#he/they and she/they pronoun pins just to keep people on their toes

[stabbingandorbeingstabbed]

this shirt really is suuuuch an all timer

[hrodvitnon]

Been a long while since Keeta was last mentioned, so I'm gonna send a few things about him to remedy that.

I wonder if Keeta has any characteristics that distinguishes him from other skullcrawlers? For some reason, I always imagined him to be a bit like Number 10 from GvK, but with a blue stripe instead of red, and the usual grayish-white skullcrawler head instead of the yellowish one Number 10 had. (Though I remember one ask before mentioning the idea of Keeta getting tiger stripes as he gets older)

Assuming that APEX modified their skullcrawlers metabolism to keep themselves from losing too much money on feeding them, I like to imagine that Keeta would have a really slow metabolism even compared to the others kept in APEX's facilities. Which would translate to just having regular metabolism in human standards.

Because of that, Keeta would probably have baby fat when a wild skullcrawler baby would be just as starved and thin as adults would be. Of course, he'd lose the baby fat as he gets older, but I imagine that he'd have way more muscle compared to your average wild skullcrawler by then.

Rodan would definitely take Keeta out for rides while he's still a hatchling (a bit like on how Rodan did the same for Mothra as a larva during the Showa era)

And now, for a more dramatic scenario:

I like to imagine that, once Kong ever finds out about or happens to encounter Keeta at one point, he wastes no time trying to squish him on the spot. Which of course, causes Keeta to call for his papa for help (Sorta like how baby Godzilla called for Rodan during Heisei era). And while Rodan isn't interested with a fight and just wants to get Keeta out of there ASAP, Kong isn't having any of it and even goes as far as attacking Rodan, grabbing his wings and dragging his tail around to keep him from flying away, just so that he can get to squishing Keeta already. It takes for Godzilla and Mothra's timely arrival to pin Kong down and try to reason with him. Kong's most definitely webbed up from head-to-toe by then, and pinned by Godzilla on the ground too for good measure.

When they try to tell Kong that Keeta couldn't harm anyone because he's still too young, Kong would coldly go with "It's best to kill them while they're still young" and it sounds like he speaks from personal experience.

Because of that, both Rodan and Keeta don't feel comfortable whenever Kong is around. Rodan would even puff himself up and put up intimidation displays should he ever see Kong.

Likewise, I think that Kong would also feel very frustrated at everyone who sides with Rodan and Keeta over him. The list of the ones who side with them currently consist of: Godzilla, Mothra, Viv and San, Manda, Behemoth, Methuselah, Tiamat (she surprisingly sympathizes with Rodan there), Barb, Kiryu!Dagon, Ladon, Shin, and even some Monarch-aligned people like Madison. And there's potential drama should Jia also agree that Kong is taking things too far in here.

Even if Kong learns to tolerate Keeta's presence over time, he most likely won't ever let go of his hatred towards skullcrawlers. The only way that might happen is if Kong ever reaches the same age and wisdom as Shimo does, and even then, there's a slim chance of that happening. (I say this because honestly, Kong needs to have more flaws. He can't just be Mr. Perfect all the time, after all)

I personally refer to Keeta with gender-neutral pronouns, but I kinda like the gray-white head coloration and blue stripe as a clear indicator that they're a Goodie and to separate them from the other Apex 'Crawlers like Number 10. And now I'm imagining Keeta with baby fat and I need to add that to the drawing list, it sounds so precious and reminds me of that post of a pet tegu sleeping in a doggy bed.

*BANGING FISTS ON TABLE* LET! KONG! HAVE! FLAWS!

[south-sea]

Second Chance AU Shadow (Headcanons Masterlist)

I was encouraged by a certain someone to share all the Shadow headcanons I omitted from a more recent post, but it quickly got away from me and turned into a sort of masterlist with all the links being added in for context.

So in the interest of eventually having a working catalogue of "view these specifics posts for more organized information on Second Chance AU instead of sifting through various rambles", here it is!

Initial context for what this AU even is is here.

(edit: this is definitely out of date by the time you're seeing it, see pinned for an overall tag)

He figures things out about himself/interacts with new or developing interests in phases. Which is probably pretty standard, but so far he’s gone through a particular trend of weather —> photography/scrapbooking —> food —> adventuring/getting into Situations [you are here]. No telling what’s up next, but he never really abandons discovered interests either. He still keeps up with photography/scrapbooking, still appreciates new weather patterns/cloud formations and whatnot, and is basically never not thinking about Good Food. I would love for him to some day focus on music and maybe pick up an instrument or something; he could learn piano from Metal’s caretaker, even.

Discovering preferred foods is also a slow but unique process in that he doesn’t notice, really, until someone else points out he has a clear preference for something. From his perspective, he still doesn’t really have favorites because why would he, but anyone else would be able to tell there are certain things he gravitates toward (and that applies to everything, not just food). So far, other than expensive chocolates, that’s mostly tomatoes, whether raw or roasted; cherry tomatoes especially. They’re somewhat of a comfort food at this point. A few other honorable mentions: avocado, sautéed spinach mixed in with things, and grilled veggies in general. Weird little kid who goes out of his way to ask for vegetables, really. He also especially likes the crunch of carrots, but celery and lettuce on their own practically insult him for how comparatively tasteless they are.

Don’t ask him what his favorite color is either. He has no idea. He likes the green Emerald the most, but also the light blue one (he’ll never admit it, if just because he doesn't consciously realize it, but it’s because that one specifically reminds him of Metal). From his perspective, that’s about as much as he’s able to place; wires get crossed and he answers according to his Chaos Emerald color preference, not ‘colors in general’. From my perspective, I see it as him being partial to blue and green because that’s what he’d most commonly see from the ARK, looking down at earth. Objectively, blue probably wins by sentimentality alone, given so many of the people he’s close with are/were inherently associated with blue.

He starts a lot of sentences with “I think”, as a sort of parallel to Metal regularly starting statements with “but”. Those who don’t know him might wrongly assume that this, paired with the fact he rarely speaks above something comparable to a whisper, means he’s not very assertive/sure of himself. Not the case, he’s just naturally very quiet. To hear him use his whole chest to speak is unusual, and to hear him shout is downright shocking.

He rests his hand on his forehead to self-soothe, as leaning it against Maria was something he would regularly do when cuddling with her back then. As a direct consequence of this, he does not allow people to touch his head without warning, but pushing his forehead into someone's chest/shoulder is often something he does automatically if someone hugs him, so it's an "on my terms only" kind of thing.

This is very much canon. She/her feels like he’d be stepping on toes (that’s for Maria, not him), they/them doesn’t quite feel right, and neo pronouns are not for him. So, using he/him really is just for the sake of convenience. It’s not quite right, but being referred to that way doesn’t bother him either, so there’s really nothing else for it. That’s just how it is.

The more exploring and such he does, the less sensitive his paw pads get. That eventually leads to wearing half-gloves instead.

He currently lives in a place that looks an awful lot like space. The house is shared with Metal, and has two stories. Upstairs is where his study/bedroom technically are, but he rarely goes up there to do anything but write. A majority of his time is spent downstairs, either cooking or napping. Who needs a proper bed when he has a comically oversized blanket to make a nest out of? (This blanket is eventually torn beyond reasonable repair. While it's replaced with another of similar size, the original is eventually tailored into a jacket.)

Re: this, it directly lends to what I was getting at in this post. There will come a day where he’s so much more “Maria” than himself that he practically drops everything and has to find a more earth-looking [second] home. He will keep and take care of this place even after the “Maria day” passes. I expect this location to be mostly rural—he wants to appreciate nature, its sounds, weather, and things like sunrise/sunsets unhindered, but not so much that he’s fully isolated. Maybe on the outskirts of a smaller town, but still within walking distance of it so he can check in and people-watch or window shop, things like that.

Relatedly, his relationship with his own age is complicated at best. He's neither adult nor child. (There is no argument to be made about how mentally mature he is otherwise. No matter how you spin it, he is still a minor. Arguments about that are not tolerated here.)

The rest of the points are arguably less general and more “Shadow regularly gets himself into trouble: the series” and delves into things like his regeneration ability/biology in relation to the Black Arms/etc, so I’m stuffing ‘em under the cut. Nothing particularly gory or anything like that, just a general courtesy in case people don’t want to read about that rougher/more scientific aspect of his character.

Shortly after his revival, he (safely) gave himself over to trusted scientists. For a few months, he underwent a gauntlet of tests/scans/etc in hopes they would help him find a cure for the illness Maria suffered. Some of these scans were painful despite what he thought was a high pain tolerance, which came as a surprise to him. This is relevant for most of the upcoming points.

Most controversial take: he finds guns boring. Primarily in the sense of what’s being used against him as a weapon, though. Bullets will not stop him. If you want him to stop moving, you’re going to have to lop something clean off, then flip a coin. Heads he stops, tails he’s too hyped up on adrenaline/chaos energy and will still wreck the antagonist’s shit.

Needless to say, his relationship with pain/injury is a bit weird, to the point of being distressingly casual about it. He can recover from just about any damage within reason; so far, he can and has regenerated an entire arm before (with help from an Emerald). Pain and dangerous situations that might inflict damage do not scare him.

His tolerance for pain is another matter entirely, though. In some twisted kind of way, once he realized he does in fact have a limit/pain threshold (e.g., the scans, and a particular other few events, even before the arm loss), he almost started getting more reckless to challenge and raise that threshold. His pain tolerance is already pretty high, so the fact there still exists situations in which damage exceeds that tolerance is almost like a thrill/challenge. He won’t go out of his way to or purposely hurt himself, but if the dangerous situation he’s half-intentionally placed himself in causes an accident or something, then so be it. The more experience he gains, the less likely he's going to be stunlocked by pain when stakes are high.

If he’s left to his own devices for too long, he gets restless. Being restless leads to getting himself into Situations (e.g., the above points, and also kind of like this.) Basically his impulse control just plummets. That’s where races or spars with Metal might eventually come in later. He can only stand being serene and mild-mannered for so long. There is still Black Arms blood in him; it's where he gets his otherwise well-hidden temper/competitiveness/etc. Playing rough with Metal, who has a similar “so what if I lose an arm, it can be repaired” outlook, is a good way to safely manage and expend that energy when it starts to drive him a bit stir-crazy.

Speaking of blood, his is not green. The chaos energy overrides the Black Arms’ blood color, so instead his glows bright gold in the first few seconds it’s exposed to air, and then gradually dulls down into a near-black.

In the event he’s injured, the spots being healed/regenerated come back a bit paler, not unlike a scar (the fur, too, is a bit finer). Eventually his fur evens back out to the usual black, but is a bit longer around the edges of where the injury was for a little while after/to the point he might have to manually trim it. Also tends to keep souvenirs of sorts when he gets into Situations. (General sketch page mulling over all of this. I'm still not 100% sure about the 'his fur eventually goes back to its normal color' thing; he may just Stay Like That with the paler patches/missing quills/etc like regular scars, but until I decide for sure, I'm just operating under the assumption this is not the case.)

He's essentially a highly efficient energy burner. Food/water just gets converted into pure chaos energy. Nothing is wasted; frankly his anatomy doesn't even allow for it.

In the same vein, he can go a few days without food/water, but it'll take a lot to replenish his energy stores. It's typical for him to go into an almost coma-like sleep for a few days to recover from critical injuries (not unlike in Sonic Battle). Outside of that, if he doesn't replenish his chaos energy quickly enough, he stays lethargic/fatigued for about a week.

He is biologically incapable of contracting illnesses (the Metal Virus would still, hypothetically, be an exception), and cannot be poisoned. Whether it's inhaled/ingested, he'd just cough or spit it back out without it taking effect. Similarly, he doesn't experience typical nausea outside of extreme fatigue/pain, so it's one of the few things he knows of due to his time with Maria, but can't really empathize with.

When tired, he's more Creature than not. There's a lot more little squeaks/chirps/huffs and whatnot that you'd expect from a typical hedgehog. This is especially true when he's already asleep/recovering. If he's cradled or hugged for an extended period of time, he will start to purr in a way more comparable to a bear cub than cat. It's so faint it's more felt than heard, and can otherwise only be heard by the person actively holding him.

[ravenspeakrp]

Welcome to Raven’s Peak, Caiti, we’re excited to have you! Sean Doyle (Werewolf, Aidan Turner ) has been accepted. Please be sure to stop by the CHECKLIST for the follow list, tags to track, and other reminders.

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME: Caiti PRONOUNS: she/her AGE: 35+ TIMEZONE: CST

IN CHARACTER

FULL NAME: Sean Doyle SPECIES: Werewolf (bitten) – he hasn’t decided about approaching a pack as yet AGE: 41 DATE OF BIRTH: June 19th GENDER IDENTITY: Male NEIGHBORHOOD: Downtown OCCUPATION: Owner/Businessman WORKPLACE: Arcane Brewery POSITIVE TRAITS: Charismatic, intelligent, protective NEGATIVE TRAITS: Cunning, sarcastic, cynical LENGTH OF TIME IN RAVEN’S PEAK: All his life FACE CLAIM: Aidan Turner

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGER WARNING: death mention

Born in Raven’s Peak to a family of witches sworn to the Hallowed Circle coven meant Sean Doyle had a lot of expectations on his shoulders from the moment he entered the world. His family fully believed in the coven’s mantra of ‘the greater good’ and it often meant lofty goals for the children.

Goals Sean had no desire to meet.

Yeah, okay, so he wasn’t opposed to helping people . . . but he didn’t see why he needed to devote his whole life to it. Shouldn’t they be allowed to pursue their own dreams without constantly having to make sure they checked off all the ‘greater good’ boxes? Still, he did his best to toe the line his family had drawn.

Then, when he was around 16, his older sister died in childbirth and her husband cut all contact with the Doyle family. They never even got news about the baby – whether the child survived or had died along with his sister.

She’d been one of the few who’d encouraged him to dream outside of the coven’s constraints, and Sean took her death hard. It sent him on a spiral of drinking, followed by petty thievery to pay for the alcohol when his parents cut him off from any of the family money. Instead of bringing him to heel – as they expected – he told them to fuck off and channeled his anger and talent into becoming king of the back alleys.

They disowned him, demanding he change his name.

He refused – it was his name too, damn it.

Sean Doyle became well-acquainted with the cops, in and out of holding, but they could never quite pin anything on him. Then one day, he’d made a bet with someone and started his own business – using the money he’d ‘picked up’ as seed money for a brewery.

But he proved to have a knack for it . . . and soon got himself a studio place downtown.

An old friend gave him one of those DNA tests as a joke, and Sean almost threw it away. What the hell was it going to tell him? His family was mostly gone, and the only one who’d left the Peak had died over twenty years before. All it could do was tell him that he came from Irish stock – which he already fucking knew. They pestered him, making a few bets and deals, until he’d finally agreed to do it in return for one free meal a week at The Golden Spoon for a year.

The friend agreed and Sean spit into the tube, sending it off – never expecting anything to come of it. Though he was kind of surprised to find French and German mixed into the Irish. Huh. His father must be rolling in his grave.

Though he’d approve of the brewery and its tasting room . . . a thought Sean didn’t linger over.

Still, Sean moved on with his life – enjoying that free meal every week as he walked the line between law-abiding and keeping his hand in his old trade while staying off the law’s radar. Everything seemed to be coasting, and he liked that just fine. He didn’t need any big highs or lows – just a nice steady stream of living suited him. Give him his simple apartment, food on the table, and a beer on the weekend.

Then came a night on the town with a few too many drinks, and he’d managed to end up in the Stygian woods on a full moon . . . with a really pissed off wolf.

Not that Sean had done anything to irritate it – or he didn’t think he had, given the foggy memories seen through the mists of alcoholic haze. Raven’s Peak locals knew better than to be that stupid, even at their drunkest. Whatever had happened, however, he woke up the next morning with a bite on his thigh.

And his powers had already begun to fade as the fever set in.

Over the past couple of years, he’s come to terms with his new status as a werewolf, mostly running as a loner. Though he’s not actively avoiding the packs, he’s still undecided about approaching them. He’s not totally opposed, just . . . cautious.

One day out of the blue, he received an email, followed by a handful of calls, from a girl he’d matched on that damn, half-forgotten DNA test. Now he’s got a brand-new niece in town, and she wants to know all about the family Sean despised. To add to the chaos, the Peak has managed to have all new insanity going on that even the locals aren’t familiar with.

What the hell did he do now?

EXTRAS

FILLING CONNECTION: yes – Emerson’s uncle INSPIRATIONS: Artful Dodger, MCU’s Clint Barton, Sean’s Aesthetics

[witchthewriter]

Hullo!

I'm the quotev reader that said they'd get a tumblr jsut for the specific writings lol

I've followed, done 5 reblogs & a shout-out I'm pretty sure because i wanted to go all the way with level four!

literally have never requested from a fanfic book before so yk i kinda have to keep going back and forth to see what i need to do. So i'm just going to list stuff off that i see is required and whatnot.

personality: It changes depending on the person but I'm consistentley trying to make people smile and laugh, and I gernerally observe lot's of people, I'm quiet around people I don't know but as soon as you choose to talk to me first I'm going to sound insane.

sexuality: Pansexual! :D

pronouns: She/They

MBTI: ESTP-T

Zodiac Big 3: Aries Sun, Taurus Moon, and Aquarius Rising

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

likes/dislikes: I like wearing hoodies all the time, I love music, I love dying my hair, I don't like people who make fun of things before they try it (please don't kill me because I like pineapple pizza-)

hobbies: Drawing digitally and traditionally, writing fanfics, improv

fandoms: Stranger things, Harry Potter, Marvel (my fav three out of the billions im in)

and just as a little extra thing, my fav characters from the top 3 fandom both boy and girl; ST: Steve "The Hair" Harrington & Robin Buckley, HP: Fred&George Weasly & Luna Lovegood, Marvel: James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes & Yelena Belova

Want one? Here be the rules 🦋

What each ship has in common:

⋆ Kind-hearted ⋆ Brave ⋆ Loyal ⋆ Fun-loving  ⋆ People look up to them

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

I ship you with Steve Harrington. I think he would be a great match for you - he’s such a charismatic but good natured guy, that you couldn’t help BUT fall for him. The way he would look at you, would make you swoon. 

𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

・Always driving you in his car  - you’re like a passenger princess. You’re things are scattered around his car; hair bands, perfumes, receipts, bobby pins etc. 

・He lovingly gazes at you, and sometimes it’s weird because it goes for ages. And you’re like, “Steve? Steeeeveeeeee! Stop!” 

   “Huh? Oh sorry babe, you’re just so amazing.” 

・Will be the bf that talks about you to everyone. 

     “And look at this picture, look how cute she is!” 

・Will always be there for you - even if it’s 3 am and he’s fast asleep. You’ll call him and he’ll jump in the car, bleary eyed and pick you up

・SUPER protective of you

     “Ugh, no. No way, you are NOT coming with us.”

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢  

You’re determination and ideas. He loves listening to you talk, how you think and what you believe in. You’ve had a lot of discussions that he’s never had before, and he thinks you’re amazing. 

𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑  

Robin Buckley! I think you guys would have such awesome conversations, a deep connection and she would see you as family. 

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

I ship you with George Weasley! I think you would be better suited to the more sensitive twin. He’s more emotionally mature. 

𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

・Not caring about the opinions of other people - especially other Slytherins because they are constantly judging you. 

・Always standing up for each other

・Probably getting into trouble, a lot of detention. 

・He’s so much taller than you are, so you have to stand on your tippy toes to kiss him

・ Ginny being wary of you at first because you’re a Slytherin, but when you first visited the Burrow, and she actually got to know you- her opinion changed. You were so much more chill than she thought you would be. 

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢  

Your good heart. And your humour. Don’t forget about the humour. He loves making you laugh, and you have so many inside jokes. He feels so safe and comfortable around you. 

𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑  

Fred Weasley - I mean c’mon. You would totally egg him on and rev him up to do pranks. Sometimes George has to set boundaries because you told Fred how to get into the Slytherin common room. And he had all these pranks ready, especially for Malfoy, but George reminded you that you would get into a lot of trouble if it got out. 

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥

𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

I ship you with Bucky Barnes! I think you would be enamored by his grumpy demeanor, and constantly call him ‘old man.’ He would secretly love it though. 

𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

・Showing him what he’s missed out on - shows, movies, books, social media, the internet etc 

・I think he’s more of a homebody and would love to stay home and snuggle. He’s a great cuddler. 

・Getting pets together, probably a dog and a cat. And although Bucky initially says he doesn’t like cats, he grows to absolutely adore it. 

・You’re the only one that can make Bucky genuinely laugh and smile. It makes you feel like you’ve achieved something great when you do so. 

・Bucky and Yelena initally hated each other at first but then started to bond over their past. They would randomly dip in and out of Russian. 

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢  

You’re his hope, he just loves you as a whole person. Every part of you brings him joy and it’s like life is worth living with you around. 

𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑  

Yelena!!!! She almost like a female version of Bucky, although less grumpy and more gen-z like. She loves doing normal best friend things with you - shopping, movies, sleep overs etc. So Bucky better get used to her, because she’s sticking around. 

[feralaot]

random scouts hcs!

I did a post like this for the warriors my beloved (here) and people seemed to like it so here's one for the scouts :) had some input from @afrival for this one luv u

no warnings I think

eren

if he had twitter he would have a vaporwave bart simpson profile picture and tweet lil peep lyrics. also uses way too many hashtags

he's scared of snakes and hates armin's ball python

his eyes are probably crusty as hell and mikasa has to wipe em for him because he won't

when he's losing an argument he goes "ooh you wanna kiss me so bad" and it always escalates things but he doesn't stop

almost exclusively wears american eagle

"what's a pronoun".mp3

uses the 💯 emoji in every other text message he sends

armin

sends his friends pictures of cats cuddling/hanging out and says "me n you <3"

genuinely can't stand when people have dirt under their fingernails. he gets so mad at eren bc his nails are dirty asf and armin forces him to clean them

he calls himself sexy a lot (e.g. "that was really sexy of me")

chews on bottle caps then is like hmm why do my teeth hurt

he hates feet. toes look weird to him. nobody in his house is allowed to take their socks off

unironically uses faces like ^-^ and :3

acne :(

mikasa

she's really bad at giving advice. don't go to her for help she'll literally be like "that's tough"

probably has like 4 instagram accounts made just to follow eren

solid black profile picture and no bio

maybe now and then she'll put a my chemical romance quote on her story but that's about it, she doesn't respond to dms or anything

doesn't wash that damn scarf so it's probably stinky

sticks staples, pins, etc through the tips of her fingers for no reason other than she likes freaking people out

probably hisses at people

jean

the only possible relationship dynamic somebody can have with him is rivals to lovers

very short social fuse and has to stay home for several days after public events bc it's just exhausting

he's an introvert adopted by extroverts (connie and sasha) and has to deal with their shenanigans. truly the mom figure between the three of them

marco has to listen to him ranting about connie and sasha's foolery and doesn't have much advice to offer bc he doesn't know either

for a long time he only knew "straight" and "gay" and when he found out about the concept of bisexuality his mind almost imploded

he sighs and yawns a lot and doesn't even realize he does it. people always think he's either annoyed or tired

probably dresses like a diet e-boy. crewneck king

connie

the kind of kid in your high school gym class that wears mismatching neon clothes. bonus points if it's nike

also the most likely to start a food fight for funsies

he doesn't yell often because his voice cracks when he does and it's embarrassing

sasha and him hate cafeteria food so he always brings an ungodly amount of food in his backpack instead to share with sasha. connie's backpack is 90% food

unironically says things like "pogchamp" and "rad"

he works at zumiez and probably lives there. always rocking their latest drip

jumps up and slaps exit signs

sasha

randomly breaks into song (usually disney songs) and connie will automatically duet

manages to fall asleep in any situation. on buses, while watching movies, sometimes even mid conversation if she's zoned out enough

tried to take armin fishing one time but he almost cried because he felt so bad about it

at least reiner will fish with her though. the himbos always come through

her instagram is all pictures of fish she caught and now and then there's an awkward candid pic of niccolo

stayed overnight in a walmart one time and got away and brags about it but she won't admit it was an accident. panicked and spent the night eating snacks off the shelves to "survive"

while she's talking her voice slowly gets louder and louder and she doesn't realize it until people tell her to stop yelling

historia

pulls people by the ears to bring them down to her level

also kicks people in the shins a lot, if she's arguing with someone they'll usually keep their distance to avoid getting shin kicked

loves climbing on ymir's back and just being carried around like the little creature she is

posts inspirational quotes on her story

would definitely be a cheerleader in high school. nobody would guess a prep like her is dating some grunge girl w a pretty much opposite personality

she always has bandaids with her for some reason. if someone gets scraped she'll whip out a bandaid immediately. her friends call her "mom" sometimes

hates grilled cheese so god damn much. can't stand it

ymir

"damn I don't remember asking".mp3

is always the first one to comment on historia's instagram posts. her comments range from "beautiful my queen!!!" to "damn ma yo ass fat"

she always called reiner gay as a joke then he came out as gay and for a while she thought it was her fault

her and reiner have wlw and mlm solidarity, they're bffs for that matter

if someone tells her that her music is too loud she'll say "huh?" and turn it up

similarly if someone scolds her for something she'll go "hm? repeat that, I'm a little deaf in this ear"

"bro stfu you always tell me you're gonna fire me for being late"

levi

really really hates cooking pasta because straining the water is for some reason more difficult than it should be

"do not underestimate me, bitches"

always refuses to get his hair cut at places in shopping centers. especially walmart great clips

makes monkey noises when he sees something he likes. he started doing this as a joke to mock zeke but it evolved and now he can't stop doing it randomly

will not hesitate to knock someone on their ass if they're talking shit

coffee makes him jittery so he drinks tea instead but won't admit to anyone that he lowkey also has a redbull addiction

hange calls him a catboy but he doesn't know what that means so he's always like "yeah" bc he thinks it means he's a cat person

hange

buys levi shoes from the kids section and doesnt tell him bc he likes them anyway

such a millennial, they say shit like "doggo" and "adulting"

"for practical reasons I don't exist. do not perceive me"

probably wants to marry mothman

levi has had to scold them on several different occasions for bringing live animals into the house

legally isn't allowed to cook bc they can and they will blow something up

goes on tipsy rants almost nightly

erwin

white skechers king

hosts barbecues in those white skechers. he talks shit about people with nile and pyxis like a bunch of gossiping middle aged fath- wait

his profile pictures on social media are probably pictures of himself taken from awkward angles with an empty expression. it's always posted like six times as well

when levi is getting Out Of Hand he'll pick him up from under the arms and carry him away like "okay, that's enough" and levi kicks around but can't escape

rubs his hands together a lot like a fly. nobody knows why he does it. what are you scheming

falls asleep on couches while watching sports games

[swinging his keys around his finger] "let's rock and roll"

[bluebellhairpin]

The Perfect Partner

Masquerade AU!Levi Ackerman X Fem!Reader

A/N: It says Fem!Reader, but I’ve tried to use minimal female pronouns anyways, so hopefully them fem-ness isn’t too noticeable. I hope y’all don’t mind too much. - Nemo

Summary: It’s your first masquerade ball, and thanks to the resident Princess, you got to dance with the most mysterious - and reclusive - guest. The problem? Everyone seems to know the weight of what dancing with him means. Everyone except you. 

Listening to: ‘Romantic Flight’ by John Powell

Part Two - ‘The Perfect Plan’ 

Masterlist

Making the move from your small hometown to the city of Paris was tiring enough, but adding having to attend a ball in less than a few days - a masquerade no less - made you feel even more exhausted. 

Your small group of servants were tired too, you could see it on their faces, but they diligently sought out a costume and mask for you to wear - perfectly fitted and covered in silk and lace. You swore them tomorrow off work. They more than deserved it. 

Stepping onto the grounds of the Chateau, you had no choice but to take a moment and admire it. It was like the building itself demanded it. 

There were lit torches, blazing a warm glow across every footpath in the grounds. The main walkways, one of which you'd made your way to stand on, were covered in a soft red fabric. Those two things alone made you feel more important than what you were. 

Your family's rank was born from an act of kindness. Generations ago, your great-great grandfather helped keep safe, and nurse a young man back to health. He did not know who the man was, nor did he care. He believed it was his duty to his fellow man to care for each other. That man he helped believed in paying kindness - no matter what form - forward. Your grandfather saved his life, and to the man that was the highest form of kindness anyone could offer. 

That man was the Prince, next in line for the throne of France, and he made your family what it is today. He was why you are here today. 

Still, over the generations, your family has been close friends with the coexisting Princes or Princesses. For you, you'd been passing letters to and getting them in return from the Princess since she could read. Even though you were a good handful of years older, the friendship between you and Princess Historia Reiss was strong. Even though you'd never met face-to-face in her almost eighteen years on earth, you felt an obligation to her. Like an older sibling would to a younger one. 

Finishing mulling over what had brought you here, and the outside decor, you made your way up the stairs leading to where all the other guests were congregating. 

The ballroom was - by far - the biggest room you'd seen in your whole life. Streams of baby blue fabric bled down from the ceiling, paired with the gold and blue wallpaper and the candelabras, it alone would've been a sight to see. But one other thing in the room demanded attention too. The chandelier was absolutely enormous. It shined with layers upon layers of diamonds and gold. You were almost cautious to walk near it because it's weight was too much for the Chateau's old ceiling.

You gently snatched a champagne glass from a passing waiter, taking a quick sip to lull your pumping heart back into submission. You weren't this nervous before, too distracted by the bright lights and colours to realize exactly what being here meant. 

You were alone, in a room full of people you'd only spoken to through letters, or seen in passing and in portraits. Being with them in person was completely different. It was new. It was scary.

"(y/n)! - Oh, excuse me, I'm so sorry -" A woman called to you, nudging a passerby as she came towards you in a hurry of blue fabric, "- (y/n) is that really you behind that mask!" 

You were a little shocked. Those blue eyes, the pinned back blonde hair. Was this Historia? 

"Uh, yes. I'm (y/n)." You stuttered. She slipped off her mask, grinning widely, and pulled you into a hug.

"Oh, after only writing to you for so long, it's absolutely wonderful to finally have you here!" She pulled away. This was definitely Historia. You laughed.

"How did you know it was me?" 

"I know everyone else here. You're the only one that was invited that I've never actually spoken to before." She said, linking your arm with hers and placing her mask back on. "It was all part of the plan." 

"What plan? -"

"- Oh look, here. You must meet these people!" She pulled you into a group, all of people around her age. You were too old to be being pulled around. "(y/n), these are two of our resident Knights, Mikasa and Eren, and this is my bookkeeper, Armin. Mikasa, Eren, Armin, this is my oldest and closest friend, (y/n)!" 

Mikasa offered you a polite nod, smiling lightly, as did Armin, the latter waving slightly. Eren, however, looked a little confused. 

"I thought Yimr was your closest friend?" he asked, tilting his head. 

You'd heard of Yimr, and how 'close' her and Historia were. You didn't know if these three knew what was really meant, but from the look in Eren's eyes, he at least didn't. 

"Well yes, and no, but that's not the point. The point is - oh my." 

"'Oh' what?" You asked, turning to where Historia had been distracted to this time. There, parting the crowd of guests like Moses at the Red Sea, was a man. He was dressed in all black, with a coat of satin red flowing behind him, and a mask to match. He seemed important. He was handsome. 

But you had no idea who he was. 

He approached Historia, bowing lowly, and most other guests went back to mingling and dancing. 

"Your highness," he said, rising to stand his full height, and even though he wasn't that tall he still posed a great deal of authority. His eyes flicked over to you. "And friend." Then he looked back to the group of wide-eyed teenagers behind Historia. "And other friends." 

"Good evening," Historia said, smiling over at you. "Here, I'll introduce you." she said, turning back and adding the new man into your circle. She tugged on your arm again, bringing you half a step forward. "Here is (y/n), she's been my friend since forever, and (y/n), this is -" At the pause in her stentace the man nodded, offering his hand out to you.

"Care for a dance, (y/n)?" 

Historia almost swung you around and into his arms, so you supposed you had no choice but to take his hand.

───────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰✧.｡:✱───────

You'd never been to a ball like this before. You'd been to them, sure - ones with village folks, filled with farmers, bakers, and other lower-class nobles. You loved those balls. 

This was so different. The room wasn't stuffy, the music was less buoyant, and the food was much more varied. But this man, this stranger - even though everyone but you seemed to know exactly who he was - he was making it feel a bit more bearable. 

Even if he'd barely spoken, he still made you feel awfully comfortable - a far reach from how others acted towards him.

He introduced himself as Levi, and coming from Germany, he was a very good French speaker. You never would've guessed he wasn’t native if he didn't say. He almost smiled at that. Aside from the occasional small talk, and back and forth questions, he wasn't very conversational. You didn't mind, you were too caught up trying to not trip over. 

"Hey," he said, casting you out of your worried daze and straight into his grey eyes, "Stop fretting. Feel the music, from your toes to the tips of your hair. Let it flow through you, and your body will do the rest.”

That was the most he’d said in one go all evening. So you made sure to listen. To the music. To your body, and to his. You felt how his hand tightened in yours and how he pulled your waist closer to him. You saw how his eyes glossed over yours before fluttering to take in the rest of your obscured face, and how he took in a deep breath right before he took you both around the room. He must’ve been magic, that’s the only reason why he was able to make your dancing together feel like you were floating across the marble floor.

It was nothing short of amazing.

He took your attention for three more dances after the first. By the time you were done, you needed another drink, and you were ever so grateful that you wore a mask - he was close enough that he might have felt the heat from your cheeks that returned everytime he pulled you even closer otherwise. But even though your time together dancing was over, he didn’t just up and leave. He hooked your arm in his - much like Historia did much earlier - and guided you back outside to the gardens. 

You could feel the prying eyes on you as you went with him, but you oddly found yourself really not caring. No one spared you a second glance when you were on your own, or even with the Princess. What was it about Levi that they were so curious about? 

Wordlessly, he reached to where your hand was resting in the crook of his elbow, lacing his fingers with yours. He was being so kind to you, so gentle. Even though he - rather unceremoniously - stole you from Historia and her introductions, you didn’t really mind. 

“How are you friends with the Princess?” he asked, now walking in among an empty waist-high hedge maze, and tilted his head over to face you. “I’ve never seen you before, or heard of you, which is odd. Our family and hers are… Very close.” 

“Odd indeed. She’s never once mentioned you or your family in her letters either.” He barked out a short laugh at your quick response. 

“You really don’t know who I am do you?” He asked, a lace of amazement in his voice.

“Well you don’t know who I am either, so we’re even.” He clicked his tongue, releasing a ‘tch’ noise and shook his head.

“I could tell you were new the moment I first saw you. The look on your face when you entered the ballroom earlier, that’s not the face of someone who’s been here before.” He stopped walking, turning to stand toe-to-toe with you instead. “Who are you?” 

“Lowly, at best. Only a rank higher than a knight.” you answered, smiling, “But I am also happy. Very happy.” Levi then got a very soft look in his eyes. The kind that told you, on the inside, he was melting. 

“That’s all anyone could ever wish for. To reply ‘who are you?’ with ‘I am happy’.” You broke into light giggles, smiling and nodding at him. After you settled, you squeezed his hand, and saw he had a smile on his lips too.

“Now I’ve told you who I am. So who are you?”

[lestatslestits]

We Could Just Kiss Like Real People Do

It’s a day late, but @transphantomweek Day 4!

Prompt: Safety Pin Did y’all really think I wasn’t gonna sneak Erik/Christine/Raoul in here somewhere? Wrong.  Every piece I have written so far has been personal to me in some way, but this one especially so. Some of the most precious gender-affirming clothes I have ever owned have been gifts given to me by friends, out of their own closets.  Also, as a side note, I generally headcanon that Erik is non-binary but fine with he/him OR they/them pronouns. BUT I wanted to explore other options for this fic, and I’m happy with the results. 

Raoul raps his knuckles against the door frame and leans his head in. 

“Hey, how’s it going in here?” 

Christine barely looks up, just says, “Raoul! Grab me those safety pins over by the machine, if you don’t mind.” 

She says it around the two that she’s already holding in her mouth. It’s either a credit to her diction or to his attentive listening that he doesn’t hesitate for even a second, just obeys the request. She keeps the safety pins all strung together in a chain. He picks up one and the rest follow. 

“Thank you,” she says a little absent-mindedly when he drapes them over her shoulder for easy access. 

She’s working on the fiddly task of making sure she’s marking the seam correctly, keeping the pins she’s already used in a careful line. Her model fidgets under her hands. This is not the first time.

“Erik,” she keeps her voice purposefully light and calm, because they are anxious and flighty under the best of circumstances, and this is all new to them, “I need you to be as still as possible.” 

On some level, asking Erik to be still is like politely asking time to stop marching forward. It’s an impossibility. But they listen to her request, fixing their posture and confining their movements to twitches of their long, slender fingers.

“It isn’t going to fit,” they voice their frustration in a quavering tone. It’s unusual for Erik to have anything but complete control over their voice. The vulnerability Christine recognizes here is the same vulnerability she heard only a few days before when they began spilling out frantic and half-jumbled words to her and Raoul about being incorrectly man, about being non-woman, about the comfortable nothing that existed in between those two labels. 

There had been hugs after that, and then tender kisses shared between the three of them, and then Christine, at a loss for how to properly celebrate, had started baking a pie at ten til midnight. 

They ate it together, still too hot, burning their tongues, in the early hours of the morning. 

The next day dawned with new pronouns and new labels, but the same comfortable, lived in name that they had chosen years ago. 

“It’s going to fit,” Christine reassures them. It’s a promise she can make because she is going to make it fit by sheer force of will if she has to. 

Erik chose this dress from her closet with care and reverence. She’s not going to let them feel like they are playing dress up in their new clothes. 

“Nothing fits off the rack,” she continues breezily. By this time she has used the safety pins she held in her mouth  so she can talk freely, “everything is tailored, but no one tells you that.” 

She is not a tailor. The handful of costuming classes she had been forced into in order to fulfill a theatre degree aside, she’s barely a seamstress. But she does own a sewing machine and this is something she’s committed to. 

Raoul, who is good at sewing on buttons but not much beyond that, helps by managing the safety pin chain. 

By the time Christine is satisfied, there are pins everywhere. Buying a whole new dress would be easier, but less meaningful. 

“Okay, take a look,” she spins Erik in the direction of the full length mirror, in her closet, and for once they do not protest, do not flinch away from seeing themself. 

Their eyes light up, even behind the mask.

 They practice letting the full skirt flow with their movement. Christine claps her hands, and Raoul whistles, low and appreciative and enamored. It’s better than words. Erik still shies away from traditional descriptions of beauty when someone offers them, but this is enough. It’s all it takes for them to devolve into hugs and soft kisses again, and for Erik to melt into the comfort of Christine and Raoul’s embraces.

And if it’s hard to hold someone who is decked from head to toe in safety pins? Well, no one seems to mind much.

[anxious-logic]

Chapter 3: Age 4, Part 3

Masterpost | Previous | First

Chapter word count: 1,382

Chapter warnings: none

---

“Hi,” Thomas said, looking like he was evaluating the other three.

“Hello, little one,” Logan said. Patton noted the green pin on their collar.

“This is Logan,” Patton introduced. “Today they use they pronouns.”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “So like- like Remus? Sometimes different pronouns?”

“Exactly,” Patton said, pleased. “Do you see the green on their shirt?”

Thomas nodded.

“Just like Remus, if it’s pink you use she and if it’s blue you use he. Except Logan also uses they pronouns, so that’s what green means.”

Thomas nodded slowly. “That’s cool.” He turned to Roman, tilting a head in curiosity. “Who’re you?”

Roman smiled at him. “My name is Roman. I use both he and they pronouns.”

Thomas tilted his head. “Like Logan and Remus?”

“Almost. I use both at the same time.”

Thomas furrowed his brows. “How?”

Virgil quickly jumped in. “If I was talking about Roman, I would switch which ones I use. For example, ‘I saw him running through the forest. They looked silly.’ Does that make sense?”

Thomas giggled at the example, then nodded. “Yeah.”

Patton glanced up at the other gods as Thomas was preoccupied mumbling to himself – practicing pronouns, Patton thought. They saw Virgil whispering to Roman, their hands twined together. After a moment, Roman looked over at Thomas, their face clouded with something that Patton wasn’t quite able to identify.

“You haven’t told him yet?”

Patton startled as they heard Logan’s voice in their ear.

“No,” they said shortly, trying to keep their voice low so that Thomas wouldn’t be disturbed. “I wanted all of us to be there.”

Logan’s mouth twisted unpleasantly, but they didn’t say anything else.

“Are you ready to talk to everyone now?” Patton asked Thomas after a few moments when nobody seemed to want to say anything.

Thomas gave a happy smile and nodded. “Yes!”

“Okay.” Patton glanced over at Roman, who gave a nod at his unvoiced question of whether everyone else was ready.

“Let’s sit down,” Janus urged. Thomas plopped down onto the ground, wiggling back and forth slightly to try to get to a more comfortable position. His eyes widened and he stopped moving when Remus stepped out of the shadows of the trees.

“Where’d you come from,” he whispered, his voice awed. Patton shifted awkwardly.

“Well,” he said slowly, trying to figure out how to explain the situation.

“Have you ever heard about the gods?” Virgil asked after Patton trailed off into silence. Patton snapped their head up in shock at the question.

Thomas tilted his head to the side and frowned. “A little,” he said. “I don’ ‘member a lot, though.”

“Do you remember their names?” Janus asked gently. Thomas scrunched up his face in concentration.

“Uh- I think- maybe there’s a Logan? And I think there’s a Virgil. And a- a Jan.” He rocked back and forth a few times. “Maybe a Pat?”

Remus stifled a giggle in his hand. “And what are our names?”

Thomas looked around the circle, his eyes widening. “Logan. Virgil.” He pointed at each of them as he did so. “And- and Janus and Patton but those could be Jan and Pat?” He clapped his hands together excitedly. “Mommy knows gods?”

Patton smiled, but they could feel how strained the expression was. “Yes,” they said. “And Roman and Remus are, too.”

Thomas squealed excitedly. “Am I?”

Logan shifted back and forth, and Patton could tell it was in an attempt to hide their awkwardness at the question. “Not exactly, little one. You will grow and get older, just like any mortal.”

Thomas’s face fell. “Oh.”

“We’re still going to take care of you,” Patton quickly added when the feeling seemed to be considerably more to the boy than one of his usual quick moods. “And we’re going to love you no matter what.”

Thomas looked up at them, giving them a smile. “Okay.” Patton could tell he still seemed disappointed but didn’t know what to say in response.

“Anyway,” Remus quickly said, changing the subject, “Do you want to see some of the things we can do?”

Thomas looked up at him, his eyes wide. “Yes!”

Remus chuckled, moving a bit closer to Thomas. “I can make things come alive here.”

Thomas’s eyes widened. “Like what?”

Remus looked around before making a dramatic face, putting a hand in his pocket and pulling out a small wooden deer figurine. “I can make this come alive,” he said, crouching down and speaking to Thomas like he was sharing a secret.

Remus passed one hand over the figurine. When the bottom hand came back into view, the deer was moving, yawning with its tiny mouth and beginning to stand up on Remus’s palm.

“Wow,” Thomas breathed, and hesitantly reached forward. “Can I touch it?”

“Of course,” Remus said, holding the toy out to Thomas. “It’s yours.”

Thomas glanced up at Remus hesitantly, but switched his gaze back to the figurine, carefully running a finger over its back before gently picking it up.

“Thank you,” he said politely, turning it around in his hands to examine all sides before putting it back down in his lap and looking up to the other gods. “What can you do?”

Roman crouched down to be closer to Thomas’s level. “I can tell stories,” he said in a conspiratorial tone of voice. “I can make them up and make them sound real.”

Thomas tilted his head, intrigued. “Can you tell me one?”

Roman chuckled. “Maybe later, when we have the time for something grand.”

Thomas slowly nodded before turning to the other four, tilting his head to one side. “And you?”

Janus glanced around, then shrugged when nobody else spoke. “I can tell when someone tells the truth, or believes what they are saying is true.”

Thomas wrinkled his nose. “Even white lies?”

Janus cracked a smile. “Yes, even white lies.”

Thomas gave a little hmph, but quickly turned to Logan, Patton, and Virgil.

“Ours are a little harder to explain, little one,” Logan said. “Suffice it to say… we can look at people and understand certain things about their life and personality.”

Thomas made a confused face. “Like- like mind reading?”

Logan looked to Patton for help.

“Not exactly,” they said slowly. “I don’t think it’s something you need to worry about right now, sweetie.”

Thomas shrugged, then turned back to the small wooden deer on the ground, very carefully running a finger down its back before moving his hand to scratch behind the deer’s ears. His movements slowed, and then he looked up to Remus.

“Can I have another?”

Remus smiled at him. “Just this one more today, okay?”

Thomas nodded solemnly, watching Remus intently as he dug a stag figurine out of his other pocket, passing a hand over it again and animating it in the same way as the deer.

“Thank you,” Thomas said happily as he gently took the stag in his other hand and placed it next to the deer, giggling happily at the way they interacted with each other.

Patton looked up at the other gods in the area, trying to evaluate how they were feeling. Janus seemed to be content, but Patton had always had trouble reading the feelings of the god of trust. Virgil seemed… not quite nervous, but perhaps a bit more on-edge than he’d normally be. Logan didn’t seem to be preoccupied by anything, watching Thomas with a soft expression on their face, their hand intertwined with Janus’s. Remus was still crouching next to Thomas, not interacting with him but clearly listening to the boy’s story. Roman was bouncing on his toes excitedly, their fingers twitching at his sides.

“Do you need to take some time alone?” Patton asked them. Roman looked sheepishly at them, still bouncing slightly.

“…Maybe.”

“If you want to go, you can. You know we all understand that you can’t control when you get inspired.”

Roman nodded. “You’ll check in and make sure it doesn’t get too intense?”

Patton gently squeezed his shoulder. “Of course.”

Roman bounced on his toes, then quickly vanished. Patton gave a fond smile at the space where they had been, then turned back around to where Thomas was playing. They reached over to squeeze Janus’s hand.

They couldn’t wait to get to know Thomas better.

Next chapter

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Six

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

They went down many hallways on the way to the kitchen, enough of them that Roman lost track of where they were. He understood that they were taking the scenic route to avoid his mother, but this still seemed...extreme.

It was all made worth it, however, when Roman and Logan arrived in the kitchen, and Roman was instantly assaulted with the smell of sauces, and spices, and cooking food. Patton came over almost immediately with a smile on his face. “Logan! Nice to see you again! And you brought a guest!”

“Yes, we’re hiding Roman away from his mother,” Logan said.

Patton faltered. “Roman?” he asked.

“That is his name, Patton,” Logan said.

“Oh. Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know!” Patton exclaimed.

Roman waved off his apology. “My mother didn’t want anyone to know, I’m not surprised that she would try to misinform you.”

Patton looked like he might slap someone at any moment. “I’ll give her the overcooked turkey, in that case.”

“Ooh, turkey tonight?” Roman asked, eyes lighting up.

“Turkey as well as spinach lasagna, for the vegetarians,” Patton said.

“That’s rather considerate of you,” Roman said.

Patton shrugged. “I get meal offers all the time that I follow even if they don’t make sense. Following a vegetarian meal plan is easy compared to some of the things I’ve seen in my day.”

“I’ll bet,” Roman laughed. “But I love turkey. My brother Remus and I would eat turkey sandwiches virtually every time we returned from one of our ‘adventures,’ it was by far one of my favorites for a long time, and I still have a soft spot for any sort of turkey because of it.”

Patton smiled. “You seem very fond of your brother,” he noted.

“He’s the best,” Roman said. “Very first person I came out to, and he was super understanding. I love him more than words can say.”

Patton nodded. “Yeah, you show that in the way you talk about him. Can I offer you something to eat before dinner? A sample of what you may have, for instance?”

Roman laughed. “Maybe a little, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all!” Patton chirped. “I’ll get you a piece.”

Patton puttered around the other cooks in the kitchen and grabbed a piece of turkey, returning to Roman with the piece skewered on a fork. “Go on, it’s encouraged to make sure that everything is cooked properly.”

Roman took the offered fork and took a bite, humming as the flavors burst on his tongue. “This is amazing, Patton,” he said with a smile. “Truly amazing.”

Patton grinned. “I’m glad you think so, Your Highness!”

“Are you going to be cooking for the wedding?” Roman asked.

Patton nodded. “That I am! Do you have any requests for food?”

“No requests,” Roman said. “Except that you put as much care into the dishes as you do with this meal.”

“Of course,” Patton said. “I put as much care and love into every dish as I can.”

“Excellent!” Roman exclaimed, beaming. “Then I can look forward to the food we’ll have by the end of the week.”

Patton laughed and shook his head. “You are too kind, Your Highness.”

“On the contrary, I think you’re too humble,” Roman said.

Patton offered Roman a grin before one of the doors to the kitchen opened and Damien poked his head inside. “Oh! Roman!” he exclaimed. “I thought you might be here. Everyone is beginning to get settled in the dining room, if you want to come out with me?”

Roman hesitated. He didn’t want to have to hide in the closet so soon after he had gotten out of it. But did he have a choice? Not really. “All right,” he said. “I’m not looking forward to playing the part of a princess, but I’ll walk out with you.”

“Oh, and his mother’s getting the dry turkey,” Patton informed Damien.

Damien got a wicked gleam in his eyes as he smirked at Patton. “You, sir, are far more devious than you let people believe.”

“Part of my charm,” Patton chirped. “Now you two should go before the entire castle starts looking for you.”

“True,” Damien said, offering his hand to Roman. “My good sir.”

Roman laughed and took Damien’s hand, shaking his head. “You’re a mess,” he informed Damien. “You like to pretend to be together and suave, but in actuality you’re a huge mess.”

“I hope that won’t be a problem?” Damien asked.

“No, no problem,” Roman said, shaking his head. He grinned. “It means I get to laugh like a maniac whenever one of your schemes goes awry.”

“I am a prince, Your Highness. I do not ‘scheme,’ I ‘plan’ or more often ‘strategize,’” Damien corrected.

“Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say,” Roman said, beaming up at Damien.

“Were we not monitored every second of every day I would tickle you in retaliation for that remark,” Damien hissed at him.

“Oh, good thing for me that we are always watched, then,” Roman replied. Damien huffed and shook his head, but he was fighting back a smile. Roman laughed and nudged Damien. “Come on, you know you love me,” he sang.

“Mm. Love is debatable, seeing as how we’ve known each other all of a single day,” Damien said. “I do enjoy your company, however.”

Roman giggled as he stood on his toes and whisper-sang into Damien’s ear, “Gay~!”

“You little shit,” Damien hissed right before they rounded the corner leading to the dining room, where Damien’s parents were waiting.

“It’s good to know you’re comfortable around me,” Roman said, arching his eyebrows meaningfully. “I doubt many people see that side of you.” He glanced over at Damien’s parents and knew that they were within earshot in a second.

“You would be right that not many people know that about me,” Damien agreed. “But those who do know me are aware that I do things such as that, and generally, they don’t care.”

“Mm. Your parents?” Roman asked.

“Don’t care if I swear like a sailor so long as I keep it clean among house guests,” Damien replied quietly and simply. “But being vague is in our best interest since we don’t know where your mother is or if she can hear us.”

Roman sighed. “True. Much as I hate it.”

Damien offered Roman an apologetic shrug. “Just one week, my dear, and then I will ensure no one deadnames you or misgenders you ever. For any reason.”

Roman shook his head. “You can’t guarantee that,” he said.

“I will do everything in my power to ensure that anyone you come into contact with respects your name and your pronouns, then,” Damien said. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Roman said. “I still don’t think you can guarantee that, but it is in theory more feasible and I appreciate the sentiment.”

Damien offered Roman a smirk before turning to his parents. “I found our guest in the kitchen,” he said. “Something tells me Logan took him there.”

“Per my request,” Roman said. “Don’t pin all of this on Logan. And besides! I only had one bite, which Patton offered to me! I didn’t steal any food!”

Damien laughed. “Okay,” he said.

“Everyone’s getting seated,” Damien’s mother said. “Are you both ready for the uncomfortable amount of attention you’ll be receiving?”

“Not really, but we may as well get it over with, right?” Roman asked, adjusting the ends of his shirt sleeves.

Damien’s mother smiled ruefully. “True. Don’t worry, my dear, the tailor has been informed about the change of plans and he will be here after dinner to take your measurements. And he will always be respectful.”

Roman offered her a smile. “Thank you,” he said. He blew out a breath. “Showtime.”

“You’re the most convincing drag act I’ve ever seen, for what it’s worth,” Damien whispered into his ear as they walked into the dining room.

Roman squeaked and smacked Damien on the arm. “Behave!” he warned.

Damien just grinned and walked Roman over to his seat, pushing him in as Roman sat down. There were quite a few dignitaries around his seat, including Mira, one of the ones who he had come out to before his parents found out. “Hi, Mira,” he said.

She offered him a pained smile. “Hi,” she said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Roman nodded. “Likewise. You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve been treated properly by everyone here,” he said, glancing at his mother, who sat next to Mira at the table.

“That’s good,” Mira said, and her shoulders relaxed minutely. When Roman’s mother looked away, she mouthed, “Roman?” And Roman nodded with a smile and a finger to his lips.

Mira’s smile grew into something more relaxed and genuine, and she nodded. “How do you like it here in general?” she asked. “I always enjoy visiting whenever my duties call for it.”

“It’s very nice,” Roman said. “Perfect scenery for painting, when the paint actually comes out of the tubes.”

Mira snorted. “Found another exploding tube, did you?” she asked.

“Indeed,” Damien said.

“Oh, no,” Mira laughed. “I’ve been on the receiving end of those, too, and it’s never fun.”

“No,” Damien agreed. “Can’t say I’m a fan of it either, when the paint wound up on me as well.”

Mira laughed and Roman cracked a grin. “It was fun this afternoon, though,” he said. “I had a fun time.”

“As did I, my dear,” Damien said, smiling at Roman. “As did I.”

“Oh, you two already act like you’ve known each other for years,” Mira laughed. “I love it.”

Roman smiled. He wished he could ask Mira to give a message to Remus, but he knew she’d be flying out tomorrow morning and would be nowhere near the castle, if Roman could even write a letter and slip it past his mother. His father would find it, knowing his luck, and then he’d be in even more trouble. He didn’t want to wait until whenever his parents decided to send Remus over to talk to him, but that seemed to be what was going to happen.

Damien put his hand on Roman’s and murmured, “Everything will be okay.”

“You can’t promise that,” Roman breathed.

“Maybe not,” Damien allowed. “But I won’t allow you to be hurt if it is at all in my power to prevent it.”

Roman offered him a small smile and the two let their hands break apart as cooks exited the kitchen with turkey and lasagna alike. Roman grinned as a large portion of turkey was placed in front of him, almost to the proportions of Damien’s plate. “Wow, they must know how much I eat,” Roman joked. “I can eat huge bags of chips in the span of three hours and not gain any lasting weight. I know that will likely be subject to change later, but for now, it’s nice that I have a plate that can actually leave me feeling full.”

“That is a good thing,” Damien agreed.

They all started to eat, and Roman didn’t fail to notice his mother mutter, “The turkey seems a bit dry,” as he tried not to cackle outwardly at Patton’s antics. As it was, Damien and him shared a glance and nearly burst into a fit of giggles, just the two of them. Roman savored the taste of dinner for as long as he could, as the ambassadors and dignitaries around them congratulated them on the wedding.

Damien fielded most of the questions, a fact for which Roman was thankful. Everything still seemed so surreal, and he couldn’t believe that everyone around him was convinced he was going to be a bride at his own wedding. Even being called “Veronica” didn’t sting as much right now, he was too caught up in his own mind.

What was going to happen after the wedding? Obviously, his parents were going to be furious. Remus would keep in contact if at all possible, obviously, but would his parents ever speak to him again? Would they believe that he was transgender, at long last, and change their tune? Or would he be stuck wondering what had happened to his family for the rest of his life after his marriage?

A hand on his own pulled him out of his musings. Roman realized he had his fists wrapped around the utensils in a white-knucked death grip, and he forced his hands to relax. “Are you feeling all right, my dear?” Damien asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Just thinking, I guess,” Roman said, glancing at Damien and smiling, before his smile faded as he stared at the table. “This still doesn’t feel quite real.”

“I know, I’m still in shock myself,” Damien said. “But if I have to marry anyone, you’re an...ideal candidate.”

Roman laughed at that, once, loud enough that the whole table stared at him. “Oh, yeah, and we both know why that is,” Roman teased.

Damien’s eyes grew softer and he relaxed into a smile as Roman felt a little bit of life rekindle inside him. “I believe the tailor will be arriving in fifteen minutes, which I assume gives you about twenty before he asks after you,” Damien said. “Not really any time for dessert, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all right,” Roman said. “After all, I’m having cake at the end of the week.”

Damien laughed and nodded. “I suppose that’s true,” he allowed. “But if you want to sneak a cookie later, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”

Ripples of laughter floated around the table at that comment, and Roman went back to eating with a small smile. Damien kept near enough to Roman at all times that no one could say anything to Roman in secret without Damien hearing, and Roman appreciated the sentiment behind the gesture, even though he doubted he would be having a hushed argument with his mother in the middle of dinner. He finished his plate of turkey right as one of the workers came in and said, “Your Highness, the tailor is here for you.”

Roman sighed and squeezed Damien’s hand. “Try your best to not get eaten alive,” he said. “I’ll be expecting to talk to you soon, even if tonight isn’t available.”

“I imagine Remy will be keeping you for quite a while,” Damien said. “So I think I will probably not see you until at least tomorrow morning. Good night, my dear.”

Damien kissed Roman’s hand and Roman short-circuited quietly as he followed the worker out of the dining hall. “You and Prince Damien are an awfully lovely couple,” the worker said. “Even if you haven’t known each other for very long.”

Roman laughed. “Yeah, I do love to spend time with him. He’s rather charming.”

“I’m admittedly a little jealous,” the worker whispered conspiratorially. She continued, “He seems like such a dashing gentleman, and I would love to spend time alone with him.”

“Are you new around here?” Roman asked.

“First month here,” the worker confirmed. “Why?”

“Oh, just wondering. It seems like a lot of the older workers are used to him causing mischief,” Roman said. “They don’t seem to call him a gentleman as much.”

“The older workers probably remember him as a young child, though. Surely, he’s matured?” the worker asked.

Roman snickered. “Well, he and I went out this afternoon intending to paint the scenery below the mountain and wound up covered head to toe in paint from a paint war. If he has matured, he certainly has some rather large gaps where he relapses into mischief.”

“Oh,” the worker said, somewhat deflating. “I could have sworn he was more mature than that.”

“There are plenty of people out there more mature than anyone in this castle,” Roman said. “And if you want to pursue someone mature, I have no doubt you can achieve that. Just not with Damien. He’s a little too juvenile.”

“Too true, babes, too true!” a voice called from down the hall. The man standing there had sunglasses on and was wearing a nice leather jacket, with a T-shirt and jeans. At the very least, his shoes seemed to be somewhat new and formal, but the guy didn’t immediately strike Roman as someone who would fit in a castle such as this. “You must be my next client, the name’s Remy! Let’s come on, now, after all we don’t have much time before your big day!”

“Don’t remind me,” Roman complained. “My stomach twists in knots thinking about it.”

“Ah, relax, babes, you’ll look amazing when I’m through with you,” Remy said. “I can make anyone look amazing enough to stun everyone.”

“I don’t really care about that,” Roman said, walking into the room that Remy was standing next to, and when Remy closed it behind him, Roman said, “I just care that it’s a suit and not a dress.”

“Ah, yeah, the king called me, babes, told me about the change of plans. I took the liberty of bringing a couple of the binders I’ve made in the past over to see your size and get accurate measurements for the suit tonight.” Remy walked over to a box and pulled out a couple different tank tops. “What’s your cup size?”

Roman crossed his arms and huffed. “That’s hardly any way to treat someone you’ve only just met.”

“Babes, I need to know so I can get the right sized binder, not so I can drool over your measurements,” Remy said.

“C-cup,” Roman sighed. “They’re not huge, but they’re still too big for my taste.”

“Understandable, babes,” Remy said, pulling out a plain white tank and tossing it at Roman. “Put it on like a shirt. Warning, you will get stuck. At least once.”

Roman took off his suit coat and blouse without issue, but he hesitated at the bra, with Remy still standing there and observing. “Uh, you gonna turn around?” he asked.

“I need to make sure you’re not going to die in that thing, babes, and if you get stuck I’ll be the one who has to help you. And anyway, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Remy said. “You have my word that I won’t try anything, m’kay?”

“Okay,” Roman breathed, unhooking his bra and sliding it off. He took the tank top and pulled it over his head, got his arms through the holes...and couldn’t pull it down any further. “Um?” Roman tried to move his arms, weakly grabbing at the bunched up fabric. “Is this normal?”

“It is a newer chest binder, so yeah,” Remy said. “May I?”

Roman tugged and tugged but nothing budged and he was still stuck. He sighed. “Yeah, sure. Just don’t grope anything.”

“Would never dream of it, babes,” Remy said. He walked over, grabbed the bottom of the tank, and gently pulled it down over Roman’s chest, and down to just above his pants. “How does it feel?”

Roman was too stunned to respond. When the binder went on, his chest looked...completely flat. He looked like a man from the torso up. He grinned. “That’s amazing,” he breathed. He tried to inhale but stopped about halfway through what he should have been able to do. “I can’t breathe very well, though.”

“Do you feel like you can’t get air in or does your breath just feel short?” Remy asked. “Because those are two very different situations.”

“It feels short,” Roman said, still struggling to breathe deeply.

“Okay, then that’s completely normal. Binders constrict your whole chest, not just your breasts, so as a result you’ll feel short of breath the first couple times you wear them. You also shouldn’t wear them swimming unless they’re specifically built for swimming in, and you should never exercise in one, clear?”

“Crystal,” Roman said.

“Good. Most trans guys I know tend to wear their binder every day until they get surgery. Not all of them, but enough. And as tempting as it might be to keep it on all the time, your body has limits you shouldn’t cross. Meaning no exercise, no swimming, take it off after eight hours or whenever your body starts to ache, and for the love of god, don’t sleep in it,” Remy instructed.

“Got it,” Roman said. “I probably won’t be able to wear it around the castle, though, anyway, because of my mother...”

“Yeah, I gotcha, babes. I won’t force you to hide this in your room, I might need it when I go to sew everything together, anyway. But I need to know it fits you, and that you know your limits in it, before I can go any further.” Remy moved away and grabbed a measuring tape. He grinned. “Now comes the fun part,” he said with obvious glee.

Roman felt dread build in the pit of his stomach. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I’m going to measure you!” Remy said. “And it’s going to take a while to get everything right, which means I have a captive audience of one!”

Roman’s relief only appeared at a fraction of its usual intensity. “What do you want to talk about?” Roman asked.

Remy’s eyes lit up. “Okay, so I have a boyfriend, right? His name is Emile. Sweetest guy on the planet. Also dumb as rocks.”

Roman nodded along as Remy continued, which mostly consisted of this boyfriend of Remy’s trying to earn the trust of a local feral cat in the area. And every time he went to pet it, the cat would hiss, or scratch, or bite Emile. Clearly, Emile just thought he hadn’t built up enough trust in the cat and kept trying, kept continuing to try and pet the stupid thing, only to again, get scratched, or bitten, and get a tetanus and/or rabies shot. And, to top it all off, the man was terrified of needles.

“Why don’t you tell him to wait to pet the cat?” Roman asked.

“I have!” Remy said. “I tell him every time he comes home with a scratch or a bite that he has to wait! And he might never get to pet it because, you know, it’s feral, but he doesn’t care! He just keeps trying, babes, and honestly I worry about him. He has a PhD in Psychology, but he’s got approximately zero common sense.”

Roman giggled. “Hey, my parents are the leaders of an entire country, and they don’t have any empathy to speak of, so maybe that’s just a common thing if you’re an expert at one thing. You’re absolutely terrible at another.”

Remy sighed. “I hope not, babes. I hope there’s at least one competent person out there who can do everything mostly okay, you know?”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Roman said. “But if that one person isn’t in a position of power, then what sort of difference are they going to make?”

“You never know,” Remy said with a shrug. “Someone who’s good enough with people can find those who will be listened to.”

“But if they’re that good with people, then that means they’re no longer a jack of all trades, and therefore they will be incompetent at something,” Roman pointed out.

Remy gave Roman a slightly irritated glance. “Are you always this annoying and determined, babes?”

“Only around people I’m comfortable with,” Roman said, letting Remy circle him and keep humming to himself about measurements.

Tag List: @lunareclipse-13​ @sanders-sides-crofters​ @blushy-gigglee-mess @wannacrymetoo @kaytikitty @magicalspacepanunicorn @bootsinthesun​ @pricklyfish777 @flowersanddinosaurs​ @leiasolo77 @birdybabybird​ @enby-phoenix @luna–28 @justagaygoose @the-prince-and-the-emo @fandomsandanythingelse​ @randommuffinyt​ @snekky-boi​ @thesoftestlittlepuffballwegot @twilight-trix​ @abby5577​ @escalatingtoofast​ @friendlyfacestabbing @remus-is-stinky @foggybanditdreampeanut @ghostskull300​ @sprinklestheditty @canvas-the-florist​ @askthesnake​ @samuel-the-gay​ @determination-saved @sparrowofsong @beyondthestacks @juicy-cashew​ @loganpatton @lilbeanblr @kittyboof8 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @sanders-trash-4ever @hamilspntrash @swords-and-kittens @phantomfander @narniasfinestavengingsociopath  @rjmeta @ambersky0319 @anni-cat-flower @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @nafsbluebery @redisawerewolf23 @voidvirgil

[web-of-fics]

"The friendly neighborhood includes everyone.”

Inspired by: Pride month 🙂

Starring: Peter Parker and the gays™

Fandom: whichever Peter Parker you want tbh

Warnings: only if you’re queerphobic!!! 

Summary: In case you and the citizens of New York didn’t know your very own Spider-Man was a queer ally, you do now. 

Words: 1179

✎_____________________________________________________________________

The subway was more crowded than usual. Crowds bothered you but it was June, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as a new group of teenagers boarded the train, clad head-to-toe in campy hats, glasses, face paint, boas, tutus, and tights of all colors. Those holding large flags draped them around their shoulders like capes. Superheroes for a day. 

Sweat beaded down their foreheads, dragging what remained of the rainbow stripes that had been finger-painted onto their cheeks and foreheads that very morning. Fortunately the rain had held off for the parade. 

You lowered the volume pumping through your earbuds so you could eavesdrop. You’d arrived too late--and alone--to your first pride parade, so you couldn’t see over the crowd and didn’t stay long, worried you would stand out too much. Now, maybe you could live vicariously through their enthusiastic play-by-play.

You toyed with the small pin you’d found in the street earlier. The pointy metal bar was bent at an odd angle. You struggled to straighten it and suddenly it stabbed you in the thumb. A bead of red appeared. You sucked it briefly and jammed the crooked pin into your t-shirt anyway. 

You looked back up at the group of teenagers. They were laughing and practically shouting their conversation for the entire train to hear. 

A few commuters shot them irritated looks, while other commuters seemingly accepted the craziness that comes with pride month. 

After a few stops, the group quieted down. You looked to them again, wishing desperately for a friend group like it. How did they all meet?

You cast your eyes downward and looked to your own mud-crusted pin, dangling sadly from your t-shirt. 

The train rattled to a stop and you found yourself following the crowd of teenagers onto the platform of your station. Your heart lifted. Were they from your neighborhood? 

When you reached the street below you couldn’t help but keep them in your peripheral vision as they decided where to go next. You debated how you might introduce yourself to them all without sounding super creepy or completely lame. 

A short-haired woman pushing a stroller passed by the group, pausing only to lean in and say something before jogging off again. If you hadn’t caught the sneer on her face as she turned away, you wouldn’t have had a clue as to what she might have said. Given their boisterous attire and the nature of your reserved neighborhood, you could make a fair guess. 

After she left, the energy from the group deflated as though they had arrived at a birthday party only to be told it was now a funeral. A few of them started peeling off their rainbow stickers, feathers, tulle, and anything else that screamed pride. Those with face paint scrubbed furiously at their faces with their palms. Flags and banners were carefully folded into the size of pocket squares and stuffed into back pockets or drawstring bags along with everything else. 

A trio of tall, broad-shouldered figures sauntered by as they made for the train and took the time to bark few unkind comments at the teenagers. One of them looked around to gauge whether they had an audience and made brief eye contact with you. Your skin crawled. 

You moved toward the group, automatically reaching for the pepper spray on your keychain. 

You heard the shout before you saw the flash of red swoop down from nowhere and land squarely between the teenagers and their harassers. As it stood you realized it was a person. As they fought off the ham-fisted bullies, you realized you were watching Spider-Man in action. 

You stopped walking, realizing you had arrived at the group now. No one looked at you, equally transfixed by the brief fight as it unfolded. 

After giving them a brief lecture and sending the bullies off with their tails between their legs, Spider-Man turned to the nearest teenager. Rainbow paint remained smeared across their cheeks, but their tears were running trails through it. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, none of that!” Spidey said without a hint of harshness to his voice. “Does someone have a tissue?” He looked around between the rest of you. 

He pointed to your hand as you dropped your pepper spray in your bag and searched for a tissue to offer instead. 

“Nice,” he commented, spying the mace.

“Thanks,” the teen said as you offered them a small pack of tissues. They wiped their tears and began working at the remaining smudges of rainbow. 

Spider-Man looked as horrified as he could through a full-face mask. 

“Don’t wipe that off! It’s parade day isn’t it? Pride isn’t over yet.” 

“Pride is never over,” someone piped up.

Spidey pointed at the person as he produced a small white box from his spandex. 

“You’re absolutely right,” he said, opening it to reveal a small paint palette. He dipped his gloved fingers in and offered to replace the person’s colors.

They nodded and with a few swipes of his fingers their face beamed a rainbow. 

Others asked if he would do the same for them, and he gladly repainted their cheeks with squiggly, rounded pride flags. 

He turned to you. 

“Do you want me to paint your face?” he asked gently. 

“Uh,” you looked nervously to the rest of the group, hypersensitive to the fact they were all now aware of your presence. 

Your heart warmed when they smiled at you, their colorful faces beaming with the same pride that first attracted you to them when they hopped on the train. 

“Yes,” you croaked, enjoying the cool wet touch of paint as Spidey briskly stroked your cheeks. The touch lingered as the paint air-dried. In a way it felt like you were putting a mask on, but in another it felt like taking one off for the first time.

“Thank you,” you managed as he backed up to admire his paint job. 

“No, thank you,” he said. “People like you make my job a hundred times better.”

“Really?” someone gasped. 

“Yeah!” he said. “The friendly neighborhood includes everyone. Well, not jerks like those guys. You know what I mean.”  

“Hang on,” someone said, digging through their bag. They passed their phone to Spidey. “Can you take our picture?” 

Even though he remained fully masked, you could sense that his face lit up beneath it.

“Totally!” he said, grabbing the phone and squatting for the perfect angle as they all lined up with their arms around one another.

“Hey!” someone said, leaning their head back to meet your eyes. “Get in here! What’s your name?” 

“Y/n,” you said, obediently attaching yourself to the nearest person.

They all chorused variations of “Nice to meet you!” and gave their names and pronouns. You shared yours as well, realizing you’ve never done that before but very much enjoying the straightforwardness in doing so. 

“And I’m Spider-Man,” he chimed in with mock exasperation. “Now smile and say ‘pride!’” 

“Pride!” everyone--including proud mom, Spidey--cheered. You couldn’t be positive, but you were pretty sure you were the loudest.

_______________________________________________________________________

Just one more before bed? Click here for a masterlist of my fics! 

[cakeandcrows]

I remember this one time I was watching some documentary about a white actress, I can’t recall who. One of her first roles was something like... a German lesbian with some kind of drug addiction (I think cocaine?). Point is, in her interview segment about it, she said something like, “When my mother heard about the role, she said, ‘if I were you, I would have told the director to pick just one of those things, not all of them at once.’” And all I can think about is how like... so many of us on here are more than one kind of minority or ‘invisible’ identity, or neurodivergent, or in some level of recovery from one thing or another. 

Like, this isn’t huge news, y’know? Yeah, privilege is a thing. And people are so absolutely unaware of it when they have it that it makes me want to scream. I’m even unaware of my own privilege a lot of the time and I won’t go into a moment of how I feel when I realize I’ve forgotten, because my guilt on the matter is irrelevant. I just need to get better at keeping myself in check and that’s that. 

Yeah I’d love to be cis some days because of how much easier it would make my life (and honestly for not many other reasons, I’m pretty happy being trans... if it just... y’know, weren’t for how people react to it). Sometimes I think, “Man, straight people are fucking insane; how on earth do they function,” while looking back on the days when I thought I was straight and realizing that even back then I was lost as hell, but some days I’m just like, “If I were straight, would life really be so much easier?” And it would. It really would. If I were also cis at the same time. Etc. 

And I don’t want to make this into an us vs them sort of thing for even a minute, either, because everyone has common ground somewhere. Does that common ground always matter as much to one person as it does to another? Probably not. Jeff Be/os probably shares a home town with a fuck ton of people but I’ll bet he doesn’t give a shit about a single one of them, or that commonality, while you could see a popular rock band and never hear them shut up about how proud they are to be from the West Coast. Sometimes it just doesn’t fucking matter to other people what you have in common with them, because to them, what’s different is so much more volatile. And it goes both ways. 

There’s people from my home town, my graduating class, and even old friend groups that I could never see myself talking to again because of how we’ve split paths in beliefs and lifestyles. Or, maybe they’ve stayed the same and I’ve changed, or the opposite... and I’ll bet they’d see how I’ve changed and think the same things of me. “Wow, I want nothing to do with that person.” 

I’m just... constantly having little wake-up calls over and over again of how some people seriously think that I’d choose a harder life on purpose. And I’m not ashamed of living as I am; I’m very proud of who I am and what I’ve overcome to get here. 

Customers at work, where I feel like I live 2/3rds of my life these days, are always just like... a window into the world for me sometimes. Most people don’t mention my pronoun button. Some people don’t notice it outright and misgender me because they’re looking at my face; entirely being polite and engaged, and not at all aware of how they’re upsetting me. I let it go a lot of the time. It’s not worth it.

There’s the few good folks who listen carefully and patiently and are seemingly brought to a new awareness by my gentle explanations. They’re polite and they honestly revive part of my faith. Like the guy who opened his coffee order saying, “yes, miss,” and left the store tipping his hat to me saying, “thank you very much, sir.” God or whoever does things fucking bless that guy.

Then there’s the people who decide to look at my pin, and ask about it. So far, it’s either people who are just reading it aloud for the sake of it, and then becoming confused but not actually wanting to understand so much as they’re just desperate to make some kind of conversation with a Youth (which is wild because I’m 25??). They don’t actually care, so I don’t really put effort into explaining. They either cut me off mid-explanation, or listen and don’t say anything further. 

Then there’s the people who look at it and laugh at me. Or the woman who decided it was a good idea to read it, listen to my explanation, and say, “You know, my daughter tried to explain that to me. I just don’t get it. I think it’s silly and too complicated. People should just stick to the old ways.” Like... lady. What the fuck do you want me to do about it. Why the fuck do you think telling me this will make me happy or even... want to engage further. I straight up just don’t understand where these people get off. They’re just as rude and uninterested in me as a human being as the people who start rattling off their order and refuse to wait for me to get it all down before shoving their credit card at my face. They do not care. They do. Not. Care. And my patience is starting to wear extremely thin. 

I had a new coworker, who knows I’m trans, the other day stop mid-sentence to say, “Oh, you know, sister? Oh! Also, I call everyone ‘sis’, boys or girls.” “Not me, you don’t.” “...oh?” “You don’t call me that. Ever.” 

“ >:/ tch. Glad we got that out of the way.”

It’s not cute. I don’t think it’s endearing. I don’t think it’s funny. And I don’t give a shit if you call other people that. If you thought about it for five seconds you’d realize how insensitive and fucked up it is. If anyone, anywhere, I swear to god, just thought about ANYTHING for five fucking seconds... I wish... I hope, that they’d be better human beings than they are. 

Like, god, what a horrible inconvenience it is for you to have to stop and think about what to call another human being. To use their name. To use the right pronouns. To avoid nicknames or pet names that would be inappropriate for such a person. Heaven forbid you have to do that for anyone, right? Why am I different? Why are you trying to step on my toes and see if I’ll just sit here and take it? I know why. Everyone knows why. And I’m so sick of being the dog under the table who gets kicked every time it whines about having no escape or being surrounded by the feet of people sitting around the table. 

I don’t hate being trans. I don’t hate being pansexual. I don’t hate being poly. I don’t hate myself. I hate the people who hate me for being myself and intentionally or ignorantly go out of their way to make my life an extra level of hell Just Because They Can. , 

I have been bullied and abused all my fucking life by one kind of person or another and not a single excuse I’ve been given justifies it. Humans are better than this. I want to have faith in humans. And there are good humans; I surround myself with them. But if I have to pry yet another motherfucker’s eyes open to yet another goddamn social issue they were too thick-minded to notice, and then have them turn around and bless me and hail me for some kind of... Joan of Arc bullshit, calling my suffering and my existence some kind of blessing, like my life had to be this hard to spread words and messages across time and space to reach their Oh So Important Ears, I’m gonna choke. Or... even the people who mean well that just straight up make me think that they actually believe that the queer people in their lives are some sort of Manic Pixie Dream (gender) who’s come into their lives to teach them something new and advance their own character development. That’s what it fucking feels like! Being reduced to someone else’s educator and being placed as a Background Character in their own fucking Growth Arc. 

If there’s some sick destiny where I’m lined up to be some kind of flogged messenger to idiots for the rest of my life I want a motherfucking refund. Ship me off to the next incarnation. I don’t care if I come back as a ladybug for two days and die under somebody’s shoe. 

And I’m not somebody’s teacher. I’m not somebody’s martyr or savior. I’m not somebody’s free fucking Queer Almanac and Seasonal Guide to the Experiences of Not Their Own. I’m so fucking tired of explaining myself. 

I’m so fucking tired of People ™ But I also want to have so much faith in People ™ that I think I’m just setting myself up for disappointment. 

Sometimes people prove me wrong and it’s okay. Other times I write a several paragraph long rant at one in the morning. Fuck me honestly, just, fuck me and boy howdy do I wish I could pluck one or two things off my list of identities if only for the sake of not having to Explain Shit To People ™

And at the same time, I very clearly care about people. I want people to understand because fuck, I was there! I used to be some Jacked Levels of Crazy and I was hugely homophobic when i was a teenager. I look back on the way I used to be and I can’t feel proud of who I was and what I believed. I know a lot of it was internalized hatred and disgust. I know all of that shit now. But I see myself in some people and that’s the mistake I make sometimes. Most of the time, I’m fine; I help other folks learn something new and it’s good and I feel fine about it. I just hate feeling like other people assume it’s my motherfucking duty to tell them and speak on behalf of all non-cis, non-straight people everywhere. I sound like a goddamn Gender and Women’s Studies textbook. 

Fuck, I’m going to bed... 

[carolinenicolettes]

MEET CAROLINE ESTELLE NICOLETTE ! 

(IN)CORRECT QUOTE -

“ this is taking too long ! i’m going to miss the farmer’s market ! ” —scary terry or scary caroline? who knows

“ she liked messy beds and movie nights without any lights on. she liked the quiet company of a few good friends. her idea of love was gentle and silent, like a whisper of a touch. some things are magical and magic, contrary to popular opinion, is often found in the most ordinary of places. ”

BASIC

NAME: caroline estelle nicolette NICKNAMES: n o p e it is caroline or NADA  AGE: 21 BIRTHDAY: may 1st SPECIES: starchild  GENDER: cisfemale PRONOUNS: she/her

FAMILY

MOTHER: amelia nicolette — born into money, massive name in the fashion industry, only wears fashionable power suits and celestial themed jewelry, drinks expensive whiskey neat FATHER: unknown PARENTS: raised by her mother, kind of. had a nanny named maggie growing up whom she loved dearly and was very good friends with a doorman named robert as well. it takes a village, you know. FAMILY: direct relation to the nicolette family that you all know and love aka odette. caroline’s mother is odette’s father’s sister. SIBLINGS: not at all.

PHYSIAL ATTRIBUTES

FACE CLAIM: scarlett leithold NATIONALITY: american HEIGHT: 5′7 WEIGHT: 139lbs BUILD: slender, and a bit insecure about that HAIR: long with a subtle wave , nearly down to her waist for now  HAIR COLOR: golden blonde with a few summery platinum highlights EYE COLOR: baby bluuuue DOMINANT HAND: left ANOMALIES: during warmer months, and nearly year round since moving to california, there are little freckles dusted across her nose  SCENT: seasalt, cocounut, sunscreen . . . . and occasionally mon paris by ysl ACCENT: she fought against that new york accent tooth and nail so none ALLERGIES: cats but also bullshit DISORDERS: dbd — dumb bitch disorder FASHION: an odd mix of vintage. corduroy dresses, plaid skirts, ribbed turtlenecks, velvet headbands, doc marten boots. a lil 60s, a lil 70s, a lil 90s. despite having quite a bit of money, she’s always wearing at least one thing that looks hand-me-down and that’s because her mother never threw anything away, so it likely is.  NERVOUS TICS: rocks back and forth from her toes to her heels, death grip on a camera strap, tucking her hair behind her ears QUIRKS: collects enamel pins, always has a camera on her, closes her eyes when trying to focus on listening

LIFESTYLE

RESIDES: east side, victoria BORN: new york city RAISED: new york city VEHICLE:  black 1969 chevy camaro, rarely ever drives it though as she bikes/skates most places PHONE: iphone 11 pro :\ COMPUTER: mac desktop collecting DUST PETS: too busy sneezing bc of odette’s cat

HIGH SCHOOL EDUCATION: graduated COLLEGE EDUCATION: senior MAJOR: museum studies, photography MINOR: film studies CAREER: freelance photographer, current waste of space living off of that family $$$ EXPERIENCE: apprenticeships in fashion photography, internships in museum curation  TRAINED IN: photography and classical ballet (reluctantly) OTHER: literally just .... she’s had a camera of some sort in her hand since she was like 12

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: liberal RELIGION: worships the ground stevie nicks, cher, and debbie harry walk on but that’s about it BELIEFS: you have to be really careful when buying sweaters from thrift stores because 80% of them are absolutely haunted MISDEMEANORS: none FELONIES: none  TICKETS AND/OR VIOLATIONS: NONE  DRUGS: once or twice but she’s strung out enough on her own  SMOKES: weed, on occasion. cigarettes are gross. ALCOHOL: leisurely, mostly socially. Queen of Beer Pong™ DIET: fairly healthy, not at all picky, a little bougie.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: labels are stupid SEXUAL ORIENTATION: and sexuality is fluid MARTIAL STATUS: never going to happen CHILDREN: *nervous laughter* AVAILABILITY: not at all LOOKING FOR: she’s actually legally blind so

LANGUAGES: english, french

PHOBIAS: fuck spiders SPECIFICALLY. might cry but also doesn’t want you to kill it just... take it out and awaaaay HOBBIES: photography, film — the act of and the watching of, hiking, live shows, bothering odette. literally has/had 3294328049 of them but is really only good at photography/film TRAITS: + adaptable, loyal, charismatic, clever, playful, adventurous ; - flighty, forgetful, cynical, unforgiving, disorganized, impatient SOCIAL MEDIA: the works - snapchat, twitter, instagram

FAVOURITE

LOCATION: photo pit at small venue concerts, anywhere within 10 feet of the pacific SPORTS TEAM: whomst  GAME: playin w people’s HEARTS ...... jk ....... kinda MUSIC: haim, fleetwood mac, the aces... any band with a female lead singer SHOWS: ghost adventures, big little lies MOVIES: frances ha, almost famous, bob dylan: don’t look back RADIO STATION: anything that strictly plays oldies FOOD: loves baked goods BEVERAGE: cold brew coffee, cinnamon spice tea COLOR: a nice dusty rose :\

CHARACTER

MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic good MBTI: isfp — the adventurer ENNEAGRAM: type 7, the enthusiast  ZODIAC: taurus HOGWARTS HOUSE: hufflepuff TAROT CARD: the empress TV TROPES: max mayfield, serena van der woodsen, ainsley howard, donna sheridan and honestly? eloise  SONG: summer girl - haim

IDEOLOGIES: shove it down shove all the emotions DOWN do not feel. you can tell a lot about a person based on the music they listen to when they’re sad. three is the luckiest number.

THE RUNDOWN 

amelia nicolette never intended to be a mother. she was freshly 21, inches from a moment that could launch her career in the fashion industry, and she hadn’t been in love or even interested in the idea since she was seventeen. so when a one night stand with a wealthy older man, left her with morning sickness and an odd appetite for two, she was less than thrilled. 

he was even less thrilled, insisting that she terminate the pregnancy. i’ll drive you, he’d said in a hushed tone. only then did she see the tan line wrapped around his ring finger. a married man. a one night stand. and a complete bastard . amelia decided, then and there, to carry to term and then put the baby up for adoption.

until may 1st at 3AM on the dot when the most obnoxious scream split through the air. a baby, just slightly too small, kicking and screaming relentlessly was born in manhattan. a baby who wouldn’t shut up until she was placed in the arms of her mother, where she fell quiet and calm and she slept. 

amelia nicolette never intended to fall in love, but holding her tiny baby girl, she knew then and there that she was a goner. caroline, as a song that sounded like joy played from a radio at the nurse’s station. estelle, for the stars. nicolette, the only family name she’d ever need. 

for three years, it was just the two of them in a new york penthouse, and amelia learned quickly that she was good at being a mother. but that didn’t change her free-spirited nature or the way her heart had a tendency to yearn for more. she had the resources, and caroline was old enough — . . . and she’d been sketching for years, sitting on top of a portfolio that piled a mile high.

along comes nanny, maggie, and thus began the life she’d lead for the rest of her childhood. mom spent a lot of time at work, building a fashion brand that went international by the time caroline was 6. because of this, she was gone more often than not, leaving caroline to grow up under the watchful eye of a nanny.

but she called every night. made it home for every big holiday, every recital, every birthday. in the summers, caroline would spend her time split between visiting her mother, visiting odette, and visiting a beach house in victoria. there was a certain lack of permanence that caused her to be adaptable, allowed her to be comfortable with change and give into the whims of a free spirit like her mother’s.

but people filtered in and out, came and went, and on the flip side of the same coin, there was a sense of detachment , a fear of getting too close to people who would move out or move on.

despite this, caroline never found herself to be lonely. she was a friendly little thing with bright eyes and a sparkling curiosity, picking up hobbies instead of toys, but never quite being exceptional at any of them. she made friends with doormen and caused problems for the people behind the desk. she became good, early on, at keeping herself busy, making her own fun – . . . all things that have very much carried into adulthood.

she was lucky, and she’s fully aware of it which is why, from a young age, she always did her best to find ways to give that luck to people who seemed to need it. 

things had a tendency to be tumultuous, what with her mother coming and going and her very best friend being in and out of the hospital, but she tried to go with the flow as best as she could. things were good but never truly exceptional.

until she met jude. he’d been in the same children’s wing as odette, and they’d known each other for a little bit before caroline met him. the three of them were inseparable, at first, simply best friends. but as they got older, feelings shifted and two friends became more than that.

our girl was in love for the very first time. and it was sweet and gentle and everything a first love is supposed to be. over time, that love grew, just as they did, and it was visible to anyone with eyes that they were in love. for two years, it was good, he was good. 

and then he wasn’t. despite two years of remission and a healthy life, he fell ill again. there was nothing to do but stand by and watch as six months passed by, far too quickly, and he slipped away into nothing. ultimately passing away just a week before his 20th birthday. 

caroline didn’t allow herself to feel it, for a while, lingering in the denial stage of grief for far too long. new york felt empty without him, without odette, without her mother, and it didn’t take much for her to pack her things and join her mother overseas, taking a gap year from school and focusing on herself, on her photography.

she spent a lot of time with a press pass around her neck. fashion shows and fashion shoots. major events and sports games. concerts and festivals. but there was one thing she loved more than anything else, and that was capturing the off-guard joy of life in candids of strangers on the street or in the crowds of bars and concerts. she found her own style, her own way of storytelling through a lens, and slowly but surely she began to heal.

still, there was no way around the way her heart felt a little heavier, a little darker, and how smiles from strangers at the other end of the bar made her stomach churn. she developed an aversion to new relationships of any sort, anything deeper than surface level becoming a bit too close for comfort. 

and while life traveling was fun, she missed having a sense of home, so she went to where the only other person who felt like home was, finding herself moving into a house with odette in victoria.

she’s been around for a couple of months, coming out of a gap year and looking to finish her degree in the spring. victoria, for now, is home.

these days she’s a little bit more cynical. a little bit less likely to let people too close. a little bit lost but also who isn’t when they’re 21

[rcsiistance]

hey ! i’m blossom, i’m sixteen, i go by any pronouns, and i present to you the youngest charracter in rp. i’m on discord @ human espresso#2857 & here on any of my tumblr accounts. this is my introduction to my ninth character, ellie ! read under the cut for about her and some wcs. FIND HER PINTEREST HERE.

( ROWAN BLANCHARD, TRANS FEMALE, SHE/HER ) — ✧ that looks like ELEANOR “ELLIE” MAYA ROGERS-BARNES! they’re the SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER of STEVE ROGERS & BUCKY BARNES ( BIOLOGICALLY EDDIE BROCKS ). [ they are also a HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT at paragon. ] i hear they’re ALTRUISTIC & AVID, but tend to be DOGMATIC & JUDGEMENTAL. her file says that her power is KLYNTAR SYMBIOTE. { admin b LOVES u }

tw : foster system, adoption, drug, alc, ment, homelessness, transphobia

i / v.  ｢    background  !  ｣

ellie has always thought that being born in the dead of winter says something about her. it makes her a strong woman, or it’s what put that cold spot in her heart, or it’s the reason she can’t stay happy for long.

zara fares is a reporter in san francisco. she’s a second generation immigrant who doesn’t sit still for long. her and eddie brock meet at a party thrown by one of her coworkers, and she immediately detests him.

she finds him uncouth. too openly ambitious in a way that she has never been able to be. on principle, she goes out of her way to correct and bicker with him. he finds it amusing when he is not getting angry in a way that leaves them apart days for zara’s fear of the monster that must lurk beneath the man.

they maintain themselves frenemies for months, until one night over drinks they fall into bed with each other.

zara is angry, really. not at him, but at herself. he’s not what she has ever looked for in a man. he’s a scary, morally reprehensible man, and she has high standards. she doesn’t speak to him for days, and when he comes to her apartment, she doesn’t let him in.

it’s the day she’s breaking her silence when she realizes she’s pregnant, and that’s that. she cuts off eddie brock forever.

eleanor maya fares is born on january second after a 26-hour labor. she’s given up for adoption right after, though she wouldn’t find out why for many years. 

there’s not much that can be said for her formative years, though if so desired she would be able to go back and read her file, including who she was handed between during that time.

when she’s two, she’s dubbed “ ellie “ by her foster mother, and she’s been called that ever since.

when she’s three, though she does not know this, venom has another child, which they dub wrath. they send her after a girl eddie is unaware of that’s living near the outskirts of san francisco with seven foster siblings.

wrath chooses ellie as her host, per venom’s instructions, able to find her simply because she has eddie’s blood ruining through her veins. ellie doesn’t remember a time before wrath, and since they’re fully bonded, she never will.

she grows up in the homes of people she never knows. most of the time, ellie is a well-behaved child, but she’s easily frustrated and easily aggravated. her foster parents sometimes find her toys destroyed in ways that should be incapable of her. when lectured, ellie refuses to admit.

she’s an aware child. too smart for her own good, but not school smart. she has trouble like the rest of the kids when it comes to times tables, but she knows when her foster dad comes home mad from his posture alone.

she grows up beside her best friend. they were in the same foster home when they were four, and ellie remembers hearing about them being twins, offhanded once. she takes it as law.

the first time she runs away from a foster home, she’s eight years old. tiny and contentious. they try to get her to apply herself. they put her in sports. they don’t realize that when she learns to run, she will never stop.

ellie doesn’t like her newest foster parents. they’re strict about school and about home. they won’t call her by her name and when her foster mother tries to cut her hair, she sneaks out the bathroom window and runs, and runs, and runs.

she knocks on the foster home her twin is staying at with loose knuckles, and they climb down the fire escape together.

she spends four months with them and she loves it. ellie learns about everything. she goes to the library often. wrath helps her more than anything. she tells the pair when to hide, and where to go, and who to avoid.

they work out fine until she gets caught shoplifting a chocolate bar. when the shop owner drags both of them to the back of the store by their ears and asks her parents number, she crosses her arms and stays silent. when the police come, they play nicer.

she tells that they don’t have any, and the looks on their face teach her something about the world that day. they look sad but resigned. like they expected this of them. she doesn’t get it, but one day she does.

another foster home. this one is more strict, and it’s in colorado, two states over from where her last one was. they hadn’t stopped running.

they’re nicer, but she’s predisposed. she knows she would be better off with her twin and wrath. her and her twin and wrath and her dirty converse that they make her replace. they’re stricter, too, with locked windows and all.

it doesn’t stop her. she disappears one-day after school, and by the time they realize it she’s already in denver with her twin by her side. they continue their trek east. ellie spends most of her time talking with wrath and her twin.

it takes time to realize that it’s not normal. normal people’s skin doesn’t sometimes not become they’re own. they don’t have a voice inside their head. it’s another one of those things, she thinks. if she told that cop from that one day, he’d have the same damn look in his eyes.

she wants to tell her twin, but she can’t bring herself to face the rejection.

by the time she’s ten, they’re living from place to place in new york. she makes friends easily and her twin keeps her happy and wrath gets her out of trouble when it comes her way. she doesn’t tell anyone about her symbiote, and she makes no plans to.

she reads more than anything. from jane eyre to the great gatsby, she likes classics. she makes a friend who looks at ellie with kind eyes, who sees past the dirty hands and dirty converse.

they invite ellie to join them at a rally they’re going to with kids from the local college. and she finds her footing on top of a shoe-box stage. she feels better with a megaphone in hand.

she’s eleven, squatting with a group of other rugrats, and she’s reading harry potter when molly weasley gets her thinking. who were her parents ? why did they give her up ? where are they now ?

she asks her twin about it, and they’re reproachful. what would they want to do with the people that abandoned them ? they clearly don’t care, eleanor. you’re just lining up to disappoint yourself.

nevertheless, ellie went out of her way. she scorned them all. in the end, with wrath’s help, finding the information was dumb easy in the age of technological innovation.

the adoption wasn’t closed. zara fares lives in upper manhattan. there’s no father listed.

ellie spends weeks staring at the address. she doesn’t know if she can bring herself to go. she googles her. the likeness is uncanny. she’s a reporter, a popular one.

on the day of her birthday, she takes the subway and makes her way to her mother’s expensive apartment. she knocks, and when she’s answered, states with a clear voice who she is. ellie doesn’t stutter.

she’s shocked. but when ellie asks the question, she doesn’t hesitate. she tells her the truth.

she’s never been made to be a mother. she’s a crime reporter, and her work can get dangerous. and she’s certainly never had the want for children. she tells ellie she’s sorry, but she had believed she was giving her a better opportunity at life than a mother who would never love her right.

ellie’s not mad, though, really, not at all. she looks at zara and she can see herself reflected in the same hard, brown eyes. they understand each other. they’re not the sentimental types. she’s still a kid, but she’s never felt older in her life.

when she asks about her father, zara looks in her eyes as she lies. she tells ellie that she doesn’t know. it was a confusing period in her life, she explains. she doesn’t ellie to be disappointed by the man eddie brock is.

zara, despite herself, offers everything she has. she tells ellie that she can have the room at the end of the hall if she wants. she’ll adopt her, legally. they’ll make it work.

but that’s not ellie. she isn’t going to force zara’s hand. she leaves with a debit card in her pocket, but takes nothing else from zara besides a phone number. she goes back to her twin and she doesn’t tell them and she doesn’t cry.

that’s the year her and her twin go in separate directions. they fight more often than they speak, and things are arising for them that aren’t open to ellie. she’s not upset about it, and she doesn’t want to admit that.

she reads in her free time. goes to any protests she finds out about. her signs are infamously funny. people around the city know her name, can recognize the glint in her eyes a mile off, can tell it’s her backpack by the sheer number of pins.

a good kid, they say, but too passionate for her own good.

she’s at a mutant rights rally in the spring after she’s turned twelve. she always feels odd, out of place, because she can’t answer the question of whether or not she belongs. wrath can explain it all she wants, but the question remains.

the edges of her ‘ magneto was right ‘ sign are getting frayed and it rains on and off, but there’s no place she’d rather be. people keep stepping on the toes of her doc martens as she makes her way towards the front, and she walks face first into steve rogers chest.

she doesn’t recognize him until he introduces himself. books don’t have pictures, really. he’s earnest in a way that none of the adults she has met are. when she speaks, he listens to her, and it’s refreshing. she’s been another voice in a chant for years.

he asks where her parents are, and she just laughs. steve offers to walk her home out of no other reason than kindness, and while she doesn’t understand it, she lets him. talking to him is easy, and she tells him all about her. ( except for wrath. )

she likes him a lot more than she’d care to admit. the fine details are fuzzy. but before she’s thirteen, she’s officially eleanor maya rogers-barnes. she’s never had a family before, but now she has more of a family than most can ever hope for.

ellie’s platform is larger now, and she uses it all the same. there was barely a time where she was just “ that new rogers-barnes kid, “ NOT “ that activist rogers-barnes kid. “ 

ii / v.  ｢    wrath  ! ｣

wrath is ellie’s symbiote. a reflection of herself without ellie’s own dishonesty with her feelings. wrath is kind to ellie, though her suggestions can be severe, they reflect ellie’s own beliefs.

wrath takes ellie’s bad side, the parts she hides, her stubbornness, and bitterness about circumstance, and her anger, and runs with it.

they’re close as could be, fully bonded, and ellie doesn’t remember a time before her symbiote.

venom sent wrath to ellie to watch over her, as eddie’s spawn, but ellie is still unaware of her own heritage. wrath has explained her role in ellie’s life, but as someone who spends most of her waking time dealing with prejudice, she can’t bring herself to tell people.

she doesn’t want to deal with the rejection she is sure to come. she’s kept her power to herself and plans to keep it that way, though there have been slips in the past, no one cared about some random mutant kid. now, as eleanor rogers-barnes, a ton of people care.

she just doesn’t want to risk it.

iii / v.  ｢    work !  ｣

her schooling before running away from her foster home had been mediocre at best, but after it, if it wasn’t something she could learn from the young adult section of the library, she hasn’t heard of it.

she’s a sophomore in high school ( about to be a junior ), but catching up is taking up half her time. countless tutors to teach her everything she missed while she was hiding from police. kids these days.

she’s not unintelligent, but school isn’t something that comes naturally to her. applying herself takes effort she doesn’t want to make but forces herself to.

iv / v.  ｢    personality ! ｣

ellie’s a strong personality. she’s wise beyond her years and stubborn to a fault. she grew up way too quickly. 

she’s sweet. the worst curse that passes her lip is damn, and she doesn’t drink or do drugs. 

ellie’s a good kid, but her bad side can get the best of her. she can’t keep quiet when she hears offense, and won’t stop until she’s heard.

she cares about people and she really wants to change the world. passionate, almost too much so, she could probably be compared to a zealot.

but her patience is thin, and when worn short, you don’t want to be on the other side of her wrath. it’s a as scary place to be.

she’s also incredibly judgemental. a single offense can keep you on her hate list until your days are up. 

v / v.  ｢    wanted connections !    ｣

best friend ! her closest confidante, her best advisor, her pal at all rallies, parades, and protests.

“twin” ! her childhood best friend she treked across the country with. soon w / wc.

enemy ! it’s not hard to find your way onto her bad side. her nor wrath are fun to deal with when provoked.

other ! i’m always up for new ideas. if this sparked an interest in you, feel free to message me here or on discord.

[pearl-renaud-blog]

  ---            A B O U T

“At every sunrise, I renounce the doubts of night and greet the new day with a most precious delusion.”

Skeleton: The Guileless

Age: 19

Gender/Pronouns: she/her

Hometown: Gatineau, Canada

Major: Political Science and Economics

Faceclaim: Josefine Frida Pettersen

Character blurb:

Her lips are painted a soft red, and you imagine it’s stained on the rim of a coffee cup somewhere. She’s shorter than average, her camel coloured coat coming down to her knees. You smile as you watch her struggle with her luggage, seeing her flush as she accepts help from an attendant, muttering a flustered and unnecessary apology. A lock of short, white-blonde hair has unhooked from behind her ear, and her voice is high and accented. She’s looking past you, mouth pursed as she rolls up onto her toes to scan the platform as it empties. She doesn’t seem to find who she’s looking for, the crestfallen expression could break your heart. Her name is on the tip of your tongue, you know she is an Augustine student, and you remember it as something precious. Pearl. Taking care to pull her bags close to her, she waits as the next train comes and vacates. Finally, she perks up at the sight of someone at the very end of the platform, nearly bent over under the heft of a cello case. She’s hopeful again, her green eyes are bright and her smile inches upwards, her hands clutched together like a child.

Developed Head Canons:

There’s often a baby in a big family like her own. She was the accident, the unplanned, with two older sisters in their teens at her birth. With her status as the youngest, it would’ve been easy to take advantage of the perks that came with it-- but Pearl was content to simply shine. She was her mother’s favourite, and she remembers her mother the most. The woman’s life had not been kind to her. She faded with each of her pregnancies, each swollen belly leaving her hair a little grayer and her crow’s feet a little more visible, each birth leaving her a little more hollowed out until she was nothing more than a living ghost. Her father was a crooked French-Canadian; his breath was always sour with whiskey. He didn’t bother with her much, his youngest, his bird-boned girl. She doesn’t remember a cruel father, just an absent one. She does not recall a weak mother, only a soft-hearted one. Her older sisters grew up like weeds, fast and strong; but she was allowed the languid, unhurried growth of a delicate ivy vine.

Hers was a soft prologue. If Pearl’s early years could be any colour, they would be painted in broad pastel shades– gentleness curves around all her earliest memories. They mask the darkness that really haunted the entire Renaud family. When she closes her eyes, Pearl doesn’t remember half-finished bottles of Jack Daniels sitting on the kitchen counter, or her mother’s lonely tears; her memories are rose-hued, paired with calliope music and romps up and down rickety steps, harmless misadventures and wonderful discoveries. In those days, her fingers had grasped at everything, but she’d always been kept safe and protected from real danger. She’d been given the opportunity to embrace a childhood of innocence, one that her sisters were ushered out of so quickly.

Her family wasn’t that good together, but at a time, at least they’d been whole. Patrice Renaud had inherited the family business, a trucking company that had expanded across the country. Trucks bearing the Renaud name cut the distance between provinces, carrying everything and anything. It was profitable, and it took her father away from home often enough. Bernadette Renaud was a high school sweetheart, too young to know what real love was until she was two babies deep into a relationship that was empty of it. She stayed at home to raise the children.

There are ten years between Pearl and her sisters. Adeline is the eldest Renaud sister. She’s finished medical school and her residency in Vancouver is almost complete, she hopes to lead her own family practice in the next two years. They keep in touch, the odd guilty phone call exchanged between them. The middle child is Laila, she took the most after her father, inheriting his best and worst traits. She should’ve been the one closest to Pearl, but she’s the furthest away. A lost girl, and one Pearl mourns just as equally as she does her parents.

They owned a decent chunk of property, the family home backed onto the Ottawa river. The house was old, it’d been in the family for generations. The porch was rotting and sagging, her father always swore he’d get someone to repair it, year after year. It looked like it was smiling at passerbys from the street. The stairs all creaked and the windows didn’t seal properly-- you could hear the wind howling through them in January. Her mother would stuff blankets into the cracks so they could sleep warm at night, and the little wood stove in the kitchen puffed a curl of white smoke into the sky. Development on the banks of the river made the property sell for something grossly inflated, and split three ways the profits of the sale were enough to line the pockets of the remaining Renaud’s significantly. With this money and a partial scholarship, Augustine turned from a pipe dream to a reality. The house has long since been bulldozed over, and the skeleton for a condominium has been erected over its bones.

Hardly sixteen and the glass walls of her snow globe world shattered, dissolved into headlines and sensationalized media stories. They called it a drunk driving accident, but this is what it was: man, late fourties, driving a sports car painted baby-blue, a few harsh winters away from speckling with rust. It’s between two in the morning and daybreak, and he’s travelling fast eastbound. His blood is soaked with alcohol. Witnesses say the vehicle swerved for fifteen miles, weaving between the yellow lines like a needle pulling through dark fabric. His wife is seated beside him, her face is scared and pale, her right cheek brushed with faded purple and yellow. The car drifts into the other lane. It’s chased out once by blaring horns, but the second time-- impact. There are no survivors.

It wasn’t childhood that was painful, it was growing out of it. After her parents passing, Pearl couldn’t find anyone to take her in. Her sisters had their own lives. Adeline was across the country in school, and Laila was thought to be somewhere along the east coast, hard to pin down and unwilling to be found. Pearl, still underage, was sent to various estranged aunts and uncles, tossed between the scattered remains of the Renaud family. She couldn’t always find kindness when she was intruding on other’s lives. She couldn’t count on the compassion of people she didn’t really know. Acceptance to Augustine with a partial scholarship promised her a home.

She’s a different girl now. She’s still soft, but she’s not reaching out blindly anymore; there’s no one left to protect her except for herself. Life without the rose-coloured glasses is certainly a little bleaker, and facing it can be too much at times, but it’s better this way. Now, she can finally see clearly. Now, she has to apply all her hard-learned lessons. This is her downfall, and her most precious, most beautiful quality. She still believes that the world has a way to right itself, to pick up the pieces and mend. She still believes in purity, in picket fences. Her heart will still beat and break in her chest, and it will continue to bleed for the girl she once was, and for the girl she is bound to become.

She has such a delicate heart; she doesn’t wear it on her sleeve so much as she offers it up in open palms. Life has been cruel to her, and it has made her stronger, but she hasn’t allowed it to make her hard. This is Pearl’s most prevalent theme-- she loves this world, even when it makes itself difficult to love. Her hopefulness is stubborn like that; she’s a girl who chooses to see the best in people, not because she’s unaware of their capability to do harm and cause pain, but because she believes that the good always outweighs the bad. She’s so hopeful that it’s almost naive, so hopeful that there’s something beautiful about it.

More Headcanons

Her roommate is a Russian musician named Oksana. She’s absolutely terrifying, and Pearl has spent the past year and a half treading carefully as she navigates the murky waters of Oksana’s dark humour.

She’s a double major, and also doubles up on multiple clubs and activities on campus. She’s always busy with something, even in the isolation of the Alps she manages to maintain a packed calendar. Slotting in time for her friends and Peter are high on her priorities, and you can always count on her to be there, exhausted, but present.

[friendshqs]

Meet Veronica Lodge! Some say she’s got a lot in common with Rachel Green, but she doesn’t see it. Unfortunately for you, she is taken.

Name: Veronica Lodge

Age: 25

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Occupation: Waitress

Character Traits

positive: sentimental, free-spirited, scintillating negative: impulsive, ingenue, self-involved

Helpful Hints

has lived on the upper east side all of her life and comes from old money. millions passed from generation to generation but the rachel has never cared much about her family history, she focuses more on living in the n o w. she’s never had to work a day in her life but she’s not bratty, she’s just used to getting her way. whatever she wants, she gets it with a pout on her lips and a flutter of her lashes. she attended FIT for two semesters before becoming tired of the work and deciding that she wants to start her own fashion line. she’s a fashionista at heart and is always wearing the best money can buy.

when she leaves her fiancee at the altar, her entire world changes. she makes a split second decision to cut herself off from her well meaning but confused family and her circle of socialite friends and decides to try the real world. according to the monica, it sucks but she’s going to love it. she cuts up her credit cards, sells a majority of her clothes to help the monica pay for her first rent deposit and realizes she’s got to get a job and start learning how to be an adult.

the rachel’s goals for the next few months? 1. get a job 2. adjust to her new life in the monica’s apartment and with the monica’s interesting group of friends and 3. appreciate life the way she never has before. she’s slowly beginning to break free from her sheltered life and see how the other half lives. she does her own laundry! she becomes a waitress and makes coffee for other people! she learns how to do household chores! as a way of keeping herself sane, the rachel also develops a new habit - rising up early if she can to take a walk around central park and trying to find inspiration in the sights and sounds to scribble down for that fashion line she still dreams of.

her biggest obstacle is still her family. they’re constantly trying to get her to come home and her two sisters are vocal with their lack of support for the rachel’s new venture. this can cause her to become uncertain herself as the rachel’s biggest flaw has always been caring too much about what people think of her and not knowing how to stand up for herself. she takes trips back home whenever she can but she’s slowly becoming more and more isolated from her old world.

she’s a dreamer, a sweetheart, and a huge flirt. the rachel isn’t even aware of how she affects both men and women around her and is always surprised when she finds herself the object of affections. she never says no though, she loves love and she’s a hopeless romantic at heart. the reason it didn’t work out with her ex-fiance is because he just lacked the passion and fire that she wanted. she wants somebody to make her toes curl and her insides sing. she’s determined to find love and have some fun along the way.

Headcanons

Veronica has always bestowed a traveler's heart. With fashion being her dream career, no matter where she goes there is always an outfit set to match. There is never a day that goes by that she isn’t found pinning vintage greeting cards and small souvenir trinkets to her wall of inspiration from different cities and countries like Milan, Paris and London, hoping that one day she can flourish and become within the ranks and talks of Dolce & Gabbana, Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein that she idolized as a tot.

Though try as she may, Veronica’s cooking is not set in her wheelhouse. Often times she’s found knit-picking at the bottom of a take-out container of fried rice and lo mein. Housemaking isn’t on the top of her importance list, and she’s not afraid to hide it.

The Lodge lineage has been notorious for coveted secrecy. So when Veronica was in college, she received a nose job. She continues to deny it’s happenings whenever the subject is brought up at family gatherings. And when the pictures come out, it’s all she can do to not roll her eyes into the back of her head. Her man-made surgical procedure has always been her biggest insecurity.

Ever since she was small, Veronica has been an animal lover. Her beloved pet dog LaPooh who she claims was her very best friend in her growing years shaped her soft heart for dogs.