OPEN♔POST

[tinkertank]

❧Dance ❧With ❧Me?




➷ Pick A Muse
➷ Post a prompt, picture prompt, or set the scene.
➷ Label who you're tagging.
➷ NO REGRETS, JUST LOVE. We can dance until we die, bb.
➷ ...Something like that!

Comments

Still. Spandex :P

[hemogoblin]

[You're the one who decided to end up like your father; a murderer. For some reason, those words pull Harry to the edge, almost make him give into his own rage, almost make him hit Peter first, or let the transformation begin, right here in front of all these houses. But he'd worked too hard and come too far for that; still, he's on the edge of it. If there'd been some other, similar, verbal jabs, it probably would've done the trick. It's being equated with his dad, and the notion, the idea that his father was actually a killer that hits him harder than it should've. Of course, Norman must've been shifty, must've known about Ravencroft, perhaps was even partially responsible for the whole thing with Connors.

The old Harry would've been hurt to find this out about his father, would've been horrified by it--his dad was too busy murdering and experimenting on people to even be bothered with him, his dad was a terrible, awful human being--but not the new Harry. No, no, he doesn't care, he tells himself, doesn't care that Norman was probably involved in illicit dealings. All that matters is protecting Oscorp, so he can surpass his father. And he doesn't care about killing people to do it, either.

And then Peter's fist is coming at his face.

And there it is, finally. What he was waiting for, unhinging Peter, making him embrace all that pent up rage. Harry's head snaps to the side when Peter's fist smashes into his face, the pain worse than he expected. That might've left a mark, if he could still bruise. His lips is bleeding now, though, and he does put a hand up to his face, pulling it away to see the blood, all before he gives Peter another grin, a smile pulled out to hide the surprise that probably lingered too long on his face when Peter dropped the bomb about his dad.]

You think dear old dad was a murderer? You had to go a long way just to pull the "like your father" line there. [A beat, and a smile, as if this is all a joke. Even if he knows it's not, that it's probably true, and that Peter knows about it, Peter can use it against him, and Oscorp.] Then again, maybe he is, but he'd never do it himself. He'd get somebody else to do it. Just like I never had to kill Gwen, when I had you right there, to do it for me.

[He laughs then, and it's still very much Harry Osborn, not the high pitched, utterly unhinged Goblin laugh. He grabs Peter's hand, giving it a yank to try and free himself from the other's grasp. His eyes glint as he looks down the street, sees a group of teenagers heading toward them, but still pretty far off.] Maybe this time, you'll actually manage to be a hero. [At that, he withdraws the small, orange pumpkin bomb from his pocket and twists in Peter's grasp, bringing up a leg to shove his knee into Peter's stomach to distract him as he tossed the bomb toward the people down the street.

He doesn't care if they live or die, if Peter stops the bomb and throws it away, he just needs the distraction, the time to get into the nearest alley and away from prying eyes. Time enough to don his mask, so they'll be even.]

Like green leather is way better? From Interpol to stripper pole in one.

[peterparker]

[He admitted it. He admitted, to Peter's face, the design to kill Gwen. His liability. Peter had learned a long time ago, his Uncle Ben's parting gift to him, that things like revenge, like blame? They didn't fly as a consolation prize. Didn't make you feel better, stronger, or less responsible. There was no catharsis in what Harry had admitted, but there was a small rush of adrenaline at that victory. (And beneath it, a small, crueler voice that had enjoyed the way his face shifted into real, raw fury and hurt at Peter's declaration. That Norman Osborn was a murderer. The man who'd killed his parents.)

Still, he didn't have time to enjoy those two steps forward. Like the saying goes: for every one step ahead, it's ten paces back. Peter might have let go of Harry's lapel, might have let his own rage subside into something more rational, more reasonable, and ultimately kinder. Even if Harry didn't deserve kindness... Gwen did. Aunt May did. Uncle Ben had. And he betrayed all of them if he sank to Harry's level.

Luckily, he didn't have to make the right decision unaided. When Harry withdrew the bomb from his pocket and tossed it, detonator on, everything went slow. Peter's senses rippled, became alert in a way that they did when he focused them all on one point; so attentive, he almost wasn't paying attention. Just reacting.

He did let go of Harry, face falling lax as he turned, arms out, poised. Not the grace of a gangly teenager, not the awkward mien of seconds ago, but something else altogether.

It didn't matter who was watching. He had a job to do.]

Either way, you still manage to be the bad guy!

[That said, he tossed his arm forward, leaning back, arching the web as it flew towards the bomb to grab it. He'd have to whip it back and hope for the best. They were close enough to the pier, and if he got a good enough height on it... fireworks. A prank gone wrong. Call it whatever they'd call it, no one had to die today.

And as Peter did just that, flung it back behind himself and harmlessly in the air, where it exploded, shocking the two girls down the street and giving Peter cause to sport a grin and wave a little- hah hah, neighborhood kid in a hoodie up to no good, nothing to see here, take your lunch money and move along- he came to the chilling realization that that was something Harry didn't care about anymore. Who lived or died, who he killed. It wasn't just atrocity fueled by temper, anymore. This wasn't a Saturday Morning Cartoon, cracker-jack box villain.

This was a cold, seriously sick individual with a lot of money, a lot of power, trust issues, and a bomb in his pocket.

This was a murderer who had no qualms with being a repeat offender.

This was--

...a distraction.

Turning, blinking, Peter's eyes widened and his lips pursed a little when he noticed that Harry was missing from his spot just behind him.

...Okay, so maybe he was a little bit Saturday Cartoon Villain. Like 25%.]

Seriously, man? You pulled a Scooby Doo? Not cool.

[Muttered, turning both ways, trying to catch movement to follow.]