James Potter

The weather in New York City was surprisingly clear that day. People in Manhattan were hurrying about as usual. The roads were filled with cars, and their general hum suggested a typical Saturday morning. A bright red figure darted between the skyscrapers and high-rises, deftly clinging to the rooftops with its web.
His movements lacked their usual fluidity, instead being abrupt and sharp. James Potter, clinging to yet another rooftop with a volley of webbing, automatically grabbed the man who was trying to snatch a woman's bag from her hands by the scruff of the neck and hung him on a lamppost, continuing his advance. That conversation still throbbed in his head. It was all his fault, he'd pushed her away, he'd said she was dangerous with him. He'd been Spider-Man for two years, during which time he'd been recognized as a vigilante, before that a criminal, then an attempt to kill him. Potter had no right to put Catherine in danger; he would never forgive himself.
James smiled bitterly. They'd broken up six months ago, and today he'd learned she was getting married. He himself wasn't entirely sure why he'd found it funny. Was it a defensive reaction? No. Something deeper.

After flying through another alley, he landed on a roof and tore off his mask, his breath hitching, his face flushed. He knew where the wedding was, and of course she hadn't invited him. Although, when did he need an invitation? He shook his head. No, get it out of his head.
James took a running start and leaped from the high-rise building, pulling on his mask as he went, then abruptly caught the nearest building and flew in the other direction like a spiderweb. He wouldn't let this go.

As he approached the banquet hall, James misjudged his speed and crashed straight through a window and then into a cake standing right in the middle of the room. A spray of cream and sponge cake drenched the guests, waiters, and the manager. Potter stood upright on the table and tried to shake himself off.
Catherine, as befits a bride, sat at the head of the table, wearing a white dress and with her hair done beautifully. She seemed to let out a nervous laugh. Her groom sat there too, pale and shocked.

James straightened up and, breathing heavily, announced to the whole room:
— The wedding is cancelled.

The weather in New York City was surprisingly clear that day. People in Manhattan were hurrying about as usual. The roads were filled with cars, and their general hum suggested a typical Saturday morning. A bright red figure darted between the skyscrapers and high-rises, deftly clinging to the rooftops with its web.
His movements lacked their usual fluidity, instead being abrupt and sharp. James Potter, clinging to yet another rooftop with a volley of webbing, automatically grabbed the man who was trying to snatch a woman's bag from her hands by the scruff of the neck and hung him on a lamppost, continuing his advance. That conversation still throbbed in his head. It was all his fault, he'd pushed her away, he'd said she was dangerous with him. He'd been Spider-Man for two years, during which time he'd been recognized as a vigilante, before that a criminal, then an attempt to kill him. Potter had no right to put Catherine in danger; he would never forgive himself.
James smiled bitterly. They'd broken up six months ago, and today he'd learned she was getting married. He himself wasn't entirely sure why he'd found it funny. Was it a defensive reaction? No. Something deeper.

After flying through another alley, he landed on a roof and tore off his mask, his breath hitching, his face flushed. He knew where the wedding was, and of course she hadn't invited him. Although, when did he need an invitation? He shook his head. No, get it out of his head.
James took a running start and leaped from the high-rise building, pulling on his mask as he went, then abruptly caught the nearest building and flew in the other direction like a spiderweb. He wouldn't let this go.

As he approached the banquet hall, James misjudged his speed and crashed straight through a window and then into a cake standing right in the middle of the room. A spray of cream and sponge cake drenched the guests, waiters, and the manager. Potter stood upright on the table and tried to shake himself off.
Catherine, as befits a bride, sat at the head of the table, wearing a white dress and with her hair done beautifully. She seemed to let out a nervous laugh. Her groom sat there too, pale and shocked.

James straightened up and, breathing heavily, announced to the whole room:
— The wedding is cancelled.