#flashharry

[ozzinbloggin]

ASM #31

[thompsborn]

did someone say “sneak peak for a thompsborn one shot that’s in the works”? no? well here u go anyway!!

TW: it isn’t super HEAVY heavy, but this sneak peak does include hints towards aggressive/abusive parenting, as well as a mention of a tight grip on a shoulder that will likely bruise

—

They meet when they’re six years old.

“Mr. Osborn,” Harrison Thompson greets, dressed up in his finest suit with his facial hair clean shaven and his smile wide. He’s got a hand on Eugene’s shoulder, a gesture that looks fatherly but carries the weight of a threat, silently says that Eugene is not to move. “This is quite the event. I can’t thank you enough for inviting us.”

Norman Osborn is all sharp eyes and a round face and a grin that spells trouble. He shakes Harrison’s hand with purpose as he replies, “I’m honored you decided to attend. Please, introduce me to your stunning family.”

With a turn of the lips that only a master at manipulation is capable of, Harrison ducks his head in some kind of nod, squeezes Eugene’s shoulder when he does so. “This is my wife, Rosie,” he says pleasantly, uses his free hand to gesture to his left, where Rosie Thompson politely smiles. “This is our oldest, Eugene,” he goes on, nodding down at his son and subtly curling his fingers into the space between Eugene’s collarbone and the top of his shoulder, an unspoken order for Eugene not to speak. Even at six, Eugene knows better than to wince at the dull pain his father’s actions bring, and instead offers a toothy grin and a wave when Norman nods at him. “And this,” Harrison goes on, now gesturing to the two year old holding Rosie’s hand, “is our youngest, Jesse.”

“Oh, what an angel,” Norman coos to Jesse, who is too shy to do much more than widen her eyes at him before hiding behind her mother’s legs. For a moment, blatant annoyance crosses Norman’s features, but he schools himself quickly, plasters on a smile once more, like nothing happened. Eugene has seen his father do the same thing on many occasions, when they’re in public and he gets mad but has to pretend he isn’t until they get home. The similarity makes Eugene shift in mild discomfort, though he stills when his father squeezes his shoulder again, hard enough that there may be a bruise come sunrise, and he remains still when Norman leans down at the waist to meet his eyes. “Hello, Eugene,” Norman greets, toothy grin looking menacing in a way that is only easy to detect up close. “It’s lovely to meet you. Tell me, how old are you?”

For a moment, Eugene says nothing, because Harrison has made it clear that he wants his son to keep quiet, but when he remains silent for a solid thirty seconds, Harrison squeezes Eugene’s shoulder again, harder this time—it’s definitely going to bruise, and it’s almost impossible to suppress the urge to wince. “Be polite,” Harrison scolds, in a mildly aggravated tone that sounds more like a gentle yet firm reminder to anyone passing by. “Answer his question, Gene.”

“I’m—I’m six years old, sir,” Eugene says.

Norman nods slowly, curiously. “Same age as my son, then,” he comments, almost off handedly, as he stands up tall once more, straightens out his suit jacket and turns his head to the left to call out, “Emily!” Only a moment or two later, a woman approaches them, leading a young boy by the hand as they seem to appear from the crowd of other attendees of the Oscorp holiday event. “This is my wife,” Norman tells the Thompson’s, waving a hand to indicate the woman coming to a stop by his side. He then looks to the boy, who is an inch or two shorter than Eugene, with black hair falling across his forehead and wide, uncertain blue eyes glancing around curiously. “This is my son, Harry,” Norman tells them. “Harry, this is the Thompson family and their son, Eugene. Say hello, Harry.”

Harry Osborn looks much more like his mother than he does his father, gentle and kind and genuine as he shyly waves his free hand and murmurs a quiet little, “Hi.”

“Don’t be so shy, Harry,” Norman says sternly. Harry frowns, ducks his head. Eugene tries to offer him a little smile to make him feel better, but Harry doesn’t see it. “Introduce yourself properly.”

“Hello,” Harry says, voice louder, but tone not as steady. “’m Harry Osborn. S’nice t’meet you.”

There’s that twist to Harrison’s lips, something that’s a lot like a smile but always makes Eugene nervous, like he’s done something wrong but can’t figure out what, as he crouches down and lightly pushes Eugene in the direction of Emily and Harry. “I’m sure you two would make great friends,” the man says, in a way that makes it clear it isn’t a suggestion. He stands up, looks to Rosie with something expectant in his eyes, until Rosie is carefully nudging Jesse forward, until Jesse gets the hint and lets go of her mother’s hand in order to grab her brother’s instead. “If it’s alright with Miss Emily,” Harrison says, with the fake tone of sweetness that he puts on in public places, the façade of a loving father that doesn’t exist, “then maybe you can go hang out with her and Harry, huh? How does that sound, Gene?”

It’s not really a question. Eugene knows that. He looks up at Emily with wide eyes, tightens his hold on Jesse’s hand—always holds on tight, because he accidently let go in a grocery store once and they couldn’t find her for ten minutes, and, oh, his father was mad about that—and softly asks, “Miss Emily? Could, um… could me and Jesse stay with you, please?”

Emily smiles, a real one, a kind one, the same kind that Rosie gives Eugene when his father isn’t home, and she nods her head with a simple, “Of course you can, Eugene. We have some toys set up in the corner, for all of the kids. Why don’t we go over there so you guys can play?”

Eugene turns his head, looks up at his father, knows better than to walk away without permission first. Harrison seems pleased by this, almost looks proud, but not in the way a parent might be proud of their child learning the alphabet or bringing home all A’s. Rather, he looks proud in the way a pet owner would be of a dog that’s learned a new trick, of a scientist or an engineer successfully programming an AI or a bot to follow a command. Eugene mistakes this look as some kind of love, can’t help but wear a giddy sort of smile when Harrison nods at him and says, “Go ahead, Gene. Listen to Miss Emily, alright?”

“Okay!” Eugene chirps, and his excitement is enough to draw Jesse out of her shy shell, just a bit, as she looks up at her older brother with some kind of awe-filled admiration and giggles at him. In his burst of happiness, he forgets to tell his father thank you, something that will surely come back to make him regret it later, but in the moment, he just holds Jesse’s hand and follows after Emily and Harry as she leads the three kids to the corner of the room, where the little play area is set up. There’s not a whole lot there, just a large, colorful carpet and a bin full of various types of toys meant for children of various ages.

Jesse refuses to let go of Eugene’s hand for at least ten minutes, still so shy despite being two years of age, taking much longer to warm up to people than her brother had been at two years old. It isn’t until Eugene finds a talking little elephant toy that Jesse relaxes a bit, taking the toy in both hands and blowing a raspberry at it, then laughing when she squeezes the stomach and it sings a little song. Emily approaches the two of them, carefully sits on the floor besides Jesse with her legs tucked beneath her, smoothing out her dress before asking Jesse questions about the elephant, drawing her attention. Eugene hovers for a second, as protective of his sister as he has been since the day she was born, but deems Emily nice enough to crawl over to where Harry is sitting and placing wooden blocks on top of each other carefully.

“What’re you buildin’?” Eugene asks, looking at the unfinished structure with intrigue.

Harry hesitates for a second, then adds another block and answers, “A castle.”

Excitedly, Eugene leans forward, examines it more closely. “What kinda castle is it?”

“Um.” Harry seems confused by that, nose scrunching up his pudgy little face. “A big one?”

The way he says it makes Eugene giggle lightly, leaning back on his haunches and shaking his head a bit. “No, silly! I mean, um—I was—I was watchin’ this show with my mama, and they were talkin’ ‘bout castles, and all the diff’rent kinds of ‘em. Like, the, um—the m… midveil… mid—midieval! Midieval castles, and how there are, um… four? I think it was four kinds of medieval castles, but I don’t—I don’t really ‘member what the names of ‘em were.”

“Oh.” Harry looks thoughtful for a long moment, picking up another block—a bright red painted cone shape—and looking at it while he seems to consider his thoughts. Then, he places the cone on top of what looks like a wall of black rectangular blocks and nods to himself, decidedly saying, “It’s a Harry Castle.”

“I don’t think that was one’a the ones on the show,” Eugene says, a small frown on his face.

Harry shrugs. “That’s okay. It’s a new kinda castle. It’s my castle.”

Eugene falters at that, only to brighten a moment later. “Does your castle have a dragon in it?”

The face Harry makes at him is comically offended. “Of course it has a dragon! His name is Jeremy and I taught ‘im how to play fetch. Kinda like a puppy, but—but Jeremy’s a dragon. Obviously.”

“That’s so cool,” Eugene breathes, eyes wide with wonder. “Can I help?”

For a long moment, Harry squints at Eugene, likely sizing him up, deciding if he can trust him, before his face breaks out in a blinding grin and he holds a block out happily. “Then it can be a Harry and a Eugene castle,” he says.

Eugene takes the block with a wide smile of his own. “It’s gonna be the best castle ever.”

[traincat]

It seems like you’ve been in your peter/harry feelings lately so do you have any fics to recommend 👀 i also, for better or worse have been recently dragged into the void

Rereading American Son (Amazing Spider-Man #595-599) was a mistake when I was already deep in my Harry Osborn feelings but on the other hand:

Hhhhh American Son.

I don’t really have any Peter/Harry fics to recommend, sorry, anon! I’ve gone looking, but most of the fic seems to be Raimiverse-inspired, which I’m not interested in, or TASM-inspired, which I am but in a different way than 616, or for one of the cartoon continuities, and what I really want is more 616 Spider-Man fic. :( If anyone has some to rec, please help me and anonymous here out -- it’s possible something got tangled up in the search filters I was using to try and weed out other continuities. Send me fic if you have it! 

That being said! I have a very small handful of Peter/Harry adjacent recs:

we can sail away tonight by @bipeteparker, Spidey college fivesome. When Norman goes out of town, Harry accidentally ends up hosting a house party.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had a real friend,” said Harry. Frankly, he wasn’t sure if anyone had loved him at all. But that seemed a bit too dark for an indoor pool in the middle of the night.

“Look at you all, a bunch of friendless bozos,” Peter said. “Good think I have friends out the wazoo.”

“Your only friend is your aunt,” MJ told him as she wound her body around his face to force him to put her down. He didn’t budge.

“And she’s worth about forty regular friends, thank you very much.”

“I guess that settles it,” Gwen said. “We’ll be friends until we die.”

“Or at least until we graduate,” said Harry.

Not a Math but a Science by turnofthesentry, multiple unrequited Harry ships and Harry/Liz. Snapshots of four kisses Harry Osborn wanted and one he got. Stunning use of canon dialogue, deliciously ache-y fic.

Harry wished often Peter was around more, even when he thought he didn't. Once they'd argued when Harry had been on his pills, Harry had told Peter to move out and Peter had agreed -- "If that's how you want it." That wasn't how Harry wanted it, he croaked, "I don't know what I want, Pete. I've never felt this way."

Got to Believe It's Worth It by chesapeake ripoff. This one’s Harry Osborn/Flash Thompson, but I figured I’d rec it anyway. Harry and Flash spend one inebriated evening together before Flash ships out.

"Where'd Parker and the girls go?" Flash slurred, his four beers already showing in his cheeks. Harry leaned on him, giggling and shaking his head. He was four in as well, his whole face gone red.

"It wouldn't be Peter if he didn't make off with all the women at some point in th' night," he said, laughing and leaning more on Flash's shoulder. "Steal everyone's else thunder an' disappear into the night, that's my pal. We might not hear from him for days."

[patrickjohnsontailors]

Shantung silk jacket woven in Como, handmade in Italy. Worn with Japanese seersucker trousers.

[thompsborn]

thompsborn #20 ??? ur writing is so good 🥺

i could literally cry i was hoping someone would send in thompsborn god fucking bless lets go

20. …on a scar.

warning(s): harrison thompson is a piece of shit and this talks about a past drinking problem and vaguely talks about a memory of drunken abusive behavior

(the list) (send me a ship and a number)

—

From where they are, at a small little AirBnB hours outside of the city, they can see the stars. They shine and simmer in the inky black sky, twinkling beautifully and looking down on two boys, sitting at the edge of the lake close to their temporary getaway stay, a blanket beneath them and another blanket draped over their shoulders. For a long, long time, it’s quiet, save for the sounds of nature, the breeze rustling the trees and the leaves shifting against the swaying grass. Harry hums under his breath, uses their intertwined fingers to bring the back of Flash’s hand to his lips. Flash looks away from the stars with fond amusement in his eyes and says, not for the first since they left the city, “You didn’t have to do this.”

“No,” Harry says—also not for the first time, but just as happy to remind Flash of it as he was when he said it in the car. “But I wanted to. It’s your birthday weekend and I like spending my dad’s money on shit he doesn’t like. For instance, spoiling my boyfriend for his birthday because I adore him and I can. Deal with it.”

“Norman Osborn is going to kill me one of these days,” Flash muses, snickering.

Harry rolls his eyes. “He’s dead if he tries. Pete would kick his ass before we even blinked.”

At that, Flash lets out a snort, lulls his head back to squint up at the stars again. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that. Being friends with an overprotective superhero is so tiring.”

“Oh, yeah, I totally believe you. Tell me, what was your username on Instagram again? Before you found out who Spider-Man was?”

Flash winces. “Low blow, asshole.”

Harry beams, clearly enjoying himself. “Just keeping your ego in check, babe. Stop moving so much when I’m trying to cuddle with you.”

“Why do you whine so much?”

“I have a complex,” Harry shrugs. “Daddy never loved me, Mama died when I was oh so young, and now I never shut the hell up, or something like that. I stopped listening to my therapist when she looked grossed out about me having a boyfriend, so there’s no saying for sure. Now stop moving, you’re letting cold air under the blanket and I’m freezing my ass off.”

In an act of maturity, Flash sticks his tongue at out Harry. Clearly just as mature, Harry reaches up with the hand that isn’t holding onto Flash’s and flicks him in the nose. Flash huffs. “Idiot.”

“Less talking, more stargazing.”

Though Flash rolls his eyes, he quietly complies, leaning into Harry’s side and letting out a content sigh as the blanket draped around them shifts to cover them better, staring up at the stars with wide eyes. Harry glances up as well, but quickly finds his eyes drifting back down, taking up the close up side profile of his boyfriend with a little smile on his face, scanning over the curve of his nose and the angle of his jaw and—and a scar, just below his left ear, a faded line that’s only really visible due to Flash’s hair shifting back and uncovering it.

“Where’d this come from?” Harry asks.

Flash’s lips twitch, still looking up. “I thought you said less talking,” he quips, but it’s light and breezy. He looks to Harry, brow quirked.

Harry doesn’t respond to that, brings up his free hand to brush the tip of his finger along the line, almost two inches long, starting just below the ear lobe and angled diagonay to the hinge of Flash’s jaw. “The scar,” Harry says, feels unnerved by it’s placement. “What is it?”

“Wh—?” Flash stops, brings up his own hand to feel for the scar, wincing when his fingers skim across the barely noticable change in texture when he touches it. “Oh. Right. I, uh—I don’t actually remember what happened, exactly. I know I was pretty young, like—like, it was before my parents had Jesse, so they were even more shitty towards me than they are now. My dad had a drinking problem, back before Jess was born, and I know he was drunk, and I made him mad, somehow, and... and glass. I remember glass, but that’s pretty much it. Had to get stitches, though, and when I woke up in the hospital, my dad actually hugged me. I know it was an accident, whatever it was that happened, but I also know that it was his fault, even if he didn’t mean to do it, y’know?”

Harry doesn’t reply for what feels like a long time, just stares at the scar with something twisting in his gut, hot and painful and sad. “I’m sorry,” he eventually says, voice soft. “Jesus, that’s—I’m sorry. You deserve better than that.”

“All of us got a pretty shitty hand,” Flash says, shrugging. “We make do. It’s survivable.”

“You deserve more than survivable, Flash.”

There’s a heavy sort of lilt to Harry’s tone that makes Flash pause and stare up at the stars for another long moment of quiet, before, slowly, almost carefully, he tells Harry, “This is pretty great. This, you... it means, y’know... everything you‘ve done for me, what we are and where we’re at, everything... it means a lot to me.”

Within his chest, Harry’s heart thuds, loud and fluttery and insistent. It beats with purpose, and he struggles to think of what to say, so he opts not to, at least for the moment, instead tracing his fingers down Flash’s jaw gently, until he can lightly grab his chin and tilt their heads closer together, but he doesn’t turn Flash’s, keeps him facing forward in order to press his lips gently to the scar, lingers here for what could be considered too long, and then pulls away, but not very far, keeps his voice soft and gentle and says, for the first time, “I love you.”

Flash doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, not at first, but then he’s turning his head with something magnificent in his eyes and he whines, “You asshole. I wanted to say it first.”

“Too bad,” Harry snickers. “You gonna say it back? Before I start to freak out?”

“I love you, too,” Flash says. “I love you a lot.”

Harry grins. “I want to hear you say it again but if I‘m not kissing you in the next two seconds, I’m going to burst into flames or someth—”

Flash leans in before Harry can finish speaking, but Harry doesn’t really mind.

[kaioumichiruisgone-blog]

flashharry replied to your photo: new perfect wig + new purse (her name is marceline...

I got a wig too!! But it’s not nearly as perfect!

show me!!

[saralancelot]

btwwww have you seen tofebruary? that store is hnnnnggg!! They have K-drama stuff! 8D! I want the bullet necklace from City Hunter!

omg thank you for showing me this store

hello rest of night :'D

[saralancelot]

I APPROVE OF YOUR NEW TUMBLR. (In Caps Lock, which obviously means srs bsns.

AW FUCK YEAH