
@theartofmadeline

shark vs the universe
Cosimo Galluzzi
Xuebing Du

JVL
cherry valley forever
KIROKAZE

pixel skylines
Jules of Nature
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
todays bird
Sade Olutola
Acquired Stardust
wallacepolsom

Product Placement

titsay

izzy's playlists!
Three Goblin Art
Misplaced Lens Cap

#extradirty

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Taiwan
seen from Türkiye
seen from Brazil

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from France

seen from France
seen from United States

seen from Canada

seen from Iraq

seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from United States
@boyisallheart
It wasn’t his favorite coffee shop around, but it was, reputedly, the one with the largest supply, attracting a good bunch of New York’s most cold-to-the-bone caffeine-loving individuals. As it was, though, that meant that instead of waiting on the shop to resupply, you had to wait in an increasingly immense queue instead. Harry stood halfway down the street, nearly at the end of the queue, gloved hands in the armpits of his thick winter coat, and wondered if it was really worth it.
Expelling a shivering breath, clouding the air in front of him, he decided that there were better alternatives. Grey exhaust-discolored snow crunched underfoot as he shifted his weight, just barely leaning over to the person beside him.
“This isn’t exactly going at Santa’s laws-of-science-breaking speed, is it?” Casting a glance at the fellow queuer next to him, Harry flashed a brief but genuine, crooked smile. “Lucky for me -- and possibly you -- I know a place not far from here. Serves the best cocoa ever made. Seriously, you won’t believe it ‘till you taste it.”
He turned and took a step backwards, separating himself from the queue in one move, the light smile still in place. “What do you say? Coming with?”
I felt a tremendous distance between me and everything real.
Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary (via fightsthatdragon)
corporalvenom:
Honestly, he hadn’t intended for the toes to fall victim to his wheels to be those of a friend, but in hindsight, he couldn’t have wished for a better outcome. Strangers had given him sympathetic glances, and he had heard several ‘thank you for your serve’s spread evenly over the time he had been here, but he knew friends wouldn’t treat him differently, disabled vet or not. He didn’t need anyone’s sympathy, or their pity.
With all the Osborn’s riches and experiences, he never thought to see Harry Osborn himself stunned. With the crowd of people surrounding them having faded to nothing but a blur to the veteran, he caught a grin spreading across his features. Adjusting the position of his wheelchair, Flash came to face his friend, the rubber wheels no longer dangerously prepared for another assault on Harry’s toes. He shifted his weight onto one arm that was resting on one side of his chair, eyes looking up to meet his friend’s. “You know, I figured it would…” he agreed, softly nodding his head. “Thought that with these old timers around here you’d be pretty tired of polite gestures.”
His eyes darted down at the suit, the shiny medals an easy eye catcher. Sometimes it has hard to believe he earned all of those with just two tours of duty and one quick decision. Thinking back, he had seen a lot, experienced a lot, that these old, rich people in the room, spoiled rotten, would never even have to worry about. But New York was a strange place, an exception to his previous thought maybe. New York City was a war zone of its own entirely, with the threat of super villains right around every corner.
“Oh yeah, but ‘sir’ will do if you throw in a salute.” His voice was nothing but tease, his face displaying a smile that hadn’t been there in quite a while. The expression, however, didn’t last. He could hear the crowd fall silent, and smooth jazz— a song he recognized, his dad liked this song— taking its place as most dominant noise. From his lower position in the crowd due to his wheelchair, it was hard to see just what was going on until a BANG silenced everything for a while.
After Iraq, twice, and the bombings just a few months ago, you’d think army veteran Flash Thompson wouldn’t blink at a situation much like this, but god, he was speechless. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this was supposed to be easy. How the hell had explosives gotten in here? He almost had gotten trouble smuggling in a symbiote and a tracking device, and this clown had somehow brought explosives. Panic rose among the people, and it barely took Flash a second to try and shield Harry. Moments like these were those in which he truly hated being tied to a wheelchair, and in no position to effectively help out. Instincts and training kicking in, he tore his eyes from his friend to scan the area, get to the bottom of this. He knew he had the power to fix this, he had, and that alone made it his problem, his responsibility.
The man of the hour had arrived on stage. The same guy who had caused the massacre on Times Square, it seemed. His speech hadn’t drawn Flash’s attention right until the mention of vigilantes, which was a mistake, honestly. His head had shot up at an instant, only for his eyes to fall on a suspicious red button. Was that another detonator? ‘You do not want to see what this does.’ Whatever that meant, he had a feeling it wasn’t a surprise he was willing to see.
While the words hit him, they had a hard time sinking in, but it seemed he had no time to let it. Before he could even turn back to see how Harry was doing through all this, the Joker seemed to be on his way out, and there was no way Flash was going to let this guy get away like this. No way. He reached up to softly grab at Harry’s arm, his breather quick and short. “Jesus, man, are you okay?” He looked around another time, a quick scan for a way out before turning back to Harry. “Look I…” fuck, how was he going to word this? “I’m not feeling so hot, I gotta’…” He shook his head, hands shaking. “I gotta’ go outside, get some air. I dunno’ if we can, I think these guys locked some doors, but—” Smooth, good job, Thompson. God, he felt horrible, but he had to do this. If he couldn’t evacuate the building, he had to find the guy responsible. “I’m sorry.”
Without even a last glance at Harry, he pushed his way through the terrified jungle of gala guests. The rate at which his heart beat would almost risk the organ breaking his chest as he took the turn into the hallway that lead to the bathrooms. He’d only seen one other wheelchair user at the gala, so he figured the disability bathroom should be free. A spark of guilt from the way he left Harry behind still haunted him, but wasn’t this why he was here in the first place? The mission came first, always. After all, maybe he could later excuse it all by telling him it reminded him of Iraq? It was a lie, a horrible one that would leave the gang worried, but it would have to do. It took merely a glance or two around the area to check for security cameras, before he wheeled himself into the bathroom, and locked the door behind him.
Of course, there didn’t seem to be a single trace of regret in the way Flash’s grin spread like a kid’s who’d just performed his favourite trick perfectly, no apologetic undertone in his ‘sincere’ explanation. Harry had to fight not to let his own smile follow suit -- or to roll his eyes -- because trading easy banter with his friend gave him more than anything else since Peter and MJ wandered off. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable in the company he’d kept, but subtly promoting one of most well-known international corporations in a room filled with New Yorkers didn’t feel all too beneficial. His father had already laid the groundwork; all people had to do was come to him. The problem, of course, was when that attracted the wrong kind of people -- and though that was most of the, such was life.
Sliding his hands into his pants pockets ( avoiding rumpling the jacket with an inherent grace ), it was evident just how relaxed he was -- how welcome Flash’s appearance was, second-nature rocky start included. Harry chuffed, only just managing to block the twitch in his chest from developing into a real laugh. “Oh, yeah, you got me. I’ve just been dying for someone to straight out punch me instead of simply shaking my hand all night. So conformist.” Arching a brow, the corner of his mouth curled into a treacherously soft curve, defying the bite to his words, “It’s good I have friends like these.”
While he’d politely and diligently kept his gaze in a meeting with Flash’s own blue the moment the man spoke, he allowed it to dip as the veteran regarded his medals. Bad move. The billionaire felt his heart fluttering in its cage, and whether it was from the vertigo he felt realising what his friend must have gone through to achieve all these honors, or how the fitted jacket stretched across his chest, the world may never know. Lips pressing subtly into a line to keep either of those responses from surfacing, he was infinitely grateful that Flash picked up the thread -- until he registered exactly what he’d said. Forget the fluttering -- a swift tingling rush swept through him, convincing him he could have floated if he really wanted to. Released through a breathless laugh, an elation the currently clean addict hadn’t felt in weeks offered words before he even had time to worry about what to say. “Duly noted, I’ll try to remember that in the future, but don’t expect...”
His voice carried a short distance into the encroaching silence, dying along with the withering murmurs of others. What disturbed him most, though, was the shadow that had fallen over his friend’s face, caring little for whatever performance was coming up next. Worry dropping his easy smile, it was obliterated entirely when he turned his head to look towards the stage along with the rest of the unwilling audience. The Joker. Harry could have recognised him in the dark. His blood-red grin had joined another’s, broader and sharper and just as sickening, at the edge of his vision -- always one step ahead, a step too far to pin down and prove they were there at all. He didn’t feel how his teeth pressed together like they were trying to shatter by sheer force, how his breath stopped, tangling tightly in his chest and refusing to move. Gaze locked on the terrorist like to a display of violence too brutal to look away from, as if simply keeping ones eyes on the threat would keep it from attacking, the explosion off-stage shattered the illusion into a thousand pieces.
The tangle in his chest came undone through a rush of air like a man surfacing from deep water, and Harry staggered back. The stoic defense left in a shuddering shock, any composure lost as everything became painfully clear and inescapable. Terrified, his eyes found Flash, who had only seemed to grow where he sat, a calculating quiet in the throng of hysterical people pushing by them. Another explosion deafened the screams, and Harry instinctively flinched, ducking as his hands came to cover his ears -- like blocking out the sound would keep the harm at bay. Realising nothing had hit him, he looked up to see his friend’s arm bent around him, steel gaze trained on their surroundings. Something indescribable knotted in his stomach, gratitude and admiration and shame all wrapped into one. Your friend is in a damn wheelchair, and you’re the one cowering? He knew it was unreasonable the moment the thought crossed his mind -- Flash was an honored soldier for a reason, and it was the role he prefered -- and yet something gnawed guiltily into him.
Rising slowly and carefully, he pulled his eyes from the veteran to the villain, flickering cautiously between the stage and the rest of the room. Nothing seemed to be happening, though, and in the vacuum anxiety struck him like lightning -- God. Peter, Mary Jane -- he had no idea where they were. If they were hurt, or -- oh, no, no. The Joker’s words swam in the background as he turned abruptly, skimming the crowd for a crown of red or messy brown hair, a graceful dress or a suit that didn’t quite fit, desperately wishing to find his own horror mirrored in familiar green or dark eyes. Nothing. God, he felt sick. His attention was pulled back to The Joker as the words ‘twenty million dollars’ drawled from the clown, and fear and disgust clenched his heart. He’d just endangered his friends, and he was asking for money? The anger welling up in him was washed away by worry as Flash called him back to the present, soft gaze falling to the strong fingers wrapped gently around his arm. “What--?” The reply came as if in a daze, and he mentally shook himself to give Flash his full attention. Take care of the friend left to you.
Exactly how he was asked to do that, though, baffled him. Confusion drew his expression as he tried to find the words. “I -- You have to... Now?” Maybe it was the events that made sense seem so far away, but Harry fought bravely to haul it back. Taking a moment to just breathe, he let Flash’s confession sink in, and finally understood it for what it must be. “Oh-- Okay. Yeah, I get it. Just...” He trailed off, unsure what to say to a traumatised soldier -- a friend scared by something he would never know. He wasn’t expecting this. He didn’t like this, but if it was what Flash needed, then... His jaw clenched, and he swallowed thickly around the terror lodged in his throat. “Take care of yourself.” The words were firm, stronger than he felt, and his gaze lingered on the wide span of shoulders as they pushed further and further away from him.
Later, he would be able to recall the next events in vivid detail, but at the moment everything seemed a blur -- one second he’d be taking cover behind animated animal exhibits as bullets ripped through the air, the next watching as some super-powered person tore open one exit after another, but always waiting, always remaining and always searching. MJ had to be there somewhere, if not Peter, who was prone to disappearing when trouble roared its ugly head. Harry didn’t blame him, and he was usually grateful that he got himself out of harm’s way, but Christ -- he wouldn’t have said no to a helping hand. Instantly he reeled at the thought. Of course he was glad Pete had gotten away, the alternative wasn’t something he even let himself consider.
Peeking around the corner of an upturned grand piano, his heart jumped in his chest as he threw himself back behind cover -- bullets whizzing past moments later. He grew up in New York’s finest district, how had he gotten so apt at recognising the mouths of rifles? If only he’d had his armor, and -- no. No, the last thing this place needed was a visit from a long-dead criminal. Tears prickled his eyes as he felt an absurd grin stretch across his face, sobs rattling his chest along with the silent heaves of choked laughter. This was insane. Harry pulled his knees closer to himself, clamping a hand over his smiling mouth to stifle any sound that could easily lead to his death, sharp tears stinging his cheeks. God, when had his life come to this?
Eventually, steadily, his breathing returned to a calm pace ( though challenged by the rapid drum of his heart ) ; inhaling the war zone around him and exhaling the summoned, demonic voices that somehow didn’t belong, even here. His head fell back against the piano, staring at the high arch of the ceiling, unseeing. Breathing.
Please, let them be okay.
fireable:
the best days are the days when u feel really soft and full of love and u want to make sure everyone you care about feels that way too
ipodtasergirl:
Okay so that may have not been mature or adult but damn did it feel good. She didn’t really pause to consider if her words could get the other guy in trouble. She felt it was her gob so she’d pay the price, if any. So she couldn’t keep a whole girl off her face as she spoke, “Tell me about it. Though usually I’m on the other end of the equation.” she chuckled, “But I managed to hide in the bathroom for a whole half an hour earlier. It was nice in there, free mints, big stalls, nice attendant who helped me get my boobs into this dress.” Oh crap, “Umm, sorry, I have RBS, rampant-blurting-syndrom, as you saw from, over there,” she gestured back at the circled they’d left. She suspected several uncharitable things were being said about her now.
“Yea, that’s the one.” she nodded. At his expression she felt a little bad, Darcy wasn’t the best at recognising barriers, she just tended to speak, maybe the guy didn’t want to hear advice from some uppity student playing princess for a night. Still, he glanced over it, she could too, “Umm, yup. Political Science really.” she grinned, “Nah, this is work Dude. Or well, it was, now it’s a night off!” she waved the ends of her dress little in celebration. “I mean, it’s kinda funny seeing all the folks I listen to on TV in a room but the same could be said for folks who see the Avengers here.” Not for her, she saw’em anyway.
“Aha? Well, nothing special here.” she assured him, “Uh-huh, I bet you’re real clever, have some confidence!” she grinned, it was easy telling other folks to be more confidence despite her own attitude, “Oh, sorry! Totally forgot! I’m Darcy Lewis.” she reached her hand out, “I was a waitress here until my friend slash boss Jane Foster, badass scientist, saw me and whisked me to the awesome bathroom. Then with the help of Pepper Potts Lady I totally want to adopt me, cinderella’d me into this pretty dress.” she felt it again, still a little shocked she was wearing it. “It’s fun getting to play posh for an evening. But I also have inside knowledge of where the best eats are. Usually I hide some away and take’em home.” Full-Rambling mode was definitely activated. “So yea… That’s me. I’m a lab lackey. I take good notes I bake cupcakes and I once tasered the asguardian god Thor,” she chuckled, “That was a weird day… And umm, yup…” she swung her arms a little, “That was a lot more than just my name huh?” she asked, laughing self-consciously.
With every word practically falling out of her mouth, the billionaire felt something unravel in him, evident in how his calm and unaffected expression kept slipping -- a surprised quirk of a brow, tug to his lips -- she even managed to snap a bark of a laugh from him before he knew it. The shocked smile lingered as he came up with appropriate words, finding himself dipping into his college experiences rather than etiquette lessons. ( That wasn’t rare, but this wasn’t the arena he’d expected to play this part, and he ended up in an awkward limbo. ) “Oh, I don’t mind, this is almost refreshing after... those guys.” Still aware of where he was and who could be listening, he guarded his words just a little. “Sounds like they turned the ladies’ bathroom into a spa; I don’t blame you for spending time in there.”
Relief sunk into him, untying tension as she followed his lead away from the potential confrontation -- with himself more so than her, which was one he’d learnt to avoid ages ago. Her words lingered, like a strange light too dim to identify, and he tried to pocket them away for later ( though more likely never ). Doing his own thing wasn’t an option. Whatever that would be, it was bound to be a mistake, and so the idea was best left alone. He was only more than happy to be swept away by the change of topic. “Yeah, my friends say the same thing--” Harry began, then stopped as puzzlement took over, “You’re a regular with the Avengers?” It wasn’t all that easy to throw him off with connections, but that wasn’t one you heard every day -- and not one he’d expected, not after she said she’d been working here the same night.
“That’s a little contradicting,” the observation came with an easy grin in return, eyes sharp on hers. He’d been through high school, it wasn’t the first time he’d met someone self-depricating who put all their faith in other people. It wasn’t unfamiliar at all. Maybe that was why he decided to keep it light -- neither of them would appreciate delving too deep. “Lewis,” he repeated with a faint trace of curiosity, something vague and shapeless stirring at the back of his mind. Soon enough, though, Darcy gave it form and interest sparked in his eyes. Pepper Potts. Had it been anyone outside his status, they might be surprised to hear the renowned Stark employee in such a domestic situation, but then he knew even the most well-paid were human. Well, at least half of them, he corrected with a bitter amusement kept to himself. “The best of both worlds,” and as the grin grew from polite to genuine, the transformation from CEO to college student was complete. His father had never been charmed by how much Harry enjoyed the middle-class’s casual company, but that was one of the few occasions where he hadn’t been able to stop him, because he honestly couldn’t find any shame in it. The constant surprises and awkward hiccups aside, Darcy was a welcome relief, and definitely proving to be the most interesting person all night. Harry laughed freely now, gentle and friendly, amusement crinkling the previously flawless mask. “I’m not your biggest science geek, but I have a feeling tasering the God of Thunder doesn’t get you all that far. That you tried, though -- you’re sure you’re not an enemy of the Avengers? ... I think I’m starting to see the real connection.”
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do you miss this || peter & harry
A laugh bubbled at the back of his throat, short and surprised – a helpless sound, when Harry caught him off guard. Again, he thought, somewhat dizzy. Because that had been the sum of their conversation thus far; Peter silently scoured through a number of awful scenarios that would bring this to an end, and Harry brought exactly none of them to a reality. No, it wasn’t awful at all. It was…something. Too much, but not in a bad way; at least, not yet. The teasing was nice. Hell, the teasing was great, and so so achingly familiar. As long as it meant Harry could keep smiling, Peter would try to make it last. So he lifted a hand to rest over his heart, eyes wider in feigned hurt.
“Aw, Harry. That stings.” His mouth pulled further into a smile, more relieved than anything. He tried to keep the eagerness from his tone, and failed instantly. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind that so much. “What d’you mean, ‘unfortunate sucker’? My advice can’t be that bad. Its decent, like, seven-ish times out of ten. That’s a safe number by IMDB standards.”
When Harry looked up – looked away, Peter couldn’t bring himself to do the same. He spared a brief thought for anyone or anything he might bump into, but it had all more or less faded into the background. Instead, he let his gaze linger on Harry. He looked…different. Older, maybe? Tired, he thought with a pang of guilt. Peter’s pulse tripped over itself, eyebrows drawing closer when concern fought for purchase on his face. He wanted so badly to ask after him. When was the last time he had slept? Was he even on speaking terms with his pillow? But…that ventured away from the gentle atmosphere they had built a conversation in. No, that wasn’t as safe, so he worried his bottom lip between his teeth instead.
Was that selfish? God, it certainly felt like it. But he wanted to keep things from crumbling for as long as he feasibly could, and a shift in topic felt too much like a one way ticket to the gritty, guilt-ridden conversation they both kept skirting around. Yeah, avoiding it was selfish, but right now, there wasn’t a bone in his body that argued against it. He wanted to be here, with Harry, and feel a little less like the world didn’t want to crush him for a moment. Let them have this, please.
Then Harry spoke again, finally looking back at him, and oh godohgod – he grinned, and Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or cry. He settled for the former, a slow, lopsided grin pulling at his mouth. It was almost impossible not to reach out for his friend, then. They were close enough for a hug, without a doubt, but it still felt like he would have to reach across a chasm to touch him. So he resisted the urge, again, and hated himself just as much as before. Maybe more, but for a beat, the smile on Harry’s face overshadowed the stab of guilt.
“Sure – yeah, yeah of course.” Quick to agree and thrilled with the small victory that didn’t really feel small by any means, Peter nodded. “That test is weeks out, right? We’ve got time. Besides,” He flourished a hand in the general direction of the city. “There’s always time for pizza. That’s a rule, somewhere – I’m eighty percent sure.”
Back to rambling, again, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Peter’s stomach felt like it might be trying to float out of his rib cage. He felt happy – a tentative, nervous sort of flutter that pulled his gut his five different directions. Still, an encroaching sense of dread was still settled right beside it, and Peter didn’t even know how to begin balancing those feelings. It was all raw, ready to twist and curl and tug his composure down in the blink of an eye. Fragile, he thought among the mess of nerves; it was all so fragile. But maybe, they could find a way to keep it from breaking. Years of living in each other’s pockets had taught him that, maybe, if anyone could do that, it would be them.
Harry’s proposition drew him out of his head again, and his eyes lit up. “Hey,” Peter clicked his tongue, biting back another laugh. “Whatever you’re imagining – its not that bad. Probably.” And really, he struggled to remember how bad it actually was. Which, okay, felt admittedly like a red flag. In his defense, schoolwork and Spider-Man left approximately no time for tidying up, but at least he could safely guess that it wasn’t a total disaster. “But, on the off-chance that it could use a little work, I’m gonna casually beg you not to tell May? Even though I’m sure she knows these things, we need to play it safe. I’m not willing to let good ol’ Jameson outlive me. Not a chance.”
A couple of students hurried past them and Peter drifted out of their way, and in turn a little closer to Harry. He told himself it wasn’t on purpose, but when he finally gave in and bumped their shoulders together, gentle and a little playful, that was no accident. It should have felt more pathetic, how aware he was of the small press of limbs, but god, he wasn’t anything but grateful. “Alright, pizza to go, it is. I’m close to campus, so we can swing by the place just down the road.” Was his voice unsteady? He coughed lightly, eyes flickering to the space in front of him, then automatically back to Harry. He couldn’t help it – after a year, he almost needed to keep checking, to make sure that his friend wasn’t some sort of sleep-addled daydream.
“Oh.” Belatedly, he remembered the only current decorative feature of his small apartment, and pushed a somewhat-nervous laugh past his lips. “And – uh, there are pictures? On the walls. Like, everywhere. Just so that you…know. So you’ve, uh, been warned, I guess? This has been a psa?”
“IMDB standards?” He repeated, amusement on his lips as playful exasperation carried his words, “Yeah, remind me not to hire you for any promotional campaigns.” He almost added how it was no wonder Pete only ever covered one subject for the Bugle, but then quickly decided that Spider-Man was the last thing he wanted to talk about. Before Harry could allow himself to think any more on the ‘why’ of that, he brushed it aside and locked it up and threw away the key. There were a billion more important things to think about right now -- and a much more important person.
With everything that had been going on in his own life since they stopped seeing each other regularly, with all the distractions, Harry should by all accounts and reason have neglected to pay attention to Peter. And he had, to some extent, as a defense mechanism when he realised his best friend had stopped meeting his gaze across classrooms and courtyards. Like a withdrawn lifeline in the gulf that surrounded him after the loss of his father -- and even still, the ache in his chest had only grown as he realised he was doing the exact same to Peter, who had had Gwen. As if the thread they’d both held onto since they met turned into a double-edged blade without a hilt. Harry couldn’t explain it any more today than he’d tried to to himself back then.
But when Harry had been looking at him, Peter had seemed dragged and burdened, even haunted on the worst of days. Not constantly, because Pete never did. When a teacher or student approached him, he’d perk up and plaster a smile back on, maybe a bit slowly depending on how far back in his own thoughts he’d been, but it’d always appear. Harry recognised that. He’d done it, too, back when he had the energy for it. Covering up what you were carrying like dirty laundry, even when all it was was being in a bad place. Society didn’t have as much sympathy on rough patches as it liked to advertise, and it seemed they’d both learned that the hard way. Adapted, with a talent for white lies as cleverly developed as their aptitude for brushing off well-meaning words like dust off their clothes. A duet they’d been practicing subconsciously, except Harry only seemed to be aware of Peter’s part when he was subtracted from the pair. Peter had been the stronger player, too, he thought. He had gone through this first at fifteen, and then simply kept it up every day since. It just hadn’t been this frequent or fervent in a long time. Given the situation, that wasn’t unexpected, but it wasn’t promising either.
With all that at their backs that they carried so casually, he supposed he wasn’t really surprised by how smoothly this was going, all things considered. Sure, there were glimpses of something deeper as they rearranged their feet to an old dance where the music had been added onto, but all in all it was going a lot better than what Harry’s imagination had told him to expect. The best part, something he’d discarded every time he’d considered approaching Peter again, was the genuine joy. Pete was shining like a sun, radiating warmth like he’d been holding it in. Harry found it hard to keep his usual schooled expression, feeling an upwards tilt of his lips that reached his eyes more often than not. In the past few minutes, that avalanche between them had melted away, leaving a surface of ice to walk, but at least they knew where they were headed, what waited on the other side. If only for this brief moment between them, but it had, and he’d do all he could to keep it that way.
If it hadn’t been happening right in front of him, he wouldn’t have believed that just him being there could change that pattern. Harry felt like his heart didn’t fit; like it wasn’t big enough to house this... whatever this was -- what this meant. And at the same time, it felt... obvious. There was probably something wrong about that, after how he’d been avoiding him for so long, after how he’d been a terrible friend. But then a part of him that he barely knew existed whispered that it was natural, of course it was, they’d been there for each other longer than they hadn’t. It wasn’t like the effect wasn’t mutual, either, he thought with an absurd amount of wonder.
Pete had been saying something -- shit, Pete had been saying something. His eyes widened a fraction as his mind caught up, slow on the uptake, and scrambled for the words he’d meant to dedicate himself to. Nothing. Harry had no idea what had been said, no clue what was being responded to, which was probably worse. Had he really been zoning out that bad? He opened his mouth, feeling air pull in past his lips as he halted another second before answering -- whatever it had been, when his friend unknowingly came to his rescue, and the held breath was released in a relieved huff, a smile curving it into something reminiscent of a chuckle.
“’Probably?’” His attempt to bite back the doubtful smirk forming was a brave and ultimately futile one. It was probably unkind, finding so much comfort in the way Pete fumbled through life, but then that was what was familiar, that was Peter, and Harry hadn’t been more grateful for anything his whole life. On a deeper level that he didn’t delve into much, the Parkers were a relief, someone and somewhere and something -- because at this point they were a concept and a feeling to Harry -- to take the edge off, to bring him down and let him stand steady on his feet, or sink back when that was what he needed. “Mmm,” he hummed as if he considered the guy’s request, lips almost trembling to contain the heart-felt snicker threatening to surface. “I don’t know, Pete,” he said once he had his voice mostly under control, a spark to his eye as he looked to him, “Depending on the scale, it might just be a civic duty. I have to consider where my loyalties lie, here.”
Barely registering the students brushing by them, his attention unusually focused, Harry felt the air hinge in his chest as Pete briefly leaned into him. Maybe it was from the forever-upheld Osborn composure, or the fact that he suppressed more things than not, but he was fairly certain the scarce touch had no right to feel as revolutionary as it did. Warmth spread from his arm through his whole body, and he could feel a heaviness lift, easing his expression, his chest, shoulders, and he’d be damned if his steps didn’t seem lighter, too. It was ridiculous, but a quick glance to his friend -- his best friend -- told him that if this was pathetic, well, then they both were. And he was fine with that. Harry felt his hand slip out of his pocket before he was entirely conscious of it, but once he was he had no idea what to do with it. His fingers had twitched, wrist arched, and he knew his subconscious had been seeking Peter’s hand before he’d even caught up to the ancient impulse. But while this was a break-through, Harry was fairly sure there were still some steps to climb, and let’s not jump in feet first when inching along was working so well.
Instead he raised his hand up and splayed it across the strap of Pete’s backpack and the span of his shoulder, diplomatically steering away from complete contact, but still. In the process he took a step out as they walked to better face Peter, whose voice had stumbled a little, and fixed him with a reassuring look and a gentle curve to his mouth. “That sounds great, Pete. Here I think I live in luxury and then you’ve got a pizza place for a neighbor,” shaking his head, he let his hand fall, completely at ease. It might be virtue of him being too exhausted to be anxious, though it could just as easily be the fact that this was Peter, being open and hopeful and as receptive as ever. Harry couldn’t have dreamt of a more comfortable situation.
They swung off the front lawn of ESU, falling into step down the pavement leading -- presumably -- towards this place Pete was familiar with. It was weird to think there were parts of his life Harry didn’t know about, especially simple details like where and how he lived, what his day-to-day looked like now, because he used to be an unquestioned part of that. He was pulled from his thoughts as the other spoke up, that uncertain jittery energy from before, and-- oh, Pete. Harry felt his eyes go soft, watching him as he practically ‘confessed’, and maybe let that expression hang on a little before he readjusted into something lighter, hinging a bright smile back on. “That’s supposed to shock me? Buddy, you do keep doing that. I don’t know how to separate ‘Peter Parker’ and ‘a weird amount of photographs’.” And ‘sentimental’ and ‘caught up in the past’ and yeah, he was definitely too tired to deal with the implications before he had to -- but a small shrivelled part of him let himself hope that, well, maybe he’d find himself somewhere on that wall. That was probably egoistical and undeserved and unrealistic, but then Pete had proven him wrong before in where the limit was before he was considered unwanted.
Breathing in deeply, he was no longer surprised by how easy it was to just to do that, and it was honestly refreshing. Just existing, here, with him. Harry exhaled, softly and without a thought, and calm eyes lit up a little as he recognised a promising sign down the road. His fingers moved to his bag, unclasping and unzipping, briefly brandishing his wallet to fish out a 20 that he rolled between two fingers before slipping it into his pocket. He didn’t really think about any of it, replacing the wallet again and closing the bag as he tilted his head in Pete’s direction inquiringly. “So do they have tuna, or am I gonna donate a perfectly good 20 to a pity-pineapple?”
me, logically: it’s never gonna happen the tiny hopeful goblin in my brain: but what if it did
moodboard: flash thompson & harry osborn
“saw it on your face every time flash thompson scored a touchdown.”
“i have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Oh shit… Oh shit shit shit, she thought, had she said that out loud? God-dammit! Why couldn’t her trap live up the name and stay shut? But no, instead she ends up blurting out her less than charitable thoughts on the most politically powerful guy in the city to a group who no doubt all support him because they warranted an invitation. She gulped, that was enough champagne for the evening. Darcy expected something or a snarky reprimand that would have her running away trying not to trip (which was a fifty-fifty chance at best in these shoes) when the guy who’d asked the question was quick to cover for her and try to get them both out of it… Huh, maybe she got lucky after all. Best just to go with it.
Still, she was probably never gonna get the chance to do this again, and the booze had her feeling brave if nothing else. So she smiled at the guy and took arm, “Oh, thanks a bunch, I’d really like that.” Now… C’mon Darce, you’ve been wanting to say this for the past ten minutes! She closed her eyes, took a breath, opened them and faced the guy she now knew as ‘Rob’ “And Rob,” he looked over to her, “You wanna go home with those eyes you better take’em off my chest.” she threw out smugly, all but running away with the guy who’d given her a way out.
She couldn’t help but laugh as she left, that felt amazing! That Selina’s woman’s advice about talking back had been right on the money! Now she was alone with the guy she felt nerves creeping back up again. Still, he seemed pretty nice, “Well uhh, no. I was looking for my friends, I think they’re too busy making goo-goo eyes at each other on the dance floor.” she snorted, “Oscorp, right?” she smiled at him, “I know who you are. I studied your dad’s impact on local politics. Sorry everyone’s on at you about ‘filling the shoes’ and all that crap. I say just be you, can’t be anybody else.” Just like this dress didn’t make her gala material in any way. She shrugged a little, “Oh that was just a run-away mouth and inactive brain. I’m not interesting at all Dude.” she told him, “Seriously, I shouldn’t even be here right now.”
Leaving the group of sharks with a biting remark wasn’t what Harry had aimed for, but hell, if that guy really had been ogling her he didn’t really mind the smudge her attitude might leave on his reputation. Way to be a decent human being, Rob. Could be the other guys wouldn’t be too impressed by Rob, either, he thought with a small smile. He wondered briefly what his father would’ve done in that situation -- between respect and keeping up connections -- but he brushed that question away for now. There was something relieving about this, and he tried to revel in that feeling, because if not that stifling sensation would crawl all the way up his throat. What did they call it -- rebellion? Not exactly his forté, or preference even, but... this wasn’t exactly unwelcome.
“Yeah, people can disappear easily here,” he said lightly, not a trace to bitterness or annoyance to his voice. Harry had been to enough events like these -- and simply parties in general -- to know that you could arrive and leave with completely different people. Not that it happened often at these formal things. He cast a brief glance out on that dance floor, aware that there was no way he’d know what ‘friends’ she was referring to, but with a brief hope he’d see his own. No such luck. Oh well, whoever was his company right now seemed interesting enough.
“Oscorp, right,” and more than that he didn’t get to say. Less because she kept talking and more because of what she said. Harry closed his mouth, licked his lips, and remembered to smile a little belatedly. It wasn’t that he was surprised she knew who he was, and especially not his father, but the word of advise -- that was something he hadn’t heard before. Not in the context of the Osborn legacy, anyway. The idea honestly seemed so absurd, he decided to politely skip responding to it beyond an upward quirk to the corner of his mouth. “You’re studying politics? ... So does this count as a field trip?” The grin came a little easier with the joke, and as she continued onto excusing herself, Harry shook his head in disbelief. “I think you’re plenty interesting. Brains be damned, I’ve never needed it,” he shot a quick look around them as that slipped out, and when he couldn’t see any suspicious reporters around, he grinned back at her again. “Can I at least get a name?”
Surrounded by all these important people looking their best, the fancy looks of this place alone, and the cars out front that were more expensive than everything he’s ever bought combined, it was easy to mistake this mission for pleasure rather than business. However, with just how he felt wearing his dress uniform again— this time with the Medal of Honor he had earned, alongside the various medals that came with his service neatly pinned to his uniform— maybe this mission didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself. Project Rebirth 2.0 had played this smart though, just the amount of sneaky he had come to expect by now. They were wary of Fisk, as they should be. Ever since the man was put in the position of mayor, Flash had been given various orders to keep tabs on him, but so far his missions regarding Fisk had been unfruitful.
Flash was no stranger to undercover missions in the name of Project Rebirth. The symbiote was perfect for making the wheelchair using amputee look like any other able-bodied Joe, and this secret section of the military was not above using it, just not tonight. Agent Venom had a personal life, and happened to know some of the guests, who would certainly notice if the war hero had suddenly grown back his legs. So today, he wasn’t undercover, not exactly. Despite his mission, he was here as the war hero he truly was, corporal Eugene Thompson, veteran with a Medal Of Honor to his name. The mission seemed simple, on paper. Get close enough to Fisk to make good use of the symbiote, and Project Rebirth’s technology. With merely a prick of his finger he could insert a tracking chip right under the mayor’s skin, making it real easy for the government to spy… well, within the government.
With the alien snugly posing as the watch on his wrist, Flash uneasily eyed the crowd. He had never been comfortable in formal situations, let alone around all these rich people seeming to know exactly what they were doing. This hour alone he’d already been offered four drinks, and every time it had been a process of saying no. When he had made the decision to stop drinking for good, about two years ago now, he never though he’d wished there was a bar in this room, just so they wouldn’t have to keep offering him drinks. He had almost risked it. One glass at a special occasion like this wouldn’t matter… right? He didn’t even have to drive, because, well… he couldn’t. The thought alone had made him sick. Guilt had spiked him like nothing else, and his jaws had clenched together tightly in a helpless attempt to numb the anger he felt towards himself. No more alcohol. That was the deal. No excuses. Especially while carrying the most dangerous weapon he’s ever held in his hands, this mind controlling weapon that just happened to be drugged, neutered. He was done with alcohol, for good.
The veteran idly fiddled with the sleeves of his uniform’s coat, letting his eyes scan the crowd once more. The gang had to be out here somewhere, right? MJ had mentioned that Peter and herself would both go as Harry’s platonic plus-ones, and honestly, it was hard to miss any of them. After all, he had years of experience picking out Peter from any crowd, except this time minus the cruel intentions. A deep sigh was pushed from his lungs, irritation slowly building as he had still not found anyone he even remotely recognized. Sure, he was supposed to be here with the V.A. Office, but even they seemed to be another needle in this haystack of people, after he had left them a little while ago. He barely threw a short glance around before pushing his wheelchair forward, with a single, controlled stroke.
He almost didn’t care when he felt the chair roll right over someone’s foot— hell, maybe he meant to do it. One of the advantages of wearing a military dress uniform, and sporting the kind of medals he did, was that people were easily distracted once they saw and noticed. The smug little smirk tugging just softly at his mouth just couldn’t be helped as his eyes darted up at his victim. Okay, it was a little funny.
“Whoops.”
It felt like hours had passed before he managed to slip away from the businessmen and bureaucrats, 90% of which were his father’s age. Just another reminder that he had stepped into way too big shoes. His one comfort was that he’d been meant for this, but that didn’t make the evening much more exciting in their company. There was a reason he kept inviting his friends to these things, after all. Well, that, and they really deserved some pampering.
He’d been looking for a red head swimming in the crowd for a while now, knowing that searching for Peter was hopeless in almost any situation. MJ must’ve found someone and wandered off, though, because she really wasn’t hard to pick out from a crowd. He had no idea how directors even managed to overlook her. He wasn’t bothered, though. She was here more for business’ sake than himself. Harry exhaled, set a foot out to turn around -- and immediately regretted the decision.
The cry died in his throat instantly, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth instead. He was ready to round on some retired politician and apologise for being in the way, but all that came out of his mouth when he turned was a stunned “Wow.” He wasn’t entirely conscious he’d even said it, and when his eyes flicked up from Flash’s decorated military uniform to hear his dumb comment, the brief, stunned admiration ( appreciation? ) was swept under the carpet. “’Whoops’ my--” Harry cut himself short, eyes darting briefly to the people around them. A slightly sardonic smile twisted his lips as he looked back to the hunk in the wheelchair, “Is this your way of getting attention, Thompson? ‘Cause it’s working.”
Then any bitterness seemed to dissipate, smile genuine as he pulled the leather shoe back from harm’s way. “Looks like someone’s shaped up. Is it ‘corporal’ for the rest of the night, then?”
And no, his heart hadn’t skipped a single beat.
Darcy was beginning to understand why people got all excited about actually attending these things instead of waitressing at them. You got to listen to the band, eat all the food and drink as much champagne as you wanted. She was on her third glass with no effects to show for it, thank her college years of drinking for that, and frankly was having a great time! She’d finally found Jane and Thor who’d lit up when he saw her just like Jane had done and demanded a dance with her which made all the girls jealous. Apart from Jane, she knew how things were.
The only downside so far, apart from sleazy folks trying to check out her boobs, was the conversation. Darcy’s usual conversation skills tended to lean towards the obscure and the outright strange, all these people wanted to take about were the mayer and politics. That was way to close to her Masters and sounded like work. So she could only hold down conversation for about fifteen minutes before she felt the need to run for the hills.
And then the guy next to her had to go and bring it up again. Ugh. As it so often did when she wasn’t paying great attention, maybe the three glasses of champagne were having a little impact, her mouth just went ahead without her brains input, “Dude, the Mayor is clearly an ass and frankly the best part about tonight so far has been the food.”
A pretty face, rich dress, intelligent eyes, and then -- that. No one could say he hadn’t taken a gamble, but in his opinion he’d won. It was all he could do not to laugh as a smile spread across his face. “I see,” he retorted diplomatically, aware of the eyes on them. Her voice was enough to cut through any conversation, but it was probably the use of ‘ass’ among arrogantly elegant businessmen that had stopped the chatter. “Excuse me, but it seems the lady is in need of an escort,” he smiled at the others, then dropped the almost ironically formal tone somewhat as he glanced to the plump man opposite them in the circle, “Greet your family from me, Rob. I know yours was always there for mine.” ‘Rob’ suddenly seemed a little warmer in his stuffed suit.
In all honesty, he’d have liked nothing more than to cut them off as blatanly as the stranger had done Fisk’s reputation, but he was trying to rebuild. At the moment, though, the ‘lady’ was a lot more intruiging than corporate sharks. And a lot more comfortable. Turning around, he offered his arm to her with a grin now that his back was turned, “Do you mind?”
Harry steered clear of the dance floor ( for now ) and stopped once they’d gotten out of hearing distance from the others. Retrieving his arm, he dropped his hand to his pocket, tension seeping out of him as he faced her. “Sorry if I’m wrong, but it didn’t seem like you wanted to be there any more than I did.” Relaxed, maybe, but ever the one for formalities, he extended his hand, “Harry Osborn, CEO of--” Remembering what kind of person he was talking to, he paused, smile quirking, “Eh, if you don’t already know, you probably don’t care about it. So, who’s this woman not afraid to step on the rich and powerful? ‘Cause I’d love to get to know her.”
Once Harry had wandered into the hall with MJ and Peter, the first two looking much more at home than the third, it hadn’t taken long before various figures had hovered towards the CEO. Some with more subtlety than others, depending on their own position in the corporate ladder. He’d donned a smile and introduced them to his aspiring artistic friends, but there was unsurprisingly little he could do to keep the attention on those who deserved it. As the conversation slid from pleasantries to business, the two ducked out with apologetic smiles. The night was young; he could shake these people off and rejoin his friends eventually.
The tabloids, and even the serious part of media, hadn’t been easy on Oscorp’s new leadership. Norman had been a genius, contributing to scientific progress perhaps more than any other member of the international corporation, and knew how to lead and inspire. Harry was young and inexperienced, had ‘failed’ to inherit his father’s intellect and was still working on his degree. The media coup claiming he’d dealt with The Joker didn’t help much, either. He knew he was seen as weak, and that’s why the sharks were roaming. He wasn’t a respectable man to them, just a gateway to endless resources.
Well, maybe he could start changing that impression.
The reception desk at Oscorp held a donation box towards a campaign they sponsored, after a deal his dad had made. One little box, and here the bright new mayor was hosting an entire charity event. Harry had been too caught up in his own problems to do much more than keep the corporation running, but charity got his interest more than the science projects. Giving he could do, easy as breathing, and it couldn’t exactly harm his reputation. Then his mind slipped back to the evening’s host and the manager of the donations, and something sour briefly twisted the polite smile.
He wasn’t born yesterday; he’d tried looking into Fisk once he’d recieved the invitation. Tried being the key word. There were no recognisable traces of him in Norman’s files, which could mean anything, given his dad’s... natures. Outside the Osborn systems, there was almost nothing to be found on Wilson Fisk. More suspicious than most things was the complete lack of political activity until his mayoral campaign. How had he even gotten there? Amazing rhetorics? A part of Harry knew the comfort in words, but another part ( which he refused to acknowledge most days ) knew how poisoned they could be. All in all, if he did donate to the rebuilding of the city, which should be a great deal of help in theory, he had no way of knowing where the money ended up in practice.
Great. Frustrated, Harry resurfaced to the conversation, sliding his hands into his pockets and retreating to that superficial businessman’s facade. The circle he was standing in was occupied loudly discussing ( read; advertising ) some possible investment that was obviously a trap, though. Having no plans of going down that road, Harry forced half a smile, then took a step back to turn to -- whoever was beside him. “So, what do you think of our esteemed mayor?” Not entirely new to political minefields, he made sure to keep his tone light, “Some move, this event.”
Getting another person’s point of view might help, after all.
self-para ▸ building to break
The room was cast half in shadow, the light of the sun muted through thin curtains, but still present. Harry sat on his bed, eyes narrowed at the phone in his hand. Slipping in and out of focus as time passed. His thumb hovered for an eternity, for long minutes that filled his temples with a numb thickness threatening to split his skull – and then it moved, in bold, quick strokes, with more determination than he knew how to digest, and… his eyes widened. His stomach twisted. His thumb jerked back as if burned by the cold glass surface.
He’d just deleted the number of his dealer.
Alfie Enoch for Bello Magazine