Neverland - Tumblr Posts
Heeeeyyyyy not dead. Poster (1/3) of a little series I’m working on
Jewels of Truth Statement: "In Memory To The King of Pop Michael Jackson"
Hello All, Since this "Jewels of Truth" statement is more so a memorial away from my ordinary writings. Please keep in mind I'm a kindred spirit to all souls that maintain a youthful demeanor in spirit. Often the term that is used is that of a Man Child this is one reason why I'm an avid gamer. Aside from all this I wanted to attempt to write posthumously a statement or memorial to "Michael Joseph Jackson". At least in my perspective he was / is a living role model in how to maintain one's youthful spirit forever young. No matter the difficulty that life throws across our path his artistic fervor remained strong for us all to enjoy. 1469) Not all children are fortunate to live the life of merriment in times of youth. Life and work make demands which are so costly that shall not be ignored. It may seem fewer still can achieve renowned artistry and begin to live their lives backward. Enjoying their youth only when fully an adult as deemed by society. Michael Jackson, the "King of Pop" or popular music was one such soul. Innocent with the heart of a child with the outlook of a multi talented genius. He achieved what few dared to dream for themselves alone. He was a man child in spirit, he was seen by others as an eccentric. Nonetheless as his life rose to stardom his child like spirit remained the same. Michael adored "Peter Pan" the fictional character even altering his visage to resemble the Immortal Boy of "Neverland". Those seeking to misunderstand "Michael Jackson" had it easy. Those who adored and loved Michael had it harder in understanding him. Still we loved Michael because he was Michael, not just as a celebrity. He proved many wonders are a reality, even in spite of the heartaches he endured. He loved children as a truly kindred soul should for his spirit was amongst them always. His talents rose higher and higher whilst remaining true to himself and his own ideals. The world shall always misunderstand greatness since so few ever achieve it within a lifetime. Many of his dreams became our own through the vocation of his generous spirit for music and the arts in general. For this our society today, and the one to come born of our children shall be eternally grateful. Those of us with kindred child like innocence even more so shall remember thee "Michael Jackson" as the "King of Neverland". Amen. ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo.
Take Me With You.
Second star to the right, and straight on till morning!
Just a lost little girl who didn’t think she ever mattered or she ever would.
Emma Swan [Once Upon A Time]
NEVERLAND IN AUGUST
I often tell myself I will no longer partake in writing tae fics bc they always turn out excessively angsty and melodramatic, and yet, I find myself here, time and time again.
short version: kth and poor decisions. salty air. beach shore. never meant to be. exchanges that slipped away into moments in time. a secret well kept, and then fallen into oblivion. seashells. skinny dipping. august, except it's not. you, except you are not mine. us, except there is no such thing. you were never mine to keep, or to lose.
tae's got a neverland complex. doesn't wanna grow up, bc it means leaving behind his freedom, but worst of all, you. or something like that.
proceed, if you are interested in the long version.
wc: 3.7 k
tracklist: 'August' by Taylor Swift
tense and POV: 2nd person and past
You are so easy to fall back into, as though we are molded to fit one another, a lock to its key, and it shouldn't be this easy to self-destruct.
Taehyung slipped away into the night when the crowd had settled and turned its eyes blind; when the topics of conversation had shuffled from his career and marital prospects to rather pettier, popular culture developments.
He averted curious gazes amidst the crowded streets as he meandered aimlessly. Like a compass with a damaged needle, he spun indefinitely, pressed tight between bodies. No sense of direction.
With a flighty gaze, he scoured the surrounding, illuminated buildings for an anchor, a sort of lighthouse, some sort of sign to pierce his attention, slap him hard across the cheek as the ground would if he would only stop falling. If the ground were to catch him and hold him, rather than cave beneath his feet.
Gloomy, dim eyes searched past the silhouettes of the skyscrapers, past the nomadic clouds, which veiled the moon's luminous halo, attempting to make out faint stars freckling the sky.
Not just any stars.
Polaris - a stable point, axis, around which the rest of the world's body falls and rises.
The star he'd chased with his siblings through the playgrounds long ago.
The clouds were too vast and dense, as were the crowds pressing in around him. Suddenly, he felt painfully sympathetic of Polaris's condition; the world seemed to start spinning around him, too; the ground at his feet warping with each unsteady step.
He didn't want to be central, polar. He wanted to be a fuzzy margin, ambiguous, never quite a start, never quite an end. The horizon.
He wanted to be too many things in life, and nothing at all, at once. It was dizzying, to say the least, to be tugged in every direction. To have so many quarreling voices beckoning your attention.
Sometimes he wished he could split himself into a million little versions. Split the burden between them.
He just wanted it to stop. The spinning. The encompassing chatter. The omnipresent stares. All of it.
He dipped into a gas station with a neon sign for a header and pulled the cheapest bottle of red wine from its rack. Rolled it over the counter towards the register clerk along with his upturned ID, only his thumbpad mostly covered his picture and name.
It was a quick swivel, quick enough for the clerk to nod in recognition he was of age; not long enough for them to register the reputation behind the name, the face;
not long enough for a light to flicker in their distant gaze and their mouths to fall slack in awe.
With a lazy grip on the bottle's neck, he swayed and weaved through the saturated streets, often slamming shoulders, until he sank into a dim alley, save for an overhead flickering neon sign, similar to that of the gas station, only just one flicker short of giving out.
He padded his way out to a quieter, sleeping street, and found himself a vacant bench to collapse onto.
It was finally dark, and quiet, and the margins of the world had seemed to settle about him.
There, he conjured up an affair with the shadows until he grew to question whether he'd become one. Whether the star-freckled clouds had encompassed and carried him away, to some distant Neverland. A place that could offer him an eternity to figure out the calls and wants of his heart.
His parents had omitted a truth from him. They'd omitted many through his development, opting for sugar-coating existence, but of all the ones, this one was unforgivable.
They had never mentioned how it is like the air in your lungs dissipates with each passing year. A blind habit forms: you start holding your breath just to get through a couple of gruesome hours, a shift, the day.
You wait for the afternoon to catch it again, but then the afternoons start growing burdensome in a way uniquely their own. It grows, the weight on your chest, drowns you and kills you slowly.
In his brief recollection tonight, he supposes they'd been unconvincing in their pretensions. They'd never blatantly admitted this truth but had often insinuated it.
He should have looked closer, not forsaken the fine details.
He would have noticed the drawn bags lining their eyes, the burst capillaries on the ivory margins.
He would have felt the exasperated sigh leaving their lips while bracing their weight against the counter, just trying to stand another day.
He could feel that helpless sigh, now. Infact, it had grown to become his.
A sigh which seeped into the quiet night.
Quiet, safe for the whir of cars on the highway, a couple of miles back; safe for the chirp of crickets nestled amidst bushes, shrubs.
Quiet, safe for the sudden exclaim of a nearby branch, snapped under unannounced weight.
Taehyung stiffened and used the bottle that had been resting on his thigh as leverage, in case he'd need to spring upward and dash -though, it would likely be less of a dash, more of a stumble and awkward trot away given his inebriation.
"Boo!"
He didn't startle, much too inhibited to have reacted within the acceptable timeframe.
Or simply, too unbothered.
Instead, he turned his head with a lazy, drunken gaze and there you were -- his Neverland on Earth, stardust lining your eyes, a shard of magic and dream and impossible possibilities amidst a limiting world.
The stars surely envied you.
You kicked the air, standing, waiting awkwardly, as if for an invitation from him to sit. You weren't sure if he'd appreciate you intruding on his hideout, even if it was a vacant restaurant patio, with rusted chairs and overgrown ivy.
"They are losing their minds looking for you, you know?"
"They are?" A smug smile tugged on the corner of his glistening lips. "Let them." He proceeded to lick the gloss away, tasting the bitterness of residual liquor with subtle tones of sweet vanilla and tart cherry. "Are you gonna tattle on me?"
He swung down the leg he'd had outstretched on the bench, opening a space for you. Welcomed your presence.
Your original reluctance dissipated, formerly pinched shoulders relaxing.
"I already did," you flaunted, lied, made your way across the patio, crunching over shattered stone.
As you lowered yourself onto the seat, he gestured the opaque bottle at you, whirling the contents around.
"If I'm going down..." he started, holding back a hiccup behind puckered lips. For an instant, his face twisted, as if bile had crept up the column of his throat.
He swallowed hard, and quarreled with the nausea wringing his stomach. "I might as well not remember any of it."
You'd feel nauseated, too, leading his life.
Sure, it was glimmery and luxurious, alluring and comfortable by every physical means, with everything imaginable so carefully crafted and tailored. The perfect life.
It was all pretend, shallow. A gilded cage is only ever still a cage, a prison, confinement.
It wasn't him - not the him that you knew. He was a free bird, meant to take flight.
The him that you knew would be up for spontaneous drives to the shore. He'd get lost out of an insistence to avoid using navigation systems. He'd blast every genre of music through the speakers, and somehow recall every lyric, even the ones that were in a foreign tongue.
The him you knew, would leave his shoes at every corner, flinging them off with irritability, complaining about how sore they made him, managing to turn it into a debacle on how suffocating it is to be trapped.
He'd walk on coarse gravel, all through the city. Come home with the filthiest soles, nothing short of charcoal. He'd defy every norm with the lightest of smiles, come spewing to you about the sights he saw on his adventures, the people he'd met, how he'd played soccer with a couple of kids from the neighborhood, how their mother had served him some jiggae and how it reminded him so much of home.
Then he'd guffaw, shake his head and tell you that it was weird how he could recognize the familiarity of home when he'd never really met it.
But you were, of course, biased in your belief that the only version of him that existed was the one he showed you. You didn't really - or simply didn't want to - accept that this version could be the manifestation of a persona, a theatrical mask meant to distract something deeper, more fragile, genuine, and lost.
Your accepting company allowed him to be a different version of himself, but it wasn't entirely the truest one.
"Get up." You slapped his thigh and turned the bottle he'd handed over, letting its maroon content pour onto the cement, stain it beyond repair. "I want you to remember tonight."
He groaned, collapsing his head onto his hands and ruffling his hair into a nest. "I had been enjoying that!"
"That..." You shifted your gaze to the ground and then back up at him, brows pinched in question. You couldn't possibly be referring to the same thing. "No one could possibly enjoy that. Abominable." You shuddered.
"It was cheap," he justified.
"You act as if you have no money."
"I don't! It's their money." He thrust both arms into the open air, gesturing to his puppet masters, to the strings sewn into his elbows and wrists.
At all times, he was being watched fall apart at the seams, and was scrutinized. The same life which had been breathed into his infantile lungs, never felt his. Instead, it reminded him of a plotted strategy on a chess board game drawn out for added torture. It wasn't a single, one-time commitment; it was a lifetime of sustaining choices that would remove him further from himself.
"Enough self-pity for one night. Come on." You rose, knees creaking a little. "Let's go."
"Where to?" He beckoned, still planted on the bench.
"Somewhere. Anywhere. Nowhere." The offer hung in the air, open to endless possibilities. Potential twinkled in your starry eyes; a million wishes and dreams birthed in a second.
You smiled, and stardust gathered on your tear line, rained down and dusted his sullen limbs until he was floating, made weightless, trailing after you.
"Neverland."
"What?"
"Let's go to Neverland."
You snickered and it was as if bells chimed, rang, jingled.
"What are you - Have you gone mad?" Taehyung hissed, dancing his weary gaze across his immediate surroundings. He'd rapidly grown weary, careful of an audience bearing witness to the spectacle you were putting on, in your lacy underwear. Locks of hair danced around your figure in response to a cool oceanic breeze gathering to greet you.
"I am pretty sure this is illegal. Illegal, T."
T, as in Tinker Bell, his personal version of a rose-tinged fairy, with a volatile temper, particularly when things don't follow your script.
Incredulously, Taehyung continued to mumble beneath his breath. The cyclical breath of the sea drowned his protests.
Your bra collapsed onto a mound of sand, forcing his lips mute. Like a fish hauled out of the water, his lips smacked open, shut, then open again, failing to close around the ghost of words he'd thought to say but suddenly drew blank on.
Cheeks burning flushed in that so fae way, you dipped your chin behind the curtain of your hair.
You shut your eyes for what you were about to do. Mustered the courage to follow through, to not feel vulnerable under his gaze.
Taehyung's unwavering gaze followed your hands down, before trailing up so fast he saw stars spinning around his field of vision. He felt he'd been thrown into Van Gogh's Starry Night.
Slowly, apprehensively, he let his eyes cascade over your silhouette, which grew smaller in the distance as you raced to the sea, desperate to hide in its embrace.
Growing envious of it, Taehyung ripped his top off his torso, and stumbled the length of the shore, quarreling with his trousers.
In his boxers, he stopped close enough for the edge of the tide to graze the tip of his toes. Retracted at the sudden bite of cold. "You are mad, woman." It's no longer a question.
"Look who's talking?" You twirled around, the water caressing your sides, sculpting you with as much love and delicate intent as a historic artist did his marble block. "Isn't this illegal?"
And something in you fizzled, like the air bubbles frothing against your lips on the crystalline surface. It filled you with confusing pleasure to leave a mark on him. To corrupt him.
You hoped your touch on him - your influence - was permanent enough to outlive all that would proceed. Permanent and deep like etchings on tree barks, or indentations on freshly cemented sidewalks.
The panic in his gaze had long dissipated. It blended into a palette of emotions. All unnamable, indistinguishable, but utterly mesmerizing, nonetheless, much like the colorful horizon behind you.
Delight. Amusement. Fascination. A twinge of flippant anger.
You drive me mad, woman.
Orange sherbet. Strawberry pink. Lavender lilacs.
Mad enough to rouge his own cheeks.
You'd like to stare long enough to acquaint yourself with each and every one of them. To name them all, and find where one starts, and the other ones trails off.
But the thought of staring, steadily into his gaze makes you restless, short of breath. As if there isn't enough air in the entire atmosphere to satiate your lungs.
You can't name the way he looks at you; it's foreign, but not frightening in its oddity. Still, you can recognize its danger, in that it's not a known way to look at friends.
You reclined your head onto the surface of the water, much as you would against your pillow after a long day. "Oh, it's heavenly, Tae." With your arms outstretched like the limbs of starfishes on the ocean floor, you floated. The salty medium carried the voice of the sea directly into your ears. The sound of your breathing and the beating of your heart amplified.
A bizarre reminder that you were indeed alive.
Splashing and thrashing echoed across the sea, and you instinctively curled in on yourself to find Taehyung visibly grimacing at the cold state of the water.
"Why did I ever think following you was a good idea?"
You beamed, droplets of the salty sea clinging to your lashes, where they refracted the setting sun, and it's like stardust in broad daylight all over again.
"You have to do it all at once. Don't think. Just do," you encouraged, watching as the delicate, thinly defined muscles of his torso flexed and twitched over the surface of the water.
His gaze was devoid, save for deeply creased brows caught in contemplation. A war with the limits of sensation. He held his arms linked over his chest to preserve heat, or perhaps hide his vulnerability.
Water pooled in the cup of your hand, which you splashed in his direction, aimed right at his handsome frown.
Victory ignited like an ember amidst your eyes.
He grew to shudder a few arms' length from you. Broad and strong shoulders quivered helplessly.
"You!" Then, those burnt-honey eyes pierced yours. Glaring. Fixed.
The cupid-bow lining his upper lip momentously twitched as he repeated himself "You-" His words stumbled over unstable, shallow breaths.
You withdrew into the water's embrace and watched attentively, as the waterline climbed up his finely detailed torso. Outstretched arms grew nearer. Burnt-honey eyes widened in a vengeful craze. Ivory teeth became bared underneath strawberry-red lips.
A frightened giggle of yours bubbled the water's surface rimming your chin.
Finally, with an inhale of courage, Taehyung lunged forward, took the blow of the cold front on, and wrapped you in his arms. His weight sunk you beneath the surface. You were a pair of tangled anchors.
Not having stored a breath in your lungs, you squirmed and kicked in his old. His groans were muted by the harrowing echoes of the abyss beneath the sea.
Strong arms tightened around you and hauled you out. You broke the surface with a desperate gasp, choking for breath between giggles.
Laughter echoed in his chest, and reverberated through you. It reminded you of the waves and siren songs you grew up believing resided within conch shells as a pig-tailed kid.
Since having shed your milk teeth and tolerated the gnaw of growing pains that accompanied such loss, you'd given up on childish fables of that kind.
On trips to the shore, there weren't hidden siren songs in the colorful conch shells you held up to your ear. There was only your younger sister cackling beside you, calling you a fool - but only after having tried it for herself first.
But much as you had convinced yourself siren songs didn't exist inside the shells, you'd also convinced yourself you'd never hear that laugh again. Somber. Baritone. A tad boyish, in the way it would crack unpredictably. So wholly yours. It was a tune you'd looped in your memory from the very first instance you'd heard it.
In that split-second, with his hands fanned over your hip bones, and half-moon eyes tenderly fixed on yours, the fables did not seem so farfetched. New possibilities were solidifying at the tip of your fingers. Your fingers grazed the apples of his cheek.
The possibilities were whispers in the crest of your ear.
You'd only needed to get far enough from the bustling commotion of the city to hear them, to realize they'd always been there.
An abstract somethingness would always exist between you two, just barely palpable.
The champagne had a mildly scorched aroma undermining its light fizz. You grimaced as it burned its way down your throat.
On any given night, you would much prefer a cup of tea to pair with the sacred act of slipping into bed; green, chamomile, on occasion, even aromatic Tulsi.
But tonight, you weren't trying to sleep, to ease a mild case of insomnia. Sleep would rob you of time both of you knew you didn't have.
After a couple of swigs from the dark bottle, your skin began to buzz. A denseness subtly amounted over you, as though honey were dripped over your body, every move lubricated, viscous.
Your legs were warm, draped over his in a languid, but intimate manner - almost grounding in nature, as if you were his anchor. You tethered him to the present pleasures, kept his mind off the anxious tomorrows.
His lips were sweet on yours and at times a hint bitter, like something you shouldn't have taken pleasure in tasting. A poison, that grows tolerable the more you ingest, but not any less deadly.
The tolerance being an illusion, an influence of the poison over you, foreshadowing its impending triumph, as you relinquish your willpower.
That's it. You were dwindling under its influence. Your mind grew heavy, like your limbs, with intoxication.
It was no longer bitter.
Rather, it became cloying, and you were innately and undeniably insatiable.
Taehyung hoisted your hips to reposition them over his, desiring your proximity. Possibly as equally intoxicated. The question hung over your heads in the shape of a watchful moon.
Who was the poison?
The hold on you was rough, but harmless. It was the gentlest rough-grip you have ever been subjected to. You allowed it.
"I shouldn't do this." Your shallow breath ghosted his swollen lips in torment.
He nuzzled the distance in desperation, and you obliged, tasting him apprehensively.
Just one peck.
Then, another.
And, what if, perhaps you held his lips in place with adoration and reverence. Held them in a warm hug, as if to shield them from the cool breeze blowing in from the sea.
Would that have been such a crime?
The set of trespassers that tore through your blouse certainly were (criminal). They robbed you of any and every modicum of self-restraint.
You were no longer holding his lips. You had long since graduated to a sculptor, molding them to your will with each measured graze. Simultaneously, you started to circle your hips over his, back and forth, round around.
"We should stop." Taehyung breathed raggedly into your neck. "Tell me to stop," and it came across as half-plea, half-demand.
You defied him, pulled him close, your breasts flushed against his sturdy chest.
You were definitely the poison.
You were a corrupt, filthy little thing. Loved it when he called you out on it.
Tonight, he held you like you were something, someone sacred, like you were ceramic at risk of shattering in his hands.
You wrestled his gentle touch, wanting him to defile as he'd done enough times before for it to not be mistaken with error, overwhelming tempation.
You were temptation embodied, but he never once feigned sanctity.
Equally so, if not more, you deeply desired to defile him, to permeate every inch of him until the crime became undeniable.
Fast, is how it unfolded.
But is there any better way to go?
Live fast, die young, right? Shine so bright you burn out. A phenomenal supernova. Watchers gathered to experience a historic event.
There certainly wasn't an absolute right or wrong way to go. But, if there had been, Taehyung was certain that way was fast. To burn like the dozens of stars in the sky, framing the quaint balcony. One moment there, the next gone.
He knew that his departure approached just as quickly as dawn brightened the horizon. He knew you weren't oblivious to this fact.
Something in him winced at the thought of putting you through it again.
"Tell me to stop."
"Don't stop."
"Tell me to go," he almost begged, groaning as you kissed down the column of his neck.
"Stay."
He wished he could.
A ringtone blared across the room, funneling out through the creak between the balcony door and the frame. It said what neither could bring themselves to utter.
Taehyung marched out of the room, half-dressed, delirious but with a direction in mind.
And just like that, the bitter taste returned to overpower your senses.
The whispers in your ears, grew deceiving.
Deceitful little lies. Impossible possibilities.
The possibilities that had grazed your fingertips crumbled into mounds of sand.
Sand, after all, is only ever withered shells.
NOBODY - WINTER(AESPA)-LIZ(IVE)-SOYEON(G-IDLE)
(G) I-DLE - SOOJIN
(G) I-DLE - SHUHUA
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIYEON - (G)I-DLE
i read somewhere that according to a traditional irish belief if you dream something three times it will come true. if that’s so, most of us are going to show up to our workplace naked one day, we should all watch the lotto before bed but never horror movies, and tom hiddleston is going to have a sex life far busier than he ever anticipated. as for me, i’m hoping that all those dreams of flying away to neverland will soon pay off. any time now, peter
In the late 1700s, a young boy(me) lived on the streets and wished that one day he could live happily. One fateful day, a small light flooded his small crate of a home and pulled him to a world where he can play forever and ever. A place called Neverland. Once there, he swam with mermaids, sang and danced with the Indians, and fought with pirates. Soon enough he started to get bored, it was the same thing every time and every day. One day he finally defeated the captain and went into his room, finding the true reason of the world. Make children come here and play, live happily, til they eventually become a pirate themselves and die at the hand of the next child brought there and start the cycle over again. * He vowed to stop this constant death and became distant from even the crew he now called his own til the next child(you) arrived and...
* - Where the story starts
In the late 1700s, a young boy(My character) lived on the streets and wished that one day he could live happily. One fateful day, a small light flooded his small crate of a home and pulled him to a world where he can play forever and ever. A place called Neverland. Once there, he swam with mermaids, sang and danced with the Indians, and fought with pirates. Soon enough he started to get bored, it was the same thing every time and every day. One day he finally defeated the captain and went into his room, finding the true reason of the world. Make children come here and play, live happily, til they eventually become a pirate themselves and die at the hand of the next child brought there and start the cycle over again. * He vowed to stop this constant death and became distant from even the crew he now called his own til the next child(your character) arrived and...
It all starts at the * mark.
Please note a few things:
- I will be playing to role of Hook.
- This will take place in PMs
- No this is not OC friendly. I feel like I don’t have to say this, but I know someone will ask.
La Catrina exótica, el enmascarado siniestro y yo, celebrando el cumple de Xime/Wendy ayer. Yo estaba disfrazada de primavera/verano. Fue escalofriante porque nos recordó que ya llegó el invierno. #Cumple12o21DeXime #Neverland #CoreografíasImposibles #CepillínElPayaso #LluviaLluviaLluviaFlor #RegalaAmorRecogeAmor
oh dear peter. louis partridge x reader
summary 📣: in which reader is a mermaid and louis is a foolish boy called “peter pan”
warning/s 🚫: swearing, my lack of mermaid knowledge, a short-short little story with no romance
slater’s note 🗯: i’ve been listening to pirate/mermaid inspired playlists on youtube and i wanted to make a peter pan story so here you go
“you never visit me anymore, peter.”
you gazed up at the young boy who was laid down against the tall rocks from above, his bare back pressed against burning stones while his arms were shoved behind his head.
“a boy has so much to do on this island, y/n,” he didn’t look down to you, “i got things to do and only have so much time for play.”
you rolled your eyes, dramatically flopping down against the rock you were propped up on.
all he did was play and tease the foolish pirate that was floated out all the way on the other side of the island. never work, and even if there was any, he would make his little lost boys do it for him.
“peter,” you whined, rolling onto your side, “you used to have all the time in the world for me... now all you do is fool with that silly pirate with a hook for hand.”
he stayed silent and you almost wondered if he heard you. you assumed he was only ignoring you. peter could never really ever deal with confrontation and either decided to ignore it or tell a silly story.
“i went to neverpeak mountain with a quart of pixie dust the other day and you’ll never guess what i saw here near the lagoon,” he was going with the silly story, a smile running up on his face as his back arched a little, “millions of neverbirds swooping around and picking down on something and you’ll never guess what it was.”
“what, peter pan?” you hummed, your lips pressed into a thin line as you begun to slowly play into his amusement.
“it was a pirate!” he called in a loudness as if rejoicing, his arms swooping up in the air, “they were eating him away, can you believe it, y/n? i wonder how he got all the way out here...”
he voice drew out slowly and lowly as he begun to wonder again like the first time he spotted the bloody and highly unusual boned man that was flat against a rock.
peter could still remember the loud but light and distant screams the resonated throughout the cove. it made him curious as he squinted before flying towards the messy scene.
“i remember that,” you mumbled, “nixie was the one who lured the man out.”
“she’s crazy for it,” he shook his head, tsking before he sat up properly, “but all you fish do silly things when you get lonely.”
you swung yourself up quickly, scowling up at him but he paid no attention to you, a plain smile on his face as he watched the sun begin to set.
“i’ve got to go little fin,” he stood crossing his arms before looking down to you, “i’ll see you when the sun reaches east and the cove begins to sink... maybe i’ll bring a lost boy or two.”
he nodded in fulfillment before flying off into the purple sky. you watched before shaking your head, you knew he was lying, you knew it, he knew it. he wouldn’t be back for at least a couple of months, or however long that was in neverland time, but he wouldn’t be back for awhile.
and when he did, it wouldn’t be for long, but he’d be there and maybe that time he’d kiss you like the first time you met his pretty boyish face.
“goddamn fairy boy.”
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Part one of MJ memes I found on Pinterest because tumblr needs more wholesome Michael content. ❤️✌️
I don’t own and didn’t make any of these.
