☣ | GWEN

      _{She’s amused at how easily embarrassed he gets but Gwen
      wouldn’t outright laugh at him. His crush on Ms. Stacy was
      adorable and the last thing she wanted was to make him feel
      worse for his pursuit; especially since he worked up a lot of
      nerve to ask her for help.  So she didn’t say anything and even
      when he invaded her personal space ( something she hates )
      Gwen bit down on her sarcastic tongue to spare his feelings.}

               _{❝I can see why you like her, she’s sweet. Honestly, she’s
                the only one around here besides you who treats me like
                a normal person. And uh.. she mentioned you take really
                nice photos, so she’s obviously noticed you.❞} 

      _{Gwen clicks her tongue and lifts a finger to scratch her cheek
      in thought. Operation Peter Parker’s Love Life was officially
      a go; she just had to break him out of his awkward shell.}

            _{❝Should I clear my entire world-saving schedule for this?
             Seriously though, why can’t you ask her out? The worst
             she can say is no and I don’t think she would. C’mon. Ask
             me out right now, practice what you’d say.❞}

  ❝   Practice asking you out. . ? Alright,
        I guess I’ve got nothin’ to lose.       ❞ 

     He makes a good show of clearing his throat, the sound
     resonating through the lockers. He was lucky there was
     barely anyone else in the hallway, for he definitely would
     have drawn a lot more attention than he was supposedly
     trying to avoid.

     It was more out of necessity, trying to shake off the nerves
     of (pretend) asking his crush out, as well as to quip about
     the convenience of Ms. Tennyson and Ms. Stacy sharing
     the same name. He sweeps the hallway one last time,
     sheepish eyes filtering up and down the trodden space
     before becoming satisfied enough to finally speak. He
     had some pre-supposed plan of what he would say, but
     it’s obvious halfway through that his classic autopilot
     feature took over and swept away any conversation
     he thought of ahead of time.

            ❝   Um    Hey GWEN. How are you doing?

                 Listen, I was wondering if    if you liked movies?
                 I mean, of course you like movies who doesn’t
                 like movies? Unless you don’t, which is     which
                 is cool, too. Nothing weird about that. Not sayin’
                 it’s weird it’s just    just, yeah, I mean, so…
                 I was thinking maybe we could, if, if you’re free
                 some time and you don’t mind, like, just     let me
                 know. You have my number right? I should…

                 I should make sure she has my number, right?
                 Or do I ask for hers? How long should I wait
                 before I text her? Or, or is texting a bad idea?
                 Is calling better? Do I seem too clingy if I call?
                 Aw jeez, I didn’t think this through.  ❞ 

#xanodite  #[ RP | PARA ]  #[ V | MIDTOWN'S BRIGHTEST ]  #//comes thru  

☣ | HARRY

                  ❝     What’re you gonna do if I don’t, Pete?     ❞

         Blackness runs through his veins like a disease, another wince crossing
         him as bones visibly shift within his body, but it’s only met with a rather 
         pleased and cruel looking smile. 

                    ❝    Can’t let the world know who you really are,
                                                          right?      ❞

         His voice transitions into more of a growl as the last word escapes him,
         seething through clenched teeth as he endures the last few seconds of 
         pain before his features become blatantly more rotted and scarred. Long
         fingers flexing as they seem to adjust to the new formation of their bones
         and a softer chuckle escapes him. 

                    ❝    You couldn’t even tell me!      ❞

         It’s practically a hiss, eyebrows knitting together in his anger and his body
         tensing automatically. Ready to leap at a moment’s notice. 

           Once soft features have gone cold in his presence, unfazed like steel
           in the face of such a disgusting thing. Every breath he takes bleeds
           anger, but he will not let him have the satisfaction of his wince, the
           victory of his recoiling gut.

           He keeps eyes trained on him, considering the possibility that if he
           were to slip away to change, he would be long gone, or what was
           more likely: ready to face him. But he knew this day was long
           overdue. That night he was baptized as Spider-Man, all over
           again, no longer the teenager that played hero. He had to be one.

           But seeing the snarl, the snaggleteeth and blotched skin, there
           is now only the bluest tinge of sadness, tucked away at the
           corner of his eye, to see what his friend has become.

                                 ❝  HARRY — what have you become. ❞

          He doesn’t know what to say, he really doesn’t. He knew he had to
          diffuse this somehow, he owed the public that much. But it was
          more than that. He owed Harry this much. What stood before him
          was a culmination of all his mistakes, staring back at him with a
          finger on the trigger.

         What hurts is knowing he would have taken that bullet for him,
         once upon a time.

#[ RP | PARA ]  #[ V | WITH GREAT POWER ]  #makehimbleed  #[ The Daily Queugle ]  

☣ | THE WITCH

     nightmares had plagued her. was it not so simple? to close one’s eyes and see, reflected in the darkness, formless yet so clear — one’s own worst fears. painted in shades of grey as though the world were as colourless, when she could merely open her eyes and see the sky, blue as his eyes. it seemed to mock her grief. 

had she not been responsible for plunging others into visions of their past? if not their past, then fabrications of the overactive mind, determined to reduce to a trembling figure, daunted by the shape of an average height woman, merely because her eyes turned red. ( she would become their fear, because she showed them theirs, wrung them out and laid them bare only for the experience to stay betwixt them. if they dared to tell others, they would only laugh; what woman has the power to dredge up secrets that nobody else knew? )

she deserves this, somehow. to find herself in the kitchen at an hour that had long passed, nursing a mug of tea that had long gone cold. if she only hadn’t told him to leave, he would be alive. if she hadn’t been so cruel, then perhaps ultron would not have been so persuasive. this is punishment. this is retribution for her actions. and wanda is certain – she deserves this.

     pietro didn’t. 

                         ‘ is it? i had not noticed. 
                           i could not sleep. ‘

     A nod, the tired lines on his face creasing in curiosity. Hazel eyes filter
     to the mug of tea gone cold in her hands, her voice carrying the bluest
     tinge of SADNESS when she speaks. His gaze flits back to her visage,
     and he almost regrets doing so. Pallid skin, eyes filled with greens
     and greys that it reminds him of flaxen hair. He can feel a stone drop
     in his stomach, and it makes him sick reliving the nightmares he had
     been woken up from. He blinks twice, trying to get rid of the trauma
     from his eyes before looking at her again, wincing when he does.

     He notices now the fair skin she carried like porcelain, eyes frail and
     delicate like the rest of her appeared. The shade of her gaze is does
     nothing to hide the sadness beneath them. Morose and black like a
     FUNERAL.

      She’s sad. He can’t initially put his fingers on it, but she carries a guilt not
      just emotionally, but physically as well. Her hands looked weighed down by
      an anchor, her face like glass and her voice a crystal that was ready to crack.
      She looked pretty, worn and delicate; but he was unsure, with the way her
      placid gaze carried experience far above what her lithe form suggested.

                          ❝   — You okay?    ❞

#[ RP | PARA ]  #[ V | CODENAME WEBHEAD ]  #trulyfear  

☣ | AYLEN

     ^{’ you don’t sound so sure, ’ every inch of her bleeds ambiguity: every dark curl, every HEAVY GLIMPSE. and maybe he wouldn’t be so averse to response had her demeanor not been so icy———but that’s just how she functioned, wasn’t it? her gaze filters back down to the boxes by his feet, what few that remained on the carpeted floor, as if thinking. ’ i’m aylen, ’ they flicker back up without excuse, eyes filled with stars and a face so sublime. an air of confidence saturates her. ’ it was nice to meet you, peter. ’}

     ^{a clicking noise sounds from the turn of a wrist, the silent crack of a door. and just like that, she’s gone.}

             He’s left with the terrible feeling that he said something WRONG,
             despite all factual evidence pointing to the idea that he most
             certainly did not. Some adolescent-like emotion rises out of the
             pit in his gut, like he was being analyzed with every movement,
             judged solely for his affectations and taste in shirt color.

            His gaze falls back to the boxes, waving the idea off with little
            concern. His thoughts rarely occupied by other peoples’ perceptions
            these days: besides the fact that he did not have anyone to impress.

           anymore.

           He carries the last of his belongings in, tearing the masking and leaving
           behind only what was unneeded in his wake. It is not until later that he
           muses he may have finally found SOMEONE who can play a better
           disappearing act than him.

          MOONLIGHT is leaking through avenues and rooftops, offering only a
          sliver of luminescence when it came to the darkness of New York City.
          Streetlamps offer little in invitation or glow, the passing of cars and buses
          giving only a temporary shiver of light.

          He is unsure of wear to start, simply swinging through streets and
          alleyways, taking a temporary stance to scope out the area before
          moving on to the next one. His bosses’ refusal to accept his
          newly-minted Spider-Man pictures, in favor of a new costumed
          VIGILANTE to hunt down, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

            (   Not that it’s a problem for me, have Jameson start another
                smear campaign… This’ll be fun, might as well warn the
               new guy if I find’em.   )

         He’s hesitant to accept the idea that this vigilante was truly murdering,
         already a victim himself of The Daily Bugle’s mutilation of facts.

           (  I totally DID NOT put that kitten in the tree in the first place.  . . )

        He’s got the camera in one hand when he ducks his head around a
        corner, finally catching glimpse of two figures at the end of the alley.
        He is ready to crawl over in quiet stealth, but before he knows it only
        one of the two figures remain standing, the distinct chatter of a gunshot
        ringing through the air.

        He’s swinging towards the ground in a split second, a mix of urgency
        and uncertainty overwhelming his need to lay low. In the low light of
        nightfall, he can make out the uncanny visage, a mixture of every poorly
        drawn sketch and eye-witness description culminating in what he can only
        assume is LEVIATHAN.

                               ❝    What did - What did you do?!

                                       —  Stay right there, PAL.   ❞

#mortiuum  #[ RP | PARA ]  #[ V | WITH GREAT POWER ]  #//suddenly throws length at u  #don't feel obliged to match me for this tbh  

☣ | GWEN

          sometimes, just sometimes, she wishes she didn’t know
          him so well. it would be so much easier to accept the
          careful composure he’s crafted, all easy smiles & big
          brown doe eyes. life would be made SIMPLER, less
          complicated.

                                   (gwen’s not really a fan of complicated.)

          but this is PETER PARKER and no matter what, she
          cannot help but examine him, study the line of his mouth
          and the curve of his jaw. she can only continue to inspect
          the way brunette crown blends into tousled strands that
          curl over his ears — the way it does when he NEEDS a
          haircut, or he’s forgotten what a comb is for — and the
          manner in which he holds himself. she can’t stop herself
          from wanting to REMIND him of his posture and she
          certainly can’t think to retract the hand that’s somehow,
          unconsciously, breached the divide and brushed a speck
          of dirt from his cheek. maybe from a rooftop he’d lingered
          too long on, or a spot he’d missed when washing his face.

          NOTHING about him escapes her; every little particle of
          his being is magnified tenfold, intensified by rose-coloured
          lenses she views him through.

          so she frowns, just so, when he says he’s okay. because
          she knows what okay means and she knows, when blues
          — broken pieces of the manhattan sky on a sunny day —
          meet browns, that okay isn’t there.

                                             oh, how she wishes it was.

          she won’t say a thing though, because she’s GWEN STACY
          and they’ve been broken up for weeks now and it’s felt like
          MONTHS and it’s been a knife twisting in her gut. she’ll
          weather the storm like she always has and shake her head
          politely, serene as an angel & sweet as one, too.

                    ❛   not right now, NO.   ❜

          and before she can think better of it, before BRAINS can
          beat heart, she’s turned on her heel. sneakered feet —
          battered white converse to match his — carry her forward
          one pace and then ANOTHER before she’s allowed herself
          a backwards glance, loquacious & warm behind a fringe of
          spun gold.   ❛                       you coming?   ❜

           CHANCE seems to find him entertaining, because it threw him
           under one autumn morning, in a busy street near Main, about
           one-hundred-and-one different things for a couple to do within
           his reach: and he managed to find HER out of all of this.

           Familiar hands touch his face, an almost-instinct ready for her
           to cup his cheek before she pulls away, brushing off some
           grime leftover from his latest adventure in a back-alley heist.

           He can sense the boundary start to blur when skin brushes against
           skin, nimble fingers gracing flushed cheeks. The line is growing
           hazier in his vision as she steps back and turns on her heel. She
           leaves an imprint where exactly she stopped, her tiny gesture an
           open invitation to go ahead and try to pick the APPLE off its branches.

           He pauses, wide-eyed gaze staring back at him, her sweet disposition
           taking a pickaxe to the wall he is frantically trying to rebuild for his own
           SANITY. It hurts, to physically stay put where he is, a greedy child that
           has been punished for getting into trouble one too many times. He looks
           down at old jeans and mud-stained converse, imagining what it feels
           like to step forward, walking pace by pace besides her own worn-out
           sneakers, reaching out one brave, callus hand to take HERS, showing off
           a dopey smile only ever reserved for her —

                                                        (   Stop it.  )

           He stares back at emerald hues, framed by a perfect head of GOLDEN
           hair that he can’t ever forget the geography of. He soon realizes she’s
           waiting, standing where she is just so he can play keep-up.

           A stone plummets in his stomach, silently sinking to the bottom.

                          (   How long ‘til I stop holding her back?   )

           It feels like a gunshot wound, some bleeding excuse to talk in deep,
           soft tones of finality and severance when he ponders to answer.

                      ❝      I - I don’t know. I don’t think it’s — appropriate.    ❞

           Because he’s been one to talk about what’s APPROPRIATE,

            Like times when he’s showed up to her family dinners in tattered jeans,
            or skateboarding in the school hallways to get to her locker faster,
            or even times when he’s shown up at her window with an unplanned trip
            to the roof of the Empire State Building: keeping her up way past her
            curfew for a hundred different reasons.

          Now he really can’t help himself, because he’s smirking without even
          realizing it. It’s a warm, bashful emotion that graces both cheekbones,
          swelling up in his eyes, HAZEL HUES glowing with curiosity when he
          stares back at her. It’s easy when it’s PETER PARKER: admittedly easier
          when it’s GWEN STACY. He can tell, just from the glint in her gaze, the
          smallest tinge of a smile playing at her lips: she’s thinking about
          it too.

         He laughs, and for once it doesn’t feel like despair on chains.

                   ❝      I guess it wouldn’t kill me. What’d you have in mind?      ❞  

         He steps up, matching pace with her steps once he’s firmly crossed
         the line that has promptly faded.

                               (     It’s only coffee. Or lunch —
                                     whatever, it doesn’t matter.
                                     That’s it. Nothing else.
                                     You can do this much, Parker.
                                     Is it even time for lunch yet?    )

         He concedes,
         Gwen Stacy WINS round 1.

#chemistacy  #[ RP | PARA ]  #[ V | WITH GREAT POWER ]  #//tbh this was supposed to be shorter whoops  

☣ | GWEN

           feeling his forehead against her own, she releases a soft 
           breath but continues to keep her eyes locked with his own.
           hands intertwine as she tries to absorb some of the pain he
           is feeling. his shoulders are so heavy with responsibility, but
           what he doesn’t know is—

                 even the brave need to depend on someone. 

           the pain she notices in his eyes is the same pain she sees every
           time her father is mentioned or brought up. he believes he is the
           reason her father is dead–he blames solely himself. when peter
           takes a step away & tries to release her hands, she takes a step
           forward & takes his hands back. there is a determined look in her
           eye. 

                 ❝ you can’t keep doing this, peter. you can’t take all of the
                     blame! my father was the head of police; he knew what he
                     was getting into. he accepted his responsibilities just like you
                     have with being spider man. –things happen, peter. life–life
                     happens. you can’t stop death–no matter what super power
                     you might have–death is part of life. just how my father accepted
                     everything about doing his job, i accept everything that comes
                     with loving you. –the only question is, do you? ❞

              He can feel his lungs fill with ashen SADNESS, his lips dry and
              quivering with grief. There is a searing sting in his cheeks when he
              looks at her. He only sees everything he’s taken away, and the image
              forces him to look away. Her hands are so perfectly locked in
              his that she truly has made a home in his HEART, one so familiar
              and comfortable that he has left all his happiness there.

                         (   Yes — god yes. I do. I accept it. All of it.
                              Nothing less than it. I want nothing less.
                              If not you, it will never be anyone else.

                              But I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve YOU.   )

             It is a slow burn, like the ends of a candle about to be snuffed,
             when he looks back at her. His eyes are a SHIPWRECK, destroyed
             on its voyage and ready to sink back into the hollow when he has
             to face her. He’s drowning, water taking up his mouth, throat, lungs;
             a quiet panic wetting his lips before he steels himself, mustering
             every last ounce of bravery in his SOUL to right his sins and admonish
             himself before he goes under, preparing to break his own heart.

            He readies his hands for the callus, the bloodshot eyes and unheard
            prayers that are sure to follow.

                     ❝   You - You deserve better, GWEN. Better than this.
                          Any of this. You’ll never be safe around ME—you
                          know I can’t do that to you. Least of all, you. You deserve
                          better — better than me showing up late, or even not
                          showing up at all. You deserve more than just—just
                          you covering for me, or me showing up at 2am or—
                          me just ruining everything. I’m sorry. I’m so SORRY.

                                                                — I’m just no good for YOU.   ❞

#[ RP | PARA ]  #[ V | WITH GREAT POWER ]  #hopefulpath  

Lab Partners ( closed )

optimysticbarbie:

☣ | CAROLINE

Caroline stared down at the brunette who jerked awake
at the sound of her voice. Restraining herself from rolling
her eyes, she crossed her arms. 

“Caroline Forbes, your new lab partner.” 

She said, her voice slightly annoyed.
Did she just get screwed over and get the crap partner
that’ll make her do all the work? If so, she’d definitely
give him hell for it. As everyone is seated with their
partners, she decided to take a seat beside him
handing him the paper that was passed out at the
beginning of class, which she was sure he was asleep
for and didn’t get, that read: Elephant’s Toothpaste.

                  ❝  â€”- Elephant toothpaste? Huh. I mean,
                         it’s the first day but… yeah…    ❞

       There is the slightest tinge of disappointment in his voice, overshadowed
       by his awkward demeanor of having to work with a partner. His eyes dilate
      with focus when he takes the paper she hands him and reads the assignment.
      He isn’t even paying to Caroline as she sits down, eyes flitting about the page,
      his attention to detail betraying the slacker composure he initially bore.
      He pulls out a notebook from under his desk, flipping through the mired,
      ink-stained pages before landing on a clean one, quickly writing down a
      formula like clockwork, not bothering to afford any small talk with the blonde.

                                    H₂O₂+I^{−}→H₂O+IO^{−}

                                  H₂O₂+IO^{−}→H₂O+O₂+I^{−}

                                  2H₂O₂→2H₂O_(l)+O_2(g)

                       â     Uh, this look good to you?      ❞

     He speaks quietly, the confidence in his pages not reflected
      in his voice. He scoots the notebook a bit to the right, lifting
      his arm to reveal the initial ormula he had come up with.

#[ RP | PARA ]  #[ v┊midtown's brightest ]  #optimysticbarbie  #//oh my god i remember doing this experiment in  

☣ | GWEN

        It’s the same thing once again–the same fight they have had
        over these past few months. Eyes watch as he paces back &
        forth trying to find the right words to day–but she can already
        assume what is going to come out of his mouth. Lips thin as
        she takes a few steps closer to him. 

        Gently, she raises her hands to his face; placing one on each
        cheek in hopes of locking her gaze with his own. to offer some
        sort of peace to his turmoil. 

             ❝ –Peter. You can’t keep doing this
               to yourself. To us. Even if my father
               was here–this isn’t his choice. ❞

He places heavy, guilt-ridden palms on hers, laying
          his forehead on her own. He can feel a part of his
          rib-cage fall apart and re-stitch itself over and
          over again. She is a reprieve he never deserved.

          He stares into a pool of emerald, hazel hues looking
          for some sort of forgiveness from beyond. He is
          counting the number of times he has done this,
          a terrible habit that grips him, letting a ghost dictate his
          actions, before running right back like a sad dog.

         He wants to kiss her without the poison,
         hold her without the walls closing in,
         Love her without a car crash
         waiting around the corner.

         He wants to give up the ghost so badly.

                   ❝ – That’s it, Gwen. He isn’t here.
                     That’s my fault. All of it. I own that.  ❞

         He takes her hands and folds them over, untangling
         them with such care that you would believe they
         were made of precious porcelain.

        He steps back, a finality in his heel that makes him tremble
        with fear, a look of torment stitched across his face
        when he has to physically distance himself before
        he can cave again and again and again.

                     ❝     I – I’m a walking disaster.  I can’t…
                         I can’t let anything happen to you too.     ❞

#[ RP | PARA ]  #[ v┊with great power ]  #hopefulpath  #//goodbye world i am gone  

chemistacy:

           ❛   oh no…   ❜   the murmur is only barely audible, spoken
           so quietly that her own ears hardly register the whisper. it’s
           a sigh that hardly cuts through air, unable to RISE above
           the white noise — the familiar din — that is new york city.

          gaze crinkles, soft little FEET making a home at outermost
          edges of hazy blues. they deepen & grow, accommodated
          by a SUNNY smile and giddy laugh that erupts before she
          has any chance to stop it. 

                    gwen stacy is NERVOUS, and she isn’t sure
                    exactly how to handle that. (how very ODD.)

          like warm summer rain, the light in her eyes dim, shadowed
          by the halo of cornsilk and gold, by faded kohl & thick lashes.
          still, tenderness REMAINS, sits idly behind the tipped edge
          of her apple red mouth and lopsided cant of her chin. 

          propensity for affection shows itself, displayed in SPADES
          when she speaks, fingers tangling together & delicate little
          knuckles knocking and twisting.   ❛   you do, too. REALLY,
          you do.   ❜   the earnestness in her voice is TANGIBLE, as
          transparent as the light of day. 

               damn you, peter parker. she’ll never be able to quit you. 

          a clearing of throat allows the blonde to REASSESS the 
          situation, to steel any RUNAWAY emotions from taking off
          like a freight train (headed straight for a pipe bomb.) 

          ❛   long time no see.   ❜   laughter, full & clear as church bells.
          ❛   i’ve been                            ❜   hesitation now, as if anything
          she MIGHT say should be held close and ONLY for herself.   
          ❛        i’ve been okay. good, even, on days that end in y. how
          are YOU, though?   ❜   & behind the inquiry, begging that he’ll
          say yes, if only to give her a piece of mind. 

He can’t help himself, so obviously still obsessed with that
          sunlight laugh. The lines of his lips crack into a small smile,
          modest and thankful that she is dealing with nervousness
          just as well.

          His smile aligns itself back into place, a neutral expression
          worn to try and salvage any hopes of a promise he is intent
          on keeping, no matter how much it may HURT him; or worse
          yet, no matter how much it may be the DEATH of her.

          There is a pause, a gaze that seems to last for a bit more than
          a handful of seconds. He’s standing with long-limbed grace, a
          slouched expression and careful candor as to not give away
          any of his old quirks whenever he was in her presence.
          Nervous pacing, a scratch of the neck, a lasting glance,
          were just minor symptoms when it came to her.

          A pinch of burden lifts itself off his heart,
          when he knows that she is alright.
          That’s as much as he can ask for.

         But he knows he wants so much more:
         he wants her day, her week, her
         hand in his. He is a greedy, petulant
         child that still wants.

                                          ❝   Me? I’ve. . .    ❞

         The words start to form in the pit of his stomach:

                       I saw your BROTHER last week,
                       at that bookstore in downtown.

                      AUNT MAY keeps asking where
                      you have been.

                     I haven’t had a decent
                     intake of breath since
                     this gap between
                    YOU && I.

                                              ❝   I’m alright.    ❞

                       He shrugs as the words fall out
                       with the bluest tint of regret,
                      but earnest in its honesty.
                      He’s alright as long you’re okay.

                      He pauses, looking down at his sneakers,
                      before he speaks again.

                              ❝   So uh —- you… you busy?    ❞

#chemistacy  #[ RP | PARA ]  #[ v┊with great power ]  #//are these new icons because they look a++  #also it's been a while since i did the inner dialogue thing with you  #i miss this  

Lab Partners ( closed )

optimysticbarbie:

optimysticbarbie:

( amazingarachnid )

Caroline wasn’t exactly the best in science
especially AP Chemistry, how she managed to
get into this class was completely beside her
not to mention, it was only the second day
and they were already being assigned
lab partners and would have a lab today
slips of papers were being handed out of the
name of your assigned partners and as she
was handed hers, she opened it up with the
name “Peter Parker” scrawled on it and she
immediately looked around as everyone had
started to pair off, and eventually found the
brunette boy that hadn’t found his partner yet

“Are you Peter Parker?”

        He’s sitting at his usual spot, head down and
        out already. He doesn’t even hear what is
       going on around him half the time anymore,
        since class has been written off as a ‘ rest
        session ’ more than once. He hears the syllables
        of his name penetrate through the fog, and
        it takes some time but he reluctantly comes
        back to life, eyes still drowsy and mouth
        slightly lopsided. He looks up at Caroline,
        a bit confused as to why she was talking
        with him. His awkwardness finally starts
        to kick into full gear though, when he
        realizes his situation.

                   ❝  Oh! —- Um, hey. Hi, sorry I’m —- yeah, I’m Peter.
                                           Peter Parker. And you’re…?    ❞ 

        He’s met at least half of the school once, and
        he sees most people often enough that he
        could recognize a name and a face almost
        instantly. He’s finding himself drawing a blank
        though, once he starts looking over the blonde.

#optimysticbarbie  #[ RP | PARA ]  #[ v┊with great power ]  #//he probably gets more sleep than me tbh