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@mystake
this is a private & highly selective roleplay blog for MYSTERIO / QUENTIN BECK as portrayed in the comics. light influences will be taken from the mcu spiderman movie. my name is eris, i’m above the age of eighteen, and you can use any pronouns for me. if i’m following you, it means i’d love to plot and write!
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*tucks hair behind my ear* so i forgot about this blog
@sgyns [ . . . ] wanted to be annoyed by mysterio!
❛ YOU DARE COMPARE ME TO A SIMPLE MAGICIAN? what a fool you are [ . . . ] mysterio is no mere illusionist playing parlor tricks! mysterio is a master of the arcane arts! ❜
THE ILLUSION FAMILIAR IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE— the soft concern, light touch to his cheek that he barely resists the urge to lean into ( Peter doesn’t want to give Beck the satisfaction, but hasn’t he laid out just how pathetic he is already? ). And still, lingering KNOWLEDGE that it’s all a ruse, no matter how much he wants to pretend otherwise. “I…I can’t, I didn’t wanna leave, but I can’t.” Eyelids squeeze SHUT again, blocking the sudden stinging in his eyes from slipping down his face and obscuring his aunt from view— it isn’t her, you aren’t home, stop acting like this and fight b- a different voice emerges, and Peter’s breath catches in his throat, eyes blowing wide open as he meets a mirage of his uncle…ruffling his hair just like he did before, and the noise that escapes him this time is visceral— soaked in grief, pain, guilt— so much for avoiding tear stains, he can’t do this anymore. “You…you got what you wanted, Beck!” There’s no point in hiding the shaking and ragged pauses between words, trying to keep his gaze away from Ben— after all this, the kid still has fight in him…for now. “Are y- are you done yet?”
THE ILLUSION FADES BEHIND THE GENTLE SOUNDTRACK OF MAY’S HUMMING VOICE ( this world of homely softness has been carefully crafted from doubt and dirt, a scene made from little more than pain --- the amusement hasn’t grown old, but rather it sits in familiar bliss ). he could watch that crumbling expression of peter’s, framed by the spearhead of tears, over and over again without growing bored. ❛ i think that’s enough for today. YOU’RE STILL HOLDING ON TO TOO MUCH. ❜ attachments were a funny thing! it seemed that distance and age made them sit in comfortable fondness ; isn’t that strange? TO LOVE SOMEONE EVEN MORE NOW THEY HAD FADED INTO NOTHING! enter stage left : quentin holds out a hand towards the crying boy, his face easily blank ( EMOTIONS WERE A NICE FACADE, BUT NOT ONE HE HAD TO USE ON PETER --- not anymore ). ❛ they’re all gone, peter. it can only hurt you as much as you let it. DON’T YOU WANT TO BE STRONGER? ❜
@acescaped [ ... ] wanted to be annoyed by mysterio!
❛ THERE’S NO NEED TO BE SCARED. i’m here to help. ❜ a hand is held out ( gloved in purple, fingertips offering a warmth that won’t be fulfilled --- beneath the fishbowl, a frown stood in apex reds ).
mysterio is 6′3, but his fishbowl makes him like 6′5
@whitesuited [ ... ] liked to be annoyed by mysterio!
‘ THAT IS --- A LOVELY DRESS. ‘ out of costume, quentin does not feel so grandiose ( there is the rippling of an alterego about him : a smile that grows too wide across his lips, a twinkle left behind by the stars themselves, an air around him that spoke of gentle enchantment --- BUT HE ALLOWS HIS SHOULDERS TO FALL BACK ). ‘ did you steal it? ‘
@heauntd [ ... ] wanted clint to be annoyed by mysterio!
‘ SO, A DRINK? ‘ his helmet is a smashed mess, notched against his hip with one hand supporting its weight. NO ISSUE : an excuse to make another, more durable than the last, every hitch merely an opportunity for growth ( words repeated in his head, through gritted teeth --- GROWTH, GROWTH, GROWTH! ). his face --- no longer a hidden truth from clint as blood fills his mouth. spat on the ground with its inky blackness, the vague rot of evil --- oh, how his delusions are seen in even his body! ‘ CONGRATULATIONS : you stopped my evil plans! surely you feel the need to relax now. ‘
mysterio and daphne blake have the same colour scheme
okay, that hit surprisingly close to home for a lucky first guess. but she’s not going to ask, are you a mind reader and give herself away like that. ❝ what do you know about my fighting style, jerk? ❞ (fine. not her best, but in her defense, she’s reminded quick and brutally of batman taking away the robin name from her, because she disobeyed orders, but really because she’d never be tim. she’s thinking about her father. she’s thinking about the way babs still looks at her sometimes like she’s expecting the cowl to come off and cass to be under it instead.)
❝ let’s not get ahead of ourselves. ❞ back on track, steph. ❝ this is the part where i hear your crazy demands out before kicking your ass to kingdom come. i assume you have a speech prepared? ❞
❛ do you really think i’d come unprepared? i know who you are --- which means i’m aware of your fighting style. WHAT PATHETIC LITTLE VILLAINS ARE YOU USUALLY FIGHTING? well [ . . . ] i suppose it makes sense that they’d put you in charge of the small - timers. ❜ his weapon is sharpened wit, a mouth that is all thorned cruelty ( to deal in illusions was an art, but it lacked a certain flair without the humming spit of words meant to scathe and torture ). SOMETHING ABOUT THE YOUNGER HEROES --- always so desperate to play at being powerful.
❛ i think i’d rather skip to the part where you try to hurt me. i haven’t had a good laugh in a while! ❜ purple swirls around his head gear, a cape that billows with soft intent --- an imposing man captured in the starlight, watching her more closely than the fishbowl would ever show.
Valentine’s Day is coming up so I think one of you should try to romance Mysterio
a god of their own creation , basking in belliferous repute, bane and blood. infamy thrives betwixt vulgar and incorrigible egos, a volatile kinship fomenting on the cusp, brimming fetid. the pit of loki’s eyne is black and unrelenting as a scavenger’s eyne, moving slow and unflinchingly ; 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑, it suddenly contorts to a slyer shape. “ is that what you call that egregious forgery of sorcery you employ ? ”
❛ all sorcery is . . . FORGERY. ❜ you are the aching shadow of talent, tongue shivering against all your ivory - tower failures ( TOUGH PILL TO SWALLOW, ISN’T IT? ). whatever power he had been earned, a manufactured christening, the holy hands that blessed him were only his own : WHAT GOD COULD COMPARE? ❛ at least mine comes with a certain flair. if only everyone could say the same. ❜
i know a lot of people hate some of their character’s comic runs but every comic that features mysterio is elite
FAITHLESS GAZE STAYS TRAINED ON THE FACADE OF HIS AUNT, young hopeful light drained from a once warm expression– already familiar with the ache of getting pulled apart, concealing rips and tears underneath a mask of heroics, but still with support…now, Peter is completely and utterly alone. Spider-Man should be stronger than this, he repeats to himself, but the illusion’s voice stings, her suggestions familiar ( solace, safety ), and the hand just aside his face coupled with her words pushes him to the brink. “I’m sorry,” He chokes out– it isn’t trust, but desperation that causes him to close the distance between her outstretched palm, allowing it to brush the side of his cheek. Gullible nature destroyed or not, Peter is still a kid, and knowing everything is bound to remain as it is now either way, maybe he can pretend for a few moments longer. “I want to- and I tried, I’m trying, but I can’t…not really at least… I have to keep you safe.”
❛ OH, PETER. i’d be safer if you stayed with me --- please don’t leave me. not again. ❜ the voice that rings out is clear and soft, an easy parody of may’s tone ( they have played out this little scenario so often that it requires no effort, no thought : THE SCENE IS INGRAINED, WELL KNOWN TO THE BOTH OF THEM ). and yet the kid’s voice still trembles --- a pathetic little noise that summons nothing but hatred in quentin. FONDESS HAS NEVER BEEN THEIR LANGUAGE. they speak in these riddled moments, may’s hand closing in against peter’s cheek. warm, soft, domestic bliss surrounding them. but quentin knows he can make the scene sting a little more. A KITCHEN FADES INTO VIEW! from the door, an uncle emerges, carrying the groceries with him. ❛ peter? ❜ the uncle sets down his bags, moves to ruffle his nephew’s hair. GOOD, GOOD ( quentin waits for a flinch, a sob ).
small starter call.
❝ THIS IS THE REASON I AVOID NEW YORK. ❞ gotham and metropolis were already their own kind of weird, but new york was right up there with them. and not just because booster was used to the other two. new york tended to feel like metropolis ——— mostly when it came to the weather ——— but also much more chaotic. maybe because of its resident magicians or something, or because of weirdos that felt like they belonged back in arkham asylum. either worked.
❝ do you have insurance on the ——— ❞ he gestured to the face part of the other’s costume. ❝ ——— or do you have to get one custom made after every fight ? doesn’t really sound financially sustainable if you never make any money from this gig. ❞
@mystake ❤’d
his costume was a masterpiece of creation --- each part interwoven with the next to inspire a sense of awe ( THE FISHBOWL WAS A RATHER PERFECT ILLUSION, WASN’T IT? ). he stood in half - glee, awaiting the promise of stunned compliments : indeed, he waited, and waited, and waited --- and would have continued to wait until his face was tinged with the violent blue of breathlessness. RIGHT! not everyone can be an admirer of the finer arts.
❛ every true performer has their costume insured --- is your costume worth nothing to you? ❜ bitterness has become such a familiar notch upon his tongue that it barely registers anymore ( he is merely a passive vehicle of this ancient anger ). ❛ you heroes are always so laissez - faire about your own creations. OR WERE YOU NOT SMART ENOUGH TO DESIGN YOUR OWN SUIT? ❜
i love when heroes are mean to mysterio