#harry threads

[fairisfair-moved]

@athicf

I decided to start a text chain between these two snarkers since it’s shorter than a thread, but you’re also amazzzzing

ᶠ. ʰᵃʳᵈʸ  📱 Felicia, are you in the building? 

ᶠ. ʰᵃʳᵈʸ  📱 Because there’s a cat in my office   

[itswasteland]

@withgreatpower liked for a starter (Peter & Harry)

“Peter!” The single word was slurred, drawn out three syllables too long, as Harry threw an arm over Peter’s shoulder and steered him toward the center of the party. Truth be told, he didn’t really know half the people gathered in his living room, but he did know that having their classmates dancing on his coffee table and throwing up over the balcony was a lot better than being alone. Again. It didn’t hurt, either, when his re-arrival in the thick of things began a chant of Harry, Harry, Harry, that made him throw his arms up and grin. He spared the crowd a wink and a call of, “More shots in the kitchen,” that had the sixteen to eighteen year olds scrambling in that direction, before his attention fell back to Peter and only Peter. 

“I’m glad you came out, Pete.” He pressed his fist to Peter’s heart. His grin was a bit lopsided, eyes glossy, posture far from steady. He’d lost count of the drinks he’d had--a few before he’d decided to throw a last minute Friday-night party, and several after--but he was still coherent enough to know that things were better when Peter was around. Less lonely. Because a hundred teens dancing off the walls and hooking up in the spare bedrooms of his father’s multi-million dollar flat didn’t really cure the Friday-night-blues like he’d hoped. 

“MJ was missing you.” Harry winked then fell back onto the couch. He reached for the corner of Peter’s t-shirt and pulled him down too. “Do you think Spiderman will show up? I heard he went to Flash Thompson’s party last weekend. But...” He reached out for the leftover bottle of vodka on the coffee-table, left on its side and dripping over the stained wood and into the carpet. Harry refilled his glass and sipped. “Gotta be a rumor, right? Though how cool would that be? If he was our age?” Harry leaned in close, conspiratorially, to whisper to Peter, “He could be at this party right now, and we wouldn’t even know it.” He laughed and pulled away, finishing the glass. “Wish I was a superhero.” 

[itswasteland]

@theunsolvedoutcast Sent “🎁” for the Spotify Meme: 

The Lament of Eustace Scrubb by The Oh Hellos

We both know I'm the one to blame 'Cause when I saw my demons; I knew them well and welcomed them

“Don’t follow me! Go away!”

Harry pressed his back against the cold brick of the alley wall. The night flashed before his eyes in pieces, but more than that, it was a feeling: it was rage incarnate, it was darkness, it was a ringing in his ears and the soft drip of blood between his fingers. But those hands weren’t his--long and tar black, clawed, dripping in their own ooze--and his teeth were too heavy for his jaw, and he was choking on his own tongue--no, not his. But the rage. Was that his? The bitter, sinking stone in his gut--did that belong to him, Harry, or the monster that embraced it? 

He didn’t know what he’d done or where he’d been tonight, only that one second he was in his room, listening to his dad’s voicemail--how he wouldn’t be home again tonight, how he should order in for dinner, that he’d be missing his game that Friday too--and then Harry had come to on the streets of Queens, laying in a puddle of rain water on the dark New York road, Spider-Man hovering over him, and MJ beside him.

Harry ran. 

Had he hurt someone? He’d seen the videos on Youtube: a hulking black beast sinking its jaws into a man’s throat. No, no, no. Harry didn’t want to hurt anyone. He now cupped his hands--human hands, hands he recognized--over his eyes and bit his lip until it bled. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. Why didn’t he remember? 

“MJ, please leave,” he pleaded, not daring to look at her. “And I don’t need your help,” he spat at Spider-Man. “Just go! Both of you!” I don’t want to hurt you. 

[itswasteland]

@siapsymud​ continued from here

Peter’s head was absolutely throbbing, he usually wasn’t a heavy drinker or really any kind of drinker at all. He preferred to stay away from alcohol as a whole in case an emergency ever came up, he’d have a clearer mind. But last night he’d been out with MJ and Harry and well- well, one night could never hurt anybody, right? He blinked his eyes open, seeing Harry next to him on the bed and reaching out to poke him. “Har--- Harry are you alive?” Against all the complaints from his body Peter sat up, pushing himself out of bed and rubbing at his eyes.

That’s when he first noticed something was off, when he bumped himself too hard with his hand and it hurt. Eyes squint as he scanned both of his hands closely, finding a ring on one of them. Weird, definitely weird, he didn’t own any rings and he didn’t recall going jewelry shopping at all last night. Trying not to think too much of it he got out of bed, wandering to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and get a glass of water. Maybe he could persuade Harry into ordering some McDonalds to be delivered or something once he woke up, he had absolutely no desire to cook or go anywhere.

Peter sat down at the table, sipping away at a glass of water while he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. He picked up a paper on the table, reading Marriage Liscence at the top. Had May stopped by with papers? But then why would she bring hers along, Ben had been dead for a while and thhe doubted there was much she could need this for. But as he read the document he nearly fell out of his chair, rushing back to his bedroom and right back to his sleeping husband friend. “Harry- Harry wake up! HAROLD!”

Harry was not unaccustomed to drinking. A lot. It had started as a sort of absurd hope that if he did something “wrong” his father would pay attention--underaged drinking had seemed, at the time, like the right “pay attention to me” neon sign. But it hadn’t done any good. Over the years, and through many, many parties, Harry had come to like who he was when he was drunk: more confident, less apt to overthink. Sober, he start to remember how behind he was on all his college courses (he’d never been as smart as Peter, never quite so good at juggling it all) and that he hadn’t had a real relationship in years, that his one night stands were starting to lose their charm. But he had never, in his long career as a heavy partier, drank so much he didn’t remember a second of the night before. 

He knew he’d gone out with Peter and MJ, knew there’d been shots, dancing, and then everything went blank. 

Waking up that morning felt like he’d been fitted with a bowling ball for a head. He groaned, grabbing hold of Peter’s pillow the moment the other slipped from the bed, and folded it over his ears, trying to block out all light and sound. But it wasn’t enough. He didn’t hear Peter moving around the kitchen, didn’t hear the coffee brewing--though he soon smelt it--but he did hear his friend screaming his name. “What, Peter? What? Why are you yelling?” he yelled back. He hadn’t opened his eyes. If he had it his way, he wouldn’t open his eyes--or get out of this bed--ever again. 

[teacabinetmuses]

@rebelliousfamily

Wanda looked around when she heard the bullet. She used her magic to push back at who had taken the shot and came to his side. "What the Hell did you do that for?"

Harry groaned at the impact from the bullet on his duster jacket, crouching after having come between the woman and the bullet. He came to stand at his full height and looked at her. "Well, for one thing, you needed saving and I have a thing about protecting women." He knew it pissed a lot of them off, thought he was a chauvinist pig instead of chivalrous. But he couldn't help it. "And for another, the jacket's spelled. It's bullet proof, so I could take the bullet and we both live another day."

[itswasteland]

@maidenxfthemxuntains​ said “It looks worse than it is. I’m sure it’ll be gone in a couple of days…”

Harry worried at his bottom lip as he finished wrapping her hand in bandages. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but wasn’t that always the story? He couldn’t always predict when his ‘other’ side would surface, or when the monster would be feeling particularly grumpy and lash out. She smelled like food, hissed Venom in the back of his mind, and Harry tried to push him away: this is your fault, he thought. You hurt her. And everyone smells like food to you. 

“Do you happen to have chocolate on you?” he asked. It was the only thing the monster inside him ate beside people, and Harry was adamantly trying to change his diet over completely. Not that that was a lot of fun to explain either: sorry that I turned into a seven foot, oozing black goo monster with razor sharp claws and teeth and attacked you; I have a parasite, and he smelled chocolate. “Maybe I can make it up to you,” he said. “If I haven’t completely freaked you out--I can take you to dinner. Anywhere you like. 

[itswasteland]

@siapsymud​ Sent “📱 for five texts my muse didn't send yours, and one that they did” Peter/Harry

[Pete]: Are you free tonight? I really don’t want to be alone.

[Pete]: I’m worried about my dad and I think [unfinished]

[Pete]: Do you think we can really trust Spiderman?

[Pete]: I need to talk to you. I think I really messed up this time.

[Pete]: I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and [unfinished]

[Pete]: Hey, having a little party at my place at 10. Come by if you’re free!

[itswasteland]

@siapsymud liked for a starter (Peter and Harry)

Harry stopped on the sidewalk, grinning over at a newspaper headline that was taped to a comicbook shop window. “The New Spiderman,” he read aloud. The picture featured a black-clad vigilante and a headline proclaiming him a hero. Even J. Jameson, who notoriously hated the original Spider-Man, had given the new guy a glowing review. Unable to hold it in any longer, Harry grabbed hold of Peter’s arm and steered him not toward the cafe where they were supposed to be grabbing lunch, but to the nearest alleyway, hidden out of view of passersby--or as hidden as anyone could get in Queens. “I gotta show you something, Pete.”

“You remember that party I had a couple weeks ago? Where the big black alien thing showed up and scared everyone away?” Venom, he thought he remembered Spider-Man calling him, but Peter hadn’t been there to hear it; he always seemed to miss out when things got exciting, always darting off to the bathroom or having to hurry home to Aunt May whenever Spider-Man showed up. Harry loved Peter more than anything or anyone, but the kid sure did have terrible timing. 

“So I might have kept a bit of it after Spider-Man was through with him. Don’t get scared, okay?” He opened the cover of his wrist-watch and out crawled a bit of the same black goo. It clung to Harry’s wrist, spreading out over his arm, stretching and growing until it covered Harry’s chest, waist, legs, arms--everything but his face, which was grinning from ear to ear. He had no idea the real power of the thing, no idea that Peter might know a hell of a lot more about it than he did; all he knew was that he liked the feeling he got when Venom was with him, like there was nothing he couldn’t do, like he finally wasn’t the disappointment his father always made him out to be. 

“It’s me, Pete. I’m the New Spider-Man.”