If we’re gonna be friends, we gotta establish some ground rules.
i. My main portrayal of Peter Parker is based off of Marc Webb's The Amazing Spider-Man. I don’t have expert knowledge of the comics and I won’t pretend that I do. (Reading them right now as we speak though).
ii. This is a private blog, meaning I will only RP with mutuals. Even then, I am very selective - please don't take it personally. I usually only follow back people that I can foresee having a future interaction with.
iii. Paras, novellas, one-liners: you name it, I can probably do it.
iv. I love to ship (like, alot), but I will never force a ship on you. Likewise, please don't force a ship on me. Chemistry & build-up is key!
v. I don't do smut/nsfw. If anything, I will probably fade to black if it comes up.
vi. This blog is OC/AU/Multi-verse friendly!
vii. I am prone to winging it and random plotlines. If you want to start plotting, don't be afraid to approach me about it!
viii. I'm terribly disorganized so slow or lost replies are going to happen eventually. Sorry 'bout that, just bare with me!
ix. That being said, I also reserve the right to drop a thread if I feel that it has run its course, but don't be shy to start plotting up new ideas with me!
x. I track #amazingarachnid, my askbox is always open, and my skype is available upon request. Don't hesitate to come talk to me about plots/ideas/whatever!
ABOUT
Name: Peter Benjamin Parker
Aliases: Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, Spidey, Webhead, Webslinger, Wallcrawler.
Age: 20-years-old.
Gender: Male.
Height: 5'10" | 177cm
Weight: 167 lbs | 75kg
Occupation: Freelance photographer for the Daily Bugle
Education: Biophysics major at Empire State University
Powers: Superhuman strength, agility, reflexes, durability; spider-sense, ability to cling to most surface.
Equipment: Artificially-created web-shooters with special adhesive properties.
Interpretation
These are my goals for portraying my main-verse, MCU!Peter as humanly canon as possible. For this, I have drawn from various sources including both the TASM movies; comments from Marc Webb, Stan Lee and Andrew Garfield; as well as elements from the 616 comics and my own interpretation of Peter Parker.
bent, not broken
Peter Parker’s life is shrouded in equal parts secrecy and tragedy. The mysterious circumstances of his parents’ deaths left him a lonely childhood laced with anxiety and hardship. However, no amount of isolation could extinguish the compassion, wit and intelligence he carries with him throughout his life. His ability to crack a joke in the face of danger says a lot about himself as a person—playfulness is in his nature.
His years of being a social outcast result in his individualistic, loner style. He seeks friendship and affection, but is painfully shy when it comes to actual human contact. As someone who spent a majority of his life being bullied and feeling rejected, he yearns to find his place in the world. Any attempt to interact outside his comfort zone would be tentative at best, but fueled by a hidden desire to feel accepted.
with great power
Upon gaining his powers, Peter was finally living the dream of being stronger; being free from the human limitations he was born into. But when he subsequently loses his beloved uncle, it instills an indomitable sense of justice in him. Peter finds the courage to use his powers for good, and that speaks volumes on the kind of person he is: when the world has taken everything away from him, he still chooses to believe in good and fights for it, even if there is a cost. Above all else, he wants to do right by the world, and he is constantly reminding himself that doing the right thing is worth all the blood, tears and heartache.
When he puts on the mask and takes on the persona of Spider-Man, Peter lets his playful nature take over. He is no longer the achingly awkward, nerdy student; he is the quippy web-slinging vigilante protecting New York City. The mask lets out his lighthearted, lovable personality that has been dormant for so long. Spider-Man gives him the strength to express this more actively without the mask on in his everyday life.
haunted
Despite all his strength, his greatest fear is being incapable of protecting those he loves. He cannot bear the thought of losing someone else, and the deaths of those he could not save will be something he has to cope with time and time again. He carries that burden with him everywhere he walks. New York City is a huge area, and Peter knows that there will be times when people call for help and he will not be around. He constantly dreads the idea that someone more powerful than he can imagine will come to take away everything he has left: and he will be cast back into unbearable solitude once again. This is one of his greatest motivating factors, so that this does not ever happen to him or anyone else ever again.
reckless, wild youth
Above all else, Peter is young, and always growing. He continues to change and shift, constantly coming to terms with his past and working for a brighter, safer future. So this is my baseline, the starting point for both him and I, where I hope to help Peter flourish in all of his masks: the hero, the everyday man, the muse, but always as a person.
Peter Parker and Spider-Man are one and the same.
Canon!verse. Peter Parker is a graduate of Midtown High and now attending ESU. Freelance photographer for the Daily Bugle by day, full-time web-slinging vigilante by night.
AU!verse. Still attending Midtown High. Still living in Queens next-door to a loveable redhead. Still best friends with a multi-million dollar heir. Still second best in his class. Still trying to figure out how this "hero" thing works. Any speculative events on Peter's future, as well as any alternative realities to the canon are also placed in this verse.
Avenger!verse. After being contacted by S.H.I.E.L.D, he's now the newest member of the Avengers, working on a provisional basis. Job description include team-ups, stopping extra-terrestial invasions, and buying groceries.
Blackness runs through his veins like a disease, another wince crossing him as bones visibly shift within his body, but it’s only met with a rather pleased and cruel looking smile.
❝
Can’t let the world know who you really are, right?
❞
His voice transitions into more of a growl as the last word escapes him, seething through clenched teeth as he endures the last few seconds of pain before his features become blatantly more rotted and scarred. Long fingers flexing as they seem to adjust to the new formation of their bones and a softer chuckle escapes him.
❝
You couldn’t even tell me!
❞
It’s practically a hiss, eyebrows knitting together in his anger and his body tensing automatically. Ready to leap at a moment’s notice.
Once soft features have gone cold in his presence, unfazed like steel in the face of such a disgusting thing. Every breath he takes bleeds anger, but he will not let him have the satisfaction of his wince, the victory of his recoiling gut.
He keeps eyes trained on him, considering the possibility that if he were to slip away to change, he would be long gone, or what was more likely: ready to face him. But he knew this day was long overdue. That night he was baptized as Spider-Man, all over again, no longer the teenager that played hero. He had to be one.
But seeing the snarl, the snaggleteeth and blotched skin, there is now only the bluest tinge of sadness, tucked away at the corner of his eye, to see what his friend has become.
❝
HARRY
— what have you become.
❞
He doesn’t know what to say, he really doesn’t. He knew he had to diffuse this somehow, he owed the public that much. But it was more than that. He owed Harry this much. What stood before him was a culmination of all his mistakes, staring back at him with a finger on the trigger.
What hurts is knowing he would have taken that bullet for him, once upon a time.
laughter, subdued but nonetheless sweet, echoes off her tongue and into his palm. a kiss is deposited, soft against the rough ridges &healed wounds. limbs shift, frame adjusting to the space he takes up and the way the bed SINKS beneath their weight.
❛ what else would i be? ❜
The ends of his lips curl, a tiny wisp of a breath he didn’t know he was keeping escaping him. His tired form crumples under her, placing his forehead against her own, eyes delicate with WARMTH as they drank her in.
❝ Just checkin’
—
Don’t go growing grey hairs on me, now. ❞
He thinks idly, having swung up all the way to one of the tallest buildings in the city, without rhyme or reason, drawn like a moth to the flame. Once he is up there, all he can do is let loose one free leg over the ledge, enjoying the freedom of the wind as it CLEAVED past his body.
Manhattan’s setting sun leaks all across the skyline; spreading its soul on the rooftop he was situated on, the light spilling like liquid all over the building, bending its way around him alone to create a shadow, he basks in the nursing warmth, musing that some things really don’t change across worlds. It’s a gentle reminder of what is waiting for him once he returns.
He stays up there for a long time, some infallible hourglass counting down the minutes until dusk blankets the city. He stares at his phone, a device carrying numerous unsent texts.
It’s disconcerting, knowing she can answer him again. He can still imagine her the first time he met her (all over again), her visage coming out of old film reels of memory and nostalgia.
( Was she really
—
)
He shakes his head, only the slightest edge to his thoughts. He knows he has to address it eventually; he’s surprised it hadn’t been brought up sooner.
He finally relents, something inside him giving before he decides that maybe texting wouldn’t be the best way to go about, instead dialing the number she had given him( for EMERGENCIES ).
’ you don’t sound so sure, ’ every inch
of her bleedsambiguity: every dark curl, every HEAVY GLIMPSE. and maybe he wouldn’t
be so averse to response had her demeanor not been so icy———but
that’s just how she functioned, wasn’t it? her gaze filters back down to the boxes by his
feet, what few that remained on the carpeted floor, as if thinking. ’ i’m aylen, ’ they flicker back up
without excuse, eyes filled with stars and a face so sublime. an air of
confidence saturates her. ’ it was nice
to meet you, peter. ’
a clicking
noise sounds from the turn of a wrist, the silent crack of a door. and just
like that, she’s gone.
He’s left with the terrible feeling that he said something WRONG, despite all factual evidence pointing to the idea that he most certainly did not. Some adolescent-like emotion rises out of the pit in his gut, like he was being analyzed with every movement, judged solely for his affectations and taste in shirt color.
His gaze falls back to the boxes, waving the idea off with little concern. His thoughts rarely occupied by other peoples’ perceptions these days: besides the fact that he did not have anyone to impress.
anymore.
He carries the last of his belongings in, tearing the masking and leaving behind only what was unneeded in his wake. It is not until later that he muses he may have finally found SOMEONE who can play a better disappearing act than him.
MOONLIGHT is leaking through avenues and rooftops, offering only a sliver of luminescence when it came to the darkness of New York City. Streetlamps offer little in invitation or glow, the passing of cars and buses giving only a temporary shiver of light.
He is unsure of wear to start, simply swinging through streets and alleyways, taking a temporary stance to scope out the area before moving on to the next one. His bosses’ refusal to accept his newly-minted Spider-Man pictures, in favor of a new costumed VIGILANTE to hunt down, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
( Not that it’s a problem for me, have Jameson start another smear campaign… This’ll be fun, might as well warn the new guy if I find’em. )
He’s hesitant to accept the idea that this vigilante was truly murdering, already a victim himself of The Daily Bugle’smutilation of facts.
( I totally DID NOT put that kitten in the tree in the first place. . . )
He’s got the camera in one hand when he ducks his head around a corner, finally catching glimpse of two figures at the end of the alley. He is ready to crawl over in quiet stealth, but before he knows it only one of the two figures remain standing, the distinct chatter of a gunshot ringing through the air.
He’s swinging towards the ground in a split second, a mix of urgency and uncertainty overwhelming his need to lay low. In the low light of nightfall, he can make out the uncanny visage, a mixture of every poorly drawn sketch and eye-witness description culminating in what he can only assume is LEVIATHAN.
the faint chime of silver keys do little in
diverting her attention as dainty fingers hover above the bronze lock of a home. DIAPHANOUS EYES eat up the sight
of box-tape and shadowed men, pause at the sight of a face much too gracious.
IT’S DIFFERENT, he’s different.
she’s not so sure she likes it.
’
… hi, ’ it is a curt utterance, one splintered with its own breed of hesitance. and yet, curiosity bests her:A BEAST with an appetite far grander than her own. ’ you’re THE NEW GUY everyone’s been
talking about these days, aren’t you? ’
❝ — Yeah,guess I am. ❞
He tilts his head, nodding slightly before retracing his memory, thinking back to the landlord he avoided all morning out of an awkward necessity, who most likely spouted off his manhunt throughout the entire building.
Body slouches, hunched over shoulders and disheveled hair betraying the curiosity lighting up his eyes, hazel hues already busy with getting themselves acquainted with her visage.
He’s balancing three boxes in his arms, precariously setting them down in the hallway of his new apartment.
It’s only a few boxes, a majority of his belongings left behind in QUEENS. He wasn’t known for home-decorating, so his new studio loft could be labelled as nothing more than a place to sleep in the city. He grabs one small box, rushing into the kitchen to place it before running out again, looking down the hallway to notice A FIGURE standing by the door to his left.
He nods, unsure how to greet them, before settling on a dopey grin.
