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TM 397 Laughter

It's the maniacal laughter that he hears in his nightmares. Sure, are glimpses of masks. Laughter and masks, but it's the laughter that sounds like some twisted song. His father hadn't been one for laughing much as Harry was growing up. Norman was all business. There was too much to do to see the humor in life.

The Green Goblin found everything funny. Even his threats were laced with the laughter of insanity. Harry wishes he could chalk the insanity up to the formula his father created. Say it was the drugs that made Norman crack it. He knows better thought.

Insanity runs through the blood.

Harry's laughed the maniacal laughter of his father. Not often, but it's there. Sometimes. Usually when it's all just too much to take. The other laughter, the usual laughter that has been coming out of him since he was a boy, is his mother's. Emily Osborn had a laugh that was musical too. Except it was something beautiful. It's something Harry can still remember about her in his dreams.

His children laugh easily in his reality. Sometimes they sound like him when they crack up. Sometimes they sound like Kara and Natalie. A little reminder that blood is important, sure, but Norman's reach doesn't have to extend beyond everyone else. It's the reality that Harry tries to hang on to.

OOC

Still not completely back, but I had to come off my hiatus this week since I didn't want to lose Harry. Give me a little more time to deal with stuff and I'll be back more. For now, it is mostly prompts only until I can get back into the swing of things. Miss you guys. Hope you're okay.

387 An empty grave.

Why he continues to visit his father's grave is a mystery to him. Norman no longer rests in peace. Peace. Harry isn't sure his father ever truly knew peace. Gone is the little boy who attempted to idealize the life his father had with his mother before she got sick. Eventually you see that your parents were not perfect. They were flawed just like you're flawed. Like one day your children will be flaws as well.

Norman is alive and well, flawed, but powerful. He seems troubled, stressed, and all Harry can think is, God, please let him be taking his meds. Don't let him have power without the meds.

In an ideal world, Norman wouldn't have power. Of course, if you try and stop a man like Norman from attaining the power he craves, you are likely to end up in a grave. One that won't be so empty.

Hands in his pocket, sunglasses on despite it being dark, he stands at this grave and tries to figure out what he wants to say.

I'm in Med school. I'm going to save lives. The meds are working well. The girls and Evan are getting so big. Kara is amazing. So much better than I deserve. I miss you. God, I miss you, Mom.

It hits him then why he comes. Not because of the empty grave in the family plot, but for the one that holds his mother.

"I wish it had been you to come back instead."

There, he's said it. She wouldn't approve, but it was the truth.

The flowers are laid by the ones from Mother's Day, and he walks away with only one glance back. In that glance he spots another shadowy figure watching. Might be Peter, might be Norman, but Harry doesn't linger to find out. He's got to get back to be with the family who makes him realize that while his childhood sucked, his children's does not have to.
Hiatus due to medical stuff.

374 Strength.

The effects of the Goblin formula hits Harry immediately. Breathing in deeply, he expects to choke on it, but all it does is burn his lungs. Like that first time trying smoking in boarding school at thirteen. It makes him a little dizzy. Like that first time smoking pot at fourteen. Then the smoke clears. His lungs stop burning, and his mind is completely clear.

Avenge me.

This is his true legacy. The Osborn money helped to fund it, but it's the Osborn genius and madness that made it a reality. Harry's changed some things. Always so vain, the new mask doesn't mess with his hair or look as tacky as what his father wore. His costume is black like a ninja instead of that metallic green and purple. The weapons are updated. The glider is more sleek.

Like a flying skateboard.

Even when he's out to kill his best friend, he's still Peter Pan. Still clinging to Neverland.

It's immediately evident that everything has changed. The way he moves, the thoughts in his mind, and of course, the strength. He's a fucking powerhouse now, and Spider-Man is going to pay for killing the Green Goblin.

Peter Parker is going to pay for breaking Harry Osborn's heart.
Harry doesn't remember much about his mother. Time has taken away most of the memories, and sometimes he questions the ones he still holds on tight too. Like did she really used to sing to him when he was ill, or was that something he made up in a desperate attempt to cling to something of her. Would his father even had allowed her near Harry when he was ill given her own fragile medical state?

The memory feels real though. Cool palm on his forehead, brushing back careless curls, as she sings some Stevie Nicks song to him. The hot tea with honey and lemon is sweet and tangy, and she swears he'll feel so much better if he drinks it all the way down. There's a smile on her face when he wrinkles his nose at the first taste, but then he does as instructed. It warms him from the inside out, and he believes her touch and voice soothes as easily as the tea does.

Memories are strange that way. A cup of hot tea with honey and lemon on the way to class while you're fighting off the tell tale signs you're getting sick can transport you back in time to something that feels real. Something that feels as comforting as chicken soup and a warm blanket. He's not sick. Harry refuses to be sick when he has classes to attend. He can't be sick when his children are likely to be down with the flu or a cold any day now. Kara doesn't need to have to deal with a sick husband on top of that, but for a moment, he almost feels like he's back in the penthouse and he can hear his mother's voice.

It almost makes him wish he was sick.

Dec. 30th, 2010

Dear Chloe,

I will pay whatever your asking price is for the video I know you took of me listening to Tik Tok at the red light this morning, and of my ticket shortly after.

Love,

Harry


New Years resolution: Turn down the music in the car and let up on the gas when the light turns green.
you are deeppink
#FF1493

Your dominant hues are red and magenta. You love doing your own thing and going on your own adventures, but there are close friends you know you just can't leave behind. You can influence others on days when you're patient, but most times you just want to go out, have fun, and do your own thing.

Your saturation level is high - you get into life and have a strong personality. Everyone you meet will either love you or hate you - either way, your goal is to get them to change the world with you. You are very hard working and don't have much patience for people without your initiative.

Your outlook on life is very bright. You are sunny and optimistic about life and others find it very encouraging, but remember to tone it down if you sense irritation.
the spacefem.com html color quiz

366 Can you cook?

His memory is screwed up thanks to the accident. Not that he knows the truth of what the accident was. No, everyone who does know doesn't want him to remember. They have the old Harry back. Happy Harry who has a smile for everyone and isn't slowly drowning due to the pressures of his father and Peter's betrayals. If he notices that people are acting strange around him, he doesn't let him know. Harry just chalks it all up to the bop on his head. He's free now.

When she says she's coming over, the lovesick puppy returns. Mary Jane does something to him, and he tells himself he won't make a move. This is Peter's girl. The girl that Peter has loved since he was a child. The problem is, Harry's fallen in love with Mary Jane too. Not the little girl who lives next door, no. Harry's fallen for the woman she is becoming.

That is the only excuse for pretending he can flip an omelet when they're in the kitchen together. Maybe it's the music or the way she laughs when he dances with her. The way her hair and skin smell, or just the way she moves so flawlessly. Like some kind of angel. He wants to impress her, but he's the kid who grew up in the penthouse with cooks and nannies and butlers and drivers. The kid with bodyguards and a pilot. The kid who isn't still a kid, but will probably always have at least a toe in Neverland. When half the omelet hits the kitchen floor, she laughs harder, and he smiles sheepishly.

She may be Peter's girl, but his heart is fighting with his memory, cause she feels like his.