#like i would love to rejoice that harry finally gets to put something so horrifying and scandalous out but at the same time

[finexbright]

He's gotta have tension behind the scenes with his team but how do you think something like this gets approved? Do you think it's too obscure that his team doesn't even notice all the symbolism he's using? Like is he using their own ignorance against them to get things like this approved? Or do you think he has carte blanche to do what he wants with videos/stage/songs?

I'm just so confused how he can put out AIW, LNT, and now this video while being with a team that seems to want him to portray the very thing he despises portraying...

What do you think?

no i don't think it's obscure at all it's very blatantly obvious. like if us, the people who only have second hand knowledge about things bts and can only speculate things, if we can piece together the actual subtext within seconds of watching the mv, then i think you'd have to be on a completely different level of self-centredness to not realise what exactly this mv is about. i think currently harry is at a stage where he has a lot more artistic control in terms of the things he wants to put out - music, videos, shows etc and that definitely at the end of the day he gets the final say in what gets released. however, his team gets a bit of control in what narrative they want to spread. so it's like "hey i am putting this out i don't care this is what i want and this is what will go out and you can spin it however you want but yep. this is it. this is my album. this is my video" and that's where the transactional nature comes in a bit. so they're like "okay you can put this out, but in exchange we need a pap walk. or a pleasing drop" or something. and that's why it's no coincidence that harry was recently papped with miss cockburn and his friends because that sort of establishes that "ooh look they're besties surely he's not shading them" and it's very easy to spin the narrative however you want when you have big money and stuff. all the people involved, no matter how close they seem, are contractually involved and that's why everything is transactional in nature.

#non non #like i would love to rejoice that harry finally gets to put something so horrifying and scandalous out but at the same time #i realise why there have been pap walks in the past and why there'll be more #harry's image

[thompsborn]

sorry for anyone who doesn’t love parksborn but not really because i love parksborn and decided to write them a little thing

—

harry always says his full name.

eight years old, on the playground of a public school in queens because emily osborn wanted her son to have as normal of an upbringing as possible despite their wealth, holding hands under the slide so that no one can see and whispering, like it’s a secret, “you’re my best friend, peter parker.”

ten years old and blinking back tears in an airport because emily is no longer in the picture and norman osborn was never equipped to be a father, hugging each other and gasping for air when it feels like their chests are caving in on weakened lungs and crumbling rib cages and repeating a mantra of, “i’ll never forget you, peter parker,” and “i’ll always come back.”

eighteen years old and wearing a pair of sunglasses to hide the way his eyes are shining with so much emotion that he feels like he’s choking, forcing a cool tone after the shaky question of when did you get back? and responding with, “yesterday,” before putting on a believable grin and adding, “been a while, peter parker. you got taller.” and rejoicing in the sound of peter’s spluttered sort of laugh.

nineteen years old, norman is gone, and spider-man is a thorn in his side but under the mask—

“peter parker,” harry breathes, horrified, even as he pressed peter against the concrete and stares down at those tear filled eyes that are pleading with him, blood trickling from a broken nose, black eye already forming. “you...?”

and peter tries to shake his head but his entire body seems to be trembling with some sort of heavy, suffocating kind of dread. “harry—you don’t—you don’t understand, okay? i—!”

harry presses peter down harder, sucks in a rush of oxygen that burns his lungs, then flees, ignoring the desperate call of his name.

twenty years old and drunk off his ass and trying to run a company and pretend he’s managing it well when he isn’t because there are so many things—so many things, all the time, never a moment of rest—and, in a drunken moment of despair, throwing pebbles at a second story window until a random elderly man opens it and yells at harry to leave and he does, stumbles down the street and around the corner and pulls out his phone and dials that number that he’s sure will never answer his call but he should never assume because—

it rings—rings, and—

“harry?”

and it’s that voice that he hasn’t heard in so long because he’s avoided it ever since finding out who spider-man is and just that one word, his own name, spoken in a quiet question of disbelief and hope and—

god, harry just—he just—

“someone else is in your house,” is what he slurs out. it’s easier than the truth, anyway.

a short pause, a lapse of silence that stretches on just long enough to make harry fear that peter hung up entirely, until there’s a puff of air that’s almost a laugh and peter is telling him, “yeah, well, we moved. a while ago.”

harry sits on the curb, legs extended in front of his and shoulds slouched. “but—that’s your house. that’s always been your house.”

“harry, may and i moved when we were fourteen.”

another lapse of silence, this time heavier on harry’s part, before— “no, i—i would have known that. why wouldn’t i—how do i not know that? i would—peter, i would know that.”

the sad smile is almost audible in peter’s voice when he says, “it was after we stopped sending letters, and when you got back to new york, you were so caught up in everything else that you just didn’t—didn’t realize, i guess.”

“but i—i always realize stuff when it comes to you. i always—i always—always—”

“it’s flattering that you think that,” peter says.

harry doesn’t know what to say to that, so he simply leans back until his upper half is on the sidewalks, legs stretched into the street, staring up at the clouds. “why?”

there’s shuffling on the other end of the line, a distant voice and a muffled reply before footsteps and a shutting door. “why what?”

“why did you move?”

it’s not what harry really wants to ask, but it’s close enough, he supposes. “couldn’t afford the house anymore,” peter replies. “after ben...”

harry wets his lower lip and says, “oh.”

“yeah.” peter clears his throat. “why are you—i mean... you’ve been ignoring my existence for over a year, harry. why are you...?”

peter asks the questions he means to ask. harry blinks away tears while staring at the sky in a random street in queens because he didn’t know life long best friend moved six years ago. something about that makes the honesty bubble out of harry’s chest in the form of a very quiet, very broken, “i miss you, peter parker.”

this third silence is filled with something indescribable that feels almost electric even through the phone, tingling the palm of harry’s hand. then, softly, like he’s almost afriad to admit it— “yeah. yeah, i—i miss you, too.”

twenty two and in their shared apartment that’s halfway between oscorp and stark industries because they both decided they don’t want to live where they work and despite having other friends in the city, there’s just no one else they can imagine rooming with. harry is on the sofa and watching a random movie on netflix with all the lights off and a bowl of popcorn in his lap, a light breeze blowing through the room, when peter suddenly tumbles in through the open window and lands on the floor with a thud.

“oh, shit—!” and harry is on his feet, bowl of popcorn a last thought as he shoves it onto the coffee table and leaps over the back of the sofa to skid on his knees by peter’s heaving form.

“hey—ow—” peter tugs off his mask with a visible wince and offers harry a sheepish kind of grin that’s somehow still endearing with the blood on his teeth and the several rips and tears in his suit. “it’s not—not as bad as it looks.”

harry glares at him, reaching over to grasp him by his upper arms and helping him to his feet. “bathroom,” he says, tone clipped and to the point, leaving no room for argument.

peter shakes his head. “no, i’m—”

“if you try to tell me that you’re fine when i can literally see you bleeding all over our expensive carpet then i will personally kill you with my bare hands. and i know your weak spots.”

“that’s—” peter stops, brows raised high. “okay, that’s kinda—kinda terrifying, actually.”

harry grins, even as he leads a staggering peter down the hall. “good, it’s a threat.”

“you’re not supposed to threaten me,” peter pouts. “you’re my—my, um—my harry—”

a laugh pushes out from the center of harry’s chest, loud and unabashed, though peter looks flushed and embarrassed when harry lowers him to sit on the closer toilet lid. “your harry?” he repeats, incredulously. “that’s what this is?”

“no, i—i mean—”

“you’re an idiot, peter parker,” harry tells him fondly, trails gentle fingertips down the side of his face while peter stares up at him with sparkling eyes. he taps his thumb against peter’s chin and matter of factly says, “but i’m not kissing you until your busted lip is healed.”

twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven—the years kind of blur together when you don’t really bother to keep track of time. their apartment is now a penthouse because peter has a high enough position at stark industries (“that i earned,” peter says, defiant and defensive even though harry has always known that peter always earns what he has. “mr. stark didn’t just give it to me. i started at the bottom and i worked my way up without his help.”) and can afford half of the rent without relying at all on harry’s endless fortune. oscorp is finally partnering with stark industries because of a late movie night somehow turning into an idea dump and then becoming an all nighter of blueprints and planning and creating theories. it’s slow dancing in the kitchen and proofing each other’s work and kissing on the balcony when they decide to watch the sunset.

twenty eight and morgan stark is only a year and a half old and when tony and pepper decide to go on vacation, they trust peter and harry to watch her, and she—she is delicate, precious and fragile and beautiful and breakable and peter is terrified of doing something wrong. he’s held her before, played with her and knows her and grins when she recognizes his face, but he has never taken care of her like this.

“you won’t hurt her,” harry assures him, lightly bouncing morgan on his hip with a kind of natural ease that is almost scary. morgan giggles and grabs harry’s ear to yank on it before reaching her other hand out towards peter, who hovers a few feet away, his heart thudding heavily in hard to explain fear. harry smiles softly. “see? she even wants you.”

peter swallows roughly and takes a shuffled step forward before taking two large steps back. “i can’t,” he murmurs. “i just—i can’t.”

there’s years upon years of trauma packed beneath those words and harry knows it, but he doesn’t point it out, just makes his way forward and watches as morgan happily grabs at peter’s shirt as soon as he’s within her reach, eyes warm and fond and soft. “you’re amazing with her. she loves you, okay. you gotta know that.”

“but i could—accidents happen, and i’m not—”

morgan gurgles and lurches forward in harry’s arms, clearly too impatient to sit there while the adults talk. peter reaches forward just in time to catch her, his eyes reflecting how terrified he is as he swoops her in his arms and hugs her to his chest, curls around her protectively. harry’s heart is beating far too fast from the fear of morgan getting hurt, but he reaches forward and settles his hand on peter’s shoulder and shakes him, just a bit. “you see that?”

peter is breathing heavily against the top of morgan’s head. “oh my god,” he rasps. “mo, you can’t just—oh my god—”

“she’s fine,” harry reassures him, moving closer until they’re a little bit of a huddle, morgan curled up comfily between them. “that’s you, okay? she’s fine because you caught her. even when accidents happen, you’ll keep her safe.”

“but—”

harry tucks a stray curl behind peter’s ear and tells him, “you’re so good, peter parker. when are you gonna catch up with the rest of us and figure that one out?”

peter rests his forehead against harry’s shoulder and lets out a shaky breath, but he doesn’t respond.

(at the end of the night, morgan is snoring on peter’s chest while the heffalump movie plays on the tv. harry is curled into his side and watching the movie and idly comments, “you know, we’d be pretty good at this whole thing.”

peter looks at harry. “what whole thing?”

“the—y’know, kids. having them. taking care of them.”

peter blinks at him, seemingly speechless, at least for just a moment, before he lets out a little laugh. “did you just casually put becoming parents on the table? we’re not even married.”

“yet,” harry says with a shrug. “pretty sure it’s obvious that it’s gonna happen, though.”

“still,” peter says, “that’s a big step. are you—i mean, are you sure? kids? with me?”

harry lifts his head and presses a kiss to peter’s lips and lingers there, lets them both enjoy it for a moment before pulling back with a smile and bumping their noses together. “it’s you,” he murmurs. “why wouldn’t i be sure about you?”)

#my writing #peter parker #harry osborn #peter parker x harry osborn #harry osborn x peter parker #parksborn