a very descriptive and detailed profile of your muse. repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own! when you’re done, tag 15 other people to do the same!
NAME: archibald andrews (and other manglings thereof) AGE: canon-wise, sixteen SPECIES: human GENDER: cis male RELIGION: protestant…ish. boy’s in for a few epiphanies yet ORIENTATION: pansexual PROFESSION: high school student ft. aspiring musician ft. potential budding footballer ft. human disaster BODY TYPE: washboard bulky, wouldn’t wanna have to haul him places, the good kind of lean beef EYES: very soul-windowy, light brown HAIR: deep red, fluctuating between the extremes of devil-may-care and overgelled SKIN: on the paler side, tan like first-degree burns, freckly in the summer HEIGHT: 5′11″, one long dude WEIGHT: 166 lbs, one massive dude SIBLINGS: none. let it go PARENTS: good lads, fred and mary andrews ANY PETS?yes; the lohl, the best boi, vegas || no COLORS: magenta, browns, yellows, greens, royal blue, grey SMELLS: soap, laundry, something Obviously Manly, the trademark jock sweat FOOD: lots. think meat and any junk lethal for your vessels FRUITS: bananas, apples, watermelon, avocado DRINKS: orange juice, beer, whatever packaged trash of caffeine and sugar that sees him through a task when he needs it ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES?yes || no FAVORITES: songwriting, hanging out, performing, working out, dunking in his own filth for days, laughing SMOKES? yes || no || occasionally DRINKS? yes || no || occasionally DRUGS? yes || no || occasionally DRIVER’S LICENSE? yes || no
No one had ever seen Beistie so mad before. Some of the fully grown football players were actually scared, but they would never admit it out loud. It was written all over their faces. It was the worst football practice in all of McKinley history, and the entire team was blaming it on the quarterback, Sam Evans.
The golden boy was the star of the team. His potential was practically limitless, but his performance today was awful. Even Blaine Anderson, Sam’s new found best friend and resident gay cheerleader for the Cheerios found himself bewildered by Sam’s drills. It was that bad. After a brutal tearing by Beistie that both the football team and the cheerleaders had to listen to, everyone was dismissed for the day. While the team hit the showers, Blaine sat next to his locker. Unlike Sam’s teammates, the overgelled cheerleader wanted to see that his best friend was over.
Almost an hour had passed, and Sam was a no show. The rest of the team had showered up and left the locker by then. Blaine was all alone in the musky old locker room, but not for long. The blonde finally showed up when all his teammates were gone. The former warbler could only imagine that his new found friend didn’t want to deal with the extra ridicule. It was just the two of them. Sam had made his way into the shower, so Blaine decided to give him some company. It wasn’t long before the hot steam filled the room. Both of them occupying a shower head, Blaine stood next to Sam, giving his new best friend a smile, breaking the tension from the earlier confrontation and lack of clothing between them. “ Hey,” said the little pop star in a gentle and calm voice. “ I’m all ears” he said as his gorgeously toned body soon found itself lathered in sensuous soapy suds. Blaine knew Sam needed an ear, and he was ready to listen.
How about some lil’ baby sulky preteen SoMa feels?
Like Soul insisting on taking the train to Nevada BY HIMSELF because he’s 11, he can do it, it’s fine. No, Wes, I don’t need you to come with me. I’m FINE. I’m a WEAPON. Weapons have to BE COOL. I mean I don’t actually know what weapons have to be because I have literally no idea what this weapon-meister business is actually about and I’m actually completely terrified that my life is irrevocably shifting forever, but you know what? It’s better than living in the shadow of the Evans name like a loser. I’m going by myself.
Or Maka, who’s just discovered her father behind the curtains in a DWMA banquet hall with another woman AGAIN and this time she’s telling Mama, that’s it. I’m sorry, Mama, I know you’re sad. I didn’t mean to make you cry! What are you doing, Mama? Don’t go! I don’t want you to go! If you’re going, I’m going with you!
Soul stuffing his dress shirts and slacks deep down into the bottom drawer of his battered dorm dresser and looking through the envelope of money his mom slipped him before he left. He’s got a whole new wardrobe to buy before orientation.
Maka arguing with Sid that if Black Star gets to start in EAT, she should definitely get to start in EAT. You ALWAYS show him preferential treatment because you trained him! I’m a Death Child too, you know! I can do anything stupid BUTT STAR can do!
Soul schooling his face into a perfect mask by practicing in front of the mirror over and over. You’re not scared. You’re not nervous. Other kids here have weird hair and weird complexions and weird quirks too. Look bored. Look cool. Don’t crack. Wes says people look for weakness. Let’s practice smartass replies.
Maka stomping through the hall early in the semester, fuming about her father embarrassing her in front of the EAT upperclassmen, and bumping into some scowling slouching weapon with overgelled hair and a headband. “Excuse you, Pigtails,” he yells after her. She whirls back on him, ready to vent her spleen on this snarky know-nothing newbie with his sharp-toothed sneer. She’s going to do it, but then she catches his nametag.
“Soul Eater?” she snorts. “Really? Could you have picked a more obvious stage name?”
He bristles. “The f-fuck do you know, nerd?”
She glances at his tag again and this time her interest catches. “You’re a Demon Scythe?”
Just like that, she’s all smiles. “Can you transform yet?”
He blinks, taken aback. “Uh. I’ve only done full form once so far, but yeah.”
Maka holds out her hand. “Hi, Soul Eater. Sorry I ran into you. I’m Maka.”
He takes her hand, still wary.
“You want to come to an advanced class with me? All the cool kids are in it, so you should be there,” she says.
“You think I’m cool?” he scoffs.
“Demon scythes are very cool,” she says, still smiling. “And very rare. There’s only one other in the whole school, and we could totally take him down. If you wanted. Do you have a partner yet?”
Soul shoves his hands in his pockets. “No.”
Maka bounces on her heels and toes. “Do you want one?”
He’s quiet for a long minute, working overtime to make sure his elation at being wanted doesn’t show on his face.