#I'm very scared of going beyond the lines so I'm trying to challenge myself to go even messier

[viliantropy-art]

Scene

#sth #amy rose #myart #amy rose fanart #sth fanart #sonic fanart #amy fanart #reposting because I forgot the alt text #anyway I was saying— #I'm very scared of going beyond the lines so I'm trying to challenge myself to go even messier

[popcornbutterflymedia]

it’s a little before seven in the evening as i am attempting to begin writing this post on the day a former president has died. in other words, i am winging it and praying it comes out half decent. i have been winging all my the posts for this show, but writing this post about this particular episode at the tail end of the last week is interesting, to say the least.

upon first viewing on iwanttfc, i had already tweeted “consider this the soul of the show.” at this point we’re not even halfway to the entire series. that declaration carries such weight, but this episode did prove to be the soul of the series. this is also the first episode i’ve had a visceral reaction to, beyond the understandable kilig. i was lightheaded, stumped, and on the verge of tears after the first episode viewing, that’s probably why this is taking awhile to put out.

this also feels like an episodic answer to a lot of questions.

max has entered the lion’s den, lost, but with her defenses up. deib was less than prepared to fight back, considering the circumstances, but he was quick to gather his wits about him, pinning max where he is at an advantage. even now, as i am writing it, i feel it - it’s a notch above giddiness, it’s an awareness, it’s pushing the envelope in a way that’s right for their age, but still surprising, and refreshing. it’s the naughtiness of the sly smiles, the role reversal, and the trading of banter, all of them collectively are building blocks to max and deib’s dynamic.

the banter graduates to actual conversation, that, for people who are considered arch rivals, is surprisingly decent, and seemingly cordial. both max and deib give as good as they get, much like a tennis rally where either one refuses to be on the losing end. this amuses to no end, and ups the kilig factor in such an intelligent and substantial way. this is how you know, this part of the series is their story. more on this later.

outside of the boy’s room, the banter becomes a challenge, a daring as represented by a pool table, and the number of games that such table hosts. these pool games between benison’s star player and mindoro’s top billiard player, and pool center fixture, these games are metaphors, with the stakes higher each game, for their rivalry, and their curiosity about each other. more so his curiosity about this slip of a girl who he finds difficult to win against. i daresay, at some point he gave up trying to win, and just gave in seeing her in a different light. deib’s eyes give him away, and as for donny’s eyes, finally doing the work, this is it, and it’s a sight to see, a growth to enjoy.

it’s a given that belle makes donny’s job easier for him. four episodes in, and i am still in awe at belle’s ability to transform. it’s still surprising, how she willingly gets lost in character. i am watching max, but she doesn’t make me forget that i am watching belle. it’s a weird thing i have watching actors in character - i am aware i am watching both the character and the actor wholly and simultaneously, and belle is one of the few who makes me do that with ease.

deib’s mother announces her presence, interrupts the pool tournament shaping up between taguro and sensui.

in front of his mother, deib the star bear, the alpha disappears. he signals for max to leave, and just when she was about to, max is invited to join them for dinner. it is insisted that she join her for dinner. he warns his friend: 'don't say anything that will get us into trouble' prompting said friend, max to wonder, what could she ever say that will put them both in trouble?

at the dinner table, the silence weighs heavy between mother and son. a silence foreign to the lone guest, a silence she attempts to diffuse, by talking about anything other than subjects, as touchy as family, and the like. then again, between this mother and son, the line between touchy and permissible topics of conversation are blurred and fragile.

food! food is a free for all, food is a benign subject. the food's delicious, is it her own recipe? max is genuinely curious ma'am. the woman across the table laughs off such a formal honorific. call her auntie, she says. 'tita' is more like it. 'tita' it is, max decides. not stopping there, max asks if she'd gone to one of deib's games to see his lay ups and three pointers. she regaled him with embellished stories of his reputation, of being an all around star student and an instant friend. this, much to the mother's relief - her son is apparently surrounded by good people. max was able to do all this, when all deib asked of her was to not get both of them, into trouble. just like that, the girl single handedly broke the tension and dispelled the air of formality, in a way no one else has. if that isn't enough of a surprise for deib, max held the door open for him, and granteded him access to his own mother's heart, and let hope spring in his own.

after dinner, we find max and deib in his room, steeped in the assigned work. it's an easy silence between them, proof that from that dinner encounter, something new and beautiful and unnamed grew between them. he pays her his due, and thanks her for not damaging his reputation more in front of his own mother. so he knows how to say thank you, after all, she's surprised...in jest. he allows it. and so insues an exchange of histories, and fears and lessons. she reads him so perfectly, he's supposed to be scared, or condemn her, or banish her from this earth, or whatever it is the deib lhor enrile does to those who get a bit too close for comfort. he, instead allows it, giving her unprecedented access to his friends, his brother, his heart. and his heartbreaks. he dares to get closer himself, in the most physical sense so the curiosity planted at the pool table grew exponentially. that is until she breaks the spell. there is resistance in letting him in, which he knows to hold against her. he wins, and she relents. we learn of a ghost of a past love, a young love. a better player than deib is.

just a note though: for a past love who ghosted her, max boasts of rj being the better basketball player still. this could be true, based on who I am guessing rj is, but consider this: could she be clinging onto the untarnished memory she has of this first love, disregarding the pain she was caused, because straying away from that memory will allow her the space to fall, and that's what she promised herself she would never do? if that's the case, max is just as complex as deib is, maybe even more so.

after knowing her story, he did promise to go up against this ghost of a lover, in a one on one game of basketball and win it for her. someone is making her promises now. that's unsettling.

meanwhile, the barb is winding down as alpha two plus lorde strolls in. they keep it open for the boys who are in for a later night shot of caffeine, sweets, a shot at love perhaps?

art and sweets and flirtatious, funny quips are choice ammunition in this game of love, or something like it. naih's confidence is legendary. she gets away with her boldness because of criza's charm. joao, you know, that boy always makes it work.

tob and michiko are easy, because rhys and kaori make it easy. i understand the visual. I get the chemistry. I swear I get the hype. I have been waiting for this. you all know that. they've only cemented their place in the industry as new partnership, and there are hardly any words for it, a chemistry this strong. theirs is an unspoken connection and sincerity that cannot be taught. they are all that.

it is clear, though, that this is deib and max's story. see, I have been hyping myself up for thst tochiko moment, probably from the time when we still had very little news in the junket about donny and belle. and they did deliver, they did not disappoint. max and deib's chemistry surprisingly captured my heart from the get go, though, especially in this episode (as they should, this is, again, their story anyway). if I was a teenager, I would be fawning over tochiko's eye to eye silent conversation and up to now, I still do to some extent. I'm just older now. give me substantial kilig more than anything any day. give me kilig in context. kilig that opens up the heart. kilig with emotional intimacy.

max and deib in the fourth episode is kilig (just as tob and michiko are), but I can't stress enough, just how much and why. from the entire conversation from the banter to the interaction with the mom to the entire encounter in the room, they aren't trying to make us kilig. it isn't exactly sweet, but you'll reach a point where just the mere act of people wanting to have a conversation with you is life changing, when someone cares enough not to put you in more trouble than you expect, matters so much more. it shows you your worth. and that to me is the sweetest most loving thing ever. that is, even before both of them acknowledge that love between them.

a breakthrough has been reached. walls have been shattered.

the day of their school presentation, the event is met with an air of uncertainty, not for the two's lack of skill, but because two people from separate ends of the social spectrum are to work together, which up to that point is unprecedented.

the presentation started out shaky even for max and deib themselves, but once they got drafted, they had the audience, most of them, at least in the palm of their hands.

'we are all bullies, yet we are also victims. the cycle never ends...because we are all trying to survive this cruel world, trying to succeed, trying to grow. trying to discover who we really are. trying to accept who we really are. trying to be accepted for who we really are...'

this was followed by definitive apologies from both deib, for bullying, and max, for judging, and not necessarily helping to make things better. this prompted the entire community to mingle, and make their own apologies.

a few things about this whole moment:

there is such power in calling things as they are, calling things by their name. 'bully' and 'victim' are such weighted words and there is such a relief in taking responsibility for your disgressions and through that responsibility allowing your victim to embraced their pain guiltlessly.

there is also such power and humility, that while one did not do anything explicit, to stop the cycle, they did not do anything to make things better, easier. there is humility in realising that even as a victim your own pain, might have caused more pain to others.

apologies matter. the word 'sorry' matters. and it matters across the board. while metaphorical apologies are in some ways acceptable, and poetic, sometimes, the simpler, the better. a sincere 'sorry' should suffice. no one is ever too old to apologize.

now, even the sincerest words have parameters that are dictated by how many listen, and how many don't. and that's what we cannot control. there is power in recognizing who you are in the community, and that, especially when you are in a place of influence, you have the power to create change. the power to stop the cycle. there is peace in knowing we've done all that we could to make things better, just like deib had his own moment of reckoning.

as for max, the moment she stepped into that school, she was meant to be a trailblazer, and even at this point, she had been nothing but an agent of change.

I am curious now, how she is changed by the newness of her surroundings and the possibility of a budding love?

everything is well and dandy for everyone else, max and deib even had that little moment by the tables, again with the simple but powerful chemistry. everyone is changing (this is a shoutout to melizza again. every time the camera pans to her, especially when max was speaking at the auditorium, you could sense an internal transformation. she knows the assignment well, huh? )...everyone else, but aimee. I feel sorry for her. it makes me want to know more of her story. what makes her cling to being mean? why the volatility? more than anger, there's curiosity. I feel sorry for her. there's more to be told. breakthroughs open the narrative up for more, newer stories.

this was a fast one to write, but I held off until these last few moments, because it's incredibly triggering and just as healing. more than the kilig I understand and we all enjoy, the real message is the importance of communication, telling people how you really feel. don't let them assume and don't assume they know. it's also important to call things as they are, even if it's ugly, even as it hurts. some days, there is no replacement for a 'sorry,' a genuine apology.

be gentle. be kind. listen. everyone, after all, is a story.

#tv #tv: he's into her

[one-spidey-boii]

BUMMER SUMMER || peter parker; ch seven

read ch six here

masterlist

an; you guys, i hit 100 followers. that’s crazy. 100 may seem like a bitch ass number compared to other accounts, but i couldn’t be more proud. thank you!! i hope you continue to enjoy this story and leave feedback.

warnings; mentions of battle wounds (i.e. blood/scars/etc), future smut, mature language, fluff, angst, both peter and oc are 18+!!

word count; 5.1k+

edie's pov

i tried to help peter clean up, but he wasn't having any of it. so i was left to my own devices while he scrambled to get everything in order. after he leaves the room for the first time, i try to stand up. i wrap the blanket around my body and move towards to edge of the bed. everything is going just fine until i put weight onto my legs and attempt to take a step. my feet crumble beneath me and i snap a hand up to my mouth to stifle any noise that threatens to come from the pain. so for a while, i just sit. on the floor. waiting for peter to come back.

when footsteps sound off from down the hall, i brace myself for whatever reprimand i'm going to get from peter, but what comes through the door makes me sigh with relief and choke up with fear. not the kind of fear you get from jump scares or creepy noises, but the kind of fear you get when you know you've been a disappointment.

"what the hell are you doing on the floor?" tony asks as he waltzes over to help me up. his voice is unreadable. i let him wrap an arm around my upper back and lift me up onto the bed, but i'm too afraid to say anything. he pulls a chair over to sit in front of me and he rests there awaiting an answer, but i choose to avoid it altogether.

"where's peter?" i ask shyly. yeah, it's a good way to change the topic, but a part of me really does want to know.

tony raises one eyebrow and pauses to take in my features before replying, "i told the kid to stay out of the room until i got here. he's sitting in the living room like a lost puppy."

my head tilts at his words. why would he do that? wouldn't he want peter here with me?

"i wanted to talk to you without mr. parker in the room. and when i ask you this- i don't want you to think about him when you answer, got it?" i nod my head reluctantly, and he continues on with a sigh, "kid, do you wanna go home?"

"w-what? no! absolutely not." my insides tense up at the thought of being sent home after only a couple of weeks. mr. stark said he needed me here, why is he trying to send me home?

"just listen to me, okay? you've already gotten hurt for reasons i don't understand. and... i gotta be honest- i don't want to send you home, but i don't want you going back out there either."

"what happens to peter if you send me back?" my question comes out as a whisper, i want to challenge him somehow. surely he won't take this away from peter too. tony just sighs and shakes his head.

"don't worry about him right now. what we need to talk about is if you're-" i cut him off.

"you're going to send him home too." i accuse, borderline horrified at the idea, "how could you do that? you know how much this means to him." i take in a sharp breath of air as pain shoots up and down my side. it's silent for a few seconds.

"i don't want any of that. who else am i gonna have to protect all my toys?" he asks with a playful smile, but i know he's still hesitant about all of this, "i'll cut you a deal, alright?" i nod, "you don't go out until you are one hundred percent healed up. let peter handle all that. and i'm making happy stay here until you're ready to patrol again."

i immediately shake my head in protest, "happy hates babysitting! don't make him do that!" i plead, trying to pull the guilt card for happy's sake- and to be honest, i don't want anyone worrying about me and watching over my shoulder until i'm better, "peter can look after me. he got me this far." i say lightly, trying to make the situation a little less of a bummer.

tony takes in my features again, analyzing my words. he brings his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but to my luck he eventually nods his head.

"fine, fine. but you'll keep me updated on your recovery and only go out again when i say so, alright?" he bargains once again. this time i take his deal and nod my head with a smile. tony slaps his knees once and stands up.

"now lay back down and rest, young lady. i'll be expecting an update when you get up." tony says with a playful twinge to his words, but i know he's completely serious. before he's entirely out of the room, my mouth begins to move before i even realize it, "you know, peter does take good care of me."

i don't know why i just said that.

tony stops by the door and takes once last look around the room, "yeah, yeah," he pauses, "i know he does." and with that, he's gone.

-

it didn't take me long to fall asleep after mr. stark left. my body was tired and weak after working to heal as fast as it could. if only i was peter and i could heal on my own.

when i wake up, i panic slightly when i can't see anything. the light of the room is subdued and i can't even make out the ceiling above me. i move a hand to my face to find a piece of paper. it's taped to my forehead and covers my entire face. i peel it off and take in the messy handwriting scrawled across the page.

'left for patrol. mr. stark said to set out some fancy healing cream for you. it's next to your bed. he also said to leave it on for 5 minutes at most cause blah blah i don't remember why. be back before you know it -peter'

at the end of the note by his name, there's a faint 'x' next to it. the letter had been hastily erased, but my stomach jumps at the gesture. i wish he didn't feel like he had to erase it.

i fold the note carefully and set it on the cart next to my bed, next to that is the cream i assume he was talking about. i look over the text on the tube and read the directions. on the back it says something about enhanced cell regeneration, remove after five minutes, and does not diminish the appearance of scars.

i swallow thickly, nervous about applying this weird stuff to my skin. my fingers slowly twist the cap open and i squeeze a small amount onto my hand. the cream is clear and almost jelly-like as i rub it along my side. it stings at first, making me inhale with clenched teeth, but almost instantly it numbs my entire side along with my hand.

i'm afraid to keep it on my hand so i hop out of the bed and walk over to the sink to wash it off. only then does it occur to me that i hopped out of bed and walked over here. thank goodness for tony stark and his high tech, well, everything.

looking in the little mirror above the sink, i take in my tired appearance- complete with bags under my eyes and sunken cheeks. it's hard to look at myself this way, i have never fallen so low. i have never been hurt so badly before.

i just rest my now wet hands against the sides of the sink and let my head drop. i take notice i'm still in my bra and underwear, but since i'm alone at the moment i'm not worried about being seen. my cheeks do flush at the idea of peter seeing me this way, clad only in a dark purple bra and mismatched pale blue underwear.

after what feels like five minutes, i grab a hand towel and wet it under the running water of the faucet. the numbing properties of the cream are working surprisingly well- i don't feel anything as i wipe it away and wash it off.

still, my heart drops at the sight of the scar, now partially healed, but still red and angry. the line of it is jagged and violent looking. with hesitant fingers i run them along the length of it. it's horrible and ugly and for the first time in a long time- i feel ashamed. i now have to sport a scar for the rest of my life, one that i never saw coming.

i force myself to look away and tuck my hair behind my ears. my hair is riddled with sweat and it sticks to my neck, making me yearn for a shower. i let my feet carry me to the bathroom connected to my room. there i make the decision to take a bath instead when i spot the bubble bath under the sink.

after preparing everything, i slide my remaining clothes off and slip into the hot water of the tub. the bubbles are already everywhere and they easily cover the surface of the water. i close my eyes and let out a sigh.

my thoughts drift to peter, and i let myself think of him. i know something is going on inside his head, and i know it's because of me. it tugs on my heart every time he avoids or ignores me even during the slightest of encounters. i never wanted our friendship to turn into this and it bugs me beyond belief that i can't figure out why it's happening.

my eyes shoot open when i hear my name being called throughout the compound, followed by the sounds of something crashing. i sit up in the water and wait for it to stop sloshing around so that i can listen closer.

"edie?! oh my god mr. stark is going to kill me. i'll be dead by morning- edie! where are you?" it's peter, and from what i can tell he's freaking out, obviously. i let out a sigh of relief and call out to him.

"i'm in my room! it's okay, peter." the loud noises stop at my bedroom door.

"oh thank goodness. c-can i come in?" he asks, out of breath. i take in my current position— very naked and taking a bath; but covered completely by bubbles.

still a little hesitant and increasingly nervous, i call out again, "uh yeah. come in."

before the last words leave my mouth, a loud crunch and thud comes from the front of my room. i can barely see it through the crack of the bathroom door, but i know something is broken. it's silent for a hot second.

"um. oh yikes. i, uh, broke your door. not on purpose though! but it is, uh, not on the hinges anymore." he utters nervously. i can't help but laugh.

"what? who knew you were sooooo strong!" i tease, stretching out the words. some shuffling comes from my room.

"wait, where are you? what's going on?" his confused voice make me giggle. ew, giggle? really? i stifle the thought and take on a serious face.

"i'm in the bathroom, parker. stop freaking out." i reply, not at all annoyed despite my words and tone.

the shuffling behind the door stops, "you're pooping? and talking to me at the same time?" peter asks hesitantly. okay, now i’m annoyed.

"no you dipshit, im taking a bath. and everyone poops by the way, there's a children's book about it!" i yell. most of the time his innocent demeanor is endearing, but right now it's just making both of us uncomfortable.

suddenly the door creaks open wider and peter pops his head in the room, one hand covering his eyes. he still has his mask on and i roll my eyes. what is it with this boy and wearing his mask all the time?

"i just wanna make sure you're okay...a-are you okay?" he asks with a shaky voice. i can't help but smile at how nervous he is, but then again, so am i.

clearing my throat, i speak, "you can move your hand. i'm covered by, uh bubbles." peter slowly parts his fingers and peeks at me through them.

"hi." he whispers from the door.

"hi, peter." i whisper back.

he lowers his hand down to his side and steps completely into the spacious bathroom. he shuffles for a moment and decides on leaning against the doorframe with one arm up by his head. i eye him up and down, trying to get a feel for what is going through his head. he looks ridiculous standing in my bathroom, still clad in his spiderman suit that clings to his body like a second skin. it outlines the muscles in his arms, chest, and legs- truly not leaving much to the imagination. i feel my cheeks flush.

then for the second time that day, words are coming out of my mouth without my permission, "do you wanna sit?" i pull my hand out from beneath the water and tap the edge of the tub. the eyes on peter's mask widen and his arm slips from its position on the door frame. i just smile at him, despite my brain kicking me for saying anything at all.

to my surprise, he nods and settles himself on the edge of the tub down by my legs.

he whispers again, "hi."

a rush of heat floods my body at his new position and it's my turn to stutter, "hi." i'm suddenly all too aware of just how naked i am, only a thin layer of bubbles separating peter's eyes from seeing every bit of my body. and a tiny part of me doesn't hate the idea. an even smaller part wonders if peter is thinking the same thing.

"i'm glad you're okay." he says, a soft confidence laced within his words. his hand comes up to rest by my shoulder on the tub, just barely touching my skin. i nod my head and look down at the suddenly very interesting bubbles. i forgot that peter was the one who caught me when i fell in through the doors. he was the one to take care of me while we waited for mr. stark to arrive. he was the one who had to watch me bleed. with that thought, i look back up at him and gently rest my head on his hand, happy to find his eyes on mine.

"take your mask off peter." i whisper, still feeling foggy inside my head.

he shakes his head, "no."

"no?" my eyes widen at his words.

"no, e."

"come on, pete. it's not like i haven't see you before. what's the big deal?" as i say this i lean up in the water and stretch my hand to graze the edge of his mask. just as i'm about to pull it upwards and off his head, peter grabs my wrist roughly and holds it in his hand.

"if i take my mask off, all of this becomes much more real...and i don't want to see you like this." he says and looks away from my gaze. my stomach drops and i pull my hand away from his grip. all the comfort and confidence is instantly replaced with horrible, ugly nerves.

"what do you mean 'like this'? what- you can't look at me now? is it the scar? or is it because i invited you in and god forbid i'm naked under all these fucking bubbles? you didn't have you come in here, parker." my heart hurts and i spit out his name like it's venom on my lips. i can't stop my mind from reeling. peter looks at me and scoffs.

"you really don't get it, do you?" he questions as he stands up from his spot.

i sit up farther in the water, eyes glaring into his, "get what?"

his eyes widen as he rushes to put both his hands on my shoulders, shoving me back down into the water with unnecessary force. my head hits the back wall as water sloshes out of the tub, "for fucks sake, edie, cover yourself up!" his voice booms and i stay put. then it dawns on me. does he think-?

"i wasn't trying to-" i plead but he cuts me off.

"it's not that i don't want- fuck!" he pulls his mask off his head and stares at me with fiery eyes, "i do want to..." then he makes a growling noise that comes from the back of his throat, "what do you want me to say? what am i supposed to think coming in here?" he rambles on. i draw my eyebrows together and sink down into the water even more.

"i wasn't trying anything, peter. i-i'm sorry if you got the wrong idea," i whisper, defeated by how this whole thing is turning out. my head throbs from hitting the wall of the tub and my heart hurts from peter's words.

"yeah. okay, edie. i'll see you in the morning." and with that, he walks out of the bathroom, leaving his mask on the edge of the sink, the eyes glaring back at me.

my vision becomes blurry. just the idea of him thinking those things about me is enough to make me shut down completely. i stand up and step out of the tub, bubbles still clinging to my body. i walk over to the full-length mirror and my eyes lock on the scar. it looks the same as before, ugly, and a single tear runs down my chin.

peter's pov

i'm so unbelievably angry with myself. i can feel every part of my body on fire due to the complete and utter rage coursing through it. when people say they're so angry they see red, they aren't lying. there’s no way to erase what just happened between edie and i. the look on her face and the fast beat of her heart will forever be burned into my head. but above all my anger, that one thing i feel the most, is fear.

the fear i’ve ruined my relationship with edie all together because i'm too much of a coward to speak the truth. the fear that she now sees me as someone who would think those awful and cruel things about her. the fear that she thinks i don't want her just because of a scar.

none of it is true. sitting there, inches from her body made my head spin and my heart jump around my chest. i wanted to touch her, to feel her soft skin underneath my fingers as they danced down her neck and shoulders. instead, i panicked and said things so far from the truth.

i discard my suit and stand in the annoying thong that mr. stark insisted i wear to avoid having a visible panty line. he said it would be more embarrassing to have that than wear a goddamn thong. whatever, it doesn't even matter now. my brain is practically swimming in my head and making me sick to my stomach. i strip completely and prepare myself for a cold shower.

-

the next morning is quiet. i wake up earlier than usual for no good reason. maybe my brain just doesn't wanna give me the satisfaction of sleep. i step out of bed and tug a pair of sweatpants on over my hips along with a white t-shirt over my head. taking a deep breath, i make my way to the kitchen for some sort of breakfast, coming up with toast and a glass of orange juice.

my thoughts drift to edie, probably fast asleep in her bed. i hope she got to sleep last night, after everything that happened. that's the least she deserves.

something in my gut twists and i'm overwhelmed with the need to do something about this shitty situation. i'm fucking tired of walking on eggshells and making things worse, none of this is worth it.

with a deep breath, i allow my feet to carry me across the hardwood floors to edie's room with a glass of orange juice in my hand. the door is still off the hinges from when i ripped off accidentally. and there she is, sitting on her bed with a book in her hands. she looks peaceful and for a second it loosens the knot in my chest.

i clear my throat, "orange juice?" i extend my hand with the glass towards her.

her head snaps up and she meets my gaze. with an unreadable expression on her face, she sets the book down in her lap and gently closes the cover. my arm starts to shake from holding it still for too long and i pull it back to my chest. her head tilts the slightest bit at me, her eyes wandering over my body.

i shiver under her watch, suddenly extremely self-conscious about my clothes and my hair and the small pimple forming on my chin and-

"will you go to the store and get me some paint?" she asks, her question throws me off, "i can't stand these blank walls anymore. i'm thinking a soft yellow color will do just fine," she finishes. i bob my mouth like a fish and can only nod my head at her.

before i go to leave the room, she makes one more request, "leave the orange juice?” there is the smallest hint of a smile on her lips, and that’s enough for me.

edie's pov

when peter got back from the store, i had just finished the book i started last night. with no intention of sleeping, i pulled it out of the suitcase i had yet to unpack and got comfortable on the bed. just as i set it down, peter skid to a halt right outside my doorframe.

out of breath, he says, "i got two gallons of paint and a couple of brushes and those wheely things and...uh here." he holds the buckets of paint and bags out in front of him.

i smile at the boy. after last night's events, i've come to a conclusion; everything that happened up to that point was just a weird fluke in our friendship. all the strange feelings and awkward glances could be boiled down to one thing; us being alone in the compound. it was just hormonal teenage tendencies and it's truly nothing to worry about. every one of my feelings were just the result of built up emotions that showed themselves in weird ways. things can go back to normal now.

"thanks, pete. could you help me pull the bed away from the wall?" i chirp at him. for a second it seems like he's frozen in place, then a smile spreads across his face and he lets out a breathy little laugh.

"uh, yeah. of course." he replies and grasps the opposite side of the bed that i'm on. with a simple tug, the frame scrapes across the floor and comes to rest in the middle of the room. we both stand up straight and his eyes meet mine, he smiles wider.

"alrighty, let's get going then, yeah?" i huff out. with that, we each pour out paint into our respective pans and get to work. i take the south two walls and peter claims the north. i find myself enjoying the silence that falls between us.

every once in a while, i feel his eyes on me. i know when the other side of the room is completely silent, he's watching me. it doesn't bother me, i know he must feel bad about last night. that person wasn't peter and i know that. i just hope he'll forgive himself.

when i get to the parts of the wall i can't reach, i drag a stool in from the kitchen to stand on. unfortunately, it isn't enough height to allow me access to the top of the high ceiling. with a huff, i hop down and look around my room for something else to use. peter has turned his attention back to his side of the room and seems to be having a much easier time reaching the top, he’s much farther along than i am too.

after finding nothing else that could help, i climb back up on the stool and stand on my tiptoes, stretching as far as i can, giving me just enough height to get the job done. i smile at my victory and continue with a sense of pride. throughout this whole time, not one thought drifted to the scar on my side.

peter's pov

she looks beautiful, her frame stretching to reach the remaining white spots on the wall. i just finished the first coat on my side of the room when i set my paint roller down and stand back to admire her. the cotton fabric of her shirt is riding up her side, showing enough skin to let me see a part of her scar. i haven't seen it since it was first being mended back together by the fancy laser pen. it looks a lot better than it did, without the blood and all.

yet, it's still hard to look at. the line of it stretches along a good portion of her body. the marred skin still red and bruises are starting to form around the edges. my mind flashes back to the feeling of her in my arms when she collapsed, then to the sight of her in the tub. two contrasting events that made my feelings for her change.

edie's pov

"gotcha bitch!" i yell in triumph as i finally reach a part of the wall i was working on longer than i'd like to admit. the victory doesn't last long though as i survey the remaining sections of white. hiding my annoyance, i hop off the stool and move it to a new area, heart set on staying positive during these...trying times.

i'm back to painting for a few minutes and the other side of the room has gone silent again. i try to hide the small smirk that creeps along my lips, knowing what the silence entails. i know i vowed to forget everything that happened last night, but i'm growing to like the new attention from peter, whatever it may mean. i continue painting.

warm fingers brush against my exposed side and my body flinches at the contact, causing the wandering fingers to pull back. i squeeze my eyes shut and lower my hand holding the paintbrush. i don't want to turn my head. i don't want to move at all, but knowing the fingers belong to peter gives me a sense of relief, he's just curious. so i let him be.

peter slowly lifts my shirt ever so slightly and places one finger at the top of my scar, right under my ribcage. he drags it down along the jagged line, slow enough i'm not even sure it’s actually happening. his fingers feel nice on my hot skin, making my body shiver. he continues to run a single finger around the outline of the wound. every time he reaches my hip, his touch lingers just the tiniest bit longer.

this is okay. he's just curious. it isn't scary, it's...nice.

when he presses his lips to my skin, my heart explodes. i want to stop him, to tell him he doesn't have to do this. he doesn't have to touch me this way. i don't want him to touch me this way.

oh, but that would be a lie.

"peter..." i whisper, hands shaking along with my legs that still stand on the stool.

he trails soft, wet kisses down my side and hums a 'yes' at the sound of his name. each kiss is placed delicately on the edge of the scar, following the sharp line of it.

"what are you...?" i trail off when he lets out a soft hush between kisses. my head is reeling and my heart is beating faster than i ever thought possible. once peter reaches my hip, i force myself to slowly turn my body towards him. he's now eye level with my torso and i tentatively slide my fingers through his soft hair. he tilts his head up to look at me with his warm brown eyes. he wraps his arms around my body hesitantly and rests his hands on the small of my back.

"hi." he whispers sheepishly.

i let out a sound that can only be described as a sad laugh that got caught in my throat. i'm simply beyond words as i just stare down at the sweet boy with the widest, brightest smile i can manage. he breaks our gaze and peppers more kisses across my stomach. his touch is so gentle, so soft and careful.

"so so beautiful," he mumbles each word between every perfectly placed kiss. his lips linger in all the right spots, igniting a fire in my belly- among other places. the feeling is intoxicating. he is intoxicating. i want more. more of him and his sweet words.

i grab his fingers and thread them through my own. his lips break away from my skin and he peers up at me again, the smallest smile on his face. he takes my hands and wraps them around his neck, then he does something that throws me off my feet, literally. his hands slide down my body to take hold of my thighs and with one quick motions he lifts my feet off of the stool, making a gasp rise from my throat. peter lowers me down to his level and taps my legs with his fingers, whispering a soft come here, prompting me to wrap them around his waist.

i suck in a deep breath, staring into his dark eyes, "what is going on?" i ask in disbelief. he lets out a deep chuckle and kisses my forehead as he simply shakes his head. i furrow my brows at him.

he carries me over to the bed, still in the middle of the room and sits down on the edge, holding me tight in his lap. i'm in awe at his strength. and the way he treats me like the most precious thing in the world. peter leans forward and rests his forehead against mine. after a few long seconds, he whispers gentle words against my lips,

“i’ve wanted to do this ever since we got to this stupid compound.”

|| taglist; @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @whycantileaveyou @lovewolfspirit @kitykatnumber

let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist :))

#shoutout to tom holland #tom holland #spiderman #spiderman far from home #spiderman homecoming #peter parker #holland #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #peter parker x oc #tom holland x oc #original character #bummer summer #tom holland spiderman #marvel #avengers #tony stark #iron man #happy hogan #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland choas walking #tom holland cherry #tom holland onward #tom holland series #peter parker series

[scattered--pages]

For the Lukanette lyrical prompt: "And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't/So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road/And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope/It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat", cause Florence is love

Notes: Ummm, so, I love you?! Because Florence really is love and omg this song ♡ Thank you heaps for this prompt, dear!!

Send me lyrics as a prompt for a Lukanette ficlet or a drabble? ♡

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Shake It Out

Rating: Teen+

Word count: 2759 (okay, whoops, this ended up being longer than I planned  ♡)

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About a year and a half has passed since Marinette has received the humbling, but painfully difficult task of being the Guardian of all the Miraculous. It was a role that was exhilarating, beyond exciting, a chance to grow like none other before and it ended up brining far more positive things along than she thought it ever would. However – after a very good start and after almost a year of handling everything somewhat well, Marinette got tired. Stressed. And afraid. And so, this also brought far more negative effects in ways she didn’t really even imagine initially.

Of course, the ever-rising thought of her making a wrong mistake, a bad choice, a slip-up with consequences far too grave and any or all of these resulting in the doom of entire Paris or the fate of the Miraculous, but the consequences she failed to predict were the ones affecting her personal life. Marinette’s life, not that of Ladybug.

 And there were truly moments where the line between the two faded. Where she was suddenly skipping school or being late so much and so often that it reached the level where the principle had to alert her parents and she almost got expelled, all the while being horrified and desperate in finding ways to justify her actions because, of course, she couldn’t say the truth. She could never say the truth about this. Or the time when each new threat arising in the city due to the re-empowered Hawkmoth/Mayura team started suddenly bubbling up so much internal pressure for her that she was forced to find a way to first deal with her own genuine, painful and terrifying panic attacks before she could transform and deal with the actual attack taking place outside.

Or when the more outspoken and brave Ladybug overtook the typical ‘Marinette’ in certain situations of extreme emotional hurt or vulnerability, causing her to distance herself from a few friends of hers due to her growing either too withdrawn from them or, on the other side of this spectrum, to lash out suddenly in select moments of jealousy or even slight anger. Being a Miraculous Guardian at the tender age of now 16 was insanely challenging to say the least and even though this fact only started to truly catch up with her recently, it affected both her and those around her enough to cause an overwhelming amount of worry, anger and frustration from all sides. Except from one person.

And as she paced along the Seine nervously, back and fort, during what was supposed to be a calming walk for her, in her civilian form, this particular calming voice was what snapped her back from her over-thinking mind back to reality.

“Marinette?”

She jumped a bit, even though the voice didn’t really startle or scare her, as much as it simply surprised her.

“Luka? Wh-What are you doing here?”, she wrapped her arms around her, suddenly aware of the slight chill outside, her cardigan far too thin for an early spring evening by the river such as this one.

He smiled a sad, worried smile at this and proceeded to take his jacket off. “My home is right there, remember?”, he teased gently, nodding towards a boat a bit more downstream along the river’s flow as he pulled his jacket around her.

“Oh…!”, Marinette followed the direction with her gaze and her jaw dropped slightly. She didn’t realize she managed to pace back and forth and here and there for so long and so out of focus of reality that she managed to reach all the way to here without even realizing it. “But, n-no, no!”, she attempted to slowly shrug the jacket off, “You’re going to freeze!”, her hands reached to get it off and hand it back to Luka but by placing both of his won hands against her shoulders carefully but firmly with a teasing smile, he made any attempts of detaching said jacket from her body near impossible, to which she even frowned slightly, causing him to instantly chuckle and shake his head.

“I’ll be fine, even without the jacket, I’m wearing a sweater that’s even slightly too warm for my taste, and I’ll honestly feel worse if you freeze when I can do something to help that.”

She exhaled, her expression suddenly that of sorrowful, almost guilty confusion.

“Why are you still putting up with me?”

He simply shrugged, the playful hold on her shoulders easing as he stroke them with his thumbs gently. “Because I care. Because a lot of people care about you and it breaks my heart that you seem to not believe that.”

Her expression now remained the same, as well as the emotions it carried, save for the sad smile that she added to it slowly, her head tilting to the side a bit.

“Except, a) I’ve been horrible to everyone and about pretty much everything lately and b)…”, her gaze flickered to the side a few times, cheekbones reddening in a way that made her grateful for the fact that the streetlight reflecting from the water’s clear surface wasn’t that strong of a light source at all, “… you care about me… differently…”

“You know…”, Luka now returned her sad smile, only it carried a different background entirely, his eyes drifting to the floor while he started to slowly let go of her, “I’m an idiot because I… don’t think I even really asked you if you minded that…” He prepared to step back but, within a second, Marinette’s hands were on his, keeping them in place.

“No, no!”, she was surprised by how quickly and confidently she said that, but a much as it made her face feel like it was completely burning now, she didn’t take it back. “Luka, you… Know I dont.”

And true, he had a reason to believe so. They weren’t in a relationship or anything like that yet, like Kagami and Adrien or Nino and Alya were, not officially, but they were spending majority of their time together, in their civilian forms and, of course, unbeknownst to them, in their Miraculous forms as well. More than that, they grew incredibly close quite fast. To the point that now, almost a year since Marinette made a point to get over Adrien, Adrien was just a friend and an occasional fleeting painful sting at her heart, but the majority of her affection and her emotions were now finally allowed to belong to Luka. To the point that they have already had a couple of brief moments of weakness resulting in a kiss, but nothing more was said or done. And because of the latter fact, because it was nothing more, Luka didn’t dare to be convinced that this was a confirmation of anything or to push or prod, but this time, he felt he needed to push slightly in the opposite direction in order to prevent himself from pushing on in this one.

Still, even after her hands gripped his and she, very determinately, kept him close to her, he didn’t know how to react, instead only staying still for a second, followed up by a barely noticeable quiver of his lower lip as he opened his mouth to speak but found himself unable to. She noticed though.

Her broken smile widened slightly. “I’m… being selfish, actually. There’s this… someone, erm…”, she shook her head, trying desperately to remain as vague as possible, “ …something, taking over my life and my composure a lot for awhile now, very incresingly so, and vou’re the only thing keeping me grounded and sane lately and… always have been one of the few people making me feel safe and sure of myself and, at least due to this, I really don’t want to let you go…”

What she said was a partial lie, but for once, he didn’t catch it.

“So it’s…”, he took a breath and nodded firmly, more as a way to keep himself strong than anything else, “… just because of that…” Suddenly he made sure to quickly continue, “And I want you to know it’s perfectly fine if it is, I’ll still be your fr-”

“No…” It escaped Marinette’s lips without her control. But once again, she didn’t regret it or take it back. This newly found courage paired with an impaired capability of hiding her feelings at least had some good uses, it seemed. “No, it’s not just that.”

Stunned yet again, Luka stayed silent, looking back into her eyes, running her words in his head over and over again to make sure he understood them right this time until a melody reached them, played from a near-by cafe, catching his attention.

And when he looked back at her, he smiled again.

“That… something, that’s keeping you down… You never told me everything, so I’m sorry if I don’t always manage to make you feel better as best as I could…”, she was already prepared to counter him on this immediately, but he simply placed a finger against her lips, “… but there’s something I haven’t tried yet.”

Against his touch, her lips formed a small puzzled frown, which was a vision so beautiful and adorable to him that he could have kissed her right then and there and never let her go.

“You know, one of the best ways to get rid of a lot of negative emotions, expectations or fears…”, letting go of her, he moved away slightly and outstretched one of his hands, “…is dancing.” He cocked his head to the side, asking a question without words.

“Oh, nooo, n-no, no, no… I don’t dance, or to be more precise, I’m quite sure I can’t dance!”

“Everyone can dance”, he shrugged with a soft smile, “I’m not asking you to waltz with me or do the tango”, he grinned and she chuckled, “I’m just asking you to dance.”

She bit her lips, feeling a very slight hesitation… but took his hand, nonetheless.

“Okay…”, she smirked, “Teach me.”

Reciprocating her smirk, he took her hand and slowly pulled her closer until they started moving into almost a slow-dancing kind of way. He spun her around and then back into his arms and there was something about how easily and naturally he did that, something about that gorgeous crooked smile he was giving her, just inches from her face, that made Marinette feel incredibly warm and exhilarated in the way, she came to find, only he could make her feel. But they weren’t at the cool, calming ice rink now. And the breezy spring evening was suddenly not cold enough to keep her as in check as she wanted to keep herself whenever he did something that caused this beautiful, dizzy feeling to arise inside her that quickened her heart and breath.

But, for once, perhaps because she so desperately needed something like this, she didn’t want to fight getting lost in a moment like this one. She craved and needed the way he made her feel, safe and wild at the same time, feeling just secure enough to almost be able to let go completely. Marinette never felt like that. Marinette never acted like that. Not even as Ladybug, not even at the peaks of her confidence. But with him, it just happened. And normally, she would wonder over and over again in her head if he could somehow sense this, how he’s literally driving her crazy in a way, if he thought her to be a foolish, silly girl for letting him affect her this much, especially since she practically rejected him at first and since, ironically, she felt that all of these feelings became immensely obvious and accentuated after she removed any barriers that she once upon a time used to carefully set in front of the emotions that were steadily growing for him because she wanted them kept down and silenced for Adrien. But not now. She moved with him and laughed with him and let him sway and spin her in his arms and she could swear she never felt more alive.

It was a couple’s dance of sorts, the one that they were sharing, but it wasn’t defined by any specific set of steps or movements, more like a combination, actually. And that was the beauty of it, it was just defined by – them. And as the music picked up its tempo and volume slightly and she found herself dipped down in a way that perhaps started teasingly and playfully, she could feel her heart wanting to burst in warm sparks in her chest sparkling and spreading through her torso in a way she didn’t expect so suddenly. It felt like sparks flowing down her body and as it instinctively caused her to bite on her lower lip, she could have sworn that she felt his breathing hitch for a moment. Because the way he leaned over her, pulled her waist against his, much closer and tighter than at the ice rink, as he started to pull her slowly back up, eyes staring into each other without blinking, bodies close to the point she could feel the tempo of his breathing through the movements of his chest against her… It flipped some sort of a switch inside her. Everything has been so wrong and so irredeemable and so wrong lately, the pressure constantly dropped onto her shoulders unbearable and so strong that she was fully convinced she truly couldn’t handle it at all. But now, here, with him, like always, all of her feelings just floated to the surface. Or perhaps rushed, ran and instantly flooded to the surface would be a better description of what she was feeling when he leaned his shoulder down against her, breathing heavily, as two teal eyes peered right inside of her and made her melt. And, for once, Marinette was completely and entirely sure that at least for now, she was enough. She was strong. She was alive. Her skin was burning and the air flowing heavily through her lungs at a tempo she wasn’t used to felt like breathing for the first time in months. There was no way on Earth she was letting this go. There was no way in hell she was suppressing anything tonight. As a rebellion against Hawkmoth wanting to see her destroyed, against people who knew her and were ready to judge or leave her when she was clearly going through something akin to a nightmare, against any residual feelings for Adrien and against this whole nightmare as a whole – Marinette was going to grip paradise tonight, she’s going to be young, and free and hungry and loved and to hell with anything else.

She was fire and she wasn’t blushing or pulling back this time or looking away and still, still Luka was careful and doubtful, his gaze searching hers hopeful but confused. And somehow this, the heart and patience and kindness of the boy in her arms tipped her over the brink and without being able to even control or plan it, her lips crashed against his… And they stayed like that for a second, two, before his lips caressed against her lower lip in a way that caused less than a moment to transpire before her teeth grazed his upper lip with her next kiss, then her tongue, and when his tongue just barely brushed up against hers, her mind seemed to have swerved like she was intoxicated, because the next thing she realized was that her hand was tangled in his hair and grasping at his back, pulling him somehow even closer, closer against her, before he lifted her up, swiftly and effortlessly onto a small half-wall behind them and, oh, it made her want to never let him go. She gripped at the firm shape of the small of his back and one of his palms cupped her face, stroking her lip as he kissed it hungrily, the other running against her outer thigh and something between them must have been electric because they both shivered at the same time and chuckled sweetly against each other’s lips.

There was no care or thought left in her mind other than him. Her head, her heart and her body screamed only Luka. Luka. And only Luka.

Her home.

Her acceptance.

Her freedom.

#lukanette #lukanette fic #lukanette prompt #luka couffaine #miraculous ladybug #my fic

[impracticaldemon]

Mirafreed Week 2017 Fanfiction Ch.3—First Steps: Beyond Kisses

Story ~ First Steps and Beyond Prompts: Day 5—Lipstick; Day 6—Children

Words: ~ 5000 (Chapter 3) | AO3 | Fanfiction.net | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Summary:  This story takes place between the Battle for Fairy Tail and the Oracion Seis Arc, as timelines permit. Chapter 3 follows Freed’s proposal for the two of them to find a home together and the difficulties of two complicated mages trying to forge an intimate relationship.  Angst, relationship development, sexy fluff (and a certain amount of frustration). 

Rated: T+ for Chapters 1 & 2, M for Chapter 3 (to be safe); Chapter 4 will be M

Chapter 3: Beyond Kisses

[I]—Tea and Kisses

As expected, the gossip mill churned with great fervour when it became known that Mirajane and Freed were actively looking for an apartment together. Eventually, there was even a small article about it in the Sorcerer's Weekly, featuring pictures of Mirajane dressed in everything from a skimpy bikini to a floor-length ball gown. The only picture of Freed was from the fashion show in which he'd involuntarily participated, and while he looked elegant enough, the editor seemed to have deliberately chosen the one shot where the angle made his slight smile look more like a leer.

"Well, maybe that was the only photo that the show organizers would allow them to publish," said Mirajane, as they read the article together at their regular date for morning tea. Her voice was light, and she even sounded amused, but Freed knew his lady too well. The over-tight grip on her mug and the angry gleam in her blue eyes was more indicative of her mood.

"Perhaps," Freed agreed. "But we both doubt it, so why pretend? The door is closed and I promise not to repeat anything you have to say about the magazine's editors beyond these four walls."

Mirajane gave him a fond smile, the dangerous spark fading from her eyes.

"I've learned to keep my temper… and sometimes it's easier to keep it if I don't let go of it even in private. For one thing, getting angry around Elfman always sets him off, which seldom works out well. He's very protective, as you may have noticed. But somehow when you tell me to get angry and say exactly what I'm thinking, I no longer feel especially angry."

"That's too bad," Freed commented. "You are not only lovely when you're angry, but also very witty—in a scathing, flay-your-opponent-alive kind of way. By the way, I see that you've finally found a lipstick that is dark enough to match those roses Droy created for you. The colour suits you very well."

He picked up the small cake that she had set down in her annoyance at seeing the photos, broke off a piece, and fed it to her. It was a deliberately sensual—rather than romantic—gesture, and he was pleased to see that Mira's eyes focussed on the way that he licked the crumbs from his fingertips afterward, instead of returning to the magazine.

"You're trying to seduce me, aren't you?" she said softly, the moment she had swallowed the bit of cake.

Freed picked up her hand and traced the line of the vein on her wrist with his thumb.

"Yes, I told you that I would—try, that is."

"You also said you'd be patient." She met his eyes as though to challenge his lack of patience, but her slight shiver when his fingers continued to stroke the soft skin just below her palm detracted somewhat from her protest.

Her green-haired lover—in the more old-fashioned sense of the word, at least for now—smiled in a way that made her bite her lower lip. Somehow, they had gone from discussing an annoying piece of unwanted publicity to… this.

"I said that I can be patient," Freed told her, his thumb still tracing those oddly electric patterns on her inner wrist. "And if I thought that I was bothering you now—in a negative way—then I would be patient. Moreover, I have been patient."

Mirajane was always both irritated and captivated by the way that Freed could make her feel young and rather inexperienced at times like these. In fact, she was young—barely into her early twenties, although she managed to maintain an appearance of wisdom and maturity that fooled even those who knew better—and she was inexperienced in terms of serious relationships. As a teenager she'd been wild and decidedly dangerous to those around her; after her sister had died, she'd reformed into a sexy but untouchable sister-mother figure to the majority of the guild and perhaps Magnolia as a whole.

"I did agree to look for a place together," she ventured, trying vainly to ignore her flushed cheeks and the warmth she could feel spreading outward from where Freed was touching her. "And we'd only been seeing each other for three months at the time!"

"Yes, and I am very happy about that. However, I have come to the conclusion that we are both too domestic—and likely too particular—to find what we want in the apartments and smaller places that we've been looking at."

"What do you mean?"

Before answering the question, Freed leaned forward and pressed his lips against Mira's. It began as a simple kiss, but her lips had already been slightly parted and he took ruthless advantage of that to explore her mouth with his tongue, so that the kiss quickly became deeper and oddly more intense than in the past. Freed's hand slid further up Mira's arm and she felt the strange electric feeling travel with it, as if there were more than mere finger-tips and nerve-endings involved. A few minutes passed, and then Freed felt Mira start to tense. Without being in any way abrupt, he gently ended the kiss and slowly leaned back, folding his hands together so as to resist any further temptation. For now.

"Thank you," Freed said quietly.

Mirajane didn't respond at first. She was staring down at the table as though fascinated by the well-polished wood. Then she shook her head and looked up. Her whole face felt warm and was probably red.

"That was… different. Why?"

"Power—I think. You don't entirely believe me, but I have done my best to… mute things a little. While we got used to each other. I suppose that magic calls to magic—we can both sense spell energy after all—and ours is somewhat aligned. The effect is becoming more pronounced as we become more comfortable together; I don't know why. I noticed it a couple of months ago."

"I didn't."

"I can't fully explain it. I suggest that I am more open to you than you are to me—which is only reasonable in the circumstances. I have hurt you and your family."

"Then I still need to move past the past—so to speak." Mira did not look wholly convinced. After all, she was the one who had originally convinced Freed that his actions on Laxus' behalf had not destroyed their relationship as friends and guild mates.

"Mira…" Freed hesitated. He didn't want to lose her. Reluctantly, he tried to put into words the idea that had come to him over the past few weeks. "You've let me become close to you. Now you've agreed to live with me—if we can find the right place. But I feel as though I'm fighting a constant, silent battle. You really don't like to acknowledge your demon powers, and I won't let you forget them."

"I thought we already talked about that." Mirajane shifted uncomfortably.

"We did. But you are going out with me despite how you feel, not because you are comfortable with your powers. I believe you'll get there—you are already less anxious—but until you can tell yourself that's it's alright and you won't hurt anyone by mistake, you're going to… hold back with me."

Once again, Mira fidgeted. She was intelligent and capable of honest self-analysis; Freed's argument had some merit.

"What does this have to do with getting an apartment?"

Freed had to resist the urge to pace.

"As I said before, oddly enough, demon powers or not, we're both rather domestic creatures." He smiled wryly. "Evergreen and Bickslow are both far more exotic beings than I am, when it comes to creating a space that is a home—not to mention knowing how to cook or tidy. And if you tell me that Elfman has a desire to create gourmet meals then I'll believe you, but I'd be surprised. Or does he have a flair for interior design of which I was unaware?"

That drew a reluctant smile from Mirajane. She nodded in agreement with Freed's assessment.

"In comparison to our families," Freed continued, "you and I secretly want a rather traditional place, with an excellent kitchen, room to entertain, enough space for both guests and our own interests…"

Mirajane laughed out loud. "And a garden and a koi pond?"

"And a fenced yard for the children."

Mira turned noticeably pink again. "It's a little too soon to talk about that," she said in a low voice.

"I agree. That or even the rest of it, maybe, but I think the image is there in our heads already and that's why the apartments and so on aren't satisfying to look at." Freed tilted his head at her. "Since I seem to be pressing my luck anyway, I will complete my analysis. I think you are conflicted: the idea of throwing yourself whole-heartedly into creating your own home and family makes you want more than a utilitarian place to live; however, the idea of being closely involved with me on a day-to-day basis still scares you."

"I'm not afraid of you, Freed!"

"I know." Freed sighed. "I don't think that fear of me—in the obvious sense—is the problem. Either way, I apologize for upsetting you. Besides, I may be completely wrong, and we just haven't found the right place yet."

He rose, took one of Mirajane's hands back, and bowed.

"Freed…" For some reason, Mirajane felt her irritation with the man dissolve again. The strength in his hands and the way that he somehow conveyed both restrained power and the desire for intimacy almost made her shiver again.

"I have reason to believe that Elfman will be out this evening," said Freed in a light tone. "Although it is incredibly presumptuous to invite myself over, may I join you for dinner this evening? If you think that the guild can do without you for an hour or two?"

"I wish Elf wasn't so fascinated by Evergreen," Mirajane replied rather petulantly. When Freed remained silent, she added: "Yes, I'd be happy make dinner for you this evening, even though it is a strange request from a person as consistently polite as you are. I'll find somebody to look after things here."

"Thank you, Mira. I'll see you later, then."

[II]—Intimate Discussions

Freed surveyed the Strauss family home with a slightly sardonic expression. Mirajane and her siblings had been in Magnolia since she was thirteen, during which time they had lived for the most part at the guildhall. The house was fairly new; or more precisely, they hadn't had it for long. Mirajane had bought it about a year ago, when earnings from her modelling jobs had begun to add up. It wasn't especially large, but it was located in what realtors referred to as a "desirable location": an older neighbourhood close to the center of town with full-grown trees and more space between houses than could be found anywhere else. There was a small but pretty garden, and the yard was fenced, although there was no koi pond.

Smiling at the pond idea, Freed walked up the short flight of stairs to the front door, which opened at his approach. Mirajane was wearing a short summer dress in some kind of soft material, and her feet were bare. Freed was pleased that he'd judged correctly: he'd left his usual coat and boots at home in favour of black trousers and a wine-coloured vest over a white dress shirt with the collar unbuttoned and the cuffs loosely folded up. He was gratified to see Mira's eyes widen with surprised approval.

"Come in, Freed… And you needn't look so smug; I freely admit that I like your outfit."

"That isn't going to stop me from looking smug, Mira," her guest replied, kissing her cheek and taking his shoes off inside the door. "After all, I get to have dinner—alone—with you, and you like the clothes I chose for the evening. What man wouldn't feel smug?"

"A more polite man might conceal his smugness," Mirajane suggested, her blue eyes twinkling a little.

"Alas, it isn't exactly politeness I have in mind this evening." Freed pulled his hostess against him in a tight embrace and kissed her firmly on the lips.

"Or food?" Mirajane said with a slight gasp a minute or two later.

"Food would be very welcome," Freed demurred. "I merely wanted to advise you of my intentions ahead of time, so that there was no misunderstanding."

"You didn't even bring flowers or, or anything!"

"True. I invited myself to dinner and brought no gifts. That way, you can't accuse me of trying to bribe you or make you feel guilty or indebted."

Mirajane smacked him lightly on the upper arm and tried to look affronted. "I assure you that I don't feel either guilty or indebted when a dinner guest brings me a small gift or a bottle of wine or something of that kind."

"Ah, but you still have my flowers," Freed pointed out.

"Yes, and although they continue to look lovely—I assume you put some kind of arcane runes on them—I think it's time for new ones! Or are you short of money?"

Mirajane immediately reddened and looked flustered, since she knew that Freed had been working hard to repay the guild and the town of Magnolia for the repairs necessary to both after the battle for Fairy Tail. Freed ignored her consternation, however.

"I am not short of money. Since I denied myself the pleasure of your company for over three months, and have remained busy in the—almost—four months that we've been seeing each other, I am entirely free of debt and then some. However,"—he spoke over Mirajane's attempt to apologize for her question—"I do intend to buy you new flowers, just as soon as we decide on a home together. In the meantime, the original roses serve to remind you of our discussion on the matter."

Mirajane stopped trying to cut in. Instead, she frowned slightly, and tried to shift away so that she could look up at him. When his arms didn't move, and proved as yielding as steel bars, the best she could do was resist the desire to snuggle in closer. It was annoyingly difficult not to.

"I don't need the reminder," she told him at last.

"Excellent. Then let's talk about it over dinner, shall we?"

"You're still trying to get me into bed, aren't you?"

"Yes. I believe that came up during the same discussion. But in perfect seriousness, if you want me to desist, you just need to ask."

Mirajane huffed, but didn't say anything more, so Freed let go of her and followed her into the kitchen. The food smelled wonderful, and it was clear that dessert was baking in the oven.

"I was going to suggest that we eat in here," Mirajane said, "but it's a little warm, I'm afraid. Not that either of us seems to mind the heat much. At least, I don't, and I assume you don't since you normally wear a coat on all occasions."

Freed regarded the good-sized kitchen with its comfortable eating area. It was appropriate to the suggestion he wanted to make over dinner.

"I can create a slightly cooler area that won't be affected by the heat from the cooking, if you don't mind setting the table."

"Showing off?" Mirajane teased.

"No, just being practical."

A short time later, they were eating Mira's wonderful dinner in perfect comfort, only the tiniest distortion indicating the location of Freed's magic. Soft music accompanied dinner, issuing from a shimmering lacrima crystal that was itself a piece of art.

"Alright Freed, you've managed to get things more or less the way you want them, I suspect, so what is it that you want to discuss?" Mirajane fixed her guest with a wary gaze.

Freed finished his mouthful of food without haste.

"I think that we should live here," he said simply. "You have already chosen this place, and I like it very much, so why not?"

Mirajane looked startled and then upset.

"But… Elf lives here and I'm not going to tell him to leave! You can't expect me to!"

Freed nodded his understanding.

"Of course I don't expect you to tell him to leave, but have you considered how he feels? I know you are very close, but he may appreciate his own freedom, you know. Especially if he has his own, ah, interests to pursue. It should have occurred to me sooner, but he's the one who should have an apartment, not us. I can assure you that Evergreen is not in a hurry to settle down."

"Thank goodness," muttered Mirajane.

Freed ignored the interpolation.

"More wine?"

"No thank you!" Then Mirajane discovered that her glass was empty, and with a sense of capitulation, she handed it to Freed. "Alright… That is, yes please."

He filled the glass in silence, along with his own.

"If Elfman dislikes the idea—if he would rather stay here—then I'll come up with something else," he promised, once Mirajane had sipped at her wine.

"I… suspect that won't be necessary," she admitted. "He was as resistant as he could be when I bought the place—which isn't saying much, but I know I overrode his preference to stay at the guildhall. And if I present it to him as something that I want, so that any money I give him up front is just a small thing compared to the rent I'd otherwise have to pay…"

"I'm still surprised you went looking at apartments with me, given that you had this lovely house," Freed told her.

She grinned at him. "You caught me at a weak emotional moment—it had been a trying day."

"Of course."

"And I liked your idea of living together."

"In concept or in reality?"

"Both. I promise."

"Then you will consider my idea?"

"I'll speak to Elfman about it tomorrow. He said he'd likely be home late tonight."

"He will be." Freed spoke with some certainty. Evergreen might not be wholly reconciled to the idea of her team leader being involved with "Little Miss Perfect" (her words, of course), but she was fond enough of Freed—and loyal enough—not to stand in his way. Besides, she liked to torment Elfman without having to admit to herself that she wanted to spend time with him.

"I see." Mirajane frowned, but forbore to cast further aspersions on the Raijinshū's capricious female team member.

She cleared the dinner dishes and took dessert out of the oven to cool. Freed watched her patiently as she made coffee for herself and tea for him, understanding her need for space and occupation while she mulled things over. She liked his idea, he thought. And if they wanted a bigger place someday—since the house only had three bedrooms—they could worry about it then. He knew Mirajane very well, and she would want children sooner rather than later.

Meanwhile, he had more immediate hopes and dreams, but he had already pushed the limits of acceptable behaviour. He allowed himself to be guided into the cosy living room, and sipped his tea while Mirajane described her most recent modelling assignment, and the sleazy photographer who had needed reminding that she was a Fairy Tail mage. Freed smiled appreciatively at the end result, but added the photographer's name to a short mental list of people with whom to have pointed discussions.

"I only have half your attention!" Mirajane protested at that point.

"You have my full attention," replied Freed with perfect truth.

He rose from the armchair to which he'd been directed and set down his plate and cup. His long green hair had been tied back into a low ponytail but his bangs still fell around his face—and over his right eye—as usual. Mirajane caught her breath and then hurried to stand up. Every now and then, she found herself partially mesmerized by how he looked and it was annoying that it seemed to be happening more often lately. She had expected the effect to lessen as she got to know him better. It gave her insight into the effect that she had on others, since his style of beauty was not unlike her own, but that didn't help her to feel less shallow—or less vulnerable.

"You're leaving already?" she asked, puzzled and relieved and disappointed.

"You are holding me at a distance. I am trying my utmost to become closer to you. It isn't an ideal situation. As you reminded me, I promised to be patient."

"But…" Mirajane frowned. Every way she looked at it, he was correct. She was holding him at a distance even though she wanted to be with him. It did suggest that she was afraid. She didn't like—the realization finally crystallized—she truly didn't like not being in control of how she felt.

Despite his best intentions, Freed couldn't resist the somehow woebegone expression on Mirajane's lovely face. She looked bewildered and he had some idea why. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

"You'll sort it out. The thing is… I don't really want to seduce you. I don't even want to find out if that's possible. I want to hold you, and touch your skin, and make love to you—because that's what we both want. Shared love, shared responsibility, shared vulnerability. For people with power I think it generally comes down to that."

He could tell that the words made sense to her. Her slim hands reached up to brush the hair out of his face and he reflexively closed his eyes. His right eye was… troubling… to look at. When she leaned into him, arms now around his neck to balance herself, he let go of her shoulders and allowed his hands to rest lightly on her hips. He was surprised when she kissed his neck rather his lips, but kept his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation.

"Stay for a bit longer, please. I'm sure that your patience hasn't entirely run out, has it?"

"No—ah, no, it hasn't run out. Yes, if you want me to stay I will."

They sat on the couch after that, or rather, Freed sat on the couch and pulled Mirajane onto his lap. He put his arms around her but otherwise left her to choose what to do next. She continued to kiss his neck, and then his ears and finally what she could she see of his shoulders. Somehow he managed to stay still throughout, although he could hear his heart hammering in his chest. He felt his whole body tense when her fingers unbuttoned his vest and most of his shirt, but other than shifting to accommodate reactions that he couldn't possibly help, he didn't move.

His eyes were closed, partly to give his lover a strange semblance of privacy, partly because he thought that if he could see then his control might slip beyond recall. Soft hands traced the muscles and bones of his chest and warm lips trailed along his left collarbone. Unlike Mirajane, he had no difficulty at all in feeling the quasi-electrical sensation of magical power rising along his skin. When surprisingly sharp teeth marked his shoulder he gasped out loud and then gently took Mira's face between his hands.

"That… Wait." He pressed his forehead against hers in an attempt to recover enough breath—and wits—to speak coherently. Her hands remained pressed against his ribs, but she didn't move. Finally, he opened his eyes and smiled ruefully at her. "Well."

"I know I didn't hurt you," Mirajane told him, expression torn between concern and amusement. Her cheeks were flushed, but mostly she appeared to be smug.

"No, not at all." The rapidly darkening bruise on his left shoulder might suggest otherwise, but Freed felt no pain. At least, not there; elsewhere, his clothing was very much too tight and he was distinctly uncomfortable.

"I never really realized that people could blush with their whole bodies," Mirajane mused thoughtfully.

"Mmm. More blood in the capillaries. Shows up more if you have fair skin, too."

"You have nice skin."

"Thank you. So do you."

"You should know, since you've seen most of it; I've modelled all sorts of swimsuits. You, on the other hand, are almost always overdressed." Mirajane's tone was teasing, but Freed could also hear the warring emotions underneath: desire and fear, although the fear was much less pronounced than it had been.

"I find myself overdressed right now, but I suppose that's not the same."

The flush on her cheeks darkened and she looked away. "… No, not quite the same."

"Have you concluded that you can wrap me around your little finger with a few well-placed kisses?" Freed asked, turning her face back toward his.

"Not exactly," Mirajane responded slowly, meeting his eyes—which was saying something, since he could tell that both were visible. "But I'll admit that you've somehow managed to convince me that we should have our own home."

"I thought I'd already convinced you of that?"

"Yes… in a general way. But now I realize that we need our own place because we really need more privacy."

"Ah."

"Not that I didn't already understand that we need more privacy but—look, can you just drop this?"

"Sure."

"And stop looking so smug!"

Freed raised an eyebrow.

"The woman I'm in love with is sitting in my lap and just half undressed me. It's difficult not to feel a least a little smug. Besides, that is very much the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say?"

"My pots are all steel-coloured."

"So's my kettle." Suddenly Freed blinked and looked alarmed. "… Mira…!"

With characteristic stubbornness—at least, Erza would have called it that, if nobody else—Mirajane had twisted so that she was kneeling across Freed's legs, her white hair concealing her face as she used lips and teeth to put a second, matching bruise on Freed's right shoulder. The slight hoarseness in his voice didn't escape her sharp ears, and she was pleased with the effect. Suddenly strong hands grasped her upper arms and pulled her upright, so that they were facing each other again.

"This isn't a game," Freed told her flatly. "Or at least, not one that we can safely play right now. Do you understand? I want you to touch me because you want to: not to establish dominance, not because you're afraid, not because you have something to prove."

There was a long, long silence after that.

"I understand," Mirajane said eventually, very quietly.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," Freed immediately apologized. He had already relaxed his grip on her arms.

"Why is this so complicated? Honestly, it's not like this in the books."

"Those would be the books with the half-naked men and women on the covers?"

Mirajane giggled, suddenly sounding a lot more like herself. Freed relaxed a little.

"Yes… Erza and Cana get them—okay, and I do too—and we trade them around. Cana always gets the more explicit ones, and well… there's not much of a plot…"

Fairy Tail's fair-haired girl (so to speak) smirked and reddened again, but without being especially embarrassed. Freed, on the other hand, clapped his hands over his ears.

"I don't want to know about it. Not if it involves Erza. Otherwise I'll say the wrong thing at the wrong time and who knows what will happen."

"Oh? More afraid of her than of me?"

"Yes: you actually care about me and I'd like to think that you would hesitate to damage me too severely if I accidentally embarrassed you."

Mirajane rolled her eyes, and then smiled.

"I care quite a lot, to be honest. So I guess you have a point." She hesitated, then added: "It may take a little while for me to sort things out with Elf and make sure it's okay. He'll grumble a lot about me living with you, even though he's kind of got his head around things more, now."

"I think you'll find him fairly tractable at the present time. He, ah, doesn't have much of a leg to stand on, you know, from a moralistic point of view."

"… I'd rather not think about that, but I suppose it's true. All I was going to say, though, is that if we wait to have this place entirely to ourselves then it could be a few days or a few weeks."

"True," Freed said neutrally.

"And the man I love is sitting here partly-undressed and rather dishevelled and it seems a shame to waste the opportunity."

"Really?" The man in question could feel his heart beat accelerate again, as Mirajane began to run a hand gently down his neck and along his collarbone. Her other hand was working on the last two buttons of his shirt, which she had liberated from his trousers.

"Yes. I don't get to see you dishevelled very often, Freed. It's rather disturbingly attractive."

"Probably because you know that it's only with you."

"That could be true." Mirajane finally managed to undo the last of the shirt buttons, and she paused to admire her handiwork before running both hands along Freed's flat stomach and up across his ribs. "Or maybe I'm just infatuated."

"I don't think it's infatuation. Lust maybe. Love and lust together aren't a bad thing, you know."

"I'm relieved to hear it. There are a lot of conflicting messages out there, though. So I might still get a little anxious from time to time…"

"I can live with that," Freed said. "I never expected things to be simple. I just wanted a chance to resolve the complications."

He shifted his legs onto the couch and settled himself more comfortably against the soft armrest. Then he pulled Mira down against his chest and ran his hands down her back and over her hips, brushing his fingertips across the tops of her bare legs. When that seemed to be acceptable, he brought his hands back to her face and smiled.

"So it's okay to tell me to stop, right?"

"I know. I'm not a child."

"I am in no way treating you like a child," Freed pointed out.

Mirajane kissed him, lightly at first and then more emphatically. "True," she said, once they were both rather out of breath.

"The only other thing I was going to add," murmured Freed, "is that unless you do tell me to stop sooner rather than later, I would prefer to go somewhere with a door."

"Just in case of jealous lovers, brothers, that kind of thing?"

"No. For that kind of thing, I recommend magic wards. For a basic sense of privacy, a door is sufficient."

Mirajane laughed and managed to snuggle closer. "Let's just stay here for a bit, okay? Then we'll see."

[To be continued… in Chapter 4]

Note:  Reviews and comments (even short ones) would be much appreciated. I enjoyed writing this chapter, which sets the stage for the next (and concluding) chapter. Unfortunately, I was unable to put everything together in as short a time as I'd hoped (i.e., during Mirafreed Week itself).

#fairy tail #fanfiction #mirafreed #mirafreed week #impracticaldemon #chapter 3 #mirajane strauss #freed justine

[vipsconfess]

I feel upset with some of this fandom. I love all 5 members of BB, I really do. I appreciate how their music has helped me through hard times and how they've helped people around the world. I hate all this criticising in the VIP community. I have a massive soft spot for Seungri. It pains me to see him have a little less attention than the rest but it pains me even more to see VIPs rip each other apart over things beyond our control. It's gotten to the point where I'm scared to even say that GD -

- has worked hard. Or that TOP has worked hard. Or that Daesung has worked hard. I hate how fans are making this into a Seungri stan vs. the rest of VIPs and as much as they don’t like to admit it. This is what it has become. I know we’re all trying to appreciate what Seungri has done and is currently doing, but why are we doing it at the expense of others. Is it payback? Payback for all the years VIPs allegedly ‘ignored’ Seungri? It makes me angry because they’re all hard workers. They’ve all had their fair share of problems/scandals. They’ve shown us they’ve made it this far yet we’re all still fighting. I’m definitely not saying that we should ignore the problem at hand, but VIPs are becoming passive with our words. We act salty whenever a member doesn’t do as well but we say it in a way that are feelings are still suppressed, so we harbour an underlying hate towards the most successful member.

And I will be brazen and say that I hate that. I never once thought this in my life, but recently I’ve been thinking, 'maybe they should just disband?’ They’re problematic. We’re problematic. We can’t even support the members without being criticised, whether it is from other fans or from within the fandom. There are definitely many ways that BB can 'include’ Seungri more and I hate that over the past 10 years, his lines have grown less and that he’s losing his passion for music. I honestly question what GD is doing sometimes, wondering what the production process is like, but at the same time, I know there’s nothing I can do about it except appreciate them all for who they are and how far they’ve come. I don’t really know where this 'confession’ is going but it makes me so angry to see GD as the example for everything VIPs despise. /We’re the same as anti fans who always bring up GD in scandals saying, why does he get away with it? Why does he get all the privileges?/ Maybe we’re all sensitive being the enlistment is near. Maybe we’ve all bottled this up,and now we’ve had enough. I know many people will disagree with me. This isn’t an attack on anyone regarding who they stan. It’s probably just an attack at myself for not accepting that people feel differently. I just hope all this passive criticism can stop. I hope we can appreciate the members without having to drag another down. I hope the minority of akgaes won’t be the reason why we put others down. I just want this fandom to be at peace. I want us to be happy.

hey! i’m reading this and i’m aware that you have great intentions. i appreciate that you sent this to me and have expressed how you feel genuinely.

as someone who’s also very defensive towards seungri, i do agree that some stans do take it too far and arguably have become seungri akgaes as a result. yes, i do think some of the issues that arise with seungri being slept on and ignored are pushed to the wrong parties (i.e., saying yoo jaesuk’s a piece of shit for making fun of seungri on infinite challenge and telling him to apologize is completely ridiculous. he has shown time and time again that he enjoys his wittiness in the other jaesuk led shows over the years), or someone has reached too far (i.e., telling seungri to leave the group).

not all discourse made about seungri is perfect, and i think that’s important to note. not everyone who’s talking about it is going to have seungri AND ot5 in mind, and it’s important for us to distinguish between these two. we’ve established (or so i hope) that the gd standom have a bunch of akgaes and it has spread as the mainstream mindset. even though yeah, we shouldn’t pay attention to them because they’re gross, we have to acknowledge that they do exist. i hate to bring up a real world example, but just like how n**ism is coming back, we need to address it instead of ignoring the problem or thinking that’s somehow acceptable. as a former gd stan, i can see how it looks like the blame is pushed onto him when it’s actually a lot of things. pls understand that these fans aren’t necessarily attacking HIM as a person, but rather him being able to have a bunch of akgae fans who support him unconditionally, whether it’s during scandals or financially that they don’t even care about anything else. these things do exist, and yes, gd didn’t ask for it, but you can also say the same with seungri not being recognized for his achievements.

i think it’s also safe to say here that this whole conversation has become about seungri vs gd. while it should be separate things which is 1) seungri’s mistreatment under yg since debut and the effects of that with fandom and sometimes within the group and 2) gd’s problematic behavior esp with the kingmck incident is starting to become a serious issue for not just fans, but for his wellbeing & it needs to be addressed in hopes that he’ll grow up and change as a person, it has somehow convoluted into “who’s better, who’s right”. with that, i think we failed in keeping it clear, mainly because we’re frustrated and tired of seeing the wrong type of discourse.

basically, i think that discourse is important, and it takes time to filter through some other people’s thinkpieces that have other intentions but ot5. it’s another challenge in and of itself, but it’s important to still listen to the people who have been saying these things for years (especially with seungri stans like i’m sorry, but this conversation needs to be had bc frankly, there’s a lot of overwhelming evidence that vips are quite conditional with their love for seungri). there are ways to change these things, and it honestly upsets me to see people being like, “well that’s just the way it is”. if so, youngbae wouldn’t suddenly go, “seungri you’re talented” at a recent concert. things do change if you continue to push a lil and ask for more. maybe the tone needs to be different, but you can’t 100% police these raw feelings. if you’re more bothered about tone than what’s being said, then you’re missing the point and you’re not listening.

#anonymous #reply #s #g #member interactions #fandom #rant