#I really wish I could stand to be here more as it’s theoretically a nicer atmosphere than the dead blue bird app but B/ylers basically

[lenorahills]

Hi! I know you're not active right now, but I just wanted to say that I love your blog and your art. I love your takes on Mileven, I also like the fact that they're not a neurotypical couple, and I think that's something that rarely gets talked about. Your art is lovely too :)

Hello! I am active, but only slightly! It was real nice to see a message in my inbox! Thank you for taking the time to send me some nice words. If you would like to see more of me actively I am more-so over on the platform “formerly” known as Twitter under the user @/starcourtmaii.

I did post some Mileven day art over there actually, just a splash of colour on a very old sketch. Tumblr is just not the ideal spot for me to post much pertaining to them, which is why I really haven’t been active all that much. The environment here is just very hostile. Maybe in the future I will get back to using this site but for now, it doesn’t seem likely. I’m also just a bit at an arms length with ST in general. I’ve been very busy with work and my evolving taste and interests which still includes ST of course.

I’d like to publish more meta here someday about El’s neurodiversity. That’ll be for another day. Thank you again 🤍

[knowltonsrangers]

theoretically pt.5

TURN!Benjamin Tallmadge x F!reader

part one , part two , part three , part four

The light of the candle isn’t what has been keeping you up, but it isn’t necessarily helping your venture on attempting to get some rest.

Your cheek firmly pressed against your crossed arms, you stare absentmindedly at Benjamin’s back, watching the way his shoulders tense with annoyance as he has to scribble out words of his official report, then begin the sentence again.

Your eyes follow to his desk, absolutely littered with letters and maps, enough that you squint to attempt a better glance at their words and images.

If he had any idea that you were awake, he simply ignored the fact.

Part of you was raked with guilt, weighed down by the idea that most of this was entirely your fault with little way to fix the problem.

You wanted to stay irate, remain bitter at the fact it wasn’t he who was stuck here with you, it was you who was stuck here with him.

Yet, if anything, your resentful attitude did nothing to aid your cause, so maybe you could stand to be a bit nicer to the man who did nothing to harm you just yet.

“Cant sleep?”

It startles you, your eyes bouncing around the tent, surprised that he had moved from his desk without as much as a sound.

You must’ve zoned out, for him to have now be seated at the end of the cot, arms across his chest as he stares down at you.

“Sorry, I did not intend to startle you.”

“No…it’s okay. And yeah, I can’t sleep. Something like that.”

“Something on your mind?”

“No. Today just wore me out.”

You watch him warily, your cheek returning to your arm as you now stare at the wall of the tent.

“I was pleased with how you spoke to the General, at least.”

His words are soft, almost a whisper, still looking at you, as if there was something more he wished to ask.

“I did okay?”

The validation was not expected, but extremely comforting, finally daring to move onto your back so you could properly speak to him.

“Besides your ramblings, sure.”

“Thanks.”

Ben expected you to bite back, some comment about his teasing, but all you do is feel the waves of relief wash over you in droves.

“I ran your name, and as far as I know, not a soul knows of you.”

“Unless a relative is walking around, I doubt anyone would. A last name may match, but my full name, no one.”

He hums, fingers tapping against his arms, the words rolling around on his tongue for a moment before they come out of his mouth.

“The dress annoyed you so much? I thought you looked very nice,”

The candlelight does little to help hide the twinge of red that blossoms on your cheeks.

“Let’s just say I appreciated you keeping these around.”

You gesture to your t-shirt and joggers.

“Well, you look nice in those too. If that happens to be standard for your time.”

You snort.

“No, this would be considered sleepwear, probably because that’s what I was doing when I woke up here.”

Ben seems mildly interested in this, scooting a little closer to you, so you sit up and draw your knees to your chest so he can sit next to you on the cot.

“I think I owe you an apology, Major.”

Solemnly, your gaze lowers to the white sheet, wrinkling your nose in defeat.

“Whatever for, y/n?”

“Besides…our first encounter, you’ve been nothing but nice to me. And I’ve been a sarcastic, annoying drama queen, probably.”

Ben actually laughs, throwing his head back before quickly collecting himself, realizing where he was and the hour of the night.

“I wouldn’t think you were such. Though I don’t know entirely what ‘drama queen’ means, I am putting the pieces together.”

“Anyway though, I do owe you one. I really am sorry. I hope through all this we can be besties—friends. I’d like that, if that’s okay with you.”

Ben mulls it over for a moment, is heart beating in his ears so loudly he’s positive you can hear it, before answering your proposal with a firm nod.

“I’d like that as well.”

There’s a passing moment of silence, then Ben gathers the courage to ask one more question for the night.

“y/n,”

Your gaze lifts, meeting his, and he can’t help the way he nearly swoons over the way you look at him.

“If I can’t find a way to help you…whatever the situation may be,”

He counts off on agitated fingers.

“Confusion, illness, injury, time travel—“

A sigh escapes his chapped lips.

“What are you going to do?”

It’s what’s been keeping you awake, terribly sad and lonely. You want to burst into tears at the thought of it, but you didn’t feel right throwing some of that burden on Ben, especially after the meaningful moments you’ve just exchanged.

Instead, you shrug, swallowing down a building sob.

“Y’know, Ben, I hadn’t really thought about it.”

A sad smile finds its way to your cheeks.

“I trust you. And I trust that we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Your teeth sink slowly into your bottom lip, hesitant to touch him, but move forward all the same. Patting his hand softly, you hope your comforting motion is enough to get you through this conversation.

“I’m inclined to agree.”

He goes to say more, but you slink back down onto the cot, knees drawn to your chest as you grab at the warmth beneath the sheet.

“Good night, Ben,”

You try your best to say it without sounding too warbled.

“Sleep well, y/n.”

He pushes off the cot, and as he blows out the candle, the tent is enveloped in a darkness that you welcomed with open arms.

[ao3bronte]

Mamma Mia AU [Part 7]

READ PART 6 HERE!

I Have A Dream

April mornings never cease to steal Marinette’s breath away. The cherry blossoms, the tulips and the lilacs all in full bloom...Marinette smiles into the breeze and inhales, savouring the sweet scent of the season in the air. It’s beautiful out here and Marinette can’t wait to take her daily morning break from designing to draw inspiration from the scenic parks of the Paris she loves.

Whenever she’s tired or lonely or just stressed out from work, she likes to go outside and stretch her legs. Now that spring has finally sprung, she rejoices in the warmth of the sun on her skin as it drives away the wet cold of the winter rains. It had been an especially chilly season and Marinette feels glad that she had at least a little reprieve from the weather on the weekends as the sleet came pelting down against the windows. Her heart and personal space heater returns to the Netherlands during the weekdays for school. He braves the traffic and takes the bus back to Paris every Friday evening and Marinette does her very best to meet him at the station to greet him with a pastry in tow.

She hums tunelessly as she shoves her hands into her pockets and walks along a pebbled path through the blossoming magnolias. She tries not to worry too much about what the future between her and Adrien might bring but Marinette has never been known for her rationality. He’s been nothing but accommodating and kind now that they’ve patched things up between them...but there’s still an underlying tension. Maybe, she thinks, it has to do with the fact that he still lives out of the country. They spend as much time as they can together on the weekends but between the akuma battles that have been ramping up lately and her mounting pile of commissions, Marinette wishes they could just stay together for good.

Of course, that would mean asking Adrien to move in with her.

Shortly after Luka’s and Kagami’s wedding, Marinette had to move out of her parent’s home just to get more space for her mounting fashion business. Now, she rents a one bedroom flat close by that she uses as a home, an office and a design studio and, although her two employees help keep her company, the loneliness closes in during the evenings when she gazes out of her belle-époque windows and watches couples meander down the boulevard hand in hand, sipping steaming beverages and window shopping together.

Sometimes, Marinette indulges in a fantasy to help her through reality. While she’s cutting and sewing fabrics and gossiping with her seamstresses, her mind is completely focused but during the other times, she imagines what Adrien and her life would be like together. Would he want to move in with her? Would he come to hate the fact that the space meant for a living room has been turned into a fashion studio? Would he want to live somewhere else because it’s too crowded here?

Marinette sighs. He would be taking on an architecture apprenticeship here in Paris once he finishes his fast-tracked theoretical studies, much to his father’s chagrin, and Marinette truly wonders if he really would want to live his life together with her. Would Gabriel, who had found out about his son’s studies through the tabloids and nearly blew his fuse, make him move back in with him? She can’t imagine Adrien agreeing to that, but she can’t help but wonder if moving into a crammed, run-down apartment with her would be any better.

There’s someone standing in the middle of the path and Marinette instinctively moves to the side to get around them. Everyone is taking pictures of the magnolias now that they’re in bloom and Marinette doesn’t want to photobomb someone’s Instagram story—

“Marinette!”

She’d know that voice anywhere.

“Adrien?!” Marinette gasps and spins around, holding her hands to her chest. Of course it’s him, all tousled hair and bright green eyes. He’s dressed in one of her creations, a chartreuse oversized sweater, and holds a bouquet of pink tulips in his hands, “What are you doing here? It’s a Wednesday!”

“It is,” Adrien’s ecstatic grin threatens to split his face in two, “I’m finished! My profs accepted my thesis on the first try!”

Marinette feels like she’s been struck by lightning, “You mean—”

“I don’t have to leave anymore,” Adrien runs up to her and stops just short, holding out his bouquet, “I can stay in Paris forever! I mean, if you...um, if that’s what you want.”

“Of course that’s what I want,” Marinette snatches the tulips from his hands and throws her arms around his neck.

Adrien melts into her embrace and kisses her firmly on the lips, relieved and elated all at once, “Does that mean I can move in with you too? Because I already left all my luggage at your place. The blonde seamstress let me in.”

“You…” Marinette trails off, her eyes blown wide, “You want to move in with me?”

“I love your place, even if it is a little crowded,” Adrien laughs and the sound of it makes her believe in angels, “As long as you don’t mind me buying us a nicer bed, I want to live with you and make coffee for you for as long as you’ll have me. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I’m the best roommate ever.”

“Just a roommate?” Marinette quirks an eyebrow, “Or something more?”

“I’ll be your husband too, if you want,” Adrien beams, kissing the astonished look off her face, “In fact, that reminds me. I have something to ask you.”

Marinette leaps a foot into the air and screeches loud enough to scare every pigeon in Paris as Adrien reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box, “How about it, Marinette? You’re going to need a model to boss around while you become Paris’ greatest fashion designer of all time and I want to spend every moment of my life with you. I want to be with you. I want to fight beside you and sleep next to you and kick Le Papillon’s ass with you. So what do you say?”

Speechless, Marinette’s eyes well up with happy tears, “I…”

“Come on, M’Lady,” Adrien gushes, his own eyes shining with emotion, “It’s only the rest of your life!”

Unable to contain herself any longer, Marinette jumps up and down and practically drags her future husband up to his feet by his collar, kissing him absolutely senseless. She jumps into his arms, wraps her legs around his body and giggles as his laughter rumbles through his chest.

“I’ve always dreamt of this moment,” Marinette gasps for breath, nuzzling his nose, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Marinette,” Adrien whispers, kissing her once more for good luck.

[One part left!]

[seekeroftruthpromestein]

Welp. Paradox time.It’s the Finale.

Yikes. Last campground....

That doesn’t bode well...

Here they are. All my friends. I’ve traveled with them for this long. We’re near the end of the game. Who knows what will happen... 

Promestein. You’ve been a very interesting character to see through this game. Seeing you young kind of shows you were always a fucked up kid. But, you have a good heart. And you now have a found family. You’re no longer a lone wolf salvaging through a dark world. You have us. And we’re happy to have you and alllow you to examine this bright new world.

Nuruko. I sadly didn’t get to know you too well and I’ll be sure to remedy that next game. But you were an interesting little thing. 

I wouldn’t have pegged you as a main character honestly but hey. I’m glad your here. You were another person that I’ll have to be sure to bring next time because I feel you probably have lots of interesting insight. 

Pope. You are DEF going to be in my next group. You were one of the most exciting twists i’ve ever seen and I am happy you were here. I am still angry for no sex scene. 

Hilde. Once again, another “I didn’t bring around enough” but you hey. Happy to have you.

These two were my favorite running joke. The not so wise senpai and the student. 

Not sure why YOU are here but you WERE the first boss of the game. So. Yeah. Welcome.

And you were the first recruited monster... I think.

This little exchange reminds me. Granberia was NOT at ALL a regular character in this entire exchange. Hardly any of the knights showed their faces. Alma I think was the most regular. 

The spirits play little purpose as well. In the orginal trilogy they were SUPER important as they were a constant ability you had to keep on or die.  Here. They’re not weak, they’re decent buffs.  But I rarely use them... I did use them actually in the battle against Blalice. Alice actually is a Spirit Summoner because I felt it was rather poetic all things considered. 

Wait are you a noble? Maybe you should put on pants. And a shirt. But okay. Vanilla! The most useful member that never see’s battle. She was BRIEFLY drafted in Black Alice when all of the other allies died but yeah. She has been a rock this entire time. Constantly producing MP for the party.  

I admit I never had a use for her. She mostly stayed around because she had the most Dialog from things. 

And ah. The MVP herself. Okay second MVP but we’ll get to her soon. Superb support. Valuable as hell. Sadly a lot of Angels have Auto-hit attacks. But I would have lost without her many times. 

I’m trying to do the whole sentimental thing but yeah. Don’t have a lot to say. Maybe one of these days I’ll have just the four of them on a team. 

I’m just WAITING for you to betray me. But it’s a bit late and you’re no longer important in the slightest so. 

Ah speak of the devil. Now. Time for the main course. 

Traveling with Black Alice has been a really facinating experience. She’s a lot of fun. If you know, a bit evil. It’s interesting that she played the Alice. Pretending to be something she’s not. It makes me wonder if it’s a tradition? I wonder if this experience will make her nicer. 

Ah Sonya. You sadly have a LOT of death flags... It was interesting the idea of Luka having a human friend, but from a writing perspective it makes sense as she suddenly got the tropes that were associated with Alice in the first game. 

Not a good sign.

This does bring a point though. Sonya I dropped out of the party for not being too useful. A healer in a game where healing is incredibly easy. And she didn’t exactly have a whole lot... Actually I could have turned her into a vampire funny enough. And a worm Villager. But yeah, besides that. She didn’t have a whole lot. I’m probably gonna try using her more in my Ilias file as I want to RP it as more of a Human/Angel Centric idea. The only overlap being Prom really. 

And Alice. I really wish there was more to you but I get it. The romance between Luka and her just isn’t  a focal point. Despite the fact that her and Luka’s children are in fact facing off. I kind of wish that was addressed more. 

And her mother... There’s actually a LOT of plot threads still not addressed. 

Was hoping for Elemental Giga. This would be a game where it could be theoretically useful though. With all the abilities and such.

Ilias prayer music in the background.

Now we have Opera music... Place has changed.

Less then steller. 

You bitch.

You know what. Fuck you. YOU are FOURTH! 

Alright gotta act quickly. Can’t... wait

WHAT??

SHE SAID IT

I’m not sure if gleefully killing an entire town counts. 

Never a nice thing to learn.

“Then the fanfiction writers started... There’s this ONE bitch. She runs a Promestein blog and if you LISTENED to the drivel she writes. She made up this nonsense with male monsters for drama’s sake”

“And don’t get me started on the Luka Situation. There were like 3 at one point.”

Wait... How many others from other worlds??

...Wait When??? I can go over level 60 now?? Must be when I updated.. Huh. Okay. Wish I did this earlier.

Too many... oh

See. I’m doing an RP with La Croix that takes place using this concept. But something both of us realized is that Luka actually very rarely DIED in most of his endings. Not right away. Many of them used him as a pleasure slave. Or married him. Or he just gave up adventuring. Some like the angels even used him for 1000′s of years. So. Theoretically. He would have had to live his entire life. Die of natural causes. And then wake up back at a fight he had years ago. 

But here it just says failed. 

Oh.... Is this...Which Ilias?

I forgot... You’re... the Real ilias. so you have been trying your best to keep things from going to shit huh?

Oops.

Yikes... So yeah. Makes sense. Fuck that Lukia (Which was us)

The...Remina labs??

Oh hey. It that bitch.

Yes Little Prom. Yes. Soon. You will meet. Yourself.

A better part of the whole. I remember there being an Angel/Monster hybrid who says she couldn’t  combine her dark and holy energy. This is probably why.

I wonder if this is a joke of some kind revolving around smoking becoming less allowed in Japan.

And they summoned.... Black..Alice. Is that how she was alive in the original Trilogy??

Oh no... This..... Is.... Original Trilogy Black Alice.

As creepy music plays. I am reminded. The White Rabbit is a universal Constant. Where was she then in the original Trilogy? Simple. She was here. Right here. In Black Alice... the drug created by Promestein. The fusion of Holy and Dark.

Those poor Scientist.

That Casualty of it.

Oh. Dear. Lord.

“So you finished the art for that Hentai game right?” “HENTAI GAME?? I thought we were making Bloodborne.”

That is terrifying. 

Oh dear lord.

Angels. Demons. Both are at her demand.

YOU SAID SHE COULD NOT REACH US.

Of course. Time Succubi from aother wordl

That. Is terrifying.

Yup. Zero.

She’s dying as the Villain again? The Pyrrha. 

Wait. What?

So... You.. Were killing them to.. Bring them into YOUR world??? So. They’re alive? 

So they’re killing people... to bring them into another?  This reminds me of a little bit of a Webcomic called Order of the Stick. Where the gods wondered briefly if they should destroy the world, in order to save the souls. Because the main monster, was a giant horrifying sould devouring creature.  So if the gods destroyed the world, they could save many from inhiliation, and bring them into the after life.  This begs a lot of question about after lives and existance beyond death and whether or not it truly is a death. 

Bloodying her hands so her daughter doesn’t have to.

Yeah I would like to know that as well.

I would like to know actually.

Wait why are you wearing clothes now?

I forgot you were a person.  Wait. So these are from another universe.... One where Ilias won...And therefor Eden got to wear clothes. 

The old Monster and Angel War, Fought in the foreground of the world we stand.

And the death flags come home to roost. 

Was she... one the entire time?

Or did she become one now?

Mhm. This looks familiar.

And the music begins. The  battle wasn’t too hard. But...

This isn’t good.

Not grand.

This battle music is though. ♪♫

Oh you bitch.

We beat both of them... or...

We did not.

That’s... really really not good.

...what?

HUH???

UMMM????

SHES A WHATR??

She’s the element of chaos....   Does that mean there’s a HOly and Dark Spirit too?

Fine. I’ll train you.

...What?

Oh.... shit.... Dad... Killed Alice’s Mom.

And. That. Is the end.... Welp. I guess we have to do the Ilias Route next.

[ruensroad]

sweet surrender

Valentine’s coming up so here’s some spicy JinYi for flavor.

---

He’d known, theoretically, that his marriage would cause dissonance within his Council. Everything was an uphill battle with them, had always been, given the state of his family’s reputation and his own methods of leadership, as well as love, which differed from what they wanted. His jiu-jiu had taught him to be fearless in all things he knew were right, so he was, and for a while it’d been simple to just damn the consequences and take whatever punishment they laid over his shoulders. They could only do so much, in the end, and their constant irritation meant little when it came to his people, his family, his sect, or his husband.

They’d tried making laws, making treaties. They’d tried finding loopholes in his inheritance to kick him out. When these failed, they created problems, tightened their hold on the treasury, forced him to work extra hard to make ends meet while keeping his sect and his people above water. Test after test, victory after victory. They were persistent, but he had his jiu-jiu’s stubbornness, and he would not bend to them. Not easily. And they knew it.

But this? Passive aggressive meetings upon meetings to talk of petty things, hours and hours… this was by far the worst.

Jin Ling knew his patience was lacking already, no matter the meditation techniques Jingyi had taught him to give him better control over his temper. But to have his precious time with his new husband cut short, and for what? So his Elders could make some kind of point? Forcing him from dinner and into the long hours of dusk, when Jingyi surely had gone to bed without him?

He understood, now, why his jiu-jiu had always been so tired with his own council. He just wished he knew the trick to shutting them up for good.

Murder, maybe?

He sighed and slumped against his bedroom door, dismissing that, though only after a brief moment to just imagine the quiet that would follow. It would never be worth it, but some peace would be nice for a change. Perhaps he could find a loophole into their positions and kick them all out. Get a council of senior disciples, how nice would that be?

It wouldn’t happen, but it was a nicer thought than simply enduring, which was the only path left to him.

Gods, just one day, he wished he wasn’t in charge. Life was much simpler for those that followed, not led. And he missed it wholly.

A soft sweep of robes over the floor pulled him out of that fog of exhaustion and frustration, even before he heard the soft utterance of his name. It was always a wonder seeing Jingyi in a golden-rimmed robe, without his ribbon and his hair loose. From the first night they’d ever shared to now, it hadn’t lost it’s awe. He hoped it never would.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly before reaching out to catch Jingyi’s hand, their fingers tangling in a familiar curve. The soft contact was enough to draw the other in, like a whisper of wind, and he was slowly kissed.

“I was meditating,” Jingyi said, which explained how awake he seemed. If Jin Ling had truly woken him, he’d be far less put together, even as unbound as he was. “Waiting.”

Jin Ling immediately sighed away another bite of frustration. “I’m sorry. The Council -”

“-are a bunch of petty old men who need to remember what is really important about running a sect,” Jingyi finished for him, no nonsense, and reached up with his free hand to cup his face. “They’re running you ragged.”

“They want me to trip me up, that’s all,” Jin Ling huffed and turned his face in to bite a soft nip to Jingyi’s wrist. “I am Sect Leader, not them. I will do what I need to for my people and Sect, and for you.”

“Just as I will do what I need to do for you,” Jingyi said, though had not melted into him the way he usually did when his wrist was seized. There was a stubborn light in his dark eyes tonight, something determined and almost angry, but the hands that slid into his hair to release the crown and hairpin were nothing but gentle, with the promise of… something making him shiver.

“What are you scheming,” he said, more an observation than a proper question. He’d known such a look years before Jingyi had ever been fully his and it still brought a part of him to life with the anticipation of mischief.

But it seemed mischief was not what Jingyi was after as he traced the silver ribbon over Jin Ling’s forehead and carefully untied it, thoughtful almost while he regarded the silken strip.

“Do you trust me, husband?” was what he asked, startling him, because surely, he knew?

The look on his face made Jin Ling pause, however; made him sense the true seriousness of that question and the shivering promise behind it. His body came to life for a whole new reason when it became aware of his husband’s full attention.

“Yes,” he breathed, still uncertain what Jingyi was thinking, but trusting him completely. If nothing else, he knew he was safe here. Knew that Jingyi would not think of something that would hurt him, and if it edged too far he would stop the moment Jin Ling asked. That had not changed from their first night and he doubted it ever would.

He took Jingyi’s hand with a smile and kissed it, feeling the silk of the ribbon against his lips. “I’m yours, Jingyi, and you are mine. I trust you.”

Jingyi smiled at that, mouth infused with that same determination in his eyes. His fingers caught Jin Ling’s and squeezed, once, then he leaned in as though for a kiss.

“So busy giving orders and taking orders…” he mused just when their mouths brushed and Jin Ling shivered to feel the hint of teeth against his lower lip. “Always in control. But not tonight.”

He was not ready for the flush that overtook his body, hearing that, nor for the way his mouth went dry as Jingyi slowly wrapped his Lan ribbon around his wrists, and a steady knot at that. Jin Ling realized with a kick of heat that he could not, in fact, break the hold without ruining his marriage ribbon, which they both knew he would never do willingly. He’d have to trust in Jingyi to release him and that loss of control, even just this tiny bit, made him shudder.

“I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow, am I?” he asked, steeling himself as he leaned back against the door, and prayed his knees were strong enough to hold out.

He got a lazy, curling grin in answer, full of trouble, and glittering, amused eyes meeting his. Then Jingyi was ducking under the closed circle of his arms, all calm ease and confidence and he promptly forgot how to breathe. “I daresay you’ll be strutting as you always do, Sect Leader Jin.”

“Somehow I’m not reassured, Master Lan,” Jin Ling managed to tease and even managed the last word that round, a miracle, given Jingyi simply silenced him with another kiss. Hands settled on his waist and wrapped around his sash, reaching around to untie the silk and let it drop. It pooled to the ground at their feet in a golden cascade and Jin Ling bit his lip as his robe was neatly untied and allowed to drape open, layer by layer, until Jingyi’s hands traced over his skin.

“Kick off your shoes, Sect Leader,” Jingyi said and his fingers trailed away to his own sash, which joined Jin Ling’s in a blue heap.

Jin Ling did as he was told, fingers flexing in the air as he shuffled off his boots. The moment they were kicked to the side, Jingyi’s hands were on him again, like a reward, and he shivered all over when his silent demand for a kiss was ignored.

“Not yet, Sect Leader,” Jingyi chuckled and shrugged off his robe, until he was standing in nothing but his silken trousers. Ivory skin glowed in the faint moonlight, such a contrast to the sunkissed warmth of his own, and he ached to touch, to take back control and kiss his way down every faint scar and freckle he’d long since memorized. But that was part of the game, wasn’t it? Surrender. Trust. Like hell he was ruining this when it’d only just begun, especially with his husband looking at him like that.

Jin Ling forced himself to lean back against the door again, breathing sharply through his nose, and soaked in the feeling of warm hands running down their well loved paths over his skin. “You realize I can’t get my own robes off in this state?” he said, hoping that wouldn’t put a hitch in things, but Jingyi only smiled lazily again, kicking that heat in his gut up to a whole other kind of burn.

“They can be washed,” was all Jingyi said to that, all he had to say, and Jin Ling was putty in his hands even before they cradled his face and drew him into a breathtaking kiss. A sweep of tongue, a hint of teeth; Jin Ling downright growled when Jingyi kept it torturously short.

“Jingyi.”

“Patience, Sect Leader Jin,” Jingyi laughed, the devil, and pushed him bodily against the door in a show of strength that had his stomach swooping, especially with those clever fingers dancing beats over his hips. “You are not the one giving the orders tonight, remember?”

“Fuck,” Jin Ling felt his face heat just as Jingyi’s hands gripped under his thighs and lifted. He just about yelped at the sudden ease of it, but found himself groaning instead to feel his feet leave the ground.

Damn, that Lan arm strength.

“See? Not so bad,” Jingyi chuckled and kissed a spot on his chest, slow and open mouthed, like holding Jin Ling’s full weight was something he was made for, and he had all the time in the world to do so. When Jin Ling only managed a choked noise in response, he pushed them back from the door and turned them neatly to set Jin Ling down on the vanity. The mirror shook when Jin Ling’s back hit it, the bowl of rosewater sloshing as it was disturbed. Jingyi laughed at the face he made and stole a kiss before he could complain.

“You’re cleaning that later,” he still grumbled, determined to have the final word again, and Jingyi snorted, like that was a funny tease, then settled into gentle kisses on his cheek and the side of his nose, his brow, his jaw and back to his lips. His warm fingers slipped under his robes again, this time splaying over his lower back, then tracing upwards, curling firmly into the skin of his shoulders.

“Some spilled water will be the least of what will be cleaned,” Jingyi mused, considering the fine, expensive silk Jin Ling was still wearing. He felt his face immediately flame over at the implication.

“Shameless.”

“For you? Always,” Jingyi said, easy as that, and lifted him off the vanity with a powerful tug, forcing him to cling as best he could to him with bound wrists. For a small eternity, they simply stood like that: Jingyi looking up at him, Jin Ling shivering in his hold, red faced and wanting.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he accused when the staring became too much, became an ache that only movement could cure and he was too scared of breaking Jingyi’s grip to do so, as much as he needed it. He settled for pouting and kissing Jingyi slow, not even a demand anymore, but a plea.

“I like carrying you,” Jingyi agreed, a tad breathless when they finally pulled apart, and carefully edged them around to the bed. He ducked his head down to encourage Jin Ling to lift his arms off of him, then used that infamous arm strength to lay him down fully with only a bit of bouncing. Standing there, backlit by the moon and his eyes so dark with want, he was a vision of confidence, of desire, and Jin Ling felt like a hare in a trap, but a willing one, and forced himself to lay back, bound hands over his head, utterly exposed.

“Don’t know how you do that,” he licked his lips, hips shifting in uncertainty as Jingyi simply continued to watch him squirm. “Or why you’d like it. Can’t be that easy.”

“It’s very easy,” Jingyi assured him in a tone that told Jin Ling he meant more than just a literal sense, and when he finally leaned down to steal a kiss, it was with softness, and utter love in his eyes, as well as a smile. “You’re not that heavy. Not to me.”

“Shameless,” Jin Ling muttered, heart so full it felt close to bursting, even as his body thrummed with fire as their skin brushed and Jingyi’s weight settled firmly between his legs, his sure hands guiding them over his hips, making him blush.

“I’m not ashamed of how I feel,” Jingyi just shrugged, like his every breath and movement wasn’t making Jin Ling go crazy with want, like he was reading the most engrossing love story ever written and the words were painted in Jin Ling’s skin. “You are mine, Sect Leader Jin, and I will always carry you when you need me to.”

He swallowed hard and nodded, tilting his face up for another kiss given gladly. “I am yours,” he breathed out. “All of me.”

Jingyi smiled and leaned over him, a hand reaching up to tangle in his bound ones, while the other trailed a whimsical path down his navel, making his breath hitch.

“All mine,” he agreed and his fingers dipped lower still. As Jin Ling arched into him, he laughed, low in his ear, nipping a spot on his neck he knew would be there tomorrow, for all to see. “All night.”

[portalford]

All the Things I Always Said I’d Be

AO3

They’re in Ford’s study, the one on the floor above the basement (and what do you even call that?  Half-basement?), and Stan’s got this stupid thought that he’d love to erase his memories of what this place looks like.

It’s got a desk and shelves and Ford’s usual probably-mostly harmless clutter everywhere.  That’s fine.

What’s not fine is all the Bill stuff, and that’s what they came down here to get.

Ford wouldn’t look at him during the elevator ride, and he won’t look at him now.  He’s already in the back, picking things up and throwing them into a pile.  

Stan wonders how he’s doing, mentally, and the only answer he’s got is ‘better than he was doing when he collected this stuff,’ and that’s probably true.

(Stan used to say Ford was obsessed with stuff when they were kids, and he probably was, but it was nothing like his preoccupation with Bill.  This was just unhealthy, bordering on compulsive, and Stan tries very hard not to think about what might have driven Ford to replace any beneficial hobbies or relationships with a demon triangle).

The kids are upstairs wrestling with a rug ten times their size and a few little knickknacks because Ford didn’t want them down here, and Stan can see why.  He doesn’t really want to be down here, either.

Still, the sooner they pack up, the sooner they can get back to the kids.  Stan grabs something – a little statue made from some kind of cold, white metal – and tosses it into Ford’s pile.

They work in silence until Stan can’t take it anymore.

“I’ve seen rooms with worse decoration, y’know.”

He’s already wincing before the last words leave his mouth.  It sounds thoughtless, but it’s not and he knows it even if Ford doesn’t, and that makes it worse.  He’s just… gotta test something.

A week ago a jab like that would have riled Ford up, gotten him snarking or snapping, but now his fingers just twitch and he looks away.

Test failed, and Stan is suddenly, irrationally angry.

Ford’s been so careful around him since Weirdmageddon and he hates it.  He worked his ass off for thirty years to get Ford back, not this quiet, deferential shell of his best friend.  He wants his brother; brilliant, impatient, occasionally clueless but always determined Stanford.

He’s tempted to keep pushing, just to see what it’ll take to get Ford to push back, but even as frustrated as he is, he knows this isn’t the time for it.  Not now, not while they’re surrounded by tangible reminders of his brother’s thirty-year waking nightmare.

He can’t make himself leave the problem to sit and fester any longer, either, so he’ll have to be tactful.  No fighting, just talking.  Ford’s as sick of arguing as he is; it shouldn’t be too hard.

“Ford?”  he says, trying for casual.

It doesn’t work.  Ford, already wound up from being around reminders of Bill, looks immediately suspicious.  “Yes, Stanley?”

He forgot just how difficult Ford can be when he decides he doesn’t like a topic, or Stan’s tone, or the phases of the moon, or whatever weird and probably oddly precise methodology Ford has for his stubbornness.  Maybe he should have just picked a fight.

No; he’s already committed to being polite.  He forges on.  “You haven’t, uh, talked too much about Bill.”  Ford hasn’t talked at all about Bill.  Everything Stan knows about the whole mess is inferred, or from Dipper, or from Bill himself.  “You ran into him some time ago, right?”

Ford sets a glass pyramid down in the pile with a clink, steady and deliberate.  He doesn’t look at Stan.  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Stan’s temper kicks right back up with that, but he bites down on his automatic retort.  No fighting.  “C’mon, Ford.”

Ford does look at him then, a split-second glare of warning and then gone.  “I’m not in the mood right now, Stanley.”

“You’re never in the mood!”  The hell with no fighting.  He didn’t learn theoretical physics and get amnesia, however temporary, for his brother to shut him out all over again.  

Ford turns on him, and Stan can read anger in his clenched fists and tight jaw, but still he holds back.  If Stan wasn’t so mad about Ford’s self-control he’d be impressed at it.  “I have no interest in rehashing a mistake that nearly doomed the world and killed my family.”

“Why not?  We fixed the mistake!”

“You wouldn’t understand!”

Stan’s mouth runs right on ahead of his brain.  “You’re right, Stanford, I have no idea what it’s like to think I screwed up and ruined my brother’s life forever!  And it’s not like I’ve ever stayed awake at night wondering if you were dead or anything!”

Ford looks like Stan slapped him, and Stan has just a moment to remember why he didn’t want to start a fight before Ford’s expression shuts down and he brushes past, body stiff as a board, to the elevator.

No no no, not this, not now–

“Ford–”  I didn’t mean it dies in his throat, because he did mean it, if a little nicer.  But one of the things he promised himself during one of those many sleepless nights was that if he ever saw Ford again, he’d be more honest with him.  “Wait.”

Miraculously, Ford listens, standing silent in front of the elevator.  He even turns sideways a little, actively listening.

Stan’s desperate to get that frozen look off his brother’s face, but he doesn’t know how.  When they were kids he used to just know what Ford needed, but it’s been so long he’s not sure what to say.  “I– that was stupid.  I thought a fight would fix things, but… I just want you back.”

Ford’s expression thaws a little, confused.  “You have me.  I promised.  Did I–”

“You didn’t do anything, and that’s– that’s kinda the thing.”  Stan’s beginning to realize that he probably should have planned this conversation ahead of time.  Story of his life.  “Maybe we just need to yell at each other, y’know?”

Ford stares blankly.  “Did we not yell at each other enough when I got back?”  

He sounds so genuinely bewildered that Stan has to bite down on a laugh.  “Not like that.  I don’t mean all-out screamin’ and punchin’, I mean a real conversation.”

“And that involves yelling?”

“With us?  Yeah, probably.”

Ford turns all the way around, looking a little rueful.  “We did yell at each other a lot, even when we were kids.”

“Yeah, but that yelling usually ended with water balloon fights, not more yelling.”

Ford eyes him.  “Are you asking for a water balloon fight?”

“Are you offering?”

“If that’s what–”

“And here we go again.”  Cards on the table.  “Ford, you’ve been acting– weird.”

“What?  For how long?  Have I–”  His eyes flick to the heap of Bill-related junk and his whole body tenses like busted suspension cable.

“Whoa, Ford, not like that!”  Stan crosses the room in a second, puts his hand on his brother’s shoulder.  Ford’s still stiff and unhappy, but he isn’t shaking or pulling away, so he’ll probably calm down quickly.  “You’ve just been… really nice, lately.”

“You think I’m acting weird because I’ve been nice?”

“No!  Well, sorta.”  Ford is perfectly capable of being nice, and it’s not like he’s usually mean or anything, but his understanding of how people and their feelings work is… occasionally limited, and that leads to mishaps.  “You’ve been tiptoeing around me since my brain got erased, and the VIP treatment was nice for a day or two, but.”  He shrugs, wishing he could explain the whole thing better.  “It’s not you.”

Ford is silent for a long moment, and Stan wonders if his brother even knows what he’s talking about.  Maybe this is just how Ford is now.  Maybe he really is just quiet and compliant these days.  

Immediately post-portal Ford says otherwise, but the impending apocalypse would give anyone some personality strain.

“I thought,”  Ford says at last,  “it was what you wanted.”

“You thought I wanted you to just smile and nod and take it?”  Stan immediately starts searching his still-settling memories, wondering what he could have said or done that would make Ford think that Stan just wanted him to sit down and shut up.

(He does, sometimes, a lot, but not permanently.  Not for long.  No matter how angry or exasperated he’s been with Ford over the years, he’s never wanted Ford to be anything but himself).

“Yes?  No.  Maybe.”  Ford looks frustrated.  One thing they can still relate to is how hard it is for both Stan and Ford to figure out what the hell Ford is trying to say.  “You didn’t like how I was acting when you got me back – and I understand that,” he adds quickly,  “I do.  I was… not at my best.”  Massive understatement, but at least they’re both in agreement here.  “And then I– I thought I lost you, and it was my fault, and I wanted to make it up to you any way I could.”  

Stan’s sure this all makes sense to Ford somehow, but he’s still got nothin’.  “You were gonna make it up to me by being a yes-man?”

Ford scowls, but it’s halfhearted.  He’s studying the floor like it’s the most interesting anomaly he’s ever seen.  “If it was what you wanted.  I owe you that much, and I didn’t want to keep upsetting and hurting you, so I thought if I just– behaved myself, things would eventually settle down and I’d figure out what to do from there.”  A vague gesture.  “I don’t want to lose you.  Especially not if it’s something I can prevent myself.”

And those are all loaded sentiments if Stan’s ever heard them, but he’s mostly just stuck on the fact that Ford thinks he’s worth something like that.  

He wants to say something meaningful, but what comes out is “Seriously?”

Ford winces, and yeah, that wasn’t a great start, but Stan’s not done yet.  “Ford, I spent thirty years trying to get you back.  You, not some discount nice-guy knockoff.”  Stan hooks an arm around Ford’s shoulders and, when he’s not rebuffed, reaches up to ruffle his hair.  “Y’think I’d give up on you just because you yell and forget to eat and can’t talk to girls?  Not a chance.  You’re stuck with me.”

Ford offers that not-quite smile of his, the one the kids are slowly starting to replace with the real deal.  “I’ve had worse ultimatums.”  

It’s a weak joke, but it’s still a joke, the first one Ford’s even attempted toward Stan since he got back, and Stan’s ridiculously pleased.  His brother is here, even if he’s not up to scratch yet, and that’s fine.

Stan’s had worse odds.

Ford chews his lip, a tic Stan hasn’t seen since they were eight years old, and suddenly pushes forward, throwing his arms around Stan’s shoulders.

A hug.  Ford is hugging him.

Stan’s brain is slow to catch up, as usual, but his body knows what to do; his arms go up automatically to return the embrace.

“Thank you,”  Ford whispers, face half-buried in Stan’s neck.  “Thank you.  I’m sorry I didn’t say it before now.  I’m sorry I hit you.  I’m sorry for… a lot of things, really.  I’ll do better, I promise.  Thank you.”

Ford sounds choked up, like he’s about to cry.  Stan’s doing one better – he’s already crying.  “It’s okay.  ‘M sorry, too.  For a lot of things.”  

Ford makes a rough noise that might have been a laugh in a different situation, and yeah, he’s definitely crying now.  “I forgive you.”  

Some part of Stan, something old and bruised, settles at that.  He’s been living with that hurt for so long he didn’t even realize how bad it was until it started to heal.  It still aches, but it’s a good ache, a relief, like stretching a cramped muscle.

He didn’t realize how much he needed an apology, and to be forgiven in return.  He hopes it did something for Ford, too.

A shriek from upstairs startles them apart.  Stan’s fists go up, nearly clocking Ford in the chin, and Ford elbows Stan in the gut trying to reach under his coat.  They both look at each other.  Stan swipes at his eyes and grins.  Ford sheepishly straightens his coat.

“Grunkle Stan!  Grunkle Ford!”  It’s Mabel, shouting at the top of her lungs from upstairs.  “You guys are taking forever.”  A muffled sound that might be Dipper talking, and she adds,  “The sun’s going down and we still have to drag all this stuff out into the woods and Soos got jumbo marshmallows!”

Stan’s got a dopey smile on his face listening to his niece talk, but Ford does too, so it’s okay.  “We’re workin’ on it, pumpkin!”  Ford makes a face, probably because Stan’s yelling right next to his head, and covers his ears.  Stan ignores him.  “We’ll be up soon!”

Dipper calls down next, at a volume less earsplitting than Mabel.  “Can we get Soos and Wendy and start loading the truck?”

“Don’t drop anything!”

A chorus of “Okay, Grunkle Stan!”, a brief scuffling, and then silence.

Ford apparently got over himself at some point during the conversation because his hands are no longer over his ears when Stan turns to him.  He’s still got that not-quite smile.

“I never thought I’d have this,”  he mumbles.  It sounds like he’s talking to himself.

“Have what?”

Ford blinks, like he’s just remembering that Stan is here.  “A family,”  he says.  “A lot of things, to be honest.”

“I get that.”  And he does.  He just hates that Ford ever had to feel that way.  He bumps his brother’s elbow, casual.  “Good thing life never works out how you think it will, huh?”

Ford smiles, for real this time, and it’s almost like Stan remembers, honest and lopsided and happy.

“I think it worked out better.”