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destroyandrebuildrp-blog · 10 years ago

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Welcome to Destroy and Rebuild, NAT! Due to your perfect writing skills, brilliance when it comes to portraying characters and the fact that we pretty much come as an admining pair, you have been accepted to play Tony Stark. Please send in your blog (no side blogs, please) to the main within 24 hours and check out this page for more information!

ooc

name/nickname: Nat

age: old enough to know better 26

time zone: GMT -6

previous rp experience?: u know me / also i wrote half this blog muah

perceived activity level: replies every week or so at the very least

anything else?: ~

name of character applying for: Anthony Edward ‘Tony’ Stark

why did you choose this character?: After coming up with the concept for this game, the first bio I actually wrote was for Jarvis, and I’d been sort of toying with the idea of Tony’s story after his (obviously, because they’re pretty intricately linked). I’ve never played Tony before, but I’ve always loved his character because he’s not good. Even has a hero he’s just not. But I’ve always leant towards slightly darker characters; characters with a poor moral compass or sense of humanity, in a way, and I think that’s what drew me to Tony in this universe. He’s darker here, more wounded, especially now that Pepper’s gone, and he has no one to blame but himself. I’m excited to explore and develop that side of his character.

fc changes: No way~

what was their childhood like? pick a memory. describe it:

He remembers the space station in fleeting, glinting glimpses. A swath of white here, a flash of steel there. Modular design and barren, minimal architecture are the backdrops to the first several years of his life. Squares of fabric mass produced and handed out like rations, the gleam of the freshly polished porthole in their first class cabin. It's like a pattern ingrained in his memory; all cool colors and touch-me-not vibes. The memories are flashes of his past, elusive like minnows in a stream, darting beneath rocks and flashing their silver bellies at the sun- he’s only seen this on television. A memory of a memory, he supposes. They’re quick and can come back at a moment’s notice, often brought on by specific smells. Other sensations, too, but not quite so many as the smell of something he thinks he’s known before. He can’t explain it. Touch, too, but even rarer still. Once, Pepper brushed away the hair from his temple and he was reminded immediately of his mother. It spoiled the intimate moment and he’d wanted to act upset, but truly he wasn’t. He cherished these memories of his sweet mother, hidden like treasures amongst the folds of his brain.

The gentle press of her fingertips to the base of his skull, threading in through his hair thick and dark, the little boy with his nose pressed to the glass of their window- one of only ten or so allowed in residential cabins. But the Starks were big-name, Howard was working on saving the planet, after all, the Government could afford to pull out all the stops for them.

“Can you see it?” she asks. He’s sure the hum of her voice must have been clearer, then, but now it’s merely a murky murmur in the back of his mind. Tony wonders if he’s changed the sound of it over the years, somehow distorted it with his own perception or if it’s been altered by the amount of time it’s had to transverse to get to him here, now, at age forty-six.

He doesn’t remember what he says, or if he said anything at all. Perhaps he nodded, and that’s why he doesn’t recall. It’s strange, he thinks, how memories are sometimes so clear and sometimes so frayed. Damaged like discs or torn pages from a book, the decaying edge of an old blanket you've been told once meant something. Tony realizes he can only ever remember what his mother said to him. Their conversations are doomed to be recalled as one-sided. He’s lying in bed, face pressed against the sheets that are rumpled and wadded up near his chin. Pepper’s beside him but she’s closed her eyes. The morning light streams in broad swaths through the windows, illuminating bits and pieces of her form as it seems to see fit.

“Can you see it? Just there--”

He can. It’s small, like a-- he doesn’t know what it’s like. Were he a different child, living a different life, he might compare it to a marble (those are long gone, glass is outlawed here in space) or a gumball (candy is rare and not like the kind you’d think- it’s less pretty and more about varying levels of sweetness than presentation). Tony remembers lifting his hand, placing the pad of his index finger square on the orb hung offset, surrounded by all that black. The darkness truly was enveloping, suffocating or freeing, depending how you looked at it. Children of the space station grew up without the common fear of the dark-- how could they? They’d been born into it.

“Your father’s down there.” It was always ‘father’, never ‘dad’ or ‘daddy’. Maria had been rich before she’d married Howard, and been raised by governesses. She clung to her heritage like it was the only thing she had left, and it very nearly was.

He must’ve looked up, then, turned his tiny child’s face to his mother with a question in his eyes. She was beautiful, he remembered this much. Dark, Mediterranean coloring that seemed to clash with the coldness of the station. Her skin had this glowing undertone of gold that made her look like a flickering flame amongst all of the cool-toned whites and grays. Her eyes were a deep-hued brown, framed by thick lashes and brows. Back on Earth she’d worn lipstick- this he couldn’t remember, but she spoke of it often, mainly before she and his father had some function to attend. She would bemoan the lack of makeup and mourn her lipstick tubes she’d left behind during their chaotic exit from the townhome in the city. Her lips as he’d known them, though, had always been bare. His mother was beautiful, he’d always believed this. Even in her sadness, her grief after Howard had passed.

“That’s the Earth. It’s your home. Well, it will be, after your father’s done making it safe for us to return.” A pause while she settles behind him, occupying the small window seat that’s been built into their suite as a sort of reading nook. Her fingers are combing through his hair, her cheek coming to rest near his ear as they gaze down at the floating orb together. That’s all it is to him, now. He can’t fully grasp the world she’s described, but oh how she tries to make him understand.

“You’ll love it, darling. There’s grass--” She always stumbles over this part, explaining things that seem so common and widely known to a little being who’s never known the tickle of a lawn beneath the soles of his feet or the wind on his face. “It’s like, green plants that grow out of the grou-- floor. You know plants? Like the ones they’ve got in the greenhouse.” She was missing the mark and she knew it, but all would be revealed soon enough. She had faith in her husband, and his biweekly reports sounded promising.

Bright white, like the gleam of a lens flare on metal when the station hurtled around the Earth and caught sight of the sun. Tony blinks again and he's in his room, the vision a mere ghost of his past, a place he hardly believes is real anymore. Gone is his mother's voice, the musical tilt of it, and in it's place is the mechanical hum of the air circulation system. Jarvis will be paging his room any moment now, he thinks, but for the moment he continues to lay beside Pepper and bathe in the morning sunlight. Looking at the decor and the sheer functionality of it, he thinks about how it's ironic, perhaps, that they spent so much time aboard a space station dreaming of the organic fundamentality of the planet they'd left behind only to return and keep up with the same harsh and minimalistic architecture. He didn't much care-- it was an observation, that's all. In fact, he found the aesthetic sleek and refined. It spoke of wealth and of rebirth. Because that's what the point of this was, right?

The rebirth of humanity. His father had died before he'd seen it fully played out, leaving him in charge of fulfilling the Stark family role of protectors, saviors even.

Pepper stirs beside him just as the gentle toll of the alarm begins over the sound system in their room. It starts off quiet, designed to rouse you from your sleep with an air of politeness, before gradually growing louder while the window coverings were opened more and more. Tony groans, rolling over and slinging an arm over the redhead's torso, silently willing time to slow down. 'Five more minutes' he used to beg from Mr. Jarvis. It'd been cute when he was ten. Not so much, now. Cue the manservant over the intercom.

"Mr. Stark? May I begin with the day's itinerary?---"

what are their feelings on the government?:

"Tony, are you listening?"

How many times in his life has he been asked that question? What, people couldn't gaze off in another direction while a conversation was happening? It was insulting, really, implying that as a person with genius-level intelligence he couldn't manage the simplest level of multitasking.

The billionaire tears his eyes away from the top of the skyline. Several stories up in a room full of windows and they expected him to keep his gaze on the table (which is actually a large, horizontal screen) in front of him? As if automatically-populating meeting minutes were the most interesting thing--

"Frankly, I'm offended that you think I'm not, Mr. Secretary." His words are brisk, that same clipped cadence he uses in all professional settings. It's thinly veiled mixture of omniscience garnered from his rating on the Stanford-Binet scale and the byproduct of being an only son and heir of Howard Stark- he's never been told no in his life. Just in case, though, Stark's eyes flicker down toward the table-screen, skimming the bullet points for the last few moments. He presses his lips together. A meeting with the secretary of the Federation's budgeting department is hardly the most interesting thing he has planned today. Tony makes a mental note to have Jarvis clear his schedule for the afternoon. His new automobile prototype should be finished today- the fastest and best-looking of it's kind. Maybe he and Pepper could take it out and get away for a long weekend, far from the hum and whir of the city (well, farther, as you couldn't truly escape the urban sprawl) and--

"Mr. Stark?"

"I'm listening."

"You're really not."

"Fine. I wasn't. But just that time." Tony turns to fully face him now, leaning far over his elbows on the table. Between them are two mugs of coffee long gone stale, a formality that neither had felt the energy to refuse. "I know what you're saying. The Federation wants a privatized defense system but doesn't want to foot the bill. Stark Industries has manpower and artillery to spare, and- wouldn't you know it- the Secretary of Defense owns the place. Isn't that convenient?"

The man across the table is quiet. He's a stifling presence in his suit and tie. Tony has elected to wear dress slacks and a shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows to hopefully convey how much he actually cares about this meeting. The glorified accountant tilts his chin upward as if to agree with the statement.

"You know what else I think is convenient? Not having the Federation's name all over every piece of ammunition or whatever sort of peaceful defense mechanisms you want to sponsor. Because when something goes wrong, and I'm sure that it will, how quickly do you think big dog Fury is going to turn around and point the finger at me?"

Tony was standing, one hand on the table with his fingers arched. "No. Well, not no entirely." He taps his fingertips on the screen as if thinking very carefully about his next words. "You can buy Stark Industries' security, but if I so much as catch a whiff of our services not going on the itemized budget-- consider our deal null and void."

----

The Federation is, at worst, a necessary evil. Tony is intelligent enough to recognize hints of corruption when he sees it, but that doesn't mean that he disagrees with the purpose or thinks that it isn't, in some way, justified. The less he knows, the better (isn't that the case for everyone?), but as the Secretary of Defense, he already feels that he knows too much for his own good. The government claims that without them they wouldn't be here. Tony knows better. Without Stark Industries, no one would be here at all, but he's content to let them slather that claim all over their propaganda if that means he'll have free reign in his laboratories to do with what he'd like. He refuses to outright lend his services to the Government without some sort of paper trail, lest he all but cast himself in the lead role for the Federation's next propo film when something goes horribly awry.

what are their feelings on the rebellion?:

Tony still remembers waking with that monotonous beeping pervading his consciousness. They’d engineered the sound to be on the cheerful side, a bright ‘ping!’ with each thud of his heart because this was a good thing, anyone could tell you that. But to him it grated across his subconscious mind and dragged him from his medically-induced coma. It was a bleeping beacon that jabbed at the ache in his skull and reminded him, incessantly, that he was alive.

He was alive, she was dead.

He’s been floating in and out of consciousness, but from what he can gather, it was a mine, strategically placed by those who opposed the Federation and Stark Industries. Those who claimed that Stark’s way of defending the populace was nothing more than privatization of the military, oppression, total control. They’d dealt with him as they’d seen fit. Fight fire with fire, after all. Isn’t that what they say? He watches, motionless, the news that covers the story. ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION ON SECRETARY OF DEFENSE, TONY STARK -- TERRORISM ABOUND IN OUR CITY’S SLUMS -- SAFETY A CONCERN IN THE OUTER ZONES, ROADS CLOSED IN AFTERMATH OF BOMBING. The headlines continued to roll by. If Jarvis were here he’d make a blithe comment about branching out into different genres, he was sure of it. But as far as he knew, Edwin had died in the explosion as well. He didn’t know that as he lay there a team of doctors were frantically attempting to rebuild the butler’s broken form. He’d been the only candidate, as Pepper was lost to the flames.

His newfound attitude and state of being (or stasis, depending how you view it) can be entirely blamed on the Rebellion and their unwarranted strike against his safety. Had they meant for irony? If the Secretary of Defense couldn’t protect his own, who could he protect? The thought made his blood curdle, and a certain darkness began to take hold, twisting like vines in his chest and interlacing between his ribs. They would pay for this.

As far as Tony’s concerned, the Rebellion needs to be stamped out. Right now they’re like the butt of a cigarette discarded in a dried-out field, dangerous and deadly but still, at this present moment, stoppable. Nick Fury was a bad seed- awful what’d happened, sure, but deep down he was happy to see the man go. Stark hoped the rest of the Rebellion would die with him, fizzle out quietly and slip away easily into the darkness.

If they didn’t, well. That’s their prerogative. He has plans to make it burn, a fiery and painful downfall to best avenge Pepper’s murder. Part of him looks forward to it, and he hopes for it. Will the Rebellion come out and play? Or will they continue to hide like the rats that they are?

describe your character’s aesthetic:

Sleek modern minimalism. Stark whites and gleaming metal accents. Bright, bright interiors. Large windows that let in a lot of light. Suits that are light grays and beiges, slim dark ties, shoes you can see your reflection in. Cleanliness, health, everything that can convey a certain attitude of wealth. Expensive accessories, prototype tech products of his own design. He doesn’t bother with cars because no one in their right mind drives themselves in this city unless they have a death wish. Tony enjoys his planes. He has several, a small fleet of shining, spotless birds. From military prototypes to pilotless drones to single engine vintage replica Cessnas. While it may seem as though he puts on an air of abundance, there is nothing about him that screams excessive. With the minimalistic wear and decor, he’s pleased that it translates his wealth without seeming particularly overbearing, and that’s the point, of course.

free-form section: (may be used for writing samples, headcanons, ramblings, mixes, graphics and anything you have created which relates to your chosen character)

[ x ] playlist

I've created a spotify playlist because I wanted to objectively think about the music we associate with Tony Stark/Iron Man and how that builds another layer of his character in the MCU verse. Also because I wanted to get away from the Metallica/Black Sabbath vibe because I hate those bands (not saying the sound doesn't work in the MCU- it's great, but that's not what this world is). I wanted to explore an angrier Tony and when building this mix (which is more about FEEL rather than LYRICS) I went for a gritty, noisy sound not unlike the classic rock of the Tony we know and love, but with a more futuristic feel. Like what that music may have become on a different planet, re: Health, Liars, the Glitch Mob, and Joywave.

#dnr: admin #dnr: accepted

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destroyandrebuildrp-blog · 10 years ago

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Welcome to Destroy and Rebuild, EVAN! We were super happy when you sent in your application for Edwin Jarvis, especially as his childhood memory was so utterly perfect. I’m intrigued to see him wanting to find out a little more about the Rebellion whilst remaining loyal to Tony. We’re happy for you to change his FC to Victor Ross. Please send in your blog (no side blogs, please) to the main within 24 hours and check out this page for more information!

ooc

name/nickname: I’m wondering if it’s okay if I try going by my new name/pronouns in this group? Which would be Evan and he/him/his.

age: 27

time zone: GMT

previous rp experience?: I’ve modded a couple of RPs that ran for over a year and played characters in each. I’ve been roleplaying on and off basically all my life. Here are some links to paras etc. (x) (x) (x)

perceived activity level: I tend to do most of my writing at the weekend or on Wednesdays because I work long hours on the other days of the week, but I hope to be around and reading things every day.

anything else?: (queries, concerns, extra info) n/a

name of character applying for: Edwin Jarvis

why did you choose this character?: I love him. I’m a fan of the Agent Carter Jarvis and I’ve roleplayed him independently, but I love this fresh take on him. I love that his character has such duality. I see him as a character of two worlds. On the one hand he’s smart and prim and proper and likes structure and for things to be in their right place and on the other hand, there’s this confused individual who used to be an underground boxer and who I could quite easily see joining a rebellion if he perceived it to be the right thing to do. There’s also the fact that he’s pretty much been reborn and he would be pretty damn confused about that. As nice as it is being “young”, his body isn’t his and there’s a certain amount of discomfort and dysphoria that comes with that. I’m interested to play how his human side goes along with his technicological side.

fc changes: Jordan Matheson (preferred choice), Victor Ross (second choice), Vincent Lacrocq (third choice), Andrew Cooper (fourth choice).

what was their childhood like? pick a memory. describe it:

“Go on, Ed, let ‘em have it!"

He heard his father’s voice calling to him from outside the ring, only barely did the thick Irish accent make it through the roar of the crowd, the drunken shouts and the clanging of beer bottles. Jarvis was close enough to the ropes to pick up on it, and he managed something that resembled a frown amidst the loud ringing in his head. He was on the ropes, both literally and figuratively, but Edwin Jarvis, even at thirteen years old, could pick up on the labored breaths and the thick coat of sweat that covered his opponent’s body. His movements were getting sluggish. He was tiring.

His father felt it too, and he was yelling further encouragement in his son’s direction. Jarvis drowned it out. He could hear nothing but the slow, panting breaths of his opponent, a burly young lad who was more muscle than brains. Big guys hit hard. But they moved slow. The blow the boy had landed was one of the first decent ones he’d got in all match, and he wanted to ride that wave to victory, but his body wasn’t going to let him. And neither was Edwin.

The way he moved was like lightning. It had struck before you knew it was there. One, two, three, all blows in quick succession. Two to the abdomen, and one to the jaw. Jarvis followed it up with a forth, and it was like the world moved in slow motion. He swung as hard as he could, sending this Jack The Lad to the mat with a hard thwack.

Someone had turned the volume up in the makeshift arena again, because where it had been dulled, he finally heard the shouting. A hundred or so voices were all hollering, some good things, some bad. Jarvis let their opinion fall off him like the beads of sweat that fell from his own forehead, allowing his arm to be raised before he followed his dad out of the ring.

"Atta boy, Eddie,” his father said as he ruffled his hair with his knuckles. And although it wasn’t an entirely rare thing for him, although violence wasn’t something he typically pursued, Jarvis had to admit… Victory felt kind of nice.

what are their feelings on the government?: Jarvis is loyal to people and ideals, not to organizations. He would support Tony through almost anything. Tony is the closest thing he has to a son. But he can’t help but feel as though something is wrong. He’s a smart guy. He’s heard the rumors. Illegal experiments made legal, torture labelled as 'research’, kidnapping. It’s all about the pursuit of power. And yet Jarvis knows that a world can’t exist without some real form of order. Authority is a good thing, when it is used responsibly. He wants to believe in his government but right now, he isn’t sure he does. He wants to believe in Tony, and likewise, right now he isn’t sure he does. But he does believe in who Tony is as a person, even if he doesn’t support all his practices. Jarvis wants to know more. He wants to be able to make informed decisions and that means keeping his ear to the ground, playing along if necessary. One thing he does know is that he can’t afford to be seen as an enemy. He still isn’t sure quite how the technology that was used to give him life works. He knows it was experimental and he doesn’t know any other survivors. Is he the only one? That’s another thing he fears. Given how curious this government is, how long before Jarvis turns guinea pig, too? After all, prolonging their own lives isn’t exactly something an ambitious government official will pass up easily. If he a kind of 'mutant’ too now?

what are their feelings on the rebellion?: Curiosity is strong in Jarvis when he thinks about the rebels. He’s been around a long time. He’s a student of history. He has seen war and he has seen more than his share of violence and thanks to his father’s upbringing, he knows when to fight and when to throw in the towel. Sometimes, Jarvis sees things that he feels are worth fighting. His moral compass is constantly questioning things, but he sees the violence in the acts of the rebels too, and he isn’t sure how much of that he can get behind. He wants to get to know the real people involved. He wants to know who they are and what they fight for. He wants the whole story, but given who he is, he knows it’s not easy to come by. They probably won’t trust him, and who can blame them? He is Tony Stark’s right hand man, after all. But that doesn’t mean he’ll stop looking. He doesn’t feel like he quite fits in and wonders if he’ll be able to find a sort of kinship with some of them.

describe your character’s aesthetic:

Headcanons: Jarvis is biromantic and sex-neutral asexual. He can take or leave sex. He’s more likely to be interested in it with someone he loves deeply and it’s not really for the sake of the sexual gratification but because of the intimacy involved and because he cares about his partner’s pleasure. Outside of relationships, sex isn’t a priority to him and he can take or leave it. More likely leave it.

Jarvis prefers to go by his last name. Only those he’s extremely intimate with get to call him Edwin, or sometimes Ed or Eddie. Most of the time, the name sounds weird to him.

He usually dresses pretty nicely but I headcanon that given how far in the future we are, there’s less focus on what typical business dress looks like and tattoos, piercings, outlandish hair colors etc are more commonplace. Jarvis has a couple of tattoos and his ears are pierced but those are the only real forms of outlandish expression he has. They’re pretty subtle. He likes to keep his clothing and appearance simple and clean.

Tony might be the last person alive that Jarvis truly loves, but he questions Ton’s judgement sometimes. In spite of Tony’s habit of being occasionally tunnel visioned and reckless, he knows Tony is a good man; and not just because he’s a great one. He’d do anything to foster that and help bring it out.

He struggles with showing affection and is very reserved in doing so. Thanks to that, he and Tony don’t tend to communicate their feelings for one another very well. It mostly comes out in their actions.

He hasn’t told anyone, but he’s started sneaking out again at night, testing himself and his new body, looking for an underground boxing ring to join so he can see if it makes him feel alive again.

Jarvis was a little bit in love with Howard Stark, but it’s against his moral code to pursue a married man, and part of him always worried Howard was too good for him and saw him as an inferior in some way, although logically, he knows this is not true.

#dnr: admin #dnr: accepted

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destroyandrebuildrp-blog · 10 years ago

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Welcome to Destroy and Rebuild, KELS! We adored your application and think that your grasp on Gwen is exactly the sort of thing we were looking for when we wrote this character. We can’t wait to see where you take her and what you choose to explore-- will she continue working for the Government, or will something sway her toward the Rebellion? Please send in your blog (no side blogs, please) to the main within 24 hours and check out this page for more information!

ooc

name/nickname: Kels

age: 23

time zone: PST

previous rp experience?: 10 years on different platforms, such as Myspace, AIM, Livejournal, Insanejournal, Proboards, and Invisionfree. This is my third tumblr roleplay so I’m fairly new to it, but I’m excited for the challenge!

perceived activity level: I work full time and have to wake up early so I’ll be way more active during the weekends. I may be able to hop on during the weeknights for a reply here and there.

anything else?: I typed out my application answers on a word doc so I’m sorry about the text being huge! -- no worries, we fixed it darling! xo

name of character applying for: Gwen Stacy

why did you choose this character?:

As you know, I was torn on a few, but out of the three, I’m much more invested in Gwen. I’ve always loved her and found something so tragic about her, obviously because of her death but in other moments too. Deciding to make her a POC was what really sold me though. I’m excited to get out of my comfort zone and play a character way smarter than me, explore the grief in her life with Peter and her mother, and hopefully get to expand on her growing bond with Kamala (who I also love).

fc changes: Nope! Love who you chose.

what was their childhood like? pick a memory. describe it:

Grief was a tornado.

Though there was warning—in this case, death—its presence still felt sudden. As it floated about, everything in its path felt sucked away. Within seconds, lives were changed dramatically. Some were fortunate enough to survive and rebuild, while others were trapped inside with no knowledge of then they would be realized back onto the ground.

For three year old Gwendolyne Stacy, the tornado of grief had become her only form of solitude. She had learned, far too young, that grief caused words to lose all meaning. No matter how much force her father used when sternly telling her to go to sleep, as he tucked her in each night, she knew he never slept. Every night, she could see the light outside her closed door left on. She could hear him bustling around, trying to keep busy. George Stacy was a good father, always patient and kind, but he was human. A human who had lost the love of his life through terrible circumstances. There was only so long that this grief could go undetected.

One rainy night, the sound of thunder awoke Gwen. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and glanced around her room. She had been put in bed three hours ago, but the light was still on. It had become a game over time, for her to force herself to stay awake and see exactly what time the lights went on. She could never win and never thought much about it, until tonight. Quietly, the toddler wiggled out from under her blanket and walked across the room. She stood on the tiptoes of her footsie pajamas, her fingers barely reaching the knob on her bedroom door, as she turned it and pulled it open.

Nothing was out of ordinary in the apartment. It looked exactly like it did before she was sent to bed every night. That fact was somewhat disappointing, but she still stepped out into the hallway. There was a sound that had caught her attention. It was coming from her father’s room at the end of the hallway. The closer she got, the clearer it was that he was crying. His bedroom door was left somewhat ajar and Gwen saw her smiley, comedian of a father, crying in his bed. That was the first time she had seen her father cry.

Gwen was unaware of the extraordinary measures of her birth. She knew that she had a mother at one point, but her father had never been clear on what happened to her. “Mommy is in a good place, sweetie.” “She loves you very much.” “Mommy had a smile just like yours!” Every comment was simple, but meaningful enough to make her smile. Just enough to ease the mind of a curious child. Until now.

As the years flew by, Gwen held onto that memory. Over time, she realized her father was crying because of her mom. That the late night bustling also had to do with her mom. He missed her and had trained himself to grieve late at night when he thought his daughter was sleeping. This method wasn’t any healthier than giving into grief throughout the day. It had taught Gwen to control her emotions, reserving her sadness for when she was alone, never to discuss it with anyone. She loved her father, but found him transparent after that night. Her curiosity about everything heightened and she was left with so many questions about everything and few answers.

It was no wonder the world of science had interested it. Aside from being born from scientists, she fell in love with the ability to constantly learn. But the biggest mystery in her life wouldn’t become finally solved until the death of her boyfriend, Peter Parker. Finally, everything about her father made sense. Grief had been a constant elephant in the room, almost like a secondary parent growing up. The heaviness in the air was all around her, though she didn’t truly understand it until now.

Grief was a tornado, yes, but when you spend your life never knowing the ground beneath you, why wouldn’t you stay floating?

what are their feelings on the government?:

Gwen is literally a product of the government, but government is also the reason her mother is dead. The government’s effect on society is what caused her seclusion inside her home. But it was also that seclusion that grew her curiosity of the world, and what drew her to Peter. It was that same curiosity in Peter that had gotten him killed, she was sure of it. All of the factors result in complicated feelings for Gwen, and she’s lately taken comfort in ignorance.

Due to work, there are days that trickle by where she doesn’t think of the chaos outside of the laboratory. She preoccupies herself through the wee hours and well into the night, so that when she’s home she’ll be too tired to stay awake and wonder. She questions her conception and why she was the only one to survive that fateful night she had only read about in faded articles. How could she hate something that had given her life? Was that so selfish to ask? Why was her birth such a disgrace that people would try and prevent it, killing others like her? It had to be unjust, but to immerse herself in finding answers felt like a slap in the face to her mother. Her mother had died for her. Her mother, a woman she had never met, had risked her career on this one experiment, in hopes of a better life for people after her. It was heroic and Gwen felt a pressure to live up to that heroism.

To admire a woman she had never met, but had come from, was confusing enough without all the extra pressures. Countless articles and textbooks devoted to Dr. Helen Stacy. Gwen had read them all, more than once. Each word felt like a step closer to knowing who her mother actually was, but she knew that words and photographs meant very little. Many nights she laid awake, imagining conversations with her mother. The two of them curled up on a couch, her mother calmly answering every question she had. The constant anxieties that filled her head would suddenly disappear and she could finally rid herself of the guilt she felt. But that was impossible and she got up every morning, feeling gradually more alone. Attempting to solve hypotheses far greater than her single life is easier.

what are their feelings on the rebellion?:

Peter had been the one to tell Gwen about the Rebellion. She had always associated those against the Government with those that had killed her mother. They were blurry, evil, people blindly fighting for a world they knew nothing about. But she quickly realized that she was the blind one. Not everyone was as privileged as she was. Not everyone lived in a glamorous apartment with a father that would satisfy every thought in her head without her having to ask. Some people weren’t accepted in their own homes and were thrown out into the streets that felt the same. To live under a system meant to protect you, but in reality either cared so little or actively tried to shame you, was a horrible life Gwen had never known. She felt embarrassed to have been so ignorant and greedily wanted to know more about the world right under her nose.

It was hard not to agree with the Rebellion’s mission. They just wanted to be accepted. Gwen could sympathize, and found herself relating. Her father had protected her from ever really recognizing that there were people that opposed her death enough to try and prevent it. She was lucky enough to survive and make something of her life, but it wasn’t that easy overall. On the nights she tagged along with Peter, it was as if someone had taken off her sunglasses and she could see clearly. But learning what she did and hearing the stories from Peter felt dangerous. She wanted to help these people, but felt so helpless. She knew she couldn’t speak of this to anyone else, which made it that much more seductive. Being with Peter was a whirlwind that had added meaning to Gwen’s hum-drum life.

Now, with Peter’s death hastily covered up and never spoken, Gwen still feels connected to the Rebellion in her own way. She knows that Peter was right about the Government’s constant attempts to cover up any mentions of the Rebellion, but now that she was left to continue on her own. It felt like choosing between her mother and her lover. A battle she didn’t want to have to end. Though she had no way of knowing where to find the Rebellion members, they occupied her thoughts and she silently cheered them on.

describe your character’s aesthetic:

Stark, white, cleanliness. Barren and cold.

There’s a sadness in Gwen, that’s apparent upon meeting her. She doesn’t know how to emote and seems delicate. Since she grew up without a mother and with her father for so many years, all of her femininity is in her nature and movement. She doesn’t emote and prefers silence at times, which is why she can spend hours a day inside of the lab by herself. There’s a glimmer of restlessness and excitement under the surface, however, dormant and unsure of how to ever break free. Peter is the only one to have seen glimpses of it.

free-form section:

“Sometimes, I’m the mess. / Sometimes, I’m the broom. / On the hardest days, / I have to be both.”

- Rudy Francisco

“I burned so long so quiet you must have wondered / if I loved you back. I did, I did, I do.”

- Annelyse Gelman

“I’m fighting myself. I know I am. One minute I want to remember. The next minute I want to live in the land of forgetting. One minute I want to feel. The next minute I never want to feel ever again.” - Benjamin Alire Saenz

“Maybe happiness is this: not feeling like you should be elsewhere, doing something else, being someone else.” - Issac Asimov

“You can tell so much about a person by the way they leave you.” - Redvers Bailey

#dnr: admin #dnr: accepted

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