#wbbing

harry was a firm believer in ghosts --- what were ghosts if not our guilts, our fears, made tangible? what were ghosts if not our own pain? after his father’s death, he had been haunted, a haunting that only had begun to lessen with spider-man’s fall. ( even now, even here, he was afraid of saying peter parker’s name. ) but he should have known that the past would not stay there, that one ghost would only lead to the creation of another. an exchange. harry osborn should have known that he would see his friend again. 

peter parker. spider-man. peter parker. standing in the fundraiser, wearing the most expensive suit that harry had ever seen him in. alive. alive. there. 

( harry ignores the fact that his breath comes easier in his lungs at the sight of peter. he ignores the fact that he must be in a dream and that he will wake up soon. but for now, let him sleep. let him sleep. ) 

he did not know how long he stood there, watching the man. one song faded into the next faded into the next. something was growing in him --- that familiar anger, that familiar pain, but something else too, something old and something new. you’ll separate your grief from your father’s rage, a voice whispered, and he wanted to slap it away, to tell it that it was wrong. he felt young and old, all at once; he felt terrified and thrilled. 

did he run through the crowd, or did he slip through it, trying not to attract attention? he could not say which he chose. he only knew that he made his way to peter, that he would have followed the man to the ends of the earth in that moment. for good or for ill. 

and there they were. over the past weeks, harry had been careful to master his mask. he was alone now, the most alone he had ever been. ( no friends, no family. only his name. only his shadow. ) if he did not guard himself, he would die, and it was the only thing that kept him sane then, the only thing that protected him. put away the shock, the sadness, the love, the hate. put it all away. 

his hand was the only thing that gave him away as he held it out to peter parker, shaking slightly. 

i killed you, he wanted to say. haunt me. please. 

BREAKING : Spider-Man is presumed to be dead following a major confrontation with the Green Goblin.

arthur preferred it this way. 

no one asked any questions,  or wouldn’t if they’d noticed their aloof lighthouse attendant dragging an unconscious man into his home  ---  both still wearing the murky waters from an unforgiving harbor. that was nearly a week ago,  spider - man  (  he has no name nor idea who the brunet in desperate need of a shave is  )  occupying his guest bed since. old atlantean trick,  wrapping his wounds in seaweed and salve to encourage an already quick healer to heal quicker. the added exertion must have been rough on his body,  he could count spider’s hours of actual consciousness on one hand. 

“  alright,  man. time to get up. if you don’t eat soon you’re going t’have more problems than just’uh ripped suit.  ”  arthur sets down a smorgasbord primarily made of fish  (  surprise there  )  and bread onto trays by the bedside,  it's clamoring loud enough to  (  hopefully  ) wake the dead. 

Continued from here

“  y’sure about that?  ”  her search for their HEAVIER belongings was coming up short,  though they learned a very important fact about each other amidst this project  :  hoarding blankets of all varieties seemed a shared hobby of theirs.  (  have they EVER thrown out a cover before,  for that matter?  )  “  ‘cause i was thinking,  it’s not exactly a long term solution or anything but ---  ”  

an old prototype of his 2013 - roughly - designed web - shooter flashes,  centered awkwardly against her palm.  “  why use all of these chairs and stack old boxes when we could just ... hang them up.  ”  always one to go out of her way when proving a point,  glitter polish nails push against pressure sensor and out slings that familiar gob. only her aim was NEVER off;  and gluing peter’s hand to the two joining blankets he was TRYING to piece together would read as a premeditated act.  “  oh  ---  shit,  hold on baby it’s still  ---  it won’t release.  ”  

Dick nods toward the broken window Spider - Man just came flying through.     ❝     Whoever’s in there, I’m guessing we can’t just smile them into submission, huh     ?     ❞

(     Impromptu team - ups are kind of par for the vigilante course these days.     )

she will always have her own place. she’ll cristina yang the ever loving shit outta someone if they think for a second she’s actually “ given up her apartment ” for them. jess needs a space where she can bring her work life to without compromising home life. one spare bedroom won’t cut it,  even roommate situations can get dicey. cut to  : lindsey continuously kidnapped in san fran because jessica is a messica. 

that being said,  moving in with a partner will only happen after jess is certain they’re not out to play her on a long game. she’s a paranoid lady like that. talks a big game for someone genuinely incapable of letting others get to know her.

Felicia was dressed in her new outfit and, could she just say, her best outfit yet. It was collecting dust for far too long and she missed it. Oh damn did she miss it. Of course, she had to give it a spin. It was like a new car. You just couldn’t not take it out for a ride and see how the engine purrs.

Felicia had already worked her way through security like a shadow, not altering anyone of her presence. She looked at the small vial, encased in a large glass dome on a stand. Probably heavily secured even beyond the glass. She placed her hands on the glass, claws tapping against it playfully as she thought. Hearing a soft thud behind her, Felicia turned to see an all too familiar figure.

“I thought I wasn’t seeing you again, Spider. Miss me already?”