❝ You better keep that hand over
your eyes, Mister Parker, or else. ❞
"Don’ worry Gwen. I happen to be a very good boy. Just ask Aunt May."
"Since I am in all bloody, does that mean I get to change the tv channel?"
when you have an idea for an AU but realize no one would probably RP it with you
"I said I’m not looking!"
Oh my god. No. No. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. They were happy. They were smiling and laughing together yesterday. They were soulmates. They had to be together. Peter hadn’t been this happy in the longest time.
But now… Now Jehan was leaving. Oh boy did that hurt. That really hurt.
"Can I still see you?"
Jehan pulls back from the hug with the most hopeful look in his teary eyes. Pete, you’ve just given the boy an escape and he’s never going to feel like he’s gonna make it up to you. “Really?”
Cue the tiny poet looking at Peter like he’s the absolute best thing in the world. He knows he needs out of his house, and he wants to leave as soon as possible. He’s sick of having to use makeup to cover up the bruises and having to hide every single thing from his father.
Peter just nodded his head slightly. “Yeah really.” He said, his voice a little smaller than I thought it would be. He wasn’t good in situations like this. All he really knew was that he couldn’t stand seeing Jehan like this and that Aunt May made everything better always. Not to mention that Aunt May loved Jehan. She’d probably raise him as her own if she could.
Peter stared at him, and Peter didn’t stare at people. Staring at someone was weird. But then again, so was this situation. Jehan was dead… he went to the funeral. He cried. A lot. It had only been two days since the funeral and Peter was still within the first two stages of grieving. And then here he was…
"You’re… you’re not real. This is just the drink." Yeah. Peter had actually had a drink.
"You look like shit, mon amour," he says, instead of responding to that statement of not being real. He’s definitely real, but it’s understandable that Peter thinks otherwise. He /did/ just fake his death, after all.
Peter stared at him. He couldn’t say anything. His mouth was too dry. Man. He looked so real… then again, he always looked real. And he was right. Peter did look like shit. He actually haven’t gone out fighting since he found out. He hasn’t had a lot of time to.
if you find yourself here on my side of town
I’d pray that you’d come to my door
talk to me like you don’t know what we ever fought about
cuz I don’t remember anymore
and I just know that she warms my heart
and knows what all my imperfections are
and she says that I am the brightest little firefly in her jar