Jul 11, 2015
youreflying
“Boy you should be more care-- Are you flying?”
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youreflying
“Boy you should be more care-- Are you flying?”
"There is always the possibility that you are in fact incorrect. Have you ever ---" A shallow gasp pries from his lips, albeit drenched with the essence of cynisim. "--- you haven't, have you?"
youreflying replied to your post:youreflying replied to your post:ooc. If you...
r u tryna make me cry @ 2:30 in the morning
It is my goal in life to make you cry happy tears at all hours.
youreflying replied to your post:ooc. If you don’t follow Angie’s Peter Pan then...
IN LOVE W/ U THE LOVE IS REAL
I LOVE YOU TOO BBY <3
YOU AND YOUR BLOG ARE A BLESSING UNTO US ALL
We don't have a choice to stay
We'd rather d i e than do it your way
Ready, aim, fire, ready, aim, fire away~
Finally Brave || youreflying
It had become somewhat of a tradition for Tootles to visit his former leader on what he called Peter's birthday. Though the boy refused to believe he was getting older, he did love to receive gifts. So, this year Tootles got Peter a new pair of boots and a 'treasure map'.
They'd start the day as always with Tootles reading from the books he'd made him nearly ten years now. The stories he'd written himself of their adventures in Neverland and predominantly of Peter and Bramble.
Ten years. Tootles was nearly twenty-six and still he hadn't grown much at all. He still looked like he could pass off as twelve which was why it was safe for him to visit Peter. His looks wouldn't set him off. He meant to go away for schooling, but decided later on even though his father was ready to make the incantations so he could leave and he was willing to pay that he was comfortable working shifts at Visele de Fum when he was needed. Besides. His family needed him now more than ever.
When he finished the third story simply entitled 'Bramble', he set the book down on the floor of Peter's 'treehouse'.
"Well, you ready to find that treasure or what, Pete?"
"Tootles?" Peter was timid, "--I'm sorry..."
Tootles looked at his friend and gave a small shrug. It wasn’t like it was Peter’s fault. Blue lips were hidden under the mask that held the tubes in place to open his airways and the blue fingernails clung to the rather itchy blanket.
It was too quiet here. The only noises being the slow beeping of machines, the sound of his assisted breathing and Curly who was sitting in one of the guest chairs in corner snoring in his sleep.