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

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.]