running from lions @theoldpeterpan - Tumblr Blog

Buenos tardes,

I hope everyone’s better today? unless you’re part of the problem, in which case you can stfu

I'm certainly better than yesterday and much better than the day before, but er, since I wasn't actually here... what exactly happened?

#convo: audrey

squirt-at-h0gwarts-dude-deactiv

*rubs eyes like a little kid*

squirt-at-h0gwarts-dude-deactiv

Sup dude! I’m Squirt!

theoldpeterpan

Pleasure to meet ya. Just got back from a bit of a trip. What's got you so knackered?

#convo: squirt

#sighs and pokes her paras with a stick #i'll just edit peter's blog now

I Would Be Sad || Merida & Peter

He wasn't better, not by a long shot. Spending two weeks in a foreign country battling with a severe case of depression that you didn't even initially acknowledge that you had didn't exactly make you a whole person again. On his last day, at the Statue of Liberty, Peter had recognized that. He had also realized that he could get better now that he knew what was wrong, now that he could face it and tell it that it didn't own him. Sure, it would be hard. Probably one of the hardest things he had ever done in his entire life, but the whole point was that the journey made him stronger. His journey to America, however, also made him severely out of touch. Peter was sure that he was in trouble. He hadn't left a note, he hadn't written to anyone while he was away and Kovu, well, Kovu had a lot more friends than Peter did and they were all ridiculously protective.

He had learnt, of course, that life is a pile of good things and bad things. Peter's good things hadn't softened the bad things, but he knew that all of his bad things hadn't spoilt the good things or made them any less important. It was just a matter of Peter accepting these good things, these insanely wonderful things, not just the wicked ones, as something that he deserved. So, yeah, Peter deserved that moment of looking out over the skyline in the crown of Lady Liberty. It made him feel good and he had worked hard to be there. He would also work hard to be here, in the mental sense. Peter had resolved that on the flight home. He could be more open, he could talk to others and he could... Peter stood at the doors of the Great Hall for a second looking over the few students sitting there. He could take his time, he thought. He would learn to live again. The very end of the Ravenclaw table, the seat that happened to be closest to an exit, found itself with an occupant drinking a cup of tea, two sugars, copious cream.

#para #para: open #more of a drabble #song: new again - taking back sunday #message before replying so i can mark as closed #and i mean if two people want to reply maybe we can work that out as a three way conversation or something #casually using a doctor who quote

Somewhere in Neverland

It all hit Peter at once. Like, hitting you all at once in that you were in the middle of being a perfectly happy, high functioning human being and then, all of a sudden, you just collapsed. It was kind of rotten timing if Peter had actually stopped to talk about it, but he didn't. Everything, in that moment, even though only seconds before it was perfect--really perfect--but now it was just too much. It was silly, really. How could it be too much when it was exactly the same as his life for the past six years, seven almost? Knowing that his feelings, these wrong, despicable, depressing feelings, were just ridiculous didn't actually make him feel any better. It didn't help him get over it and it, in all actuality, made life a lot, lot worse. Because, he thought, why feel so awful if nothing is actually wrong? If I can actually put logic to this and know that I shouldn't be upset about this--whatever it was--then why--why--did I continue to feel this way?

Just trying to figure out why it was such a big deal, why it was okay for him to be upset, took Peter the first week of his... not-vacation. It was really sudden, the way it all worked out in the end. The last thing he did at Hogwarts was talk to Kiara about studying of all things. Next thing he really knew, Peter was standing at a ticket kiosk buying a seat to Newark. It was the first time in approximately two hours that he had stopped freaking out enough to talk to someone. Granted, it wasn't more than five words and nothing about his major emotional breakdown, but it was close enough. Not to mention that it was definitely a better state than he was in for all 8 hours and 32 minutes of his trans-Atlantic flight. Peter had spent the whole time flipping his pocket watch open and closed while eating a never ending amount of peanuts. It didn't cross Peter's mind once the entire flight that he didn't actually like peanuts. Probably because it was taking all of his willpower to distract him enough to not cry.

The logical thing for Peter to do, as Peter was trying to get his life to make as much sense as possible all emotional illogicality aside, was to find lodging as soon as he stepped foot off the plane--and out of customs. As the first thing that anyone does in a foreign environment is figure out how to survive and Peter knew how to survive. It involved five star hotels. To Peter's luck, there was a Hilton around the corner. He knew that his chances of getting a concierge level room wasn't good. In fact, Peter realized as he sat down on the tram that would take him to the hotel with the familiar name and familiar beds with a familiar recipe for lobster bisque, he would have settled for the seedy motel that was just across the street from his terminal. Sure, it probably had mildew and less than stellar service, but it had privacy and that's all that Peter really needed at the moment.

He didn't notice until the next day that yes, he did in fact get a room on the concierge floor. Not only that but he had a wicked city skyline to stare at--he learnt that it was New York City--and the hotel was connected to an Underground--the 'famous' Penn Station. It was useful. Something he didn't know that he needed until the next morning when he woke up with red, puffy eyes from hours of sobbing wrapped in the white duvet. Peter hadn't packed for the trip and aside from his wallet, wand and inherent knowledge, Peter didn't have anything to get him through the however much time he was going to be spending here. He had wanted to take a shower, but settled with just washing his face when he rolled out of bed, his hair sticking up on all ends a bit worse than usual. He tried combing his fingers through it, only to find that there was one stubborn knot on the left side of his head that just wouldn't go away.

Peter finally took his first steps into Manhattan around two in the afternoon, having delayed himself at the hotel by stopping in the concierge room to grab a snack only to sit there for an hour and a half picking the cheese off of a ham sandwich. After figuring that no, he wasn't going to get his appetite and yes, this ache he felt all over had nothing to do with actually being sick to his stomach, Peter stood, leaving his plate where it was along with the untouched cup of coffee--apparently Americans weren't tea people even 239 years later in a different city. The underground in New York was worse than the London Tube. Not that it was hard or anything, as far as public transport goes, the Tube was pretty good. The MTA, however, has a severe map problem along with a severe sign problem and what Peter witnessed to be a rather gross rat problem. He got off at Grand Central Station, a name he actually recognized and walked until he was on Madison Avenue, another name he recognized and walked until he found clothing stores that actually catered to men.

Buying everything, well almost everything, that he needed in just J. Crew, Peter walked back down the street, hoping that he doesn't really find himself going into the city too often. He thinks about how his parents used to visit and wonders where they went while they were in the city, when they actually had free time. He knew they would have never ridden the subway or stepped foot into Grand Central, but what about this cafe that he found himself sitting down at ordering a tea? What bank had they used while they were here? Had they used Chase or Wells Fargo? Maybe they had stayed in the Hyatt that Peter had seen walking off of Park Avenue. He sighed. It was ridiculous acting this way, really. It had been over a year since his parents had been here, even more than two years when Peter actually thought about it. It's not like they were here yesterday, like they left anything behind, as if Peter could feel any residual spirit from their business in the States when he couldn't even feel it at home.

Home. He wasn't really sure what he thought of as home anymore. Was he referring to the whole of Britain, his English home and his Scottish school? Was he referring to the house in Woldingham? Or the one in London? Maybe it was the one in Cap D'Antibe, France, the first place that he had ever actually stayed with his parents. Maybe it was nowhere right now. Maybe Peter was adrift, flitting from place to place looking for a home that he may never find again. Peter shook his head and pulled at a stray string hanging from his shirt sleeve. He was being silly; he knew what home was now. His tea was gone, but Kovu was there.

Letters and letters and letters that he should reply to appeared. He wanted to reply as well, he wanted to say: "Please come, I need you." He wanted more than anything to be productive like he was on his first day in New York or New Jersey or both. He wanted to be human again. He wanted to go out and eat and be able to stand on top of the Statue of Liberty without worrying about whether or not his parents had stood in the same spot, completely in love, completely alive. Mostly, Peter watched HBO. Or rather, he kept the tv on HBO while he stared blankly at the wall trying to figure out why all of this was just hitting him now. The suddenness and finality of death. He's had years that he should have known about it and months that he could have, he should have adjusted to his parent's death during.

It was during the second week that Peter finally realized what the detail about the entire thing was that bothered him so immensely. He was doing so well. Peter actually laughed when the thought came into his head. It wasn't a happy laugh or a relieved laugh or even a sad laugh. It was just a way to vocalize his epiphany. He was doing well. For once in his life, Peter wasn't being a complete fuck up and his parents weren't around to see it. They weren't around to witness him fall in love and actually own up to something. They weren't there when he quit smoking and he quit drinking and they certainly weren't there when he created his own philanthropic organization in their memory. No, they were only around when he got suspended from Hogwarts for doing dangerous stunts off of the Astronomy tower and when he broke his nose in a fist fight over the summer hols because some neighborhood kids said that his parents shipped him away to boarding school because they hated him.

It took Peter a few days for that to sink in. He was okay and they weren't here and that's what made it so, so wrong. He thought about that thing that people always tell you when someone close dies. How they're watching over you, how they're proud of you no matter what. Peter snorts because two weeks ago, when he was hit with that wave of depression, he wouldn't have believed those words. Just two weeks. This makes Peter cry some more because he's come so far. Because maybe he actually believes that he deserves all the good things that have happened to him. Two days later he buys a trunk and puts all of the things he bought in it, the new pants and pullovers from J. Crew and the toothbrush bought from the airport. He finds himself standing in the Statue of Liberty, on his way out rather than his way in like so many others. At a gift shop, he buys a snow globe.

#para #para: self #para: everyone and beyond #and i'm really sorry #and this kind of explains what's been happening with me as well.#like i really want to make a joke out of this no note car gone but i can't so i wrote this instead #tw: depression #tw: death #last sentence will probs only make sense to shelly

squirt-at-h0gwarts-dude-deactiv

*rubs eyes like a little kid*

so….tired…

theoldpeterpan

Me too... 'm Peter, by the by.

#writing a self para yep yep #and well kind of ripping myself further apart while i'm at it sigh #peter really has no friends and it makes everything a lot more sad than it already is

isaacmccalls-deactivated2013102

#stills

theoldpeterpan

Coffee & Cigarettes ϟ Kosher

supermegafoxyawesomehotkovu

“No. I was just curious as to where you were going after we parted ways later, silly.” Kovu watched as Peter helped himself to some of his whipped cream. “How dare you.” He teased as he playfully placed some whip cream on the tip of Peter’s nose, scrunching up his own nose. He supposed that was his little revenge for Peter taking some of his whipped cream, not that it really mattered. They continued on their walk once the whip cream was removed. “Wait, what? A surprise for me?” Kovu couldn’t help but chuckle, “Sweetheart this is your birthday. Shouldn’t I be the one giving you the surprises?” He asked with a grin, pecking a kiss onto Peter’s cheek. Unable to help himself from noticing the way Peter looked at him, he chuckled again. “Don’t I just look spiffy? I decided to give this whole ‘dressing nice’ thing a try for your birthday. Since your present isn’t going to be ready just quite yet..why not? Did you notice that I even combed my wild hair?” Of course the answer to his question was given to him the moment Peter reached up to touch his own hair. “You look dashing, as ususal. I really do like your sweater.” He complimented and patted the front of Peter’s sweater.

Before Kovu could do anything else, his lips were met with Peter’s in a soft, romantic kiss. Peter tasted like the worlds sweetest fruit with just a hint of coffee and cigarette. As their lips moved in time with each other, Kovu wondered if Peter could taste the bit of his soul that always slipped through every kiss he shared with Peter. The kiss ended much too early for Kovu’s taste, but then again, no kiss was ever long enough with Peter. He just wanted everything with Peter to last forever. Plus the kiss ending meant that they would soon be moving on with their date and then Peter would take leave to wherever he was going tonight. “Am I?” He whispered when Peter told him he was a distraction, closing his eyes the moment Peter’s forehead met his own, “I’m also rude, because I’m not even sorry.” He chuckled. His eyes fluttered opened when Peter pulled away and asked his question, “I’m sorry, I don’t even remember. You erased my memory with your sweet kisses, rude.” He walked along side Peter and glanced up at the shop they were about to enter.The shops name was what had reminded Kovu of what he was going to tell Peter a day or two ago. “Oh!” He suddenly exclaimed, “I forgot to tell you! I joined the Qudditch team. You’re now dating Slytherins new Beater.” He said with a smirk and before he even allowed Peter to say anything Kovu made his way over to the brooms.

A little sigh escaped Kovu’s lips while he admired some of the older models. New was never Kovu’s style. He had just turned around to gesture Peter over when he noticed that Peter had taken out his new pocket watch and Kovu’s heart melted. So of course when Peter called him over to be a little closer..Kovu forgot all about the broom and gladly joined his boyfriend. A small, sort of naughty smile appeared on his face when Peter told Kovu what his plans for the day were. Had that been the surprise? That they were going flying? “Well, then I look forward to whatever events you have planned for us.” He replied, turning around to kiss him.

theoldpeterpan

Everything about Kovu was perfect. And Peter didn't just think that in an offhand kind of way either. Everything about Kovu was fucking perfect. The way he spoke (especially those devilish times when he broke out the: "How dare you."), the way he walked (Peter was pretty sure that it qualified as being more of a sashay.), the way he kissed (oh God, the way he kissed. It was dangerous to even get Peter started; he never wanted to part from those lips.), the way he was so playful (though Peter really did want to give Kovu more piggy back rides. That was definitely a thing that he should bring up.), and well, yeah, everything (everything). That didn't exclude the off days or the days they didn't see each other or when Kovu was dressed nicer than usual just for his birthday because not only was everything about Kovu perfect, everything was perfect about Kovu all the time. And this was great for Peter. He considered himself the luckiest guy on the planet. Not just in sixth year, not just in Hogwarts or even Britain. (Maybe Peter should include the Universe or all of creation just to be safe. Who knows what astronauts and aliens and other space beings are out there in love?)

All of that, meaning everything, about Kovu, however, made it extremely hard to keep a secret. Peter thought a surprise would be fun--and it would be--but he also knew it would be hard. Peter always wanted, only ever wanted, to be one hundred percent with Kovu. For them to always be complete halves of the other, to share everything and just... be. Kovu had probably already figured out the surprise, but there was no harm in pretending, in trying. Peter beamed when Kovu told him about making the Quidditch team. Sure, Nala would tease the mickey out of him, but it was worth it, especially with the store they were in, what Peter was buying and how he wanted to spend the day (or at least part of it. Peter definitely wanted some more kissing peppered in there as well.). Peter was handed the packaged broom and casually laced his fingers through Kovu's. Once they were out of the shop, Peter pulled Kovu's arm around to drape over his shoulders. He still had their fingers laced, his elbow bent so that his hand could be interlocked with Kovu's. Constant touch was soothing, a way to calm Peter's nerves or hyper-ness or cranky mood while still giving him a spark. It was like the silly talks of electricity and fireworks in stories that Peter had never before believed.

They were at the pitch. Somehow it had happened, while Peter nipped at Kovu's ear and smiled so wide his cheeks felt fit to split. Usually Peter changed into his robes when he was about to fly, but this was a special occasion (his birthday with his boyfriend and Peter really had to consider that he would never get into the air if they started to change in the locker room together. Besides, if it came to that, Peter would really prefer doing it after when showers would be involved.). They stood in the middle of the field, dwarfed by the high rising stands of the spectators and the goal hoops. Peter licked his lips. "I just have to summon my broom. It'll only take a couple of seconds." Peter turned to face Kovu, and after silently 'Accio'-ing his broom to the pitch, he took the new broom (what is actually Kovu's broom. Peter wouldn't let him use a school one ever again--even if it required force. Bloody stubborn snake. He shook his head fondly.) and held it with both of his hands. He grinned and winked, raising his arms and stepping closer. When he lowered his arms, the broom was behind Kovu, trapping him and Peter used the broom to pull him closer. Their foreheads were touching, their noses were brushing and their lips were a hair apart. "I love you," he said, giving him a peck before backing away. "Think fast." Peter tossed the newly purchased broom at Kovu and hopped on his own that had stopped just feet away moments before.

#para #para: kovu #para: coffee &amp; cigarettes #it's so fluffy i'm gonna die #i'm really sure that i should put more tags here #and i want to #but i'm lazy

ofwavinggoodbye-deactivated2015

Evening everyone!

Just wanted to issue a warning against the Nargles, there seem to be an awful lot around recently.

theoldpeterpan

There are Nargles?! What corridor because I seem to have completely missed them. Not that I've really been doing a lot of wandering about, but I can never be too careful regarding my things. I only have one pair of trainers anyway.

#because they took lunas shoes in canon

theoldpeterpan

-sits-

supermegafoxyawesomehotkovu

-tumbles onto his lap- Oops. -curls up, wrapping his arms around around Peter’s neck- How has my handsome Gryffindor been? -pecks his lips-

theoldpeterpan

-laughs- Uh huh. Oops. -kisses him again because one peck really? that's baby stuff.- I've been wonderful. Sleeping a lot and I think I'm failing Divination, but that's a rubbish class anyway. How about you, love?