“Performative” but yeah that’s kinda the point for me I think..? To some degree?
It’s not that I’m not well meaning behind anything I do; but for the life of me I cannot cognitively understand connection. I’m performative because I want you to laugh at something I say. I don’t think that’s inherently a bad thing; especially if underneath the act I’m flatter than a coke you left on your nightstand. You’re not going to want to be around anyone like that. and, respectfully , I’ve bored and bothered a LOT of people in the past by going on stupidly-informal tangents about the things I’m passionate for. That’s reasonable. That’s why I write, but, it kind of sucks feeling like I need to put a muzzle on myself.
Is it wrong for me to act like I know what I’m doing when I talk to people? Is it wrong that I phrase my words a certain way with every single person to see if it’ll show some appeal? Maybe. But I’m just trying to show people that I appreciate them, and the best way I know how to do that is to try and make them feel good.
Request: Song Prompt from @starksparker‘s 4k Writing Challenge!
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: heartbreak, mention of death, lots of angst
A/N: I HAVE RETURNED!! And how fitting that the fic that marks that is one of angst. As if yall needed anymore angst. Oh well HAPPY 4K to @starksparker and sorry for finally getting this out hella late. And thank you to @parkthepeter and @rileywrites-parker for beta-ing this!!
Based on You’re Not Missing Me by Chelsea Cutler
Check out this bomb ass moodboard @starksparker made
When I'm out and you're sleeping
And I need you on my phone
Cause you know that I mean it
When I wish that I was
Home to hold you
But I have to love you through a call
And I'm thinking you're not missing me at all
The surrounding chatter became a muffled buzz and the bright, colored lights became a blend of soft, unfocused flashes as the triangle icon stared back at you. You had told yourself you wouldn’t do this, you wouldn’t go down this rabbit hole. You wouldn’t do this to yourself. And yet your thumb lowered--
*beep*
“Hey (Y/N)! I’m sorry I can’t make it tonight but I will totally make it up to you tomorrow! That pizza place on 5th is having that pizza palooza so I was thinking we could go there and get whatever you want and then go to that exhibit at MoMA ‘cause I remember you mentioning it had this thi-- CRAP I uh I gotta go, some idiot’s trying to break into a car, but I’ll callyoulaterokayloveyoubye!”
That last rush of words rang through your ears, and your breath caught in your chest, despite your efforts. Peter’s voice had been regretful at first, but soon tinged with excitement and life. That fleeting message with its own intentions had instead buried itself into your brain as something equivalent to a heartfelt Shakespearean sonnet. You wanted nothing more than to somehow jump into message, as if it somehow was a direct link to the tangible, living dork you still loved.
“(Y/N)!” someone shouted from somewhere else. No, you thought. Let me linger here longer, please, let me see--
“(Y/N)!” Betty’s eyes came into focus in front of you. She tilted her head pointedly. “What’re you listening to?”
“Nothing,” you shook your head, pulling your earbuds out. You couldn’t meet her gaze, but she already knew. She barely had to look at the screen.
“(Y/N), we talked about this--”
“I know! I know I shouldn’t...”
Betty handed you a red cup, not pressing further but still watching you carefully. “Come on, Ned finally convinced Michelle to play.”
You shoved your phone in your pocket and exhaled.
I’m doing the best that I can.
But baby these conversations will break me
I’m sorry I wear you like crazy
Giving you all that I am
“Can we please just not do this right now?” You swallowed, trying to narrow your vision on the book in your lap. Not again, dammit, not again.
“Aw come on, why not?”
“I’m having a really nice day, believe it or not.”
Peter grinned at you, swaying side to side with his hands in his pockets. “I thought I made your day nicer?”
“Not anymore.”
“Really?” He stepped closer, raising his eyebrows.
“Yep, I really don’t need you here doing this right now, so just go away.”
“Really?” Peter repeated, his voice quiet. “You don’t need me?” He knelt down in front of you and your eyes helplessly averted from your book. “Is that why do you still have the necklace?”
You pressed your lips together, and resisted the urge to touch the chain on your neck and instead to shift back to the book. But the letters weren’t sinking in. Why was it so hard to-- “Please stop trying to ignore me, (Y/N). You know it never works.”
You sighed. “Go away, Parker.”
“Aw come on, babe.”
“Don’t ‘babe’ me!” you hissed, lifting your book higher. “You shouldn’t even be here.” The words felt stale as they left your mouth.
“Then why am I?” Your book was lowering, your breathing was becoming irregular, and this was becoming more of a problem. “Why am I here?” he urged softly.
“Please just go.”
“Stop trying to ignore me.”
“Well what else am I supposed to do?” you demanded. Your thoughts ran amuck with everything you wanted to scream at him. Do you have any idea? The questions I’ve had to answer over and over and over? Constantly hearing ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘it gets better’ or seeing all those pitying looks? Do you feel the claw on my stomach everytime I hear your name? The suffocating guilt in my lungs? Do you know?
But he just looked at you forlornly, and all you could manage was a single phrase.
I’m doing the best that I can.
The sheets were soft under your hands that wouldn’t completely stop shaking. It had been months since you’d been in this room.
“Hasn’t changed that much,” you commented.
Peter’s torso swung down from the ceiling, his hair swishing about. “What did you expect?”
You shrugged. “All your clothes are put away, for once.”
“You’re one to talk,” he smirked.
“Even your suit.”
Peter’s smirk fell, but he forced a shrug. “What would you have done with it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you think May did with it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is that why you finally came in here? To see if she had gotten rid of--”
“I don’t know,” you snapped. Your head whipped up to the door, instantly worrying if you had been heard from the kitchen.
May only shouted, “Dinner will be ready in five!”
Peter silently flipped back onto the ground. “What else do you miss about this?” he asked, gesturing to the room.
Your nose ached for a smell you had once cringed at, harassed him for, even. “Your stupid, stinky cologne.”
He looked surprised. “I didn’t even notice. If you want, I think some of my sweatshirts might still--”
“Don’t,” you warned.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tempt me like that.”
“‘Tempt you’? What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” you scoffed. “You know I can’t keep doing this.”
“So why do you?”
“I don’t--”
“Why do you do this to yourself, (Y/N)?” Peter ran his fingers over the blue sweater that sat on his chair, his eyes studying you.
“I’m not!” you cried. “I’m not the one who keeps interrupting my own thoughts and my dreams and my life!”
“But you are the one who opened the door, who keeps listening to my messages, keeps staying up too late trying to see if I’ll swing by.”
“That’s not--”
“And you keep lying to everyone about me…”
You shot up, the bed squeaking loudly at your sudden absence. “I’m not lying, you’re just making it difficult,” you seethed as you reached for the door, the smell of slightly-burned lasagna overpowering the last of Peter’s scent.
The grass ripped all too willingly under your frustrated tug.
“We should’ve done this more often,” Peter sighed. “I can’t believe we only ever went on one sunny park date…”
You tensed. “Do you mind? I’m trying to focus here.”
“Focus on what, exactly?”
“Ugh, why is it so hard for you to just go?!”
“Because you miss me.”
Your breath hitched. “But you don’t miss me.”
Peter turned towards you. “You don’t know that.”
The harsh and scary truth lodged itself in your throat and shoved your silent sobs down to your already weary stomach.
“Will I ever?” you whispered.
“I don’t know,” his voice was brittle. You found yourself dreading what his next words would be. “You really want me to leave you alone?”
“Please don’t make me answer that.” Truth be told, as much as your recent conversations annoyed you and worried everyone around you, you clung to their reminder of what was, what could have been. It didn’t matter if you said “yes” or “no” because either would result in pain. Pain you didn’t want to continue to face, and pain you had been avoiding since the very beginning.
“Okay, I won’t.” Peter leaned towards you, and your heart beat with anticipation and dread. “But you know what has to happen, (Y/N).” You couldn’t breathe. You could only nod the tears away, against the resounding “NO” that screamed through your veins and caught in your throat. “You have to let me go,” he breathed, and you could see him, out of the corner of your eye, his lips coming closer to his spot on your cheek.
But your cheek felt no kiss. You numbly turned to where you swore the ghost of his voice lingered. The warmth you imagined was gone, and the only life near you were the flowers you had laid on the unweathered headstone that immortalized Peter Parker’s name and youth.
Tag List: @parkthepeter @acciowaffle @ima-smol-acorn @multi-parker
Also gonna tag some mutuals cuz hey it’s been a while: @officialtessaholland @tomsfireheart @imaginexmeintheuniverse @howlingdawn @spideychelle-romanogers
