#oc chiara st claire

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Me: you already have a villain!au for Chiara! You do not need another!!

Also me: but I already made a SIM!Chiara moodboard >:(

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I have about 3.5 different thoughts on how my Marvel OC calls her bio father "dad" for the first time, and they range from "This would be fun to write! :)" to "This would be fun to write! >:)"

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Last Line Tag Game

I haven't been tagged in one of these in a while, and I'm excited to get to do it again! Thank you to both @saturnwisteria and @latibvles for the tags <3

I was gonna share something from my Bridgerton fic, but it desperately needs more editing, so have a sneak peak at Chiara's awkward first family dinner instead

In that impossible universe, the three of them are probably sitting at a dining room table in the suburbs, just like Chiara is right now. Except that fantasy version of her family would be smiling, and her parents wouldn’t have to hold themselves back from strangling each other for every passive aggressive comment made at the other’s expense, because there would be no passive aggressive comments in the first place. Instead, they’re probably talking about the day each of them has had – Monica would have just won some epic case in court, Tony would have just made the breakthrough of the century on whatever he’s been inventing in their basement, and Chiara would have won a track meet. Hell, they probably even have a dog. A robot dog, too, that Tony invented so that they would never have to worry about it getting old. DUM-E probably plays fetch with it in the backyard –     “Kid,” Tony says, reaching out a hand. “Pass the bread?” Monica frowns. “You could say please, you know.”  Tony scowls at her. “For the record, Your Honor, I was going to say thank you, at least.” 

No pressure tags: @siriusist @upontherisers @shoshiwrites @mercurygray and anyone else who wants to do this :)

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Help girl I'm thinking about the au where Chiara gets raised by her dad instead of her mom

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Please share more about Chiara. She looks really cool😎

Aaaaahhh, thank you, Anon! 🥹🫶🏽 I enjoy putting her into situations, so I hope other people will enjoy her, too!

Some Chiara origin story/fun facts below the cut 🤭

So me being me, of course this is another Indigenous OC, because representation is important and I'll never ever shut up about that :)

Her full name is Chiara Kahhori St. Claire because I'm OBSESSED with that episode of What If . . . ? and I think Chiara and Kahhori would be so much fun together. In this essay I will --

A member of the Mohawk tribe, she was born and raised in upstate New York by her mom and grandma. Mostly by her grandma, because speaking of her mom!

Chiara's mom, Monica St. Claire, is a super successful lawyer who's pretty much always traveling for work

Monica may or may not have worked for Stark Industries as a legal advisor back in the day. She also may or may not have had a secret enemies to lovers back to enemies relationship with Tony Stark during that time. She may or may not have quit and fled back to New York when they broke up. And Tony may or may not be Chiara's biological father -- who's to say, since no one has been brave enough to run a paternity test?

(Slightly off topic, but sometimes I mess around with an au in which Chiara is raised by her father instead of her mother, and that shit is WILD lmao. They are a complete disaster and I love that.)

ANYWAYS

Chiara can be a menace. Are her actions cries for attention? Absolutely. Still a menace, though!

This girl basically terrorizes the Catholic school she goes to growing up

Ex: At age twelve, she refuses to do confession because "I literally have Saint in my last name, I'm basically already halfway to canonization." Age thirteen, she begins referring to the priests solely as "Pops" and/or "Daddy-O." And of course, at age fourteen, the final straw that gets her kicked out is stealing wine before Communion with some older kids.

Also at age fourteen!

Everyone forgets Chiara's fourteenth birthday. She's devastated. That night, she sees a shooting star go overhead and offhandedly makes a wish that she were important

The next thing she knows, she's got very villain-coded powers. She can manipulate/animate shadows, travel though them, take the light out of rooms, etc. Oops.

Now at age fifteen, she's been moved to Queens for a fresh start after getting kicked out of her last school, and she's trying so so hard to hide these weird-ass powers because they lowkey terrify her, and she's pretty sure that her "importance" is supposed to come from being some sort of villain -- because no hero would have such dark powers . . . Right?

There's definitely more thoughts, but at the risk of accidentally making you read a whole novel length list of ideas, I'll exercise some self control and end here for now

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dove i NEED to hear more about this marvel oc

Anon, I will literally tell you anything and everything you want to know about her, because she's been living rent free in my brain since about May. Personally, I'm obsessed with her, and I'd love to share her!

Please enjoy this moodboard for my newest and favoritest girlie, Chiara Stark-St. Claire, on the house 😌🫶🏽

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12) chipped nail polish and an empty dinner table is giving chiara vibes

Andy once again coming through with the prompts in my time of need 😌🫶🏽 Thank you lovely!

Using this prompt as an excuse to give some Chiara lore, some origin story, under the cut

The sad thing is, this isn’t even close to the worst canceled family dinner that Chiara has ever had. It’s honestly just another typical Tuesday night out in Forest Hills. In the St. Claire household, that is. Chiara has never been inside the homes of any of her neighbors, and therefore has no evidence supporting her hypothesis that her homelife is an outlier when considered next to those of everyone else in her neighborhood. 

God, how pathetic – using a comparison like that to rationalize loneliness. Maybe she’s been working on this math homework for too long, has made one too many boxplots for one night. All the numbers are stacking up, and Chiara’s mind is beginning to feel as disorganized as the kitchen table, with her homework and textbooks and scrap papers spread all over it. And somewhere beneath it all is the note, the reason for this whole thing, buried deep in the mess like some sort of metaphor, the root of tonight’s problems.

Urgent meeting out of town, back in two days. Call if you need me  – XO, Mom

Chiara drums her fingers against the table, the vibrations traveling up her arm in a way that’s almost as comforting as the noise. It’ll chip her nail polish, though, she knows. And then she’ll be annoyed with herself. But that’s a problem for tomorrow’s Chiara, who will notice the chipped paint when she zones out in her second period AP Lit class when she should be reading along in Wuthering Heights. If she’s being honest, though, mourning her paint job is much more appealing than listening to her classmates misinterpret Heathcliff’s character. Or finishing this math homework. Or just about anything else relating to school. 

“Alright,” she breathes. “Focus, St. Claire –”  

Almost as if the universe doesn’t want her to focus, like God is sending her a sign that she should abandon her math homework, a metallic clanging from outside interrupts Chiara’s peptalk. It’s followed by the chittering sound of animals who seem all too pleased with themselves. 

The next thing she knows, Chiara is outside in the driveway, staring at the raccoons who have overturned the trashcan on the edge of the sidewalk and are happily pilfering through the garbage that they’ve managed to scatter everywhere. 

“Hey!” she yells, her hand outstretched, a shadow loosening from her fingertips and flying in the direction of the creatures before she realizes what she’s doing. It ricochets off the garbage can with a metallic pop! that sends them scattering – or maybe it’s just the way her eyes glow bright and purple, which is terrifying for anyone, human or not. “We’re gonna get fined by the HOA because of you!”

She feels bad as soon as the words are out of her mouth, as soon as she realizes how much she’s scared them. They’re just raccoons, after all. This is their nature. They don’t know any better. 

But as she watches them flee, as the glow in her eyes dies down, Chiara surveys the wreckage. Across the street, at the house next door, the trash cans have also become casualties of this raccoon family’s dinnertime prowl. Unknowingly, these little bandits have just put three different houses on the HOA president’s shitlist, unless they get the mess picked up by morning when the garbage truck comes. 

It’s kind of like what happened to the city after the Battle of New York, Chiara reasons as she picks up the garbage littering her driveway. Someone else makes a mess, but they don’t stick around to pick it up, to face the actions of their own consequences, to make it right. No – someone else gets stuck doing all of that because everyone moves on to bigger and better things, leaving the little guy to fend for himself. 

And in places like this, aren’t the regular, everyday people the littlest of the little guys? The lowest priority on the radar of people –  

People like Chiara. 

She stops what she’s doing, sitting back on her heels, the thought stunning her. She, Chiara St. Claire, could do something for the people that everyone else has forgotten about. Well, she can do something for her neighborhood, at least. After all, she’s pretty sure that raccoons breaking into garbage cans and kids TP-ing houses isn’t exactly an Avengers level threat. But those things do drive her neighbors crazy, and if she wanted to, she could probably stop them pretty effectively . . . 

If nothing else, it would give her something to do. Besides homework and having dinner alone, that is. 

Once the garbage from her own driveway is picked up, Chiara moves on to the house next door. It’s only fair, seeing as the people who live there left for a vacation that morning and don’t even know their garbage cans have been attacked. 

“Well, Forest Hills,” Chiara mutters to herself. “The HOA ladies are always ranting that we need someone to avenge you from the everyday threats.” Someone with a cool name and an even cooler costume; things Chiara could easily work out. “It might as well be me.”

Send me a prompt and an OC, and I'll write a lil fic!

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(accidentally unfollowed you trying to click on you ask box but) your last reblog really got me and i’m wondering if you have any chiara lore you’d be willing to share

Omg hi Cari! I've missed you!

Chiara is currently my favorite lil guy to put into situations, so thank you for giving me the chance to share a little bit about her <3

Chiara St. Claire is an Marvel OC that I made over the summer after doing an MCU rewatch. Bless her heart, she's trying to be a hero, I swear -- she's just not very good at it, hence this post. My personal favorite part of her lore is kicked out of Catholic school for many incidents, but the final straw being the time she refuses to call the priest anything but "Pops" and "Daddy-O." Though, in her defense, she was a very disgruntled thirteen-year-old when that happened.

There's wayyyy more I could share about her if anyone wants, but that's definitely my favorite bit

(For this ask game!)

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The Devil's In The Details

Anyways, another week, another unsolicited Chiara fic that no one asked for, but that I was all too ready and willing to provide. And I actually remembered to post it here and on AO3, since apparently Christmas miracles do exist Below the cut, if anyone wants it :)

In Chiara’s defense, she’s unfamiliar with Hell’s Kitchen because she only just moved to the city and hasn’t exactly had the time to go exploring outside of Queens. Not with track practice, this whole hero sidegig, and now being recruited for the academic decathlon team since Peter has flaked on the trip to nationals. She’s busy, but hey – two of those three after school activities are going to look really good on her transcript in a few years. 

If she lives that long, that is. 

Because she’s just been kicked in the stomach and sent crashing through a skylight into an abandoned warehouse. Looking up at the night sky above her, her lungs refuse to expand as she wheezes and gasps, the wind knocked firmly out of her. What an introduction to this part of the city. 

A figure jumps down through the shattered skylight, and glass crunches as it lands next to her on the cold, hard ground. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” a gruff voice demands. 

If she could breathe, Chiara would probably crack some joke asking if that pun was intended or not. As it is, though, she uses what little strength she has to push herself onto her side, coming face to face with – 

The devil. 

Thank God Chiara’s new suit covers her hands, because the broken glass on the ground can’t cut her palms as she attempts to scramble backwards, her breaths now coming in short gasps for a different reason. 

This is basically her worst nightmare. This is everything the nuns at her old school warned her about when she would get lectured for playing pranks, for talking back, for any little sign of blasphemy or sacrilege. And all that plays through Chiara’s head again and again on a constant loop is the last straw: stealing that Communion wine with the older kids and drinking it behind the school, returning later, drunk as skunks; her mom having to come get her because the nuns politely requested that Chiara not be re-enrolled next year, and, if possible, they would like to stop dealing with her now; the lecture on the car ride home, with the devastating ‘Right now, you look just like your father’ line, which felt devastating, considering that it was the first and last time her mom had ever given her any clue as to who that might be – 

“Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” Chiara gasps on instinct.

The devil stops stalking forward, but his shadow looms over her. He turns his head so that his ear is cocked towards her, as if to hear her better. “What?”

“B-blessed art thou among w-women,” Chiara continues, her voice wobbling. If she weren’t so scared and if she could catch her breath, she could probably use her powers to escape. But she’s so focused on trying to correctly recite the prayer that she hasn’t said in months that the thought doesn’t even occur to her. “And – and blessed is the –”

“Ah, a burglar with Catholic guilt,” the devil interrupts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s new.”

“ – fruit of thy –” Chiara’s words sputter to a stop. “Burglar?”

Silence hangs between them, neither of them sure of the other’s meaning.

Chiara’s brain finally clears enough that the words hit her, and she huffs out a sigh. “Jesus Christ. Why does everyone always think I’m the bad guy? My new suit was supposed to fix that –”

“I’m sure the suit is fine,” the devil interrupts. Which, as far as being the King of Hell goes, is a pretty nice thing for him to say to someone who he’s come to collect. “But hanging around on top of rooftops in the middle of the night doesn’t really help your case.” 

Lots of things haven’t really helped Chiara’s case. She got kicked out of Catholic school, and rightfully so. Still, she didn’t expect following a lead on Roxxon to be the thing that triggered Satan himself from coming to snatch her right out of the world. 

“To be fair,” she says, trying to sound braver than she feels. “You also would have had to be on the rooftop in order to know that.” She gives the devil a onceover and does the thing she’s best at – she makes a sarcastic comment to save face. “Like some sort of overgrown gargoyle.” All the accusations sort of remind her of that play that she’s having to read for English – I saw Goody Proctor with the Devil! But how would Abigail have known that if she hadn’t also been at the Devil’s Sacrament?

To her surprise, he laughs. The fallen angel actually laughs at her joke. “Not everyone is a fan of this getup. But it keeps people intimidated.” 

Getup? That almost makes it sound like – 

“Huh?” 

The devil tilts his head. “My suit. It scares a lot of people. Keeps them in line.” 

Chiara gawks at him, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Suit? So you’re . . .” She’s not sure what he is, exactly. “Like me?”

“Enhanced?” the devil clarifies. “I would guess so, based on –” He makes a vague gesture, as if that explains it all. “ – everything.”  

Okay. So this is someone like Chiara, running around in a suit trying to stop crime. Not Satan. Good to know. (Although, if she’s being honest, she feels a little goofy now for the way that she freaked out.)

“So who are you, exactly?” the guy in the devil costume asks. “Haven’t noticed you around here before.” 

“Eclipse,” Chiara replies smoothly. “I operate over in Queens.” 

The devil guy lets out a low whistle. “You’re out of your jurisdiction.” 

“Yeah. And I won’t be making that mistake again.” From beneath her domino mask, she raises an eyebrow. With the hood that Mr. Stark has added to her new suit – “To hide that hair, since the purple is going to give you away” – she doubts that the devil guy can see her do it, with her face all cast in shadow. “This is clearly your turf. But who are you?”

“My turf?” The word choice makes a smile tug at the edge of his lips. “Who says that?”

“Me.” 

“You’re not from here,” the guy guesses, tilting his head. “You live in Queens but you’re from . . . Somewhere upstate, probably. Near the Canadian border?”

Chiara tilts her own head in question. This guy might not be Satan, but he knows entirely too much about her. “Is your thing mindreading, or something?”

Devil guy chuckles. “No. I’m just observant. And your accent and word choice don’t exactly hide anything.” 

Instead of getting offended or confirming the guy’s theory, Chiara repeats her earlier question. “Who are you?”

A pause. For dramatic effect, maybe. And then: “Daredevil.” 

“Ah. Well, that explains the costume.” She shrugs. “You’ve got a whole aesthetic going on. I can respect that.” 

She kind of expects him to make a comment about her suit, but he doesn’t. And, if she’s being honest, Chiara is a little disappointed by that. She’s only had it for a few days, but it’s a big step up from the homemade one that she was running around in when she started this whole thing. 

“Anyways –” Chiara sighs at the same time that Daredevil asks, “What are you doing in Hell’s Kitchen?” Maybe it’s Chiara’s imagination, but it sounds like there’s a hint of a smile in the guy’s voice when he adds, “Since you’re not a burglar, that is.” 

Now that it’s clear that Daredevil isn’t the literal devil and that he’s not going to crack open the ground and drag her down to the depths of Hell, Chiara abandons her position on the ground amid the broken glass in order to stand, facing him hero to hero. (Even if she does have to look up at him because he’s taller, but that’s not the point.)

“Following a lead,” she answers. Then, after a pause, “On Roxxon.” 

“Roxxon?” Daredevil’s cowl may hide his face, but the eyebrow raise punctuating his question is obvious. “But you’re only . . . What? Thirteen?”

“I’m fifteen.”

Daredevil shakes his head. “Okay, well you’re still young. Which means that you have no business going after Roxxon. It’s too dangerous.”

Chiara scoffs, crossing her arms. “I have all the business going after Roxxon. They’re an environmental threat.” 

“How are you going to stop them?”

Great question. One that Chiara would also love the answer to. Unfortunately, she hasn’t exactly figured that part out yet. She just knows that she needs proof that it’s Roxxon that’s causing weird things to happen to the animals living in the back lot of the gas station, and she knows that she needs answers about how they might be behind it. 

“Take my advice, kid,” Daredevil says. “Enjoy being a kid. Don’t go getting mixed up in stuff like this that you don’t understand and accidentally end your time early.” 

Chaira rolls her eyes. “There won’t be much for me to enjoy if companies like Roxxon poison and destroy the earth before then.” 

Or if the people with those glowing weapons that Peter encountered take over the world, or burn it to the ground, she doesn’t add. There are a lot of ways that the world could come crashing down, and those are just the threats of the week. 

Daredevil draws in a deep breath before pushing a hard sigh through his nose. He seems like he’s trying to hold back from raising his voice at her, saying something he might regret. Considering that this conversation started with him kicking Chiara through a skylight and scaring the crap out of her, it’s pretty thoughtful of him, all things considered. 

“Whoever you were following is now in my territory,” he points out, his voice firm but not angry. “They’re my problem now.”

“But that’s not –”

A red covered hand is held up to stop her. “Leave this to the grownups.” Then, almost as an afterthought he adds, “Because if I hear that you’re back in Hell’s Kitchen chasing down threats you don’t understand, I’ll haul you back to Queens myself.”

Chiara pouts. “You aren’t the boss of me.”

“You’re fifteen,” Daredevil deadpans. Probably because of Chiara’s word choice, which isn’t really helping her case. “You’ve got better things to do. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.” 

“What are you, my guidance counselor?”

“Watch it,” the other hero warns. He plants his hands on his hips, looking like a disappointed father. “I’m trying to help you out, kid. You don’t need to go getting mixed up with Roxxon. Trust me on that one.” 

A protest dies on Chiara’s lips. If she keeps arguing, she’ll probably be stuck here all night feeling like she’s talking to a brick wall. She might as well get off the hook while she can, let this guy think he’s won. Besides, if this guy operates in Hell’s Kitchen, he’ll have no clue what Chiara is up to over in Queens. She’ll just have to stay away from his turf, operate on the downlow.  

“Fine,” she sighs. “But when bioluminescent raccoons take over the world, don’t come crying to me.” 

There’s a slightly baffled pause, like Daredevil is trying to figure out if she’s being serious or not. He must decide that he doesn’t want to follow that line of questioning, because he only nods. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. 

“Good.” Chiara sniffs. “Well . . . Bye now.” 

Before Daredevil can protest, she sinks into the shadows, disappearing as she takes her leave, trying to flee the scene before she has to deal with any more lectures. As she navigates her way out of Hell’s Kitchen and back towards Queens, she has only one thought on her mind – she won’t be coming back here any time soon. Not if she can help it, anyway.

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Created my Marvel OC in the midst of a very anxiety inducing weekend, and now I'm kind of obsessed with writing her story during every second of free time . . . despite the fact that I will probably never post it and will just be writing it for self-indulgence

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WIP GAME

Rules: make a new post and share 1-2 sentences from your most recent unposted WIP(s) with zero context – Let your followers guess!

Thanks for the tag @mercurygray! This was fun - I did not realize how much of a challenge it would be to find 1-2 sentences that didn't sound extremely weird without context haha

Unintentionally, her fists clench by her sides. "Not that it's any of your business, but I spend time with Peter because I like him"

I'm just gonna extend a tag to anyone working on something exciting that they want an excuse to share :)

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7 Line WIP Game

I'm so behind on tag games, but @mercurygray tagged me to share 7 lines from my WIP, and since I just started working on something I really enjoy right now, I couldn't pass it up. Thanks Merc!

I don't know if this is quite 7, but we're gonna count it anyway. (For context it's a Marvel OC, since I've recently fallen back into another past hyperfixation.)

Chiara looks around, still baffled by whatever just happened. "I - I'm not sure, actually. Did I just teleport using shadows?" She leans over the side of the building and points to the shadows she had been standing in a few seconds before. "I was right there, and then I thought about where I wanted to be . . . and then I was here." She shivers. "I didn't even know I could do that." No pressure tags: @mads-nixon @almost-a-class-act @footprintsinthesxnd and anyone else who wants to do this!

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Anyways, I was gonna post the new Chiara fic here, but it felt too long, so here's the AO3 link if anyone wants to see the newest shenanigans of loverboy and hatergirl :)

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What if I posted a 5 +1 fic but it was just about Chiara's weird beef with fruit baskets. What then

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Good evening, random Chiara thought of the day, walk with me . . . Post Endgame Chiara -- hear me out -- reverse engineers one of the older Iron Man suits. Don't abandon ship yet, I'm going somewhere with this . . . Does she call herself the Iron Maiden (self explanatory since she's a young woman), or the Iron Saint (since her last name is St. Claire)? Much to think about on this Monday night, thank you for joining me in this space

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Hmmm you know that scene in Breaking Bad where Jesse goes over to dinner at the White's house and it's super awkward? I think we need a fic like that about Chiara having dinner with both of her parents for the first time. As a treat