name of. He flirts with you for a bit as the two of you stand in the kitchen beside the bowl of vodka-spiked Hawaiian Punch. You hadn’t been dating for ages, so, bored and slightly pent up, you reciprocate.

You can hardly remember what words were exchanged between the two of you. Maybe something along the lines of the guy calling you pretty and you picking invisible lint off his shirt as an excuse to touch his chest before you’re pressed up against the kitchen counter, red solo cups and your original goal of finding your friend forgotten as the guy kisses you messily. Not the best makeout session you’ve ever had, but not the worst either. Being a bit tipsy also helped you bear through it a bit. 

Lost in the stranger’s tongue down your throat, you don’t notice as Steve walks into the kitchen, searching for you. You don’t notice the way his face falls, the way the plastic cup crumples in his hand as he squeezes it a bit tighter. You don’t notice the way he turns and pushes through whatever girl was flirting with him, touching his arm, tearing his gaze away from you and the guy. 

You and the stranger swap saliva for a few torturous minutes before you break apart and you excuse yourself with a slightly condescending pat on his cheek, thanking him for the distraction from your currently-stale love life. Refilling your cup with punch, you remember the goal you previously had before being distracted by a hot guy that was a bad kisser (as most of them unfortunately are), resuming your search for Steve.

The party really is amazing. You’ve acclimatized to the noise, LEDs flashing colors making you all giggly as you continue to sip at your punch. You get distracted a few more times, dancing with a few girls, making out with some other guys, accepting a mystery gummy that was definitely an edible, but it’s also pineapple flavored, so you mark it off as okay, taking a second strawberry flavored one to give to Steve when you find him.

Some girls tell you they saw him heading upstairs as you dance around with each other, so you excuse yourself from the crowd. You to easily make your way up after refilling your drink and getting one for him, knowing the layout of his house by heart. You assume he’s in his bedroom and enter without knocking. Luckily enough, it’s Steve sitting at the edge of the bed, looking extremely dejected, and not some couple bumping uglies.

“I come bearing a gift,” you say, shutting the door behind you and setting your drink on the nightstand before sitting next to him, handing him his cup of punch and fishing the ziploc baggie with the gummy in it out of your pocket, holding it out for him to take.

He accepts the gummy, popping it into his mouth with a quiet “Thanks.”

“You good?” you ask. “Shouldn’t the host be downstairs fucking it up with everyone else? I heard there’s a keg contest about to happen soon. Aren’t you the king of those?” You poke fun at him in some attempts to lighten the mood, but some of it is due to how giggly and spacey you feel from the weed and the alcohol.

He chews and swallows before answering. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a breather,” he says, sipping at the punch. 

Despite your state, you can tell he’s lying. “That’s a cute story,” you say, patting his knee in a patronizing manner. “What’s wrong? The doctor is in, tell me what’s up.”

“What if I don’t want to?” he argues petulantly.

“Well, then you’d be acting like a baby,” you point out. “Come on, Steve. We tell each other everything! If you tell me what’s wrong I’ll tell you about how bad of a kisser a guy I made out with earlier is.”

“Please don’t,” he practically begs.

“Why not?”

He doesn’t respond for a minute, maybe two. It feels like an hour. “Because that’s the exact thing that’s been bothering me.”

You snort. “Trust me, it’s been bothering me too. You’d think at least one guy at this party would be a good kisser but no, apparently not—”

“Stop—!” he cuts you off abruptly. “Sorry— God—”

You stare at him for a bit, a bit perturbed by his tone. “Sorry. I’ll go if you want.” You move to stand when his hand grabs at your wrist, tugging you back. 

“Don’t go— Just— Fuck.” It happens in a blur. You’re not sure when he puts his cup of punch on the nightstand or when you end up under him on the bed, your tongues and teeth clashing.

You welcome him in eagerly despite your slight confusion at his change in demeanor, sucking on his tongue, nipping at his bottom lip. “Steve,” you mumble through the haze as you feel his hands start to creep up your shirt, warm against your skin.

“I love you,” he says against your lips, voice hoarse and breathing ragged.

You laugh breathlessly, “Yeah, man, I love you too—”

“No,” he cuts you off. “No. I love you. I’m in love with you. Fuck— I think I’ve been in love with you since freshman year.”

“Why freshman year?” you ask, seemingly unphased by his declaration.

“It was homecoming. You didn’t have a date and mine stood me up. You offered to dance with me for the slow dance. That— that was it. Slow dancing in a high school gym to Taylor Swift. I don’t know why that was it but—”

It’s your turn to cut him off as your lips press against his in a softer kiss than before. “I love you too,” you speak softly against his lips.

The kiss becomes heated again quickly as his tongue seeks entrance into your mouth and you allow it, Steve’s lips trailing down your neck before he pulls back to pull off your shirt, eyes not leaving your chest.

“My eyes are up here, Harrington,” you tease, even as his hands go to grab at your tits. 

Your lips meet again and you both forget all about the party downstairs, some CharliXCX song as the background to your drunken fucking, muffled through the walls. 

Maybe twenty minutes later, the two of you are naked, curled up against each other.

“What time is it?” you ask sleepily. 

Steve glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand. “Midnight.”

“You should kick people out. So we can sleep.”

He smiles at your usage of the word ‘we’. “I’ll do that in a second. Just wanna stay here for a bit.”

You don’t argue. “Will we forget about this tomorrow?”

“I hope not,” he says, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Will you regret this tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so,” you say honestly.

“Good.”

A beat of silence passes between the two of you before you speak again. “Steve?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

a/n: she's short but sweet and also a little horny

[mothlillies]

❄️ || ND!Zayne x ND!Reader/MC

---

- Zayne, who understands better than anyone your struggle to fit in with others as he shares the same struggle, even in adulthood.

- Zayne, who ever since childhood, would do anything to protect you from those who would treat you badly because you were "different".

- Zayne, who understands when your social battery is much too low to do anything, he would rather stay in too and spend time with just the two of you anyways.

- Zayne, who never minds if you don't look in his eyes when you talk, he tends not to either.

- Zayne, who becomes a little embarrassed if he develops what he'd consider a "silly" hyperfixation until you reassure him it's okay! (and you inevitably get into it too)

- Zayne, who conversely, never judges any of your interests, treating them all with the utmost sincerety, finding your info dumping calming as he loves listening to your voice and learning new things, it's the best of both worlds for him.

- Zayne, who's systems and routines help you feel more secure, giving you a sense of safety and stability.

- Zayne, who sometimes communicates nonverbally, as do you, the two of you could have an entire conversation that consists of no words.

- Zayne, who does everything he can to comfort you and make you feel safe when the world feels like too much, holding you in his arms and providing a gentle pressure that helps you calm down.

- Zayne, who worries about not being enough for you as the world has him somewhat convinced he's a little less human than most, but you always reassure him he's more than enough, and he believes it when it's you.

- Zayne, who feels uncomfortable unmasking around most people, feels safe doing so around you, and he hopes you feel the same about him.

- Zayne, who's expressions, body language, and tone most have a hard time understanding, you've learned to read like your favorite book, you can tell when he's happy or upset without him even needing to say it.

- Zayne, who's quick to defend you from others, while ignoring comments made about him (which you however, can't ignore).

- Zayne, who above everything makes sure you're taking care of yourself, and takes care of you as much as he can.

- Zayne, who usually flinches away from touch, doesn't mind so long as it's you.

- Zayne, who's got a constant eye on your health, often noticing when you're sick before even you do. Always making sure medical staff listen to your needs and take you seriously.

- Zayne, who finds the taste of something sweet grounding. While he wants to make sure you both have a variety of foods in your diet, he never pushes and always tries to incorporate at least one of your safe foods.

- Zayne, who loves being in the same room as you even if you two never even speak, sitting and working on two entirely different things, just being around you is enough for him.

- Zayne, who when the heat becomes overwhelming for either of you, will use his evol to create something to cool you both down.

- Zayne, who loves you no matter what, every single day. <3

---

A/N: As promised my Zayne post :DD neurodivergent specifically autistic Zayne is so so canon to me, but I figured I should tag it au style just because it's not *technically* canon afaik. As with my last post, I tried to keep it somewhat vague so more people could find comfort in this, but these HCs are based on mine and the people I knows lived experience with neurodivergence so it might not resonate with everyone and I understand that ^^ let me know if you'd wanna see more LI x ND!MC and who specifically!! Sylus and Zayne are my mains so I'm not as confident writing for anyone else, but I'm willing to give it a shot!! Thank you for reading :D

[chanceofwhat]

The follow-up, where Ford decides to be a scientist (and an annoying little shit). @aroace-get-out-of-my-face thank you once again for blessing us with this au.

Stan’s working on pancakes, Ford’s attempting bacon. Except, that’s not really why they’re both in the kitchen, and Ford didn’t really just want them to cook together “for fun”. No, this is about to be a test.

“Um, Stanley?”

Stan turns, then yelps when he sees the whoosh of flame from the pan on the stove.

“What the hell, Ford?! Put it out!”

“You put it out!”

Incredulous isn’t profound enough to describe the look Stan gives his brother.

“Are you kidding me? You’re the magic one!”

“You can do magic too, you’ve proven that! You’re perfectly capable of putting this out!”

“Are you seriously arguing with me while there’s a fire next to you?! Either put it out or get away from it!”

Ford looks his brother in the eyes and takes one large step back. Stan growls.

“You want it out?” Stan grabs a potholder, grabs the pan by the handle, and places it in the empty side of the sink. Now it’s on fire in a different, slightly safer location. “Fine. You got a damn fire extinguisher?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“What, you want me to pour water on it? It’s a goddamn grease fire!”

“I want you to put it out with magic, Stanley!”

When the edge of the curtain catches fire, the house promptly opens the window, sending in a gust of wind that puts out the curtain and dims the fire down to a pathetic smolder. Stan picks up the pan again and, glaring at his brother, blows it out like a candle. Ford huffs.

“Alright, Sixer; get outta the kitchen.”

Maybe, Ford decides, it needs to be more imminent, more immediate, more reflexive.

That’s his justification when his brother is sitting innocently in the armchair and Ford, entering the room sneakily from behind, hovers a book directly over his head. He drops it.

“Ow!”

Stan’s hand flies to his head as he whips around,

“What was that for?!”

Ford winces a bit, but doesn’t back down,

“I wanted to see if you’d deflect it.”

“How could I ‘deflect it’ if I didn’t even know you were doin’ it?”

“Magic, obviously.”

Stan scoffs and sits right back down in his chair, arm over his head like an umbrella.

“Asshole.” He mutters. Ford scowls and raises another one. Drops it. It bounces off of Stan’s arm.

“Ow.” Stan’s voice is much more deadpan, this time. Simply unamused.

With a frustrated sound that might as well be a snarl, Ford storms around into his brother’s line of sight and raises yet a third book into his hand,

“You’re not even trying!”

“Yea, I never said I would!”

“Well, try!”

Ford hurls the book at him. It goes wide. Stanley jumps to his feet, angry and amused,

“Ya missed.”

“I noticed!”

Another book. This time, Ford mumbles himself an incantation for guided aim. He sees and feels the spark of it working as he throws the book, this one harder than the last, aimed directly for Stan’s forehead— wait, maybe he shouldn’t have done that, that’s probably going to hurt—

In a redirection of motion that you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it, the book turns in the air and flies right by Stan’s head. Stan grins wide,

“Missed again.”

Ford makes a triumphant noise and points,

“Ha! You deflected it!”

“What?” Stan snorts, “No, ya just missed.”

“No, you deflected it, I saw.”

“No way, poindexter.”

“I used a spell to guide my aim, Stanley; that was going to hit you and you deflected it!”

“You used a spell and still missed?” Stan crosses his arms annoyingly, “Wow, I knew you had bad aim, but that’s impressive.”

“I didn’t miss! You deflected it!”

They argue like children for nearly an hour.

“Shit!”

Ford grabs his arm and shoves at the space around the fun new gemstone artifact he found— a ruby carved into a knickknack of a donkey. It slides a few feet away across the floor under his command. The sizzling slash on his arm starts bleeding anyways. He clamps his hand over it.

Right. Where are the healing bandages?

On his search, he passes through the living area and pauses. Stanley’s sitting on the armchair, looking up at him with a quirked eyebrow,

“Uh… you good, there, Sixer?��

An opportunity. Ford chuckles, then winces at another throb of pain from his arm,

“A magical investigation of mine hasn’t quite gone as planned.” He takes a few steps closer to Stan, who sits up as he seems to spot the blood dripping down Ford’s forearm. Stan then flinches and blinks when Ford’s arm is suddenly held out in front of him, injury brandished almost teasingly,

“Would you mind attempting some healing magic?”

Stan blinks a few more times, looking between Ford’s injury and his face like Ford’s going insane,

“Seriously? Me? Can’t you do it yourself?”

“Healing is notoriously difficult to perform on the self. Come on— if you’d like, I can find you the appropriate spell in my journal.”

Ford whips out his journal. It hovers in the air between them, flipping through pages until Ford finds the right one and turns it to face Stanley. A healing spell, complete with rune and incantation, is displayed in front of him. Stan’s nose scrunches up as he squints at it,

“Sixer, I, uh… I mean, I agree you should teach me this shit at some point, but right now? I don’t know how to do this, and you’re bleeding. Like, a lot.”

Ah, so he is. Well, that’s fine, he can stand it for another few minutes.

“Come on, Stanley— it’s not as though you’ve never performed healing magic before.” He ignores Stan’s uncomfortable grimace at the reminder, “At least try.”

“Alright, alright, fine.”

With a roll of his eyes, Stan squints at the page again,

“Fuck your rune, that never does shit for me. Uh… Cone-acker on a sandy, uh—“

“Coniuna-caro nodsanguis proplendiqum, Stanley.”

“Propane-dick? Nice.”

“Proplendiqum.” Ford seethes.

Stan rolls his eyes and, not thinking or trying half as hard on the next try, pronounces almost everything correctly. His hand hovers over the wound and creates a few gold sparkles. For a moment, the decrease in pain makes Ford think Stan’s actually done it, but no; when he looks at his arm, the wound looks pretty much the same.

“Doesn’t look like it worked.”

Ford frowns,

“It helped with the pain, at least. That’s something. Go on, try again.”

“Ford. It ain’t gonna happen. Quit wasting time and go use your magic stuff on it.”

With a defeated sigh, Ford sets his journal on the side table and turns around. If it weren’t for the concerning rate of this blood loss, he’d be much more insistent, but… he really ought to fix this.

He fetches his medical kit from a kitchen cabinet. Opens it.

Oh.

The roll of healing bandages is all but empty. The a tattered strip left could heal, at best, a bad paper cut.

How had he managed to forget that?

He grabs the roll of regular bandages and returns to Stan somewhat sheepishly, not quite thinking straight anymore— yep, he’s getting a bit lightheaded now. It doesn’t help that he’s been performing magical investigations all afternoon.

“Got your magic healing stuff now?” Stan asks without looking.

“We’re out of healing bandages.”

Ford’s voice is so blunt, so deadpan that Stan’s head whips towards him on a swivel,

“What, seriously? Buddy, that’s gonna need stitches, then.”

Ford scowls and rolls his eyes,

“Absolutely not. No, I just need to stop the bleeding—“

“You mean like stitches do?”

Stan’s interruption is bored and unamused and Ford doesn’t even pause,

“—or at least slow it down enough that I can heal it myself. Unless you’d like to try again?”

Stan rises out of the armchair and practically drags his brother into it, seeing the man’s face get pale and watching his weight wobble back and forth unsteadily,

“Not really. I thought you said healing yourself is too hard?”

“It’s extremely difficult and inefficient, but possible, and I really just need to heal it enough that I won’t bleed out.”

“Well, tell me when and I’ll bandage it up.” Stan sighs, pulling the second, far less comfortable chair nearer so he can fret over his brother properly. “Or I can stitch it, if ya want; that’ll hurt like hell, though.”

Ford huffs laughter,

“No thanks.”

He looks at the journal, draws the rune in the air over his injured arm,

…and immediately gets tunnel vision so bad he almost passes out. He releases the rune with a deep gasp for air, and Stan tenses his grip on the arm of the chair,

“You okay?”

“Fine, just…” Deep breath. “If you’re not willing to try healing again, go get my glucose tablets from the kitchen. This will take more magical energy than I have available to me at the moment.”

Stan mutters and grumbles and Ford closes his eyes to focus on breathing. He’s so focused he doesn’t even hear Stan get up.

Or, he doesn’t hear it because Stan doesn’t get up. With some very dissatisfied grumbling, Stan grabs Ford’s arm and twists the journal to face him.

“Coniunacaro nodsanguis proplendiqum.“

Ford pries his eyes open just in time to see the golden glow around his arm, Stan’s eyes screwed shut with focus, one hand with a firm grip just below the injury and the other hovering over it. Ford watches the skin knit itself back together— not completely, not perfectly, but more than enough. More than he would’ve been able to do for himself right now, even with his glucose tablets.

When Stan’s eyes open again to look over the semi-healed wound, he humphs with what sounds like amusement, then looks at the roll of regular bandages and rises from his seat,

“Ya didn’t even grab disinfectant, dipshit.”

Ford’s too impressed, confused, and lightheaded to comment the entire time that Stan’s cleaning and bandaging his arm. He eventually passes out watching something meaningless on the TV. He doesn’t even remember to say “thank you.”

Based off of this short by @someoddwritings for @aroace-get-out-of-my-face ‘s Safety Alarm AU

(Basically, magic user Ford dies and Stan goes nope and resurrects him.) (read their thing first though it’s really good and makes this read better)

“So,” Ford eventually has to ask, “how did you do it?”

Stan blinks at him from the armchair. It’s late, he’s still tired from the incident, and he was expecting they’d go to bed soon. Instead, now Ford’s talking, and his tone sounds like he’s trying too hard to keep it light.

“Do what?” is the first thing Stan’s brain offers, because how could he possibly know something Ford doesn’t know?

“Don’t be obtuse, Stanley.” Ford rolls his eyes, “How did you resurrect me? Did you memorize a spell beforehand? Did you even use an incantation?”

Oh, this. Of course. Stan shrugs,

“Nah. Actually, I’ve got no idea what happened there. I just sorta… focused. I’m thinkin’ it was probably easier because you do so much magic stuff, so I figure you had a bunch of magic in you already or something.”

Ford furrows his brow,

“That’s not really how that works, Stanley.”

“Well, clearly it is, ‘cause you’re here.”

“Yes. I’m here. Because you brought me back to life.”

Stan makes a dismissive “eh” sound and shrugs again. Ford fully does a double take,

“‘Eh’?! What do you mean ‘eh’?! You resurrected me! It took you less than a minute! I was dead, Stanley—“

Stan winces at the word,

“Can we stop talkin’ about that? I don’t wanna think about it anymore.”

“No,” Ford feels himself get louder as he grows increasingly agitated, “I need you to understand the magnitude of what you accomplished! You performed a true resurrection in under a minute without—“

“Shut up!”

Ford’s loud confusion quiets as Stan begins to shout,

“I know you were dead, so stop fucking saying it! I saw your head cracked in half, I saw your ribs crushed into little bits, I saw your heart smushed flat, I KNOW. And I’m not lookin’ forward to sleepin’ tonight because I’ve been seein’ it all again every time I close my eyes. I’m probably gonna have nightmares about that forever, and I’ve got no fucking idea how I fixed it!”

Stan slumps further into the plush chair, looking miserable,

“I don’t know how I fixed it, and I don’t know if I could ever do anything like that again. I barely even remember doing it. I just know I saw you and… you couldn’t be dead. It was wrong. I remember thinking it just had to be fixed and you couldn’t exactly do it so I had to fix it and my hands felt funny and I got all dizzy and then you were back, so I was done, and that was that.”

Ford looks at his face exhausted brother sympathetically. He gets it— he still thinks too often about the state he found Stanley in originally, tied up and dying of heatstroke in the trunk of his own car. He remembers the magic he performed to bring his dying brother to him, the surge of energy that his determination brought; that’s something he knows about magic, it feeds on passion and intensity, it works better the more you want it.

Yet, some selfish part of Ford can’t stop thinking about how much work it was for him. The locator spell, the teleportation— both with incantations and specific methods that called upon his expertise— finding his brother within the car, cooling him down, not having enough magic left to bring him into the house with anything but his tired muscles, and that’s not even considering the safety alarm itself—

And Stanley hadn’t even been dead.

It took time after all that for Stanley to recover, and Stanley hadn’t even been dead. Ford died today, and all he has to show for it is a twinge in his back and his legs from how he was awkwardly forced to the ground when the boulder landed on his upper half. When he awoke 36 seconds after his own death, he didn’t even have a headache.

He wants to tell his brother how impressed he is, how incredible such a controlled, intent-based display of magic is. He wants to shout and throw something because how could anyone perform something as complex as a true resurrection without the proper use of spells or incantations, it’s a flippant dismissal, even an offense, to everything he thinks he knows about magic.

Between the incredibly loud, emotionally intense warring sides in Ford’s head, his voice comes out calm and gentle,

“I can prevent nightmares, if that would help.”

Stan looks at him. Ford offers a small, tired smile,

“I know a spell that induces dreamless sleep. I’ve used it on myself before. I can use it on you, if you’d like.”

Stan nods, a small movement.

“That would be nice.”

Ford nods in return.

“Let’s go to bed, then. I think we’ve both had enough excitement for one day.”

When they walk down the hall to what Ford expects to be the guest room only to find Ford’s own room, extended a few extra feet with an extra bed in it, Ford can’t bring himself to argue. Especially not with how grateful Stan looks.

He all but tucks Stan in, using what little magic he has available this evening to ensure him a dreamless sleep and help him drift into it. When Stan conks out, he brushes a strand of hair out of the peaceful, sleeping face before putting himself to bed as well.

When he wakes up only an hour later, plagued by images of Stan’s death that he’s not sure he’d be able to heal the same way, he gives himself a dreamless sleep as well.

[silverdragon889]

Shawn and Roxanna | Burned Ties AU

Quick notes- there will be mention of a couple codes, being Code Ashes and Code Birdcage. Birdcage I came up with myself, but Ashes comes from @purplebehittindifferent iirc. If they have a problem w/ me using it, I will happily remove it. The Poll had Prism as the winner, but someone (I think @solhunder2 ??? Its after midnight sue me) mentioned Shawn in HR being more than a joke and I realized I really wanted to write him. So he's here too. Now onto the tag list.

Tags: @pandagobrr @warden-draws-sometimes @sleepywillowo0o @wyvchard @ghostlystarwanderer

Am willing to add people so just @ or DM me 👍

Now that that's done, I hope you enjoy!

There was an Agency-wide game of Assassin a while back that Crane still had a favor for. He called up the familiar number to the HR department, and Shawn had responded in an instant.

“Hey! Crane, how have you been? It's been a bit since you called. Business or casual?”

Crane felt himself start to get emotional, knowing what was at stake, but shoved it down as quick as it formed.

“Business, I'm afraid. I need to call in that favor after, *ahem*, removing Carrot Top from the Assassin game.”

Shawn hummed in understanding.

“And I can't thank you enough for it. What do you need?”

Oh he knew this would go over like a house going ablaze… but it's what he needs right now.

“I need my calls unmonitored for all of 45 minutes.”

As expected, he heard the man spit out his drink.

“You know that goes against basic protocol, right?! Are you compromised?!”

“Negative.” He was quick to respond. “But in order to protect an Agency asset, I'm going to have to protect my line… and therefore the identity of who I contact. We might have a Code: Ashes if I don't.”

At that, Shawn acquiesces.

“Then say no more. Good luck, Handler Mason.”

“Thank you, Shawn.”

Crane gives it all of 5 seconds before dialing a number that's still rather painful to use… but the muscle memory is there. He spent a good amount of time practicing this number for when the time came. He just prayed she answered.

It took three rings.

“Prism speaking.”

He sighed in relief, for more than one reason if he was choosing to be honest with himself today.

“Roxanna. Before you panic, I called in a favor. I have 45 minutes unmonitored.”

He heard a breath of relief, unmeant for his ears, but heard all the same.

“Be quick.”

“Code: Birdcage. I need you to track him for me, and get me any part of the layout I may have missed. I'm going in.”

Roxanna began to sputter before scolding him.

“Are you out of your mind?! It's been YEARS since you were in the field like that, Reginald! Running point and recon is NOT the same as active fieldwork and you, of all people, know that!”

“I don't exactly have the time nor the will to entrust this to an Agent I'm unused to.” He speaks firmly, accidentally revealing more about his attachment to Phoenix than he'd wanted… but it was too late now. He refuses to take it back anyway. Phoenix has had too many people turn their backs on him. He absolutely WILL NOT become another one.

He expects he'd rather die.

Roxanna is no fool.

“This is because Phoenix is my greatest creation. Nothing more. Got it?”

He doesn't believe it for a second and neither does she. But he humors her anyway.

“Of course.”

“It won't be more than five minutes. Good luck and be safe, Reginald.”

“I promise.”

The call ends and Reginald begins to forget the number… the phone was a burner anyway. Roxanna may not be Agency affiliated anymore, but he has no doubt in her ability to acquire just about any resource.

All he had to do was wait.

To make it more bearable, he began to fidget with a small plushie Phoenix had given him after his KBOOM recovery. He stared at it fondly.

Handlers and Agents were never supposed to get attached… but with Phoenix? It was inevitable.

He rejected any other option than bringing his son HOME.

============================

Poll Time! What Plushie did Nix give him?

[moodyseal]

I love your art a lot!! kinda like glossy eye candy. would you ever draw hyacinthus again or continue the winter soldier au? you convey character expressions rlly well!!

This is so sweet omg thank you 🥹💕 I'm actually in the process of outlining how I want the story in the AU to go so yeah, I'm definitely continuing it! Figuring out Hyacinthus' personality is a bit tricky because of how little we have of him in canon (and also kind of because of the whole premise of this AU) but it's coming along 🫡

Meanwhile here's a little Hyacinthus sketch for you <3

It was originally a test for a fake Hades screenshot but I ended up making Helios instead so this is what's left of that attempt lmao

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co