#need an fc who looks believably like a sensitive boy who says thank you to janitors and picks you a flower on your birthday but also | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 6 years

Text

In Over Your Head (Peter Parker X Reader)

Summary: It’s been two weeks since training day with the team, it went well and the team was incredibly impressed with your power and skill. So on one of your first nights off, you decide to do some Netflix watching and junk food snacking, but Peter has other plans for you that just might involve jumping off buildings, nighttime paint ball, meeting his quirky friends, and lots of blushing. During this, you begin to realize how fast and hard your falling for this boy, are you in over your head?

Author’s Note: Soooooooo all my writing for this part got deleted, there were tears, yelling, some cursing, but I managed to rehash some ideas and do a better version, I mean if it got deleted it must have happened for a reason, so... I hope you guys like it as always and enjoy! It’s really long, I’m sorry about that

Warnings: Teasing Avengers, Tony being a dad, NERVOUS! PETER!, fluffity fluff fluff fluff, so much blushing you guys, my heart can’t take the cute, sexual references probably, I mean it’s me, mild swearing, and hanging off a building, possibly a near death experience.

FC: Elle Fanning

It’s been two weeks since training day, which went by smoothly, smoother than you expected, with a few bumps and bruises given by Natasha when the two of you sparred together. But she insisted that she went easy on you, you know that’s bullshit, she doesn’t underestimate you at all and treats you just the same as the rest of the team instead of some kid. You like it, you feel like her equal rather than someone she looks down to. It’s odd, this affection and companionship you’re experiencing in only the span of a week living in the tower. All these sweet feelings warming your insides like a match that’s been set aflame in the pit of your stomach, burning brighter whenever you see him.

Needless to say, it’s already been the best two weeks of your life.

That day consisted of tossing around Clint on the mat, listening to Tony go on about how much he already likes you more than the rest of the team, Steve and Bucky cheering you when you kicked Sam’s ass during the kick boxing portion, Wanda giving you the well-done-little-sister nod of approval, and teaching Bruce street fighting that he picked up surprisingly well for someone holed up in the lab most of the time. A few training days have occurred since then, and you’ve grown a lot during those, so, being given your first free time in almost a week, you decide to hunker down with Netflix and junk food.

You take all you can from the kitchen cabinets and hug all the food close to your chest, attempting to walk back to your room.

“Need help there, little Wanda?” Steve asks, suddenly beside you, you glare at the nickname but nod, handing him a few of the bags of chips from him to carry. You’ve become a lot closer to the rest of the team, especially Natasha, who, like Wanda, has become a bit of a big sister figure to you.

“I don’t know why you guys are so keen on calling me that,” you shake your head.

“Cause you’re basically her!” Clint yells from the sitting room, mouth full of buttered popcorn. Natasha hits him in the chest for that.

“They’re just teasing, (y/n), pay no mind to them,” Natasha assures you with a small wink. “He’s just mad because you’ve handed his ass to him during our last few training days.”

“I’ve let her do that,” Clint grumbles under his breath.

“Then why do I specifically remember hearing you say, ‘Just because your a kid, does not mean I’m going to easy on you’?” Captain looks back at Clint, raising his eyebrows.

“How dare you use my own words against me,” Clint gasps, stuffing another handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Then don’t say the words in the first place,” Natasha hits him again.

“TONY!” Clint yells with his mouth full so it comes out a lot more garbled than he intended. “Natasha keeps hitting me!”

“NATASHA!” Tony yells back within a moment’s notice. “Stop hitting, Legolas! You know he’s sensitive!”

“I can vouch for that statement,” you raise your hand, remembering when you flipped him over your shoulder the other day and his reaction afterward. Natasha grins at that.

You get into your room, thank Cap, and shut the door with your hip. You strip out of your athletic clothes and slip on a simple tee-shirt and dark, gray shorts. Then you plop down on your bed, cue up Netflix on your new laptop, prepare for a relaxing night in, and begin munching on food, barely five minutes into the show you’re delved into before hearing a series of faint knocks on your door.

“It’s open!” you yell, mouth full of candies, about to resume your show when you see who’s in the doorway.

“Oh! Peter, hi!” you say, too excited to see him, even if you’ve missed his presence in the tower all day while he’s been at school, you try to play it down. “What’s up?” you attempt to lean casually into your pillows, but end up falling off the side of the bed instead.

Real smooth, (y/n), real fucking smooth...

He catches you quickly before you can hit the ground, his arm suddenly wrapped around your bare waist and your shirt lifted, pulling you into a standing position. His warm skin eliciting goosebumps to line up your arms and a small, sharp intake of breath to escape your lips. Now would be a great time to know what this boy is thinking.

“I guess you could say I fell for you, huh?” you look up at him, smiling with flushed cheeks.

“If only it were that easy,” he returns your smile, eyes crinkling at the edges.

You try to laugh as your face feels like it’s engulfed in red, hot flames, eventually meeting his eyes, “But, damn, you have some fast reflexes.”

His touch lingers on your waist, you look to his hand and back to him with a flustered smile, “Uh... thank you. For catching me,” you say after a pause.

You hear him gulp audibly, your smile widening when he flushes at the sight of his warm hand on your hip. You admire his casual, black shirt and jeans, wondering how such a simple outfit could make you feel so many complicated things. He removes his hand from your side sheepishly, avoiding your eyes. “No- no problem, I was the one that scared you in the first place... it was the least I could do,” he smiles and you return it ruefully.

“So, what’d you come in here for?” you scrutinize him curiously.

He laughs softly and nervously, filling the room with the sweet sound, bringing back those damned butterflies again, “To... uh... inviteyoutocomeplaypaintballwithmeandmyfriends.”

You furrow your brow, “Come again?”

“I wanted to... to invite you to come play paintball with my friends and me,” he says hesitantly, as if you’d say no to that face. He shakes his head with a sigh, “You don’t have to go, though, I understand if you have something better to do.”

“What is paintball?” you raise an eyebrow.

“You don’t know what paint-balling is?” he asks with wide eyes, then softens when he sees the frown on your lips. “It’s very fun, you have these guns-”

“Guns!?” you exclaim.

He laughs at your cluelessness and rests his hands on your arms, looking into your eyes and shaking his head, “No, no... Not guns, well, kind of, but they’re filled with small, balls full of paint, not bullets. And you don’t die... you’re only stained with the color that’s shot at you. I promise you’ll like it.”

You tilt your head curiously. “Why do you want me to go with you?”

“I- I don’t know, I mean...” he scratches at his jaw nervously, that, laughing, and blushing softly are a nervous habit of his that you’ve picked up on. The thought that you’re doing this to him crosses your mind, but you quickly ignore it. “Actually, I... I do know why I want you to go...” he meets your eyes hesitantly.

You decide to not fluster him any longer, biting down on your lip with a soft smile, “Yeah... okay, I’ll go with you. But I’ll need to get changed first.”

“Of course, I’ll leave in a moment so you can,” he beams at you, practically lighting up the entire room with that smile of his, “But that’s... that’s awesome,” he laughs, blushing intensely, scratching the back of his neck with a nervous glance in your direction. “But, first thing... are you afraid of heights?”

~~~

“PETER FUCKING PARKER!” you yell down at him from the balcony on the, still impossibly high, third floor, watching as the boy swings from railing to railing, smiling like an absolute madman the entire time. And you’re pretty sure this is the calmest you’ve ever seen him. “Get your ass up here! We can go through the door!”

“I’m fine, (y/n),” he says, grinning that 1000-kilowatt smile again, stopping your heart again. Dammit, he’s really good at distracting me. “But it’s sweet that you worry about me,” he teases you like his confidence has soared as he literally soars through the sky, swinging from railing to railing like a freaking spider monkey. “Come down here and I’ll catch you.”

“You won’t be able to catch me,” you shake your head.

“Try me,” he looks up at you, pink lips curling at the corners.

“Don’t give me that look, smiling at me and trying to make me forget that I’m mad,” you shake your head again, quicker this time, smiling and rolling your eyes like you’re about to give into his puppy dog eyes.

“What look?” he flashes a cheeky grin, eyes crinkling and those dimples, your heart doing a series of flips in your chest.

“How can... can someone so intelligent be so goddamn stupid?!” you yell again, brows pinched together in worry as you bite down on your lower lip. “I can’t believe your doing this. This is what doors are made for!”

“Mr. Stark doesn’t like us being out so late and this is the only way for him not to see us leave, he’s got cameras everywhere on the inside, and I programmed F.R.I.D.A.Y to cover for us while we’re gone. There’s an awning that I fall onto below us that’s not too far down, don’t worry I’ve done this plenty of times before,” he says, still grinning like an idiot up at you, windswept, curled hair and all.

“There still has to be a better way to do this, right? How are you even doing that in the first place?” you ask him, voice rising with concern for him.

“Gymnastics,” he answers quickly. “And this way is much more fun, come down here and-” his hand slips.

He’s falling and he scrambles to catch the next railing, but doesn’t make it in time. You don’t think at all before jumping off the balcony, levitating yourself off the ground and swooping in to wrap your arms around his waist. He rests both his hands on your hips to steady himself, all before he can hit the sidewalk, he meets your eyes, both of you still in mid-air.

He smiles sheepishly at you while you scowl at him for scaring you so badly, “Thanks for saving my life.”

“I shouldn’t have to!” you say, setting yourself and him on the ground safely. “You can’t do that, Peter, hanging off a building, are you crazy?”

“Maybe I should have warned you about that, the me being crazy part,” he laughs, attempting to lighten the mood, succeeding as a begrudging but small smile makes its way onto your lips.

“You’re so lucky, you’re cute, Peter Parker,” you hold your face in your hands, laughing to yourself as you shake your head.

You peek through your fingers and giggle at the obvious blush dusting over his soft, freckled cheeks, laughing, “I am?”

You nod with a soft smile, “You also blush a lot, pekný,” you point out in your native tongue, teasing him further. He loves your voice, how smooth and purring it is whenever you speak to him. You smile softly and you take your hands off your face, running a hand through your (y/h/c) hair, “What for?” you lift an eyebrow.

“I-uh... well,” he darts his tongue out to lick his dry lips, you watch the movement before tearing your gaze away to meet his eyes again. The coil in the pit of your stomach tightens, so intensely that you’re convinced you’ll spontaneously combust if you look at him a second longer. Eye contact with him is always so intimate, when he meets your eyes, he sees right through you, breaks down your defenses, and reads all your secrets, even if, for some reason, you can’t read his.

Before he could embarrass himself even further, a deep, maroon Jeep rolls up beside you two, a few cars honking at it and yelling for the driver to get out of the way.

A girl around your age, you presume, sticks her head out the window and flips those cars the bird, “Jesus Christ, New Yorkers are so fucking pushy sometimes,” she blows, exasperatedly, a piece of her dark, brunette curls out of her eyes, looking between you and Peter.

“You’re parked in the middle of the street, Michelle,” Peter says with an amused smile to his friend. You can’t help but feel jealousy rear its ugly head when you see her and how beautiful she is, much more beautiful than me, you think. But, what you don’t know, is that MJ’s not the one Peter can’t keep his eyes off of. That’s you.

“They can wait a minute, none of them have lives anyway,” Michelle waves her hand dismissively, exuding confidence and a not-caring facade, you read her mind easily, hearing thoughts filled of love, affection, and how much she cares for her friends. You’ve come to find that it’s always the people that try to care the least that truly have the most to lose.

“I’m MJ, by the way, it’s what my friends call me,” she tilts her chin to you and you wave.

“Who’s that?” a boy peeks his head out from the passenger’s seat, looking at you for a moment before realizing. “Wait... is that the girl Peter won’t stop talking about in the group chat?”

MJ smiles, “The very same,” she answers, not once tearing her gaze from you. Wow, she’s pretty and really intimidating.

“She’s out of your league, man,” the boy shakes his head, and MJ nods her head in agreement, both of them sharing a look. You smile, slightly embarrassed, but also enjoying it when you look over to see Peter, completely off balance, more so on the ground than he was hanging on a railing at eighty feet in the air. Like flying is his happy place of sorts.

“Your friends are very sweet, Peter,” you turn to Peter with a small smile.

“And she’s Slovakian?” MJ says, which surprises you to know she recognizes your accent, only making your smile widen. “Dude...” her eyes widen and she shakes her head.

“Can we just... stop talking about this? Please?” Peter’s voice is higher now as he tugs at his collar, now regretting inviting MJ and Ned here, but the alternate to that would be being alone... with you. And that certainly wasn’t an option.

MJ shifts the car back into drive, “Just get in the car, you two, hop in the back.”

“Group chat, huh?” you quirk an eyebrow to Peter, pulling yourself into the car, your yellow, floral, sundress flowing gently in the air behind you.

He laughs. You love his laugh already, it’s perfect, for lack of a better word. You grin and help him into the back, both of you falling into the seats as MJ wastes no time in taking her foot off the brake and accelerating forward. And you swear you could hear a collection of relieved sighs when she finally gets out of the way.

“I like your friends,” you say to Peter and he smiles fondly.

“We like you too, new girl,” Ned yells from the front seat, catching you off guard from his sudden outburst.

Peter face palms.

“Have you ever been paint-balling, (y/n)?” Ned asks, body fully turns around so he can look at you and Peter in the backseat, the wind whipping through the open back of the Jeep.

“I just learned about it today, actually,” you say sheepishly.

“Well, our boy Peter is a bit of a pro at paint-balling, maybe this will be a chance for him to impress you?” MJ smirks at you.

“He doesn’t have to show off for me,” you look at Peter and share a small smile with him, trying to relax him a little, which MJ catches and rolls her eyes.

She makes a choking sound, sticking out her tongue, “L-love... s-so... GROSS!”

“They’re so sweet I’m getting a toothache,” Ned places his hands over his heart and aw’s at the two of you.

“We’re just friends, you two,” Peter leans forward in between their chairs.

“Could have fooled me,” MJ half shrugs, sending you a wink in the rear view mirror above her.

Friends. Yeah... you know this is true and that you’re nothing more, but you can’t ignore how your heart clenches at the word.

“She’s also an Avenger,” Ned pipes up randomly. “Hey, Peter, aren’t you one t-”

Peter reaches over the seat and holds his hand over Ned’s mouth to prevent him from saying anything further. You watch this confusing display with your brow furrowed.

“What he means to say is that I’ve always wanted to be an Avenger,” Peter turns around to look at you, hoping you’ll believe the blatant lie. “And... you know, work with them.”

Ned looks at Peter when he removes his hand and frowns, “But you said you-”

Peter holds his hand over his mouth once more and whispers something in his ear that makes Ned gasp and nod his head quickly in understanding. You attempt to read both of their thoughts, but they stop the discussion before you could read them, and there still has been no luck with Peter’s.

“Weirdos,” MJ sighs.

~~~

“(Y/N)! Duck!” Peter yells at you and you crouch down behind haystack, spinning around so you’re back is against the side of it. You look at Peter, adrenaline rushing and grinning.

MJ and Ned are on the other team while you and Peter are on your own, per their request, of course. You guys also added in the element of both teams having a flag, a bit of capture the flag weaved into the paint-balling. MJ and Ned still haven’t gotten yours and you’ve come close, but not quite. The game is outside at this small, paintball place on the outskirts of the city that’s open to almost midnight, which was slowly rolling in as the night sky got darker and darker, causing the stars to shine brighter, the only light you guys have to see what’s around you.

You’re also surprisingly good at paintball.

The result being Ned splattered with reds, yellows, blues, and purples. MJ is far too quick and agile to get shot, so she’s stayed clean, but not before shooting Peter in the leg.

“Thanks,” you smile at Peter. “Are you going to be able to walk? She hit you pretty hard...”

“I’m fine,” he assures you with a small smile, getting into a crouching position beside you.

“Last time you said you were fine, you fell off the side of a building,” you look at him with a flat expression.

He laughs, shaking his head, “I’m really fine, I swear.”

Ned looks around his area, “Aren’t we supposed to be wearing visors so we don’t get hit in the-”

MJ cuts him off and shoots him in his face.

“Hey! We’re on the same team!” Ned exclaims, holding his now blue face in his hands, knowing there will be a bruise there later.

“So?” MJ yawns, shrugging her shoulders

“I want to switch teammates!” Ned yells to you and Peter.

“Too bad, Ned, because my teammate’s awesome and I’m not getting rid of her,” Peter grins. “And I really can’t take you seriously when your face is blue, I’m sorry.”

“It is pretty funny,” you agree and Ned groans, wiping at his face.

You shake your head with a tender smile, pulling your hair back into a quick and loose ponytail so it’s out of your face. Peter watches you do so, diverting his attention away from you when you look back at him.

“Cover me?” you ask him breathlessly.

“Of course,” he smiles, the two of you sharing a quick fist bump before he flips over the haystack, your eyes wide when you see it, but you quickly shake your head, sneaking from the side while he shoots at Ned and MJ, distracting them while you get to the flag on the other side.

But you’re stopped by Ned, who’s guarding the flag, blocking your path. He looks up when he hears you rustle by the hay-bales, aiming his gun at you.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Ned,” you stand up, raising your hands in surrender while you watch Peter circle around as MJ is distracted by a stray cat that’s made its way over to her.

“You know it does,” Ned says in a deeper, mobster voice.

You narrow your eyes, “Not on my watch. Peter, now!” you yell.

Ned spins around, “Say hello to my little friend,” Peter says in his best Scarface voice, which is pretty terrible, but it’s also very cute, raising his gun and shooting Ned in the chest again.

Ned falls back slowly and theatrically, hitting the haybale and sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth.

MJ looks up from talking to the cat, “Did you guys just win?”

You grab their flag while Ned’s down and raise it high above your head, “Yep!” you say, popping the ‘p’.

“Ned, you suck,” MJ glares at him.

“You’ve been having a conversation with a cat this whole time! How do I suck?” Ned sits back up, even more paint splattered.

“You’re just jealous that I have a gift to be able to connect with animals and you don’t!”

“Only because you’re incredibly anti-social!”

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you!”

“You were right,” you look at Peter and laugh. “I do like this.”

He laughs, “I knew you would,” Dimples.

Your heart melts a little at the sight and the four of you go and lay down on a the grass, Ned and MJ still arguing while you lay next to Peter.

“You won’t believe who I saw the other day,” you say to the stars, smiling up at them.

Peter looks at you, “Who?”

“Spider-Man,” you breathe out, chest still heaving from the exertion of playing the game and running around for more than an hour. “I’ve heard he’s a big deal here... and I met him, I can’t help but feel honored, you know?”

He bites back a smile, “Did he save you from something?”

“It was only a petty thief trying to take my purse,” you explain. “I handled it and... Spider-Man, he was there. And I don’t know I just... he was really sweet,” you smile at Peter. “I didn’t expect that.”

He turns and faces you, listening intently to everything you say, “What did you expect?”

“I’m not sure...” you trail off with a small smile. “It’s just- so many people nowadays are so full of themselves, acting all high and mighty, especially people in the media or superheroes like Spider-Man. All that tends to get to their head. Him, though... I only saw him for a moment and talked to him for only a short time, but he was so... so genuine,” you fully face Peter now. “He was human.”

You push your hair behind your ear and sigh, “And that probably sounds insane and doesn’t make any sense, but-”

“It’s not insane,” he shakes his head, smiling affectionately, relaxing you. “And that does make sense, to me, at least.”

“I wish he showed his face,” you bite down on your lip which drives Peter crazy. “Instead of hiding behind a mask. I would have loved to see him.”

“You could be seeing him ri- I mean... he could be anyone or anywhere,” he looks at you, searching your face. “You never know. And I’m sure he hides because he has enemies, this way they don’t know who he is.”

You exhale slowly, “I guess you’re right,” you say then smile. “Maybe I could be a superhero, a crime-fighting vigilante.”

He grins, “You would be a great superhero, you already are, basically.”

“Not yet,” you lick your lips, chewing on your bottom one anxiously.

“Believe me, (y/n), you are,” he meets your eyes.

“You’re so cheesy, Peter Parker,” you laugh loudly, heat rising up the back of your neck.

“Only because you bring that out in me,” he smiles.

“I’m honored,” you laugh again almost like coming down from a high while talking to him, high on him, intoxicated by his smile.

“You should be,” he agrees. “I’m normally a very serious person,” he scrunches up his nose adorably.

“Yes, very serious,” you giggle at the faces he’s making.

He looks at you for moment, too long to be a look you give your friend, but you don’t notice this until you’re both slowly leaning in to each other. His hand comes up to hold your chin between his fingers and the other behind your neck, tilting your head up, the gesture making your heart thunder loudly in your ears. The cool, night air hitting your fiery, hot skin, but all you can feel is him: his peppermint breath fanning your face, his hand on the small of your back, pulling you subtly closer to him, his dark eyes looking over you for any signs of hesitance but finding none, and ruffled hair falling over his eyes that tickles your skin.

You laugh quietly when your noses bump into each other. Then he smiles and your lips brush ever so softly.

“Do you...”

You look at him and nod, not having to think about your answer before-

“Can you guys not make nerd babies when we’re right here?” MJ says to you guys, having been watching the whole time. You and Peter scramble away from each other, sitting up quickly.

“I’d like to keep the little innocence I have left, thank you very much,” MJ rolls her eyes, but a smile betrays her coldness, then she stands up. “We should be getting back, anyway, it’s late.”

“Yeah, we should,” you say and share a look with Peter who’s blushing like crazy.

Ned and MJ get up from where they’re sitting and head back to the car. You and Peter follow suit, looking at each other like the two nervous kids that you are, still reeling from what would have happened if MJ hadn’t have interrupted.

“Another time, then?” he asks you, breaking the silence.

You grin, “Another time.”

As the two of you are walking back to the car, trying to catch up with the bickering pair that is Ned and MJ, your Stark gifted phone vibrates in your dress pocket. You stop walking and pull it out, Peter waiting with you while you do so.

“Who is it?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Mr. Stark,” you say, clicking the message and reading it aloud. “You know there are cameras outside the tower, too, right?”

You and Peter share an ‘uh-oh’ look, knowing you’ll both be in for it when you get home at this time of night.

Your phone vibrates again, “P.S Steve’s a night-owl and a snitch.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfic #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker #tony stark being a dad #tony stark #natasha romanoff #marvel fanfiction

82 notes · View notes

diveronarpg · 5 years

Photo

Congratulations, JEZZ! You’ve been accepted for the role of BENVOLIO with a faceclaim change to Tommy Martinez. Admin Rosey: How sweet it is to have the secretary of the Soft Squad back in our midst! Jezz, you have no idea how over the moon I was when reading your application - your plots has such a clear sense of direction that was only amplified by how clearly you captured his thinking and his voice in your writing. Not only that, but the way you captured Verona? My favorite quote of all was so simple and telling: “...even the thickness in the air that wasn’t really caused by the world’s atmosphere but the people living in the city.” Absolutely blew me away. Welcome to the gang. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Jezz

Age | 24

Preferred Pronouns | she/they

Activity Level | I got a new puppy just this week, so I’m a little busy with him, but that also means lots of down time at home, so I should be able to be on for a few replies every other day or so.

Timezone | CST

Current/Past RP Accounts | http://vicxcarlsson.tumblr.com, http://thenameis-kev.tumblr.com, and http://ahomegirlslives.tumblr.com/

In Character

Character | Benvolio, Bellamy Santo Domingo –– could I use Tommy Martinez as FC instead?

What drew you to this character? | I loved the fact that he’s trapped between what he knows himself to be and his family. I have a weakness for soft characters, and he is one, though he has to show an extreme amount of strength to be loyal to his family and his duties as the eldest son of the family, and it’s something I would like to play with in the future. I also love the idea of the burden he feels in his heart, and how despite it all, he will try his best not to give into the pressure of what’s easier.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

HOW WILL I WASH MY HANDS? || Bellamy has had quite the reputation of being soft since he was a young kid. It is well known by his family, his friends and everyone around. When his father first tried to mention the war, he simply changed subjects, looking uncomfortable to the point where his father lost patience and released him from it. This happened all around him. In a family where bloodshed was the main conversation topic at dinner, it was easy to see how someone like Bellamy wouldn’t fit in. For that however, comes Roman and Marcelo, his companions for life. They never judged him, and he even had the feeling the pair were greatly thankful for his existence and participation when they were both in trouble for he was the one with a cold head all the time. However, his deep thoughts and strict position against violence have their limits, I believe. And that is when things come too close to the people he cares about. He would do anything for his family, whether it be blood (clearly, since he also came back for them) or the chosen one. I want him to get his hands actually dirty at some point for either of them, show that protective nature he’s always hidden behind the pacifist and gentle face he shows. It won’t come for free, however, because even if he’d consider it absolutely worth it, guilt and remorse would eat away his soul and affect every single part of his being, when it comes to his relationships with others, and his personal beliefs.

GULLIBLE AT BEST || When he was a child, Bellamy’s intention was to restore peace in Verona.. Somewhere mid-teens, he realised that this idea would always be a fantasy for he couldn’t be the hero himself, and trouble had started years and years before he was even born. It’s not his homework or task. But he does believe that with enough effort, one by one, a person’s ideas can shift and that he can help with. He knows Odin’s allegiances are strong and of course does he have second thoughts about his intentions with every single word he says, but often times he seems a little too honest, a little too sad that he’s formed some sort of trust with him. Of course he has to have it, with them being partners and all, but it’s starting to grow into some sort of bond from his side. He believes that if he shows enough understanding, enough compassion, then he would have, more than an ally, a friend in him. Of course that’s just his pacifist mind, because Odin’s ideas are a little different. I would want to see how far into this ‘friendship’ could he go before he realises he’s been played the whole time and how this will play with his confidence and also his beliefs.

TWO CAN KEEP A SECRET. || Gentleness comes with a good amount of sensitivity and emotions, which have allowed Bellamy to see the good in everyone he meets. Whether it’s a total stranger or a well known name from another gang, he will strive to find that soft spot well hidden in everyone. Bellamy is smart, but in his ideals of relationships, he’s quite innocent. He believes that because his intentions are good, then everyone’s must be. One thing is his friendship prototype with Odin, but a much different thing is the relationship he will keep with Cyrus. A quite unexpected connection will form between the two of them. One that could potentially ruin everything he’s ever known, his family, his loyalties and his very own dignity, which is something he prides himself of having despite the disguised rejection of his own family. But perhaps, it is the same rejection that will push him to the Capulet side if Cyrus plays his cards right. Who knows? Maybe all this loyalty to the Montagues will be shook to the core if he finds someone he can ‘trust’ on the other side. How much damage could loyalty bring onto him?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes! As long as it serves the plot, bring it on!

In Depth

In-Character Para Sample:

Getting off that airplane was the hardest thing Bellamy had ever done in his life. Much more than walking away. Back then it had been nothing but a short goodbye, his mother kissing his cheek and wishing him well right before going back to her business as if he had sent a ‘see you later’ instead. Maybe the woman should now sell her services as a fortune teller, because that was exactly what this felt like. Four years later, and it didn’t feel like it had been enough time, but his mother’s words weighed on his chest. If he closed his eyes longer than a couple seconds, then he would still hear the conversation, the amount of compassion in her voice, that even though he never heard before, Bellamy blindly believed. His parents had never been supportive of his ways, but they had found some sort of acceptance that their boy would never be what the Santo Domingo blood was meant to be (Bellamy could even remember, from when he was just a child, a bunch of arguments having his father accusing his mother of cheating, considering how different he was). And still, his mother had found a way to bring him back to Verona somehow, follow his duty as the Santo Domingo eldest, whether he liked it not.

‘I could be on my way to London,’ he thought to himself before the plane took off. ‘I could be in London right now,’ he found himself thinking the second they landed, but he couldn’t deny it, there was a part of him that had missed the smell of Verona, the weather, even the thickness in the air that wasn’t really caused by the world’s atmosphere but the people living in the city. A city… When he had been a child, he would’ve never called it such. It always seemed small enough, easy enough to change, but it had been nothing but mere ideals and fantasies. Bellamy now knew him wrong, and though it still bore disappointment in his soul, it also brought some sort of pride he couldn’t explain.

Bellamy had only had the time and motivation to let two people know about his return to Verona: Marcelo and Roman, of course, whom he hoped hadn’t drifted apart in the past four years. To his surprise, and to quiet down the demons inside his mind, those were the first two faces he spotted once outside the airport. Bellamy dropped his suitcase, not caring if anyone would steal it– he wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore– and ran towards them, jumping and clinging on to Marcelo, who was always the tallest, and tried his best to contain his tears. He was sure they both would tease him for it, but never judge him. His best attempt, of course, failed, which culminated in the whole drive home being teased for still being ‘the same sentimental nut’ he had always been. Which, of course, Bellamy couldn’t deny.

It all seemed a little too good to be true, that Bellamy allowed himself to believe it was that way. He had been gone for a long time, lost track of people, of problems and violence, that they almost seemed to have vanished somehow. Maybe this could be a good life for sure. Once again, it was all a fantasy, and just a few seconds in silence would remind him of his mother’s phone call, of his presence being strictly required by the family because they were all stronger in numbers, stronger together. He couldn’t say he didn’t agree, except his call was for peace, instead of war. Marcelo and Roman drove away with the promise of a ‘see you later’ and Bellamy had no other choice but to go in. He did waste some good twenty minutes walking around the property, looking up the one tree that had grown up with him since he was three now double his height, if the lemons were still fresh in the tree right next to it, and if the swing he once played in was still there. Everything was perfectly normal. As if he hadn’t left. And that thought made his stomach twist in anguish as his feet slowly but surely took him inside the house.

“Welcome home, son.” His mother opened his arms widely, as one would have seen in movies. Bellamy felt uncomfortable at the warmth, but he received it nonetheless, wrapping his arms around her body and tightening as he felt the need for a hug coming over him. Bellamy smiled and pulled away after a second. “Happy to be here, mother.” His response wasn’t honest, and she knew it. And Bellamy knew she knew it, but would ignore it like they always had whenever he did something that didn’t fall in line with the family business.

Before he could say or do anything then, his mother took a step to the right, unveiling the next big surprise, which she was clearly excited about. “What’s this?” Bellamy asked, picking up a shirt that was a little too thick and tough to the touch, a badge next. “Your new job. I thought you’d want one.” The ringing of the phone interrupted her train of thought and left him all alone in the big living room with the police officer uniform, and a responsibility for duty he had never felt before. He knew the job wouldn’t come for free. He knew he hadn’t been offered this position to keep an eye out on revolts and violent acts but to quiet down when he had to, and inform when he must, get his hands dirty if he must. He knew the rules. He’d spent all his life ignoring them, but he knew them all. And they had never weighed him down more than they were in that moment, as the ‘welcome home’ sign hanging above him dropped from one side. Just like the movies.

#accepted #accepted: benvolio

0 notes

americanalien-a-blog · 7 years

Text

RULES. repost, don’t reblog. tag ten. TAGGED. @theredwonder (Thank you, friend <333) TAGGING. @b-atmans, @sonofsuperman, @sicutxfur, @perfectedrobin, @ofamazonia, @bludhavensbluebird, @elextrospeed, @fastestboyalive, @canary-noir, and anyone else who wants to do it!

BASICS.

FULL NAME. Kal-El (birth name), Clark Joseph Kent (legal name). NICKNAME. “Smallville”, Supes, Big Blue, boy scout. AGE. 35 (during Zero Hour, 1994). BIRTHDAY. February 29. ETHNIC GROUP. Kryptonian. NATIONALITY. American (legal nationality). LANGUAGE / S. Clark can learn any language quickly, according to his necessity. He knows English, Kryptonese, some African dialects, Spanish, French, Russian, Portuguese, Mandarin Chinese, Korean, Japonese, Arabic, several more. SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Bisexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. Biromantic. RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Single (verse dependent). CLASS. Middle. HOME TOWN / AREA. Smallville, Kansas - USA (legal), Kryptonopolis, Lurvan - Krypton (birth). CURRENT HOME. Hamilton County, Metropolis - USA; Metropolis - USA (verse dependent). PROFESSION. Reporter (newspaper columnist) and author of fiction novels.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR. Black. Thick, but soft. EYES. Alien blue (a color that can’t be described by humans). NOSE. Not too pointy, long, a bit thick. FACE. Square, sharp, large jaw. LIPS. Not so thin. COMPLEXION. Fair, thick. BLEMISHES. None. SCARS. Clark’s skin is too hard, and regenerates fast if damaged. He doesn’t have scars for long. TATTOOS. None. A tattoo needle wouldn’t be able to make a scratch on his skin. HEIGHT. 6′ 3″. WEIGHT. 235 lbs / 107 kg. BUILD. Athletic, built. FEATURES. Highly attractive. ALLERGIES. None. USUAL HAIR STYLE. As Superman, he leaves a strand hanging over his forehead. As Clark, he usually parts his hair on the left. USUAL FACE LOOK. Smiley, gentle. USUAL CLOTHING. Simple suit, tie, social shoes. His Superman outfit.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S. Failure, death of people he loves, destruction of Earth, crossing the line. ASPIRATION / S. Protecting the world, helping. POSITIVE TRAITS. Friendly, courteous, sensitive to the feelings of others, honorable, trustworthy, reliable, helpful, loyal, and respectful of “life, love, and the pursuit of happiness”. NEGATIVE TRAITS. Take things too personally, repress his feelings, overload himself, reluctant to change, too altruistic, idealistic. MBTI. ISFJ (the defender). ZODIAC. Pisces. TEMPERAMENT. Phlegmatic. SOUL TYPE / S. Caregiver (20), Helper (20). ANIMALS. Sable. VICE HABIT / S. None. FAITH. In humanity. GHOSTS? Clark believes in ghosts. AFTERLIFE? Yes. REINCARNATION? He’s indifferent. ALIENS? He IS an alien. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT. He doesn’t have an alignment. He believes in equality, justice and truth. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE. None. He believes in a world where everybody can have something to eat in the end of the day. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION. - EDUCATION LEVEL. Degree in Journalism from Metropolis University.

FAMILY.

FATHER. Jor-El (birth father) and Jonathan Kent (adoptive father). MOTHER. Lara Lor-Van (birth mother) and Martha Kent (adoptive mother). SIBLINGS. Mon-El (Clark sees him as a brother), Kon-El (clone), etc. EXTENDED FAMILY. Jonathan Samuel Kent (son), Lois Lane-Kent (wife, verse dependent), Kara Zor-El (cousin), Christopher Kent (foster son), etc. NAME MEANING / S. Kal-El: star child (Kal: child, El: star); Clark: scribe, secretary, cleric, scholar, clerk; Kent: border, rim. HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? Rao (ancestor), Kem-L (ancestor).

FAVOURITES.

BOOK. To Kill a Mockingbird. MOVIE. To Kill a Mockingbird. SONG. - DEITY. - HOLIDAY. 4th July. MONTH. June (the month his parents found him). SEASON. Spring. PLACE. His parents’ farm. WEATHER. Warm, sunny. SOUND. Birds singing in the morning. SCENT / S. The smell of Kansas in the springtime. TASTE / S. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. FEEL / S. The warmth of a hug. ANIMAL / S. Krypto. NUMBER. 1. COLOUR. All colors, although he loves red, blue, yellow and pink most.

EXTRA.

TALENTS. Excellent writer, spectacular football and baseball player, Kryptonian abilities, high intelligence. BAD AT. Flirting, showing his feelings. TURN ONS. Kindness, determination, honesty. TURN OFFS. Arrogance, disrespect, lies. HOBBIES. Writing, flying, reading, working, helping people. TROPES. The Last Son of Krypton. The Man of Steel. The Man of Tomorrow. The Big Blue Boy Scout. The iconic Cape. The definitive Flying Brick. The Big Good. AESTHETIC TAGS. Good. Friends. Family. Papers. Novels. Work. Glasses. Suits. GPOY QUOTES. “ Whatever you are, be a good one.“ - Abraham Lincoln.

FC INFO.

MAIN FC / S. - ALT FC / S. - OLDER FC / S. - YOUNGER FC / S. - VOICE CLAIM / S. Tim Daly and George Newbern.

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1. if you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about? A1. All I wanted to write was a movie about how good Superman is, and how we need more people like him in the world. Something to show Superman’s essence like the old cartoons of my childhood. I’ve been trying to be a gentle person, a good one because of Superman, so I want the new generation to follow his steps, and make a better world. The style would be adventure, science fiction. I’m not good with names, so -shrugs-.

Q2. what would their soundtrack / score sound like? A2. Aww, from Superman TAS, by Shirley Walker (rest in peace). Also, from 70′s Superman’s soundtrack.

Q3. why did you start writing this character? A3. To be honest, I never thought I’d be writing Superman one day. It’s a well-known character and very popular. I needed some “light” writing (since I’ve been writing manipulative characters long enough), so I decided to give this character a chance. I also love him a lot. <3

Q4. what first attracted you to this character? A4. When I was a kid, I watched Superman TAS, Justice League and I loved Superman (although Batman was my favorite). I grew up with people telling me Superman was too overpowered and too predictable, so I blocked my interest in him until I decided to read comics about him. I saw that people judged his character more because he’s genuinely good, and they prefer reading stories with complicated, even bad characters, because ‘good’ is too boring (-coughs- they prefer Injustice’s Superman -coughs-). Even in real life, I see good people being stepped simply for being good. So, I became very attached to Superman, because I hope one day people will be as good as him. Of course, Superman has negative traits, and that makes him a great char. He’s not flawless as some people say, on the contrary.

Q5. describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5. I don’t think there’s something I dislike about Superman? He has qualities and negative traits, but I like him because of those. That makes him unique.

Q6. what do you have in common with your muse? A6. I try to help people, to do the right thing.

Q7. how does your muse feel about you? A7. I like to think that Superman’s proud of me for trying to be a better person each day.

Q8. what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with? A8. All his inner circle of friends and family like Pa and Ma Kent, Jon Kent, Chris Kent, Lois Lane, Kon-El, Jimmy Olsen, Perry White, Bruce Wayne, Diana of Themyscira, Barry Allen, Hal Jordan, Arthur Curry, Lana Lang, J’onn J’onzz, Steel, etc and, of course, his enemies like Lex Luthor, Brainiac, Metallo, Cyborg Superman, Eradicator, General Zod, Crime Syndicate, Justice Lords, etc.

Q9. what gives you inspiration to write your muse? A9. Reading comic books about him, watching his cartoons, sending memes.

Q10. how long did this take you to complete? A10. My whole morning. Sorry for not replying my threads yet ahhhhhh!

#headcanons

5 notes · View notes

devilsknotrp · 5 years

Photo

Congratulations, Harper! You have been accepted for the role of Elias Deere (FC: RJ Mitte). Elias is a tricky character to understand. Is he truly vengeful, or just hurting deeply? How far does his hatred towards his father go? You have written him so thoughtfully and sensitively - reading your application made us both go oh, yes, they’ve got it. We also loved the inclusion of his disability and your faceclaim change is thoroughly magnificent. The plots to come are going to mesh so well with how you’ve written him that we can hardly wait to see what happens! Altogether, your version of Elias is beautiful, poignant, and subtly melancholy. Thank you for bringing him to life. As per your notes we are only accepting you for Elias. Let us know if you’d like to be reconsidered for your other application! Please have a look at this page prior to sending in your account.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Harper Age: 19 Pronouns: They/them Timezone: MST Activity estimation: I’m a pretty busy college student who has managed to get so involved I don’t know when I’ll breathe during this next semester. I’ll be on the dash as often as I can, but that will likely be limited to weekends and evenings. Triggers: [Redacted]

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Elias Deere Age (23/04/1978): 18 Gender: Cismale Pronouns: He/him/his Sexuality: Homosexual Occupation: Clerk at the Arcade Connection to Victim: He’s in the same grade as Beth and David Goode. He doesn’t know them particularly well but in a town this small, everyone now knows about the Goode family, even someone like Elias. Alibi: He was working at the arcade. He’s the only one employed there right now, and so the task of keeping an eye on everyone that comes in falls to Elias. He needs every penny he can get so guess who never turns down a shift. Faceclaim: RJ Mitte

WRITING SAMPLE

Elias knew what his classmates said about him. He was quiet and people never seemed to remember he’s there when they start talking, as long as he doesn’t say anything. It hurt, of course. To be considered odd and perverse when one presses flowers in journals and writes poems about this knotted town. It’s been his own curse to bear, one that’s been carried silently over many years.

But now, Brian was missing. And Elias was afraid.

He remembered Max Acosta. He remembered the trial, the questions Elias had that went unanswered and how easily the problems were swept under the rug, because here was an answer, handed over on a silver platter. He had followed the case almost religiously a few years after, horrified by the concepts and yet intrigued by the mind behind it. He had nightmares for months afterwards. And now it was happening again, and this time, he was the odd one out.

It was a paralyzing kind of worry, the fear that one day one of the other kids at school would say something, point the finger, share one of those lies again and then the police would be at his door and there would be nothing Elias could do, nothing but nod and sign where they tell him. It haunted his steps and hid in the shadowy corners of sleep. Never did Elias think his heart, his love of words, and his inability to abide by the standards of high school might send him to jail for the rest of his life.

Who would lift a finger to stop them? Not the majority of the school. Not Elias’ father. It was a trap, one impossible to escape from any side. The only thing left to do was hope it all went alright. But when has anything here gone right?

Elias pushed his plate away with a sigh. It was one of the few tables in the diner that was tucked far enough away from everyone else that he seemed to blend into the background, wheelchair sitting beside him ready to carry him away as soon as it all became too much. But it was quiet in that little corner, the buzz of everyone else fading into a dull noise that was hard to hear over the music.

It was as close to peaceful as Devil’s Knot ever really got for Elias.

Elias let out another sigh before opening his bag and bringing out a small worn notebook that practically fell open along its well-worn spine. Devil’s Knot was all he had to write about, for now, and even if he kept the details sparse, there was still a veritable flood of material to make use of. Now was not the time for darkness and tragedy though. There was enough of that around the town for now.

Instead, with a furrowed brow and his tongue between his teeth, Elias wrote about the bird outside the window, how the sun turned his feathers from blue into a small piece of the sky and how it sang to a little kidnapped boy.

The song would echo through the woods, picked up by more and more mouths until it was a virtual symphony calling a lost boy home. The more birds sang, the more concrete the song became, until it grew into a woman with feathers in her hair and laughter in her eyes. She walked into the woods and walked out hand in hand with a little boy. That little boy would walk into town with a smile, not a scratch on him. He’d laugh and play ball, ride bikes and make jokes. The entire horrible story ended because of a bird.

Elias couldn’t stop the smile that formed when he set the pencil down. It was complete fantasy, of course. A complete impossibility, more in line with a fairytale than the world Elias inhabited. But sometimes, people needed a little hope and a little light in the dark times they all lived in. No one would read anything Elias wrote, not for a long time, but it helped him to know he had done something.

He stood, leaving behind the money for his burger, before sitting in his wheelchair and replacing the notebook in the bag. He left the diner and began to make his way home. There was still a story to tell, of course. One Elias just didn’t want to write. Brian wasn’t back yet and whatever happened would be something for the ages. Elias just prayed he wasn’t going to find himself the monster of the tale.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Alibi Elaboration: You’d expect a lot of problems in a place like the arcade for someone like Elias. But that is, for all its flaws and constant thrum of people who would prefer to forget the clerk exists, one of the few true spaces Elias has complete control over. Yes, it pays like hot garbage on a summer’s day, but it’s his and Elias likes to look after his things. He was absolutely there when Brian went missing. He loves that place for all it’s flaws. He can just be himself in those walls and there is almost no way his father would ever step foot in a place like that. It’s a perfect haven.

Headcanons:

Elias’ favorite poets are Yeats and Frost. He personally cannot stand the gothic and romantic genres and refuses to touch either, as he doesn’t like how poetry was written in that time. He tries to avoid a lot of structure in his own poems, but he is always an absolute sucker for a good rhyme.

In any given day, Elias goes out of his way to avoid any prolonged contact with his father, preferring to do whatever it takes to get away from him in as short a time as possible. This means he will smile, nod, and agree with whatever Jeff is saying just so he can leave as soon as possible. Confrontation is not in Elias’ nature. Avoidance is, especially around someone like Jeff. How on Earth could Elias ever stand up to that man? It would take a miracle for that to happen, to lend him the strength and the will to say “no, I am not the problem here.”

Elias has a bit of a strained relationship with religion. He knows how important it is to his family and he’s seen the art and the strength that it can bring about. But he also can’t forget about the horrors it’s caused over the centuries and how much of it is a lie crafted by men like his father to keep control of the sheep. Of course he wants to believe in something greater and stronger than himself, but sometimes the only things strong in the world are his chair and the words of people just like him. He’d never share his doubts, afraid of how that would reflect on him, but they are growing each and every day.

Kids are great. You know exactly where you stand with them and there are never any surprises. They tell it like it is and don’t bother spreading rumors. They just tell their suspicions to your face. They’re simpler than Elias’ peers and he enjoys hearing the blunt, ridiculous things that come out of their mouth. Of course, most kids don’t give him the time of day and the ones that do don’t linger for long. Those with older siblings avoid Elias like the plague, but none of that has stopped Elias from promising himself to never turn away from a kid that needs help or a friend. He knows what both of those feel like and he can’t imagine leaving someone small and vulnerable face the cruelties of the world alone.

He hates spicy food. Please don’t make him eat anything hotter than a bell pepper. His taste buds can’t handle it and then the town will have a crying Deere on their hands. It’s just not worth it.

He says he loves people and he means it. People just have to convince Elias they are worth the attention and effort he will inevitably put into their relationships. He doesn’t have it in him to have a lot of friends, but the ones he does have will be rapidly prioritized on his mental list of important things. If a friend of his is sick, he’ll show up with a store-bought cake ready to watch cartoons. He knows what it’s like to have a body that hates you sometimes so he’s there to lend a hand however he can.

No, you cannot push his wheelchair. Please don’t ask.

He doesn’t advertise it, but he has several plans all lined up in his head for revenge on people that have made his life extremely difficult. They’re never going to be brought to fruition, but it helps when the bullying gets bad to have an idea of vengeance. And who knows, maybe one day the camel’s back will break and all those ideas will come flooding out.

Pinterest Board: https://www.pinterest.com/boopbot/elias-deere/

#dkaccepted #accepted #elias deere #literate rp #new rp

0 notes