#so now everytime i hear my deadname come up my brain will just think that im roleplaying my now personafied old email :]

[ascel-vibes]

EEK EEK !!! DEADNAME JUMPSCARED AAA AA !!! (but funni /lh)

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

hihi, soo first off I wanna say I am so in love with your blog and headcannons. They literally make my day, its like eating a whole cake..! and your character is so ❤️💖💖 Keep doing what you are doing because you are awesome 💖

secondly- I just been struggling with family (and living in a small town of yeehaws) that I was just wondering, like how would Diane and/or Hobie react if someone invited them over to their world and just were like "oh yeah uh... can you also uh not use my prefered name and pronouns because I don't wanna get stared at and probably called names..?"

HEEYY!!

Honestly when it comes to Hobie PERFECT PERSON FOR THIS - HE'S GOT YOUR BACK.

For Hobie

Hobie is the KING of wording things very specifically and casually - like he's amazing at it.

Hobie knows that when you have to get purposefully deadnamed the conversation is still hard everytime you hear it, so he tries to lessen it as much as possible and IT WORKS

Someone else would say '[Deadname] and I are going to the store by [pronoun] house to get [pronoun] prescription and some other things [pronoun] needs-'

NO. HOBIE:

'The two of us are heading round to the store by this one's place to pick up the script and grab some things we've been eyeing'

EASY AND SMOOTH.

He has SO many ways to get around it as much as he can that it's basically effortless. Gender neutral nicknames based on a thing that doesn't relate to either name

He'll ask if calling you 'kid' is okay, so he can do what Miguel and Peter were doing.

'The kid and I' 'The kid was saying, etc' 'That belongs to the kid'

And people pick up on it without realizing and do it too. Without even noticing.

Peter B. always called Miles 'kid'. And Miguel only called Miles 'kid' at the very end, having getting it off of Peter.

So Hobie would call you something like 'the kid',

Or come up with a gender neutral, noun based nickname and tell some huge elaborate funny interesting story behind it (real or not) - so then people are like WOAH!!! and start calling you it too.

'Rocket was telling me -' 'Why do you call them Rocket?' *grinning* 'You're gonna wanna sit down for this bruv. So the two of us are out, Wednesday, sunny,-' *explains a story for ten minutes that makes you look awesome PLUS you earn a cool gender neutral nickname*

Or a really powerful one because BRITISH - He'll say 'My mate' or if you're in the room 'my mate here'.

'My mate here was telling me-' 'Can you get my mate's-'

All in all Hobie wouldn't say it unless he ABSOLUTELY HAS TO which is rare to almost ever because he's always thinking of the next sentence and how to do it a different.

He'll also make sure to do this to EVERYONE if you're in front of your family. Like...no one gets pronouns now lol

Because he wants to minimize it as much as possible because he wants you to be able to feel comfortable and able to join in on the conversation rather than brace for the next misgendering, you know?

So that way you don't stand out too much or it doesn't look like you asked him to do it. People just think that's how he talks

Plus, afterwards he ALWAYS makes sure to pull you aside and ask how you're feeling after a convo, making it look all casual. But he just wants to know if you're okay, if not he can say 'This ones taking me to the bathroom', and he'll find a spot to sit with you, just to chill and decompress

Hobie is the KING of SMOOTHNESS You're not playing him

[Hi! I hope you're doing okay, and holding up well! And I hope this helped even a little bit. I know how like every wrong pronoun and every deadname can sting and you can't ignore cause your brain is gonna notice -

It can be tough, but there are people and places out there who are accepting beyond anything you can think. We're out here, and hopefully one day soon our help will get to you, and you can start living a live not having to worry about all this!]

Hope this was okay :) You aren't alone my friend]

And for anyone who's interested in what Disco-Spider Diane would do (and what those accepting places are like) that'll be under the cut!

As for Diane also; this part is largely inspired by this DiscoPop song by singer named Jessie Ware

I'll include the song if you wanna listen! And the lyrics for those who would rather read or skip! You can even pretend she's singing it that's what I do all the time lol

Beautiful People -

Diane knows transphobia is out there, she's from 82', but it still bothers her. When you told her, she'd try best to be reassuring, following Hobie's lead and asking for advice when she needs to. They're a TEAM in this, all of them, so they can work together and it'll all be a bit easier.

But it still bothers her. Like BOTHERS her, going to sleep talking to Ansi on the phone like 'That's SO fucked up you know, uhhh!! The world!!'

And so the next morning she's in your universe.

GET UP WE'RE GOING GENDER AFFIRMING!!!!

It's early as hell. Like 7am. And she's standing over your bed in rainbow sweatbands and a sweatsuit. Looking at you like

'Heeeeeyyyyy, Wanna go some place like way more rad than here could ever dream of being??? wanna go some place FUNKY FAR OUT.'

And then she pulls you into her world-

Diane is from 1982 - and one odd thing about her universe - it's always night. The same way Noir's is like, always raining.

[She didn't learn about day until she met Hobie. If that sounds confusing....it was for her too. she's still learning whats a 'day' thing and what isn't. Like the time someone told her blue eyeshadow is a 'strong nighttime look' like...what???]

Why?

Because it's always Disco-time there. Always time to party, all donuts shops are 'open late' etc.

And the cool places are open all the time!!

She pulls you in and immediately goes "We're going to Stonewall!!" (but first she has to get you fed cause yall not about to be walking around hungry)

Stonewall being the historic bar where the Stonewall Riots took place in 1969 - one of the biggest events in queer history and liberation. Stonewall still exists to this day, but back in 82 it was BUMPING.

All of The Village (that's 'The Gay Neighborhood' (affectionate) ) of stonewall is known for his LGBTQ spots - The Center's even there! (That's what we call the city LGBT center, I love that place SO MUCH)

Already she has a matching tracksuit ready, sweatbands ready to go.

She wants to take you to a place where people are cool and accepting and kind and want to dance for a little bit

And there are rainbow flags strung across the ceiling, gay couples being able to hold hands, trans people being able to JUST BE.

And everyone treats everyone like the other person is the most interesting person ever, like they've got nothing to worry about.

Everyone is gendering you right, throwing affirming compliments your way, telling you you're amazing and beautiful and Yes we're here to live!!!

(and that's what its really like in queer spaces out here - these places exist and people like this EXIST and we're always ready to accept you I promise!!!!! - please don't think the world is cold and cruel just know we're out there WE WANNA GET TO YOU AND KEEP YOU SAFE!!!)

LIKE JUST IMAGINE HANGING WITH DIANE IN NEW YORK DURING THAT ERA IN NEW YORK WITH THE GAY CULTURE FLOURISHING

Of course she stays by your side the whole time, ESPECIALLY if you're a minor - this is a chaperoned trip - but she just wants you to be able to hang out in a space where like..you can actually hang, y'know.

Everyone deserves that - and a little funky music and place to show off a good outfit

The Disco scene and the Queer scene were basically hand and hand and one in the same in a way - and Diane being bi, she gets the fear of hiding and having to keep a secret.

Maybe some of the great queer icons are still hanging around there - you never know in 82!

Plus the LGBT Center only a couple blocks away - and their lounges are AMAZING. And there's people there going through the same thing.

They can swing by and Diane can show you around, even chill for a bit.

She just wants to make sure you have a good time after all that the day before. She thinks EVERYONE needs more TLC - and so she's ready to administer it herself if need be.

And it'd be fun and games but she means it when she says 'The dancefloor is always open.'

Diane would ALWAYS be ready to take you dancing, or crash at The Center, or just be a listening ear.

Just remember that beautiful people are everywhere! <3

[youaretoosmart]

For Stydia prompts, maybe: Getting a puppy/dog Lingerie shopping Honeymoon in Europe Possessive!Lydia Outside POV of stydia (my fav) Lydia getting that fields medal The aftermath of the ghost riders

birthday prompts 4/7

I went with outsider pov! Enjoy :)

Alex has three brothers and two sisters, and two siblings who were or still are in theatre club in high school.

That is to say, he’s used to sharing a room and weird behaviors.

Not that his roommate at college is abnormally weird, or outwardly obsessed with, like, foot fetish or something, but there is something definitely off about the guy he’s been paired with.

First of all—who the hell names a child Stiles?

“It’s a nickname,” Stiles explains the first time they meet—literally within the minute. “My real name is Polish and even weirder.”

He doesn’t tell Alex what it is, but Alex can respect that, especially since Stiles can’t miss the fact that Alex has to go to the administration building three times before the classes begin to change the deadname on his ID.

Still. Stiles is weird.

In a nice, out-of-the-ordinary, I’ll-have-stories-to-tell-at-Thanksgiving way, like his obsession with mythology and his way too broad knowledge on the history of male circumcision.

“That’s nice,” Alex says the first time Stiles tells him about it from his bed on the other side of the dorm. They don’t have classes yet so they went out on campus, came home agreeably buzzed, and crashed on their beds to stay up for hours after that. Stiles’ voice is hoarse from speaking, and his diction a bit sluggish still, despite the fact that Alex has been gradually sobering up for the last hour or so. Apparently, he takes meds to sleep, and they’re starting to quick in. “So, how much’d you get on that paper?”

“I got an A on the make-up test,” Stiles says. “It was for econ.”

Alex laughs so hard he almost falls off his bed.

Another time, Alex finds him browsing some sort of digital encyclopedia with weird drawings and words that are definitely not in English, but he sees the panicked look on Stiles’ face when Alex looks over his shoulder, the way he almost knocks over his mug in his haste to change the tab, and he doesn’t say anything. Alex isn’t the prying type, and despite the fact that Stiles obviously is, he’s yet to breach Alex’s privacy, so the favor is easily returned.

Of course, it’s impossible not to live with Stiles and not find out about his high school friends.

He spends his time on Skype with a guy named Scott, who, to the best of Alex’s knowledge, seems to be both eighty percent Stiles’ impulse control, and his enabler. There is the fond way with which Stiles says his name that Alex has only ever really heard in his mother’s mouth when she calls Alex and his siblings.

There’s Liam and Mason, who are still in high school and on the same lacrosse team Stiles was on. Stiles and thus Alex have no opinion on Mason but one memorable phone call leaves Stiles agitated and restless, pacing the room like he wants to dig a hole in the carpet.

Alex, who has a test in the morning and was stupid enough to listen to the siren call of an 8am class, gathers his patience and asks: “What is it?”

Stiles went outside to make his call, so Alex didn’t listen to it, but a stressed Stiles is a distracting Stiles, and the library is on the other side of campus.

“That was Liam,” Stiles says, scowling at his phone. “That little fucker. I wanna fly back just to shake him until his brain starts working properly.”

“You have a midterm next Friday,” is all Alex can say. College, he’s found, has a way to suck your soul through your ears and fill the void with pointless academic worries.

“I know, that’s why I’m not gonna do it, I just—” Stiles collapses on his desk chair, leg bouncing, and rubs two hands through his hair, messing it up even more. “What an idiot.”

He looks at his phone with disgust.

“You know what you should do?” Alex types on a few keys to wake up his laptop. He doesn’t want to let the screen to go dark: if he does, he’ll give up studying for the night and fail the test. “You should—Give me your phone.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows.

“Yours is nicer than mine.”

“Not like that, idiot. Just—here.”

He finds Liam’s contact easily, angles the screen so Stiles can see what he’s doing—he’s fiercely protective of the information in his phone and his laptop, like he has a double life or something—and changes the name from Liam to “little fucker”.

“Here,” he says, handing it back to Stiles. He doesn’t throw anything to him anymore. It’s a wonder how he got on the lacrosse team at all. “Now everytime you look at his contact you’ll feel like you’re insulting him. Good?”

“Nice,” Stiles says, then he opens his laptop and Alex goes back to studying.

It works, because he gets a solid 88 on the test.

Then, of course, there is the matter that Stiles has a girlfriend—five feet three, strawberry blonde haired, green-eyed Lydia Martin who is gorgeous and a genius. At least that’s what Alex gets from the numerous mentions of her Stiles can slide into every conversation and the pictures Stiles pinned everywhere around his side of the room. Alex always seems to catch the end tail of their conversations, for which he is grateful, but it means that by the time Thanksgiving rolls around, he hasn’t met or talked to the certified genius once.

The Friday afternoon before break changes that fact: when Alex comes back from his History class, he finds Stiles’ bed made and his suitcase open on the bed, slowly being filled.

“Hey,” Stiles greets, dragging the syllable like he always does. “Have you seen my—?”

He trails off and ends his sentence with weird, purposeful flailing, which probably means laptop charger, because Alex has learned that neither of them can ever remember that word.

“Under your bed,” he says, dropping on his bed next to his bag. “No, behind the clothes.”

“Gotcha,” Stiles says to the charger when he locates it. “Thanks.”

“Mmmm. Hey, wait, you’re flying back tonight?”

“Nah, tomorrow morning. But Lydia is picking me up—we’re flying together.”

Couples, Alex thinks.

“I thought she was in Boston.”

“Yeah, she’s driving down.”

“Wait, she’s staying here tonight?”

Alex sits up on the bed: the room is a mess. He doesn’t think he wants anyone to see it in the state it is, much less someone who actually matters.

“No,” Stiles says, gesturing to his bags. “Clearly she got an expensive hotel room and I’m going in, like, thirty minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You can say thank god, it’s okay.”

“Thank god.”

Stiles laughs, closes his suitcase and picks up two books, looking at them quizzically.

“Which one should I take?”

“Homework?” Stiles nods. “Both.”

“Both due in three weeks,” Stiles protests. “I’m not breaking my back for that.”

Alex eyes the books, then his roomate. “Which one are you actually willing to do this week? Be honest.”

“You’re right.” Stiles looks put out but he places both books back on his desk. “I’m not gonna do any long-time work this week.”

“This is not exactly the point I was trying to make.”

“No, you’re right—only fun this week, stress and all nighters for next Sunday.”

“I give up.”

“I work better with pressure,” Stiles insists. “Plus, insomniac, remember? I should at least do something with all those wasted hours. I get anxiety from staring at the ceiling hours on end.”

Alex gives up, rolls on his side, and asks: “So how did you even meet? Lydia and you,” he adds when Stiles prompts him to explain.

“Well, I’d been obsessed with Lydia since, what, the third grade?” Stiles’ tone is falsely casual. “And she wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence.”

“Harsh.”

“Yeah. But—I deserved it a bit, if you ask me. Like—it was bad. But anyway, our sophomore year, her best friend Allison started to date my best friend, Scott.”

“Wait,” Alex says. “Your best friend is Scott?”

Stiles turns around, visibly confused, and sighs when he sees the look on Alex’s face. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, please, tell me again who Scott is. I didn’t know you had a best friend. Do you two speak often?”

Stiles rolls his eyes but doesn’t take the bet, lying on his bed. “Seriously,” he says, “sorry if I’ve been,” he gestures helplessly, “you know, too much with them. It’s just—small towns, you know? I’ve known the same three people my entire life.”

Alex hums like he knows what Stiles is talking about, even though he grew up in the extensive suburbs of DC.

Just then Stiles’ phone buzzes, and Stiles picks up faster than Alex has ever seen any human do.

“Hey,” he greets. “Already? Okay, you remember the way? You turn left on—yes, that’s it. Okay, I’ll wait outside. Lydia’s barely two minutes away,” he tells Alex when he hangs up. “Hey, you wanna meet her?”

After months of hearing about the elusive Lydia Martin, Alex isn’t going to miss his chance. “Sure,” he says, rolling on his feet. “C’mon, I’ll give you a hand.”

He takes Stiles’ backpack and keeps the door open while Stiles pats his pockets for his keys and student ID.

“You forgot anything, I’ll bring it to you tomorrow,” Alex suggests as they wait for the elevator.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m not going home until Sunday.”

“Thanks, man.”

Alex’s parents live forty-five minutes away, in a house that’s never really empty, unlike the campus library will be tomorrow, so Alex has decided to do the total opposite of his roommate and do all of his homework over the weekend, so he can be peacefully pestered by his siblings, parents, and relatives during the rest of the break. It’s genius, really.

When the elevator finally arrives, it’s so crowded that they just cram Stiles’ suitcase in on someone’s toes, and run down five flights of stairs to beat it to the ground, managing it just so. It’s a relief when they finally step outside away from the crowd in the lobby.

“Which one’s her car?” Alex starts to say, squinting for a Massachusetts plate. He turns to find that Stiles is already walking towards a bright blue car and the woman just getting out of the driver’s seat.

“Lydia!” he calls, but he didn’t need to: even from afar, Alex can see the way Lydia’s face brightens at the sight of Stiles.

By the time Alex meets them, walking very slowly and letting a lot of pedestrians and cars speed before him, they have yet to come up for air and Stiles is pressing Lydia against the car just enough to lift her half an inch from the ground.

She really is tiny, Alex thinks fleetingly as he busies himself with the birds in a nearby tree.

When he hears voices, he turns back and gets closer, placing Stiles’ backpack on top of his abandoned suitcase.

“Oh,” Lydia says, looking at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know—” She presses a hand on Stiles’ arm and extends the other to Alex. “Hi, I’m Lydia.”

“Alex,” Alex says, shaking her hand. Lydia’s makeup is somehow intact, but her hair is a little mussed, which Alex charitably decides to believe is from the wind. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Nice to meet you.”

Lydia’s hand slides from Stiles’ arm to his hand, so that they’re standing next to each other, the height difference only highlighted by Lydia’s heeled boots.

Lydia’s smile is easy, bright, and clever; it’s not hard, in retrospect, to see how she can have been both the most popular and intelligent person in school.

“Sorry for the display,” Lydia says.

“It’s okay, I get it.” Alex shrugs. “Long distance and all.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Worse three months of my life.”

“Three months?” At his confusion, Lydia shoots him a surprised look.

“Yes,” she says. “We started dating last June.”

“But.” Alex’s mind in reeling. “You got together when you were a senior.”  He points to Lydia.

“Yes?”

“And now you’re a junior in college,” he says.

“Yes.”

Alex looks at them, lost. Stiles has a little smile like he knows the punchline. “I don’t get it. I thought you were older than Stiles?”

“By three weeks, yes,” Lydia says. “We were in the same grade.”

“Three weeks? But—MIT—”

“Offered me to get in as a junior,” Lydia says. “I had enough credits to graduate two years ago, but I stayed in high school, so we got an arrangement.”

Alex’s head is spinning. Suddenly his major in poli sci at GWU doesn’t seem like such an accomplishment.

“So you actually are a genius,” he says stupidly.

“You could say that, yes,” Lydia says with the same easy smile.

Stiles is biting his lip so hard not to laugh that he’s turning red. Alex has the sneaking suspicion that his confusion happened on purpose; Stiles’ own way to show admiration for Lydia, maybe.

“I can’t believe you,” he tells Stiles.

“Sorry?”

It doesn’t seem very sincere, but neither was Alex’s complaint: Lydia is laughing, but not at him, so in the end it doesn’t matter so much.

“I should let you go,” Alex says, stepping away from the car. “You’re going to hit rush hour otherwise, and also, I don’t have a coat and I’m freezing.”

“I’ve been cold for you for the past ten minutes,” Stiles admits. Lydia slides in the car to pop open the trunk and he goes around to stuff his suitcase in.

“Good meeting you,” Lydia says, one hand on the car’s door. “Have a nice break.”

She manages to make banalities sound earnest. “You too,” Alex says, meaning it. “See you in a week!”

Stiles waves back and slides in the passenger seat. By the time Alex makes it on to the curb on the other side of the street, he can just see the car round up the corner and disappear toward one of the campus’ exits. Then the wind almost blows him over, and he hurries inside to get some rest before starting on his work.