
deadpoetsam
hi!!! :)

deadpoetsam
hi!!! :)
"Let him go!"
Those words are taken a bit too literally by the supervillain currently holding the limp body of Spiderman, because upon hearing them he throws Spiderman away against a brick wall. The crack that can be heard tells her everything she needs to know about the state he's in.
The monster is distracted by another superhero, so MJ manages to get to Spiderman, kneeling down next to him and checking for his pulse. She softly sighs in relief when she feels it.
"Hey," she hears him say, before he burst out in a coughing fit, doubling over in pain.
"We gotta get you to a hospital," she says, trying find a way to help him up.
"No," he says, pushing her help away, "No, I need to help them."
He can't say anything else because another coughing fit interrupts him.
"I know that you're a hero, but you're hurt. You need a doctor," she says, trying to help him up again, "and to breathe easier you need to take that mask of yours off."
"MJ, please," he says, "I can't just give up."
"They've got it covered, okay?" she says, pointing at the hero's in the distance, "Let it go."
He grumbled but agrees, but when she moves her hand to his mask he recoils.
"You can't breathe like this," she says softly, before moving her hand to his mask again.
He's frozen in his spot as she pulls it off, and stares at him in confusion and shock.
"Peter?"
"Yeah, I meant to tell you, but everything just got in the way and I didn't want you to get hurt, but you still did and I'm so so-"
She cuts him off by kissing him softly.
Even from afar, her red hair stood out to anyone who was looking, the colour of the sunset presented in her locks. Her freckles were like stars that adorned her face and arms, a galaxy confined to a body. Her smile was the sun, drawing you in and making sure you stayed in her orbit.
I knew I didn't stand a chance. Our paths wouldn't have crossed if it hadn't been for fate intervening, deciding that this would be funny, so see me suffer and pine over the girl of my dreams, who hadn't spent a second of her life thinking about me.
There I was, spending my summer working next to a beautiful girl, in a clothing store that was mediocre at best.
I had introduced myself the first day, when we were working the same shift. I had said "I'm Maya," to which she said, "I'm Jamie," and I nodded in response. A doomed day, where I was forced to spend my time trying not to stare, and trying not to make a fool of myself.
Now another doomed day has come upon me. I am sitting on a bench, opposite to her, and more than a hundred days have passed since that summer. Still, I can't think of anything else. The way i could make her laugh. The way she opened up to me.
"So," she says, a soft smile on her face, "what did you want to talk about?"
I fidget with my shirt and my leg is bouncing away, all of which she can't see because we're sitting at a picnic table. Attempts to collect myself are useless and all I can do is just blurt it out.
"I like you."
Jamie giggles in response, "I like you too? What's this about?"
"No I," I say, trying to figure out how to make it clearer, "I like like you. Ya know?"
Aside from sounding like someone in primary school, it seems like she did get the message. Her face falling tells me enough about how she feels but I can't run away.
"Oh," She says softly, eyes flitting away from me, suddenly very interested in the table.
"Yeah," I say, "Sorry."
Her auburn eyes meet mine again, "Don't say sorry, it's okay. I should be saying sorry."
"Why?"
"Because," she starts, but shakes her head and starts again, "Well, I don't like you, like that. But I do like you, as a friend. I know how much that must hurt, so for that I'm saying sorry."
"It's not your fault," I say, on the verge of tears.
"It's not yours either."
"The knife belongs to me," he says, and in a quick flash, he barrels forward and tries to snatch it out of Simon's hand. He tries his best to fight back, but after a short struggle Jake has the knife in his hand. He holds it up with pride, the metal shimmers in the sunlight.
"You'll never be worthy of it," Jake says, a macabre grin on his face, "You're weak."
There is a brief moment of silence, where Simon just stares at him, his former friend, and wonders where it all went wrong. When the red of his lips turned into crimson dripping down his white shirt. But when the knife is pointed at him, he snaps out of it.
"Don't do this," he says softly, almost pleadingly, while he looks into the soft green eyes of the boys he once loved, "You don't have to."
"I know," Jake says, and there's a moment where Simon thinks that maybe, just maybe, he'll change his mind, but then the grin is back and there's no changing this.
"I just really want to."
It's beautiful. With innocence and grace, it dances over the screen of my laptop or over the pages of my book. I want to reach out, to touch the magic that lures me in and takes me on a journey through my mind, soul, and obviously my heart. I do reach out, to flesh bone with words that can't be unsaid.
It burns. Fire meets skin and sets it aflame, shining with the colours of a summer sunset. Your words are red and not the pink I expected.
This is not a love story.
It’s a story about a ghost that lives in my chest. It haunts me, day and night. It lives where you used to be, never letting me breathe without a reminder of the pain.
Everything smells like you, like your favourite perfume. I suffer for what? Just to see you walk by without a second thought?
This is not what the movies promised me. My heart has become a graveyard and I sit here, mourning the living and mourning a future that will never be.
how could it ever be enough this lump of bones and skin that carries me through while it is worn so thin
a body that couldn't be the home that i needed the flesh that failed me while my mind pleaded
and here i ask you as foe could you carry my soul finally let who i was go to see me as a whole
look, i am on my knees and angry that i should beg for a word that frees like none other ever could
acceptance, from you would carry more weight far more than you knew so let this moment be fate
A black hole swallows planets and noise Not for fun, but because it’s empty Therefore a lack of something destroys But what would heal is to have plenty
It would tear me apart to see nothing In the space of your tall silhouette To rewrite reality and remove something So all these things with you I’ll forget
In the unbearable heat of this summer I would sit curled up in my room To cry with myself, to not be a bummer Walls decorated by gloom
Our unshared books still standing there Those piles always make me aware Our shared bucketlist was where it began Ending at the bottom of my trashcan
So, the void would be inescapable surrounding every moment in shrouds A universe like this would be debatable I hope to never stand under its clouds
Jackson lets his head fall on the armrest of the couch, without taking his eyes off Tim, who is animatedly rambling about the plot of the book he was reading. It had been prompted by Jackson asking him what he was reading, which immediately launched Tim into an exciting explanation, the book now abandoned on the coffee table. His eyes trace over Tim, his hoop earrings, his adorable glasses that he often felt insecure about, but Jackson thinks they're so cute on him, his mesh top over a crop top, and he has to remind himself that he is in fact dating this boy.
In moments like these, Jackson wonders how he got so lucky, and he immediately cringes at how cliché that is, but it's true. They have known each other for a few years, always bantering, closer with each other than with their other friends, and eventually, feelings developed on both sides. Banter turned into careful flirting and about two months ago, Jackson finally worked up the courage to finally ask Tim out. It had been nerve-wracking, but totally worth it when he saw the huge grin on Tim's face, the word "Yes," reaching his ears.
As he stares at Tim, who is completely immersed in his own storytelling, the word love comes to mind. But it's early, far too early, in their relationship to say that out loud. He could scare Tim away and that's something Jackson wants to avoid at all costs. Still, the thought of saying, "I love you," makes his chest feel warm and fuzzy. All those sappy romcoms were right, love is so dramatic.
"What?" Tim says, his head tilted curiously, snapping Jackson out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he's been staring this whole time, without listening.
"Sorry, I spaced out," Jackson says, scratching his cornrow braids and giving Tim an apologetic smile.
"Am I that boring?" Tim says jokingly, but he plays with his curly hair nervously.
"No, babe, you never bore me," Jackson says and opens his arms, so Tim can lay down on top of him. He wraps his arms around him protectively, "Don't ever think that."
Tim hums against his neck, while Jackson threads his fingers through Tim's dark curls.
"So," Tim starts, his voice slightly muffled, "What were you thinking about?"
"Oh, just how lucky I am," Jackson says, looking up at the ceiling to avoid Tim's now curious eyes on him, "To be with you."
When it stays silent, he turns his head to look at Tim, whose cheeks have darkened slightly but visibly.
"What?" Jackson says with his eyebrow raised teasingly.
"Nothing," Tim shakes his head softly, "I just never thought you'd be such a sap."
"Oh, shut up," Jackson says, grabbing a pillow off the ground and hiding his face behind it.
The pillow is pulled out of his hands by Tim, who kisses him softly, however, Tim still has his glasses on so they bump together awkwardly, but it doesn't matter, Jackson just wants him close.
"I don't mind it, though."
"So, they're enemies now, and their only goal is to kill each other, but they love each other, ya know? And so," Tim trails off when he sees that Jackson isn't listening anymore, "What?"
Jackson's eyes grow wide and he starts playing with his braids, "Sorry, I spaced out."
It happened a lot, people losing interest when Tim started telling them something, their eyes glazing over in disinterest. That didn't mean it started hurting less, just meant he knew the signs, and that he knew how to contain it.
"Am I that boring?" he tries to say playfully, but from Jackson's expression, he can tell that he knows.
"No, babe, you never bore me," Jackson says and opens his arms inviting him to lay down, so Tim walks over and lets himself fall down on top of his boyfriend. Jackson's arms wrap around him like a fortress and he says, "Don't ever think that."
He hums in response because he doesn't trust his voice not to break. After a soft moment, he builds up the courage to ask.
"So," he says, "What were you thinking about?"
"Oh, just how lucky I am," Jackson says, and Tim gets up a bit to look at him, but Jackson is avoiding eye contact, looking at the ceiling as if it is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, "To be with you."
All that comes to Tim's mind is "I love you," but he can't say that yet, far too early for that, so he stays quiet. He doesn't want to break this bubble, to make it too real. He doesn't know if Jackson feels that strongly yet, but his words give him hope that he might one day. Jackson turns his head and Tim still doesn't know what to say, so he just looks into those beautiful brown eyes.
"What?" Jackson asks, eyebrows raised.
"Nothing," Tim says, shaking his head. He doesn't know what to do other than a joke, so he says, "I just never thought you'd be such a sap."
"Oh, shut up," Jackson says playfully, and hides his face behind a pillow, but Tim gets on top of him and pulls it away.
He leans in and kisses him softly, momentarily forgetting that he's wearing his glasses, but with the way Jackson keeps pulling him closer, he doesn't seem to mind.
When they eventually break apart, Tim mumbles, "I don't mind it, though."
Jackson smiles.
Her hands were gripping the blindingly white ceramic of the sink while she tried to get her emotions under control, which she had been failing to do for the past hour or so. Her make-up was smeared with dried mascara tears tracking her cheeks, her eyes red and puffy, and her nails had been chewed off to the point of bleeding. Still, she kept eye-contact with herself in the mirror, hoping it would somehow convince herself to get collected enough to make a decision and to unlock the bathroom door. However, the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to curl up and cry in the corner of this room, hoping that she would somehow escape it all.
"Leave before they leave you, that's how you survive," her mother had said to her once, when she had asked her why they had to leave again. At some point through her childhood, she had stopped questioning her mother's behaviour, and just took it as reality. So, she repeated that sentence in her head as a mantra, a prayer, whenever she had to lose the friends she had gained. The alternative, of seeing how unnecessary it was to leave, was just unbearable. "Remember this, Jamie, I won't always be here, so all you have is yourself and the open road."
Now, she is twenty-three. The choice is hers. To either fix what she never realized she broke, or to turn her back and never return. To stay or to leave.
She had been sitting at the wooden dinner table, late at night while she was working on some lesson plans for her kindergarten class, when Clare had walked in with a stack of papers in her hands and an unreadable expression on her face.
Clare spoke softly, like you would to a frightened child, and said, "Jamie, we need to talk."
Jamie didn't understand. If she is being honest, she still doesn't understand it completely. After all the times she tried to convince Clare she wouldn't leave, she's now the one who will be left behind. All alone.
It hadn't been definitive, the divorce papers just a last warning, begging Jamie to change. She knows what she has to change, she has known for a long time, but she had thrown herself into her work to avoid it. Always her excuse, an escape from what she knew she had to face. She had been reminded of it every time Clare pointed out cute baby clothes, or when one of her friends got pregnant.
Clare wants to start a family.
Jamie can't even get herself to think about it.
Not for the reasons one might think. She doesn't hate kids, she loves them, why else would she willingly choose to be a kindergarten teacher. No, the reason was more complex. Every time she was reminded of the possibility of having children, she was thrown back in time to her own childhood. The hurt that runs like veins through those memories. The ache got bigger and bigger each time and it was eating her alive. She didn't tell Clare.
Maybe that's why Clare thinks it's all her fault, that Jamie just doesn't want a family with her. when that couldn't be further from the truth.
But the choice remains. When she gets out of the bathroom, she has two choices. She can either sign those papers and lose the one good thing in her life, or she could hug her wife and figure out a way to fix this. The latter would seem like the right thing to do.
She had met Clare in a pub one stormy night. The only reason they started talking was because Clare loves the band that Jaime had been wearing merch of that night, so Claire pointed it out while taking Jaime's order. It had been a relatively calm night, so they kept chatting until the end of Clare's shift, and Jamie walked her home. Their first kiss on her doorstep, confidence fuelled by the alcohol in their blood. They didn't lose each other after that, weeks became years, dating became marriage. They were there for each other, holding each other through the bad nights and the good nights.
She should stay, she should open up and be with the one she loves the most, but she looks in the mirror and sees her mother's eyes. There she finds the answer.
Maybe when she's driving away, their house getting smaller in her rear-view, she regrets it, but she knows that this is all she has. Herself and the open road.