r o | e p | a y s a m p | e s . . . ; ;

[Wendla Bergmann]

Boarding School Yaoi RP Male Student Intro Post

♬ ⓐ n ם ч xxx ⓑ . xxx ⓐ s т i n ♬

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♪ Andy Bradford Astin swung his bookbag onto his bed as soon as he stepped through the door into his dorm room. He sighed. Who knew I would get this dorm? "This dorm," of course, being number 2o5. One of his lucky numbers, Andy usually only liked odd numbers. Particularly those which didn't end in 9 and didn't repeat a digit. He used these numbers for everything: his alarm time, the volume on his electronic devices, his microwave times. Yes, he knew he was a little bit OCD. Well... maybe more than a little bit.

He noticed the other bed in his dorm was still empty. He knew it was pretty unlikely that someone would be assigned the same dorm as he was, especially because there were three floors of dorms. Andy reasoned that the likelihood of someone- hopefully even a cute someone- having the fortune/misfortune to bunk with him was pretty close to zero, even if some of the other dorms were taken already. Making a face, Andy stopped thinking about that for a while- maths had never been his strong point.

Flopping back onto his bed, Andy rubbed his temples, yawning a little. He pulled out his flipcam, wondering what he should shoot. He turned on the videorecorder, humming while he taped his feet moving back and forth. The duvet was mussed as soon as Andy hopped off the bed, still humming his current addiction-song, so catchy it was ridiculous. "Enemy lasagna, robust below wax, semiautomatic aqua, accompany slacks..." He snickered softly, wondering what his potential roommate would think. Andy hoped he wouldn't be afraid of the Internet. That's probably where the two of them would end up anyway.

It was no hidden thing that Andy wanted more than anything to be accepted as an Internet phenomenon. It was how half the amount of famous people got to be where they were, anyway. Sure, playing an instrument was out of the question, and he couldn't rap for beans. But Andy thought for a moment, running a hand through his dark hair, brushing it out of his face. He set down his video camera and thought for a moment. "When we look back, thirty years from now, tonight will seem unbelievably beautiful."

And in the meantime? Why not?

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[Wendla Bergmann]

Boarding School Yaoi RP Male Student Regular Post

♬ ⓐ n ם ч xxx ⓑ . xxx ⓐ s т i n ♬

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♪ Picking up his flip camera, Andy scratched his foot, which was clad in long grey socks. He stood up straight and stretched his back, trying to think of something to cure his boredom. He had meant to call his mother back, but she was probably busy baking for the annual church bazaar. Every year there was a cake-baking contest, and every year she insisted on baking a pie. No matter how often he tried to tell her a pie is not equivalent to cake, she would not listen. Maybe that's why when I tried to tell her about me, she would talk over me, and hang up without letting me get a word in.

Andy pulled out his phone one-handed, noticing a voicemail pop up onto the screen the second he'd flipped it open. He hoped it wasn't his father. After that thought popped into his head he laughed out loud, knowing his father wouldn't give him the time of day since he'd been placed into his first boarding school. "Good Catholic," Andy reminded himself dryly, pressing the button to play the voicemail. Putting it to his ear and holding it with his shoulder, he listened to the message play out with a sense of foreboding making his heart beat faster than usual.

"Hey Andy, honey, I was just wondering, what's going on with you. I told your father, An, about your theatre major, he said- well, no matter what he said. Just tell us- me- when the production is and I'll make sure he comes, honestly, he will, he just needs a bit of persuading. That's all, hoping you're well, I'd really hoped you'd be in, where are you? Oh, class, right? Well, however, just have a good day sweetie, your father says hello. Love, Mom."

He stood there for several seconds after the message had ended. His mother was notorious for talking at the speed of light, and this time it was no different. The thing was, though, she'd actually seemed a little worried, and a lot sincere, in that call. Maybe his mother wasn't trying to knock some sense into him, but sure, she'd said things like that every year. Theatre had always been a vice for him, plus it was a great place to actually try to make friends, which had never really been his forte anyway.

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Andy opened the door to his dorm, ignoring the mess he'd left on his bedside table and the bed itself, which stood unmade for the third time since the beginning of last week. He shut the door behind him after making sure he had the key in his left front pocket. Everything on his person had to be particular- that was one of the only hints of OCPD in him other than his penchant for odd numbers not ending in nine or repeating a digit. His cell phone in his front right pocket, key and other small objects, like his flip cam, in the front left pocket. His wallet and/or ID card, money, and other flat things went in his back right pocket. Nothing but his hands went in any other pocket. He blushed even though nobody was around when he thought of someone else's hands in the other pockets.

His flip camera was hibernating in his front left pocket until he disturbed it. Walking to the end of the hallway and turning around, Andy pressed the ON button and held it up, still humming as he pushed the RECORD button straightaway. Even though it wasn't the greatest place to live, Andy still wanted to document it. He had done this every year since his parents had forced him into residential-schools, and he hadn't got around to it yet this year. He traced the intersection of the wall and the carpet with the toe of his shoe, filming until he got to his door, where he shot upwards to rest on the number printed in metal onto the entryway. "Welcome to paradise, Internet. You can see I'm having fun. Can't you hear the near-ecstasy in my voice? This video is done."

Disregarding his lack of jacket, Andy decided to take a trip to the other dorms to see if they were any different than the two-hundreds. Three-hundreds obviously came next, and a shiver ran like lightning up and down his spine when he thought about talking to others he wouldn't be living next door to. He got nervous just thinking about it, but he swallowed hard and put one foot in front of the other so as not to lose any sliver of courage he had subconsciously mustered up to do this in the first place. In no time he found himself walking the hallways of the three-hundreds, being rhythmically loud again, this time singing a song his father would use as another excuse to try to legally separate him from the family.

" Wars are made, and somehow that is wisdom. Thought is suspect, and money is their idol, and nothing is okay unless it's scripted in their Bible."

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[Wendla Bergmann]

Rehab/ Boarding School RP Female Character Intro Post

♕

┅ ┅ ┅ A b e l l a ✖ D e l m a r e v e ✖ A s h t a n t ┅ ┅ ┅

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Abella scratched the back of her hand, inspecting her medium-length nails with a sharp, cornflower-blue eye. The bright red paint on the perfectly shaped ovals was chipping again, which meant her nails would soon be as short as the tiny bones of Hervé Villechaize. The toxic factor of nail polish was the only thing standing in the way of ingesting the dead cells that were her nails. She was sitting behind the counter in the therapist's office like the girl she'd seen in that one film, who chewed gum obnoxiously and wore scene clothes with her emo hair. "God, girls like that are disgusting. Why the hell am I even here right now, it's not like Doctor Professor Whatever Her Name is here at this point in time..." She grabbed hold of the black plastic-y countertop and pushed the wheelie chair back. Her hightop-clad feet landed on the ground, Abella saw past her navy blue pants as she kicked the chair back to press against the counter and slammed the door behind her. It clicked shut.

"The happy part is I don't have to do anything right now. I can just relax." Abella slid down the banister, something she wouldn't have been able to do with her regular uniform on- instead she had preferred to jack a blissfully unknowing boy's school pants. He had three pairs in navy and two in khaki; he wouldn't miss them anyway. She continued sliding downwards, ignoring the churchy-building on floor two as she always did, but restraining herself from throwing the bird at the structure- no one was there anyway. Though it was Christmas Eve. An oft-repeated line in Abella's repertoire ran through her head again. Hopping off the shiny banister, she felt it was suitable. Her head was cocked, the tangles and curls in her hair tucked behind her ear as she listened for a minute to the silence that kept her at Ainsley's every day of her miserable existence. Nothing but the hum of the building and its old, crappy plumbing and its old, crappy teachers. As if much learning went on at the place anyway.

"No sleigh bells, no Santa Claus, no yule log, no tinsel, no holly, no hearth, no Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. No room at the Holiday Inn, oh no. And it's beginning to snow."

Snapping into the kitchen for a quick second, Abella smacked open the refrigerator, sticking only her hand into the compartment down the bottom, where the fruits and vegetables were stored. After pulling out a clear ziplock bag of thawed frozen corn and its taped-onto plastic spork ( oh, the humanity- the unholy convenience of a spoon put together with a fork- Abella rolled her eyes ) she buttoned the last, top copper button on her blazer as she walked outside. And lo and behold, it was beginning to snow. "RENT and classic rock can just sum up everything in a world." Cursing loudly at the first frozen step she took into the slush, Abella felt the wetness of the cold snow seeping in through the canvas of her shoes and the Champion socks underneath. She made some indistinguishable noises as she tried to shake off the not-so-fluffy white solid water product from her feet by kicking a tree trunk a good few times. [******** snow."

The problem wasn't the cold. What bothered her was the wet. Her shoes were not meant for water or any other liquid. They were basically her pride and joy in canvas and rubber form. She tore open the bag of corn, with little resistance, and sporked some into her mouth. Taking care to step only where her feet had been before, she discarded the ridiculous utensil in the snow, burying it with another small drift from the side. Her blue eyes raked the landscape, pointedly avoiding the red and brown brick building she so longed to leave, but realized defeatedly she probably never would. Much as Abella looked like a rebel and talked like one, she was only a manipulator, only a pragmatist. Her gaze snagged on a group of three she'd seen around multiple times before. Not together all the time, but together. Two of them, the sickly-pale girl and the tall boy with the light hair had been punished in the past for leaving without permission. It was something she'd always longed to do, but didn't have the guts. Might as well. Abella felt her wet feet move lightly across the snow, crunching over to the other people.

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You'll f e e l cheery, I'll feel cheery- Though
I don't really know that t h e o r y

[Wendla Bergmann]

Rehab/ Boarding School RP Female Character Regular Post

♕

┅ ┅ ┅ A b e l l a ✖ D e l m a r e v e ✖ A s h t a n t ┅ ┅ ┅

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Quiet as the other boy was, the one with the brown hair, Abella could still pick up what he said. The greeting was fairly standard, obviously, they weren't best mates or anything, but at least she knew his name. Or could recall it after much thought. He looked like a Simon or a Skye, something Southern and soft, but he was an Owen, she remembered after a minute of deep thought. His knuckles were as white as the other girl's hair and skin as he clenched a jacket that looked rather uncharacteristic of him. She supposed it wasn't his, either another student's or the taller boy's. "Howya." Not wanting to invest herself too much, Abella inclined her head but didn't meet his eyes. Or rather, he made it quite clear he wasn't planning on meeting hers. Abella was used to that. She shook her foot to see if any of the wet had evaporated. Sadly, it hadn't.

Taking a handful of thawed corn out of the ziplock, she instead turned her gaze to the other boy and the girl, who was pale as anything Abella'd never seen before. A giggle let out of her, a most unearthly sound. Abella tried her best not to let her perplexed and more-than-slightly unpleasant look of Er, what the hell are you doing, chickadee flash over her face for more than a millisecond. Much as she hated to admit it, Abella's microexpressions were slightly longer than the 'micro' prefix supposed they last. She herself supposed that that was good, as she tended not to lie- but when she did, nobody would tell the difference. Or rather, nobody would look long enough to tell the difference. Trying not to let that get to her, Abella smiled at the three, hoping she wasn't intruding and knowing she wouldn't give a damn if she was.


"So what are we- I mean, you- all doing out here? Not exactly the most pleasant of environments to be out having a chat in, hm?" Wow. That may have been the most sociopathological, idiotic thing she'd said in her entire life. It wasn't enough that she was just crunching along in the snow eating half-frozen corn out of a bag, she had to make herself out to be the president or prime minister of the Future Psychoanalysis-Based Therapists Of The World club. That thought made her want to laugh- a messed-up person left in Ainsley's from age sixteen on wasn't exactly a quality that launched her to the top of any college, club, or other organization's recruitment list. Abella settled for loudly consuming another handful of white corn and waiting for the others to respond. Not being the best conversationalist was a strong point of hers. It all made her want to roll her eyes or smoke a Gauloises while standing around and looking pissed. It was what she did best, after all.

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You'll f e e l cheery, I'll feel cheery- Though
I don't really know that t h e o r y

[Wendla Bergmann]

Spring Awakening-Based Public School Female Student OC Intro Post

ღ ❝ Remy Rosaline Beverwil ❞

Remy Beverwil was in her mother's Ford Taurus, pressing her forehead against the glass window, much to her mother's heavily-accented chagrin. Her face was flushed pink, silently embarrassed of her mum's overly-sensible car choice and her insistence that Remy sit in the back of the car. 'For safety,' she had said. 'According to the manual, you don't weigh enough to sit in front,' she had said. Weight aside, Remy was fourteen. She secretly didn't want to be seen in the beat-up Taurus of her mother. However, the bright side was: at least they didn't live somewhere stylish like New York or Chicago, then she would probably be tarred and feathered for the ugliest car in the city. No matter how much Remy wanted to live somewhere like that, her mother ( and her father, for that matter ) would probably deem it 'too dangerous.' Takeaway Chinese food was too dangerous for Remy's parents. And that sucked. Why must I have such delusional adults for parents?

Not that she would ever be allowed to say that anything 'sucked.' Her entire upbringing depended on Nadia, her younger sister, and Remy's sheltering from the dangers and unpleasantries of the outside world. With each passing minute, Remy grew ever-closer to the tall, looming buildings that made up Pennsylvania's Pensley D'Artagnan Catholic Preparatory for Boys and Girls. And with each passing minute, her urge to jump out of the Taurus grew bigger. "Mum, can I just get out of here?" she said quietly, adding on a "Please?" and hoping her mother didn't get offended. She watched in suspense as the Main Building came into view, ignoring her mother, who was burbling out a negatory response that had something to do with American driving and careless parents. Pensley Prep was comprised of one large brick-and-wood building and a large courtyard with several small neighbouring structures. The middle courtyard was accessible only through a specific set of doors and featured the school's trademark willow trees as the main sources of shade.

"Yes, Remy, make sure to be good, and get good grades today, I will see you at home tonight at six o'clock." Remy kissed her mother on both cheeks and tightened the buckle on the belt that held up her navy pleated skirt. The white button-down shirt with the Peter Pan collar was half-hidden underneath the navy cardigan that matched the skirt, the one with the gold-bronze buttons and the red line going around it. I look like a sailor's little girlchild he took with him for Take Your Child To Work Day. The sad part? Pensley Prep wasn't a uniform school. As a matter of fact, the Pensley Prep guidebook specifically stated it was strictly anti-uniform in order to 'preserve self-expression and support the individuality of others.' It was times like these that made Remy hate Switzerland. And then knowing that thought was in her head was enough to have to drive her to go pray in the school's private ceremony hall. Sighing with evident relief as her mother drove the rickety old Ford down the street, Remy looked around, pulling off the little-girl blazer and wishing her Mary Janes weren't so plain. That piano-playing boy was coming into sight with his golden-boy friends and she looked like a sailorette. Oh man oh man.

[Wendla Bergmann]

Spring Awakening-Based Public School Female Student OC Regular Post

ღ ❝ Remy Rosaline Beverwil ❞

Remy frowned. The beginning of the school year was not going well at all. She was in the building already, staring down her Mary Janes like they held the cure for cancer. As the telltale sound of the doors swinging open met her ears, she looked up and flattened herself against the wall so as not to be completely bowled over by another student. "Oh my God!" gasped Remy loudly, realizing what a close miss had just occurred. She winced, knowing she would have to tell Father Philip about that little outburst, even if it wasn't quite an expletive. Her eyes traced along the hallway, looking for the culprit of her near-fall. As soon as her gaze rested on a nervous-looking boy, she sighed. Of course, it was that boy. George? Gabe? She couldn't remember for the life of her, but he always looked frazzled, confused, or anxious. Pulling up her left sleeve, Remy glanced at her mother's hand-me-down watch. Did she have time to go talk to Father Philip before classes started?

The first bell rang and she sighed again, knowing that she had to walk all the way across the building before she reached her homeroom class. Remy knew she sighed a lot, maybe too much, but it wasn't as if she was unhappy with her life, per say. It was more a matter of wistfulness and a little bit of misfortune, not that ugly-soul combination of hate, ungratefulness, and exasperation. She closed her locker gently, making sure not to jar the photographs and other things stuck to the inside of the door and being sure to turn her lock so it was positively locked. Chewing on her bottom lip with a little bit of apprehension, she made her way around the white-noise hum of the throngs of students still pouring in through the hallways. "Excuse me, pardon me, coming through- ow!" The situation could probably be compared to a traffic jam in downtown New York after work let out in the evening, or the lines at an L.A. Starbucks at seven o'clock in the morning.

She finally pressed her way through to her homeroom, sliding into her seat with a gentle breath of relief a split second before the bell rang. Remy flashed a grin up at Mr. Klein, the homeroom teacher, whose usual lock-jawed glower softened a bit. His gruff voice echoed across the room as he commanded attention. Not that his presence didn't already do that, with broad shoulders and a set serious look on his face. "Sit down, students. I need to take attendance. Into your seats. And yes, Miss Callahan, I mean your seat, not a seat already occupied by Mister Forrest or the vacant one next to Miss Woods." Remy sat up straighter but scanned the room. Her seat in the back middle allowed her perfect view of everything that went on in the classroom. She saw Emmett Rosario drop his pencil and kick it so it slid over to Benny Warner, who picked it up and threw it into the ceiling, where the lead point stuck to the weak roof paneling. She saw Nina Peachum, Elle Diver, and Vivienne Zuko whispering about something discreetly while they looked into compact mirrors and reapplied eyeliner. None of it really mattered, though. She was just sitting through it, waiting for instruction, as she did every homeroom.

Her eyes rested, now, on her best friends Thalia and Margo, who were facing the same desk and doodling on the back cover of Thalia's red- and blue-striped spiral notebook several seats away. She clicked her pen three times to get their attention, then tilted her head toward Eric and Harris, who were snickering softly in the two desks in the very leftmost corner in the back of the room. Thalia furrowed her brow, then shook her head, turning away with a shrug to continue her doodling, but Margo's eyes flashed with recognition for less than a quarter of a second, so swiftly that Remy missed it, but she shrugged too. "Okay, class, take out the poem you were supposed to write for homework and put it on your desk. I'll come around and collect them," Mr. Klein's voice boomed, hushing the class for a minute or two, when the white noise settled in again.

It's like I'm your lover, or more like your ghost.
I spend the day wondering what you do, where you go.

[Wendla Bergmann]

Spring Awakening-Based Public School Male Student OC Intro Post

xxxxxxxxxx■■■ иσaн . cσσρeя . gяeeиe

⇒Noah Greene had woken up late. 'Late' for Noah meant being early for the first day of the new school year at Pensley D'Artagnan Catholic Prep by only twenty minutes instead of thirty, and as such, that was exactly what happened. He was pulling on his Diesel jeans with one hand as he hopped around the foyer of his two-story penthouse in midcity Pittsburgh, awkwardly feeding himself cornflakes with the other hand. Shoot, shoot, almost ready. He lived about forty-five minutes from the school, which his parents had enrolled him in practically at birth. If you weren't a scholarship student being force-fed into the system headfirst by uptight parents, you were a student like Noah, enrolled because it was the best. Teenagers like fifteen-year-old Noah didn't believe in such things as 'awkward stages.' In the terms so used by their parents, they'd graduated from Gerber Baby to Adorable Toddler to Beautiful Child to Stunning Young Man or Gorgeous Young Woman. And there they'd stay for another thirty years at least.

Bowl half-full of cereal forgotten, Noah pounded down the steps of the building, ignoring the elevator- hey, it was downstairs- and whistled for Gregory, the doorman, to hold it open for him. He slid into the seat of his family's Range Rover in record time, jamming his grandfather's old grey fedora onto his head as his driver, Tony, took off, going a mile above speed limit. "Thanks for waiting, Tony. I must have slept through my alarm. Lucky I'm only ten minutes late, huh?" With his beach-tanned skin, unruly ebony hair and clear hazel eyes, Noah most resembled a long-haired Adam Brody. Or rather, that was the general female consensus. It was no secret that the circle of guys that Noah was friends with had the largest female following at Pensley. It was unfortunate, thus, that Noah never dated. Girls held their breath until that day came, where they wept at the news that he was gay or wept at the news that he finally had a girlfriend. It was lose/lose, but secretly each hoped that she would be the lucky girl. And what did Noah have to say about all this? Who cares? I need to focus.

Playing the piano was his life, and no girl would ever replace that. Ever.Whoever she is, she'll have a run for her money, though. It's tough competition, Noah snorted. Lucky the girls weren't the ones who chose. "Thanks, Tony! See you at four." He waved to his middle-aged driver and slammed the car door, happy his parent's had settled for the Range Rover and not the limousine like they'd originally proposed. Noah was all for the low-key part of wealth. He didn't want to be the Adam Brody, he'd rather be the boy-next-door. He didn't even like the girls hanging on him. Maybe I should let them all think I'm gay. It would be so much easier. "Hey, Noah, man, you're a superstar." "Hey, Brandon, Nate, Jeremy. How was your summer?" Noah shook hands and greeted his friends like they'd been gone for years. That was how they rolled, he supposed."Bro, like you weren't there." Bro, that's because I wasn't. He rolled his eyes and continued into the school with his... friends. ⇐

[Wendla Bergmann]

Rehab/ Boarding School RP Male Character Intro Post

★... Noel shivered. "s**t." He rubbed his hands together, blowing on them for warmth. He briefly considered licking them- he'd done it before- but then remembered that when they dried, they would be just as cold. If not more. And with his luck, it would probably end up being more. With that thought lodged in his head, he picked himself up off the floor, dusting himself off with his sleeves, and set his feet to move forward. Christmas Eve. Being more-than-slightly averse to nostalgia, Noel tried to block out any memory of Christmas at home. Not that they were happy anyway, it was just another quiet night at home. All that "you'll be cheery, I'll be cheery" crap forced down their throats by the media and at school. Tho' I don't really know that theory. His stomach contracted, a nervousness-induced habit. Though now he realized it was more than nervousness. It wasn't a feeling, it was a physical state. I need to go pray.

It wasn't something he did on a regular basis, nor was it something he really did to 'save' himself, or anything. Reaping rewards and consequences was a Christian thing, or a Catholic thing. Noel was Jewish. He hadn't had a bar mitzvah, considering his parents were anti-extravagance in the face of a religious background. Of course, that was just a phase. Artagnan'd had a bar mitzvah, complete with ten-layer cake, strobe lights, and semifamous band as entertainment. And also of course, Noel was six at the time, so it wasn't such a big deal. Until he saw the pictures of himself, asleep, with his face pressed against an inflatable bounce-house. So Judaism wasn't entirely his favourite idea in the world, on the basis of bitterness. Yet he still felt that slight pull towards the churchy-building in Ainsley's. Why? Because he felt like it was the right thing to do. "No more dodging, God is watching; His eye is on the lowly sparrow- the road is long, the path is narrow." An integrity thing? Who knows.

He reached the second floor, and his fingers wouldn't separate anymore. As he approached, Noel got the vague feeling in his throat that it might have been a bad idea. It was a mostly Christian-based church, he knew, he'd been in there before. Only on his birthday, with a cupcake and a match. The flicker had made the entire structure glow, and if he was a sadist or had a death wish like some of the other student patients, he would have struck it and let the flames lick up the altar. But Noel had more sense than that in his mind, and had more respect for others than that. Maybe I should have been born a Catholic. Judaism was more focused on the present. Noel interpreted that as 'how wide is it, how deep is it, and how much is mine to keep?', as his idol and favourite author, Kurt Vonnegut, had put it so wisely. Noel peered his head into the building and held back a groan. His gut feeling had been right; someone was in there. He briefly registered the boy as the one with autism. In the past he'd tried his best to avoid him, but now there was no choice.

Noel tried to slip by unnoticed, crawling along the wall like some sort of deranged spy. Wondering what the current out-of-body experience would be like and if he would look as stupid as he felt, sliding along the wall, he stood up straight, his mind cussing him out for the loud stomp his heavy shoes made. Why the hell did Artagnan send me boots with steel-enforced toes and heels? And why the hell did I put them on today? The question lingered in the air let out of his mouth as he breathed loudly and deliberately on his hands. A shiver ran down Noel's spine, and he tried not to clomp as he moved to the middle of the room. Awkwardly, he wondered how to handle an autistic person. "Er. Hi," whispered Noel. It seemed fitting, being as they were in a 'sacred' place.




x x x x x x xxx n o e l xx h u n t e r xx a i o n o r

[Wendla Bergmann]

Rehab/ Boarding School RP Male Character Regular Post

★... Eyes wide and heart pounding, Noel answered the boy. He continued to be quiet, just because it was comfortable, considering where they were and who he was talking to. "I'm Noel... Aionor..." His voice trailed off as his periphery alerted him to the presence of yet another boy in the church. The boy was smoking, too. How... ugh. Noel all but restrained himself from snapping at the boy, who seemed altogether chock-full of assholery. Pretentious attitude, fairly annoying accent, the guy just seemed like a p***k. And above all, the look in his eyes was horrible, it seemed so creepy and lecherous, the flashes when he turned his eyes a certain way reminding Noel of the look on the faces of the crazies in the mental hospital on the outskirts of Williamsburg. Not exactly the most pleasant noises to hear when you walked to a bar in the middle of the night.

The first boy, the autistic one, looked quite violated and frightened, the way Noel felt when he'd caught a glimpse of the potential lothario. Well, considering his obvious pick-up line, he wasn't such a ladies' man as a man's man, he seemed. And before long, Nouă was ripped into shreds, tears pouring out of him. Noel froze. Oh, God. Oh God, God. Sure, he didn't approve of the general ******** that was radiating from the newcomer, but he had absolutely no remote idea of anything to do about it. He wanted to slide and escape, or punch the a*****e's lights out, something so his hands weren't so idle. But no. The freak actually apologized. He introduced himself. Deux. Like the French word for the number two. But quite obviously Nouă could handle himself, as he told Deux off and practically broke his finger.

Noel winced, but his blood began to boil the second Deux threw out the word. He barely knew either, but felt a strange responsibility to take care of Nouă, probably a formerly-unseen paternal instinct emerging from the fibers of his soul. Or rather, that was what he chalked it up as. "Dude. Nouă's obviously not interested. Try again later." Deux looked like he could beat Noel up with a ballpoint pen and his left thumb, so Noel stepped back a little bit and avoided eye contact. That decision was probably wise, he reasoned, as the explosion towards the autistic boy was more than he had figured would happen. He was already over his head, and he groaned slightly, hoping nothing big would happen to him, either.





x x x x x x xxx n o e l xx h u n t e r xx a i o n o r

[Wendla Bergmann]

Rehab/ Boarding School RP Female Character Intro Post

__________|| youcrumpledmelikecellophane ☆ ☆ youwreckmemaryjane ||

↹ marʏ ( claude ) L . A . N . E ↹

This place is so cold, and it’s really dark, thought Mary Claudia Lane, rubbing her arms. Her dorm wasn't even better than the rest of the rehabilitation school, which was cold and dreary all year round, not just in winter. Even though it was winter right now- Christmas Eve, in fact. Her dorm had annoying posters tacked to the walls, of rock and roll bands that she never remembered putting up. Then again, she didn't remember going to bed the night before, either. At least the mirror was the same as she remembered it- perfectly square, with royal-blue-painted wood lining the sides. Mary looked at her reflection and frowned. Her hair wasn't curled- it was straight again. Mary supposed she had time to curl her hair, but the iron needed to charge for at least half an hour, and she didn't have that. Sighing, she pulled out a hair tie and tied her blonde hair into a pigtail, which hung straight down her back.

Mary sighed and left her room, straightening her desk before she exited. She made sure to close the door behind her when she left. Oh! The girl trailing her hand along the wall- that was Jamie. Mary bit down on her knuckle; Jamie was looking very pretty indeed. Her hair was wavy and she had a nice headband on. It was pink, and matched her top, belt, and shoes. Jamie never had to worry about her hair being curled, or her clothes not matching. It was so effortless. Mary sighed, partly with envy and partly with something else she'd rather not discuss. It was a bit embarrassing to have the feelings that she had. An urge came over her to interrupt whatever it was Jamie was doing and ask her to do something together. Maybe if she asked, and if she was super nice about it, Mary would have a sort-of Christmas slumber party! But no... Trying to be quiet, she passed Jamie with a sort of hum echoing through her ears and a little hope that the pink-clad girl would say something.

The corridor by Mary's dorm was short, and she travelled down the whole thing, pausing for a second in front of the stairs. She hopped up and down in place, then took the first step down the staircase from floor four, hopping from side to side as she made her way down. Nothing on the third floor was interesting, so she walked down the corridor on that floor too, making her way through onto the stairs again. Church seemed like a good idea, especially because it was Christmas Eve. Mary grinned to herself, pulling her white knit cardigan closer around her and tugging on the hem of her red velvet Christmas dress. However, the smile dropped clear off her face as she heard the sound of bickering voices in the church. She furrowed her brow. "The church is a sanctuary! Arguing isn't nice, even if it's not in church."

So deep was she in thought, Mary barely had time to register the fact that there was someone else in the hallway before she ran straight into them by the window. "Oh dear, oh my, I am so sorry! Are you all right?" Startled, she brought her finger to her lips in a very 'golly' fashion. It was a boy, she found upon closer inspection and a double-take. He had black hair, and he was deep in thought- well, he had the look of someone who was previously deep in thought. Before Mary had rammed into him, anyway. She straightened her dress, pulling the hem down again so it rested just below her knees, and smoothed out the wrinkles in the velvet. She felt her face turn nearly as red as the dress, and she turned to move away. She realized she did an awful lot of running for a girl who liked to make friends, and decided against leaving. However, she didn't want to say anything. This boy was so peaceful-looking before, Mary wanted to restore it.

She mustered up some courage. "Gee, I'm really sorry for bumping into you like that. I was just thinking- there were boys arguing in the church! Gosh, that made me kind of annoyed- oh! I shouldn't have been. They probably had a good reason. I might apologize to them, I chastised them- well, in my head, but out loud... Say, what were you doing? No, nevermind, that's really none of my business, sorry." Golly, I apologize an awful lot. Mary frowned. That wasn't how she had wanted it to go at all. She bet she sounded kind of pathetic, even. She wished she could sound sophisticated and elegant, like Sylvia Plath, or the pretty girl, Juliet, in Romeo and Juliet. Wondering for a second if Jamie was classy like that- then knowing she probably was- Mary smiled at the boy.

"Say, what's your name? I'm Mary Lane." This boy looked familiar, but she couldn't remember his name. She had a vague feeling he already knew hers, though she hadn't ever talked to him before... Maybe she had and just hadn't remembered it.

|| we'llsingtotheraftersofhappilyafters ☆ ☆ you'relovedbymarylane ||__________

[Wendla Bergmann]

Rehab/ Boarding School RP Female Character Regular Post

__________|| youcrumpledmelikecellophane ☆ ☆ youwreckmemaryjane ||

↹ mary ( claude ) L . A . N . E ↹

Mary stiffened when she felt the brush of delicate fingers on the small of her back. Her heart leaped straight into her throat, pounding at an unnaturally quick pace. Jamie was a bit of a flirt, Mary remembered, but this wouldn't constitute as anything of the sort... right? Blue-grey eyes searched the floor, her gaze scuttling over her feet and the molding on the wall as she contemplated all that she knew. Her taut backbone locked into place, Mary was tense, and the sound of a teacher firmly chastising Jamie and another student inside the church-structure made her jump. A white-shoed toe traced the patterns on the floor, the point of the matter being a distraction from everything in her sight. It would be easier to handle this stuff if she wasn't handling it. Mary blinked a few times, knowing the gesture was inappropriate on Jamie's part, but the blondes hadn't said anything out of the ordinary, nothing to each other at all. Both were breaking curfew, too. It was probably eleven, or at least close to.

Jolly old Saint Nicholas wouldn't be visiting her tonight anyway, Mary silently sighed. Nobody in the place would be brought comfort and joys, gifts and toys. She couldn't hear sleigh bells, all there was was white noise. "At least it snowed." She had never seen the Chicago snow, especially since every Christmas Aunt Serena would hand her a gift and usher her up the stairs to her room, which would stay locked until the morning, when Aunt Serena would unlock the door with shaky hands, then crash on the couch, still in her black dress and diamond jewellery.

Mary's gift would always be a regift of Aunt Serena's, who probably got it from her boyfriend of the week, month if he was lucky. Sure, the gifts were always beautiful. A coral ring, a sapphire brooch, a gold and jade enameled hair comb. But they didn't feel right, they didn't have the warmth of Christmas on them. Mary gave a sad smile and a pitiful little wave to the boy, who might have been selectively mute for all the conversation Mary had with him. Stupid, stupid. Then she paused, silently reprimanding herself for putting herself down. As she picked up her toes to go back to the room, her heart slid down from her throat to throb in her chest.

The climb up the stairs was harder than going down them, and with each step Mary felt herself growing more tired. She yawned several times and simply trudged up the steps, losing count of how many of the wrought-iron landings she'd reached. When her hand bumped into the familiar nick in the iron railing, she opened her eyes wider, dragging herself pathetically along the carpet and wall to her equally drab room, which she unlocked with the disgustingly rusty key. She pulled a face at the ugly posters on her wall that were tacked there, frameless. "When did I put those up?" asked Mary quietly, the question turning into a little whimper. They didn't match. And it didn't match not just the decor, but her personality too. She was a skirt-wearing, shined-shoes, yearbook-editor, champagne-drinking firecracker. Where was that personality now? In bed, sleeping. Like I'm supposed to be. Mary let out a little giggle and sat on her bed, trying not to move too much lest she muss the royal-purple duvet.

On a normal night she'd probably already be sleeping. A little tickle shivered up her spine like lightning, the small thrill of being out past curfew lifting her spirits a little bit, but not doing much for her energy. She unbuckled her shoes and delicately stepped out of them, rebuckling them and putting them by the right leg of the vanity. Her socks came next, which she rolled up as a pair and lifted the lid of the small dirty-clothes hamper her mother had sent her the year she was enrolled in Ainsley's, the only connection she'd had with her parents since Aunt Serena. Mary tugged off the red velvet Christmas dress and white cardigan, smoothing out the wrinkles again and hanging them back up in her closet alongside her Easter ensemble and the past year's Halloween costume. Shaking out her ponytail, she ran her fingers through it, then a comb, making sure no tangles were left in her naturally straight blonde hair.

Mary walked to the bathroom with a blue toothbrush, toothpaste, and a facewasher, cleaning her teeth and scrubbing her face until it glowed pink. Yawning, she patted her face dry with a fuzzy towel and set her necessities down on her vanity. She soon collapsed into bed after saying the Christmas prayer, and adding on a little prayer of her own. As soon as her blue-grey eyes shut she was asleep.

Dear Lord, please watch over all of the students here at Ainsley's. Please make our Christmas Day better than we would have had otherwise. Thy power is great, and we adore thee. Thy name we revere, and raise our hopes to thee. Amen.

|| we'llsingtotheraftersofhappilyafters ☆ ☆ you'relovedbymarylane ||__________

[Wendla Bergmann]

Disney Character-based School RP Female Character Intro Post

when i have CHILDREN, i'll
let them be [ free ] and they'll ;
grow strong and t a l l

"Papa," Zinnia whimpered, her eyes squinting as Christopher tugged on her braids. He was obviously convinced that anything he was doing was helping Zinnia with her getting-ready-for-the-first-day-of-school routine. He had jumped on her bed, his thirty-something-year-old body crushing Zinnia's tiny internal organs, shouting for her to get up, that the earth said hello. She responded with the usual "I'm alive, alert, awake, enthusiastic," though she probably sounded a lot less of each of those things than she claimed. Of course, here was Christopher, pulling the ends of her braids in an attempt to figure out a way to fix what was already in proper working order.

"Papa, I'm serious! I'm all ready; I have been since last night. I'm not three years old anymore, Papa. I'll see you after school, all right?" She wriggled out of his near-chokehold, pulling up the collar of her wheat-brown turtleneck and adjusting the pale grey vest's buttons over it. Kissing him on the cheek one last time, Zinnia leaped out the door, her brown flats kicking up to close the door behind her. She had reached the bus stop before Christopher had swung open the door to wave frantically at her.

She felt a familiar heat rush up her neck as she realised what exactly her adoptive father was wearing. Giving a feeble twitch of her hand in response, she exhaled, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding as the bus screeched to a halt in front of her. She pushed past the four or five other students heading to the local public school (a stop or two before her school, Clemente High School), bounding up the bus's black stairs to the middle of the bus.

Her blue-grey eyes scanned the rows and rows of plastic-covered seats, trying to land her gaze on a particular someone who was on her route last year. Zinnia had thought his name was Joel, and he was... well, the sight of him sent butterflies racing through her stomach. She actually didn't even know anything about him other than what she'd gathered from watching him carefully for the past two years. He had a happy face almost all the time, and he'd gone to a different school than she for as long as she could remember. He had different friends, though they had one friend in common, but Joel probably didn't even know her name.

Zinnia's heart caught in her chest as the bus screeched to a stop, leaping into her throat as he boarded the bus. Oh, he looks as cute as ever. Then she saw exactly what he was doing. He smiled at the taller boy standing behind him, tugging on his hand and laughing. Zinnia sighed. Well, she'd always suspected he was gay, anyway. Effeminate, that one was. No lasting harm done, right? It wasn't like she'd gone out of her way to talk to him.

Then why did it hurt so much when Joel sat in the seat right in front of her, his hand clutched tightly in the other boy's, yet he sent the most dazzling smile her way?

The bus rumbled along the road, passing by the library and various other Chicago staples. Zinnia pressed her forehead against the glass of the bus, feeling the sharp vibrations of the dirty window jolting her skull and probably bruising her cranium. Luckily, Zinnia's (fairly prestigious) high school was the stop right after Joel's, and as soon as the dirty yellow school bus began to screech to a stop in front of Clemente, she stood up and dashed to the front of the bus, tapping her foot impatiently. "Well, dang, miss, hope nothing serious is wrong," the bus driver said sarcastically, pulling the lever in front of him. Zinnia decided not to credit the comment with a response.

She flew down the stairs and up the first cement straightaway, her braids whipping against her face as she tried to get away from the bus as quickly as possible. Realising a girl was sitting on a bench outside the school's main building, she stopped abruptly. Oh, it was Alice- reading again, of course. Zinnia was more than slightly jealous of the girl- not for her popularity or for her beauty, but for the relationship she had with her father. He even wrote one of the world's most renowned and famous books for her. About her, even! It was nearly too much to bear this morning, especially on top of Zinnia's Joel-awakening. However, she pasted on a smile and walked over, her hand gripping the strap of her tote bag.

"Good morning Alice. Aren't you here early? Any particular reason?"


m a m a who [ BORE ] me,
mama who gave me,
no way to [ H A N D L E ] things,
who made me so s a d x ♥

[Wendla Bergmann]

Disney Character-based School RP Female Character Regular Post

when i have CHILDREN, i'll
let them be [ free ] and they'll ;
grow strong and t a l l

Joel. Sighing, Zinnia raked her eyes over his face in her mind, dissecting every little movement, every microexpression that flashed over his gorgeous features. The way his hazel eyes turned up at the corners to stay parallel with that tiny, smirky smile he had. The way he bit his lip while his boyfriend was talking to him and gesturing with his hands. The way his whole face lit up when he got excited, waving his soft hands around hyperactively. The way his shoes were untied no matter how often or how tight he tied them. Zinnia wanted to fix that piece of hair that stuck up in the front, wanted to tie his shoes properly, so they wouldn't come undone, wanted to put her hands over his to relax him. Another loud sigh. Straight after, another, lazy voice interrupted her reverie.

Zinnia's eyes widened, realising she had just tuned way, way out. Hoping Alice didn't think she was being rude, she turned her face up to look at Alice, who was smiling with her entire face up at her boyfriend Tristan. Both were munching on graham crackers. Zinnia felt her stomach tighten not only with hunger, but with longing. She quelled that feeling as soon as she recognised it, stifling her urge to hunt Joel down and smack some straightness into him. Because, truth be told, she knew it just was not possible. She'd had some experience with the LGBTQ community, and they liked the way they were, and they were not afraid to cut a b***h. Luckily for them, she wasn't a b***h about to get in their way. Luckily for her, as well.

She didn't quite know for how long it had been that Tristan and Alice were dating, but they seemed to be one of the most perfect matches she'd ever seen in her entire life- real and fictional. They topped Harry and Ginny, and anything would beat Edward and Bella, but still. It was the principle of the couple that made her so happy. Alice seemed content just to be with him, but had a bit of that maternal instinct that made her seem like she was obligated to care for him. It was no secret that Tristan was a junkie, but Alice tried to take care of him despite that. In return, he really seemed to love her, and just wanted to please her, in an almost puppylike way. It was adorable to watch in a way that Élodie and Sebastian might never really accomplish, Zinnia thought as her gaze caught on them on another edge of Clemente's courtyard.

Élodie was beautiful, yes, in much the same classical way that Alice was, but Zinnia knew Alice much better than she did Élodie. Well, Sebastian was quite obviously much more good-looking than Tristan, no doubts about it, but on the outside he seemed like a bit of a douchebag, with the whole polo, tennis, shrimp cocktails-at-the-country-club aura surrounding him. At least the two were nice, Zinnia thought, but she could not help feeling that there was something not quite right about their relationship. The fact of the matter was, perfection was overrated. Most boys like Sebastian tended to have wandering eyes, in Zinnia's opinion. That's why she was so attracted to Joel in the first place. He always seemed so sincere in everything he did.

Eyes tracing Alice's lips on Tristan's forehead, Zinnia caught the tail end of the little conversation about Tristan's grades. "Er. I know it's not entirely my place, but if you wanted, I could probably help you out. In some classes. Like maybe your math. Or history, or something..." Zinnia trailed off nervously. It was rare that she offered tutoring help, but Tristan seemed like he needed it, and Alice probably wanted it for him. However, she wondered if the offer was all in vain. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but he was quite a bit of a slacker, and she wondered how much studying they would actually get up to. Not in a way that Alice and Tristan might, but Zinnia feared he would fall asleep on her. Figuratively. She felt herself beginning to shake and getting a bit flustered. She bit her lip.


m a m a who [ BORE ] me,
mama who gave me,
no way to [ H A N D L E ] things,
who made me so s a d x ♥

[Wendla Bergmann]

Harry Potter-based Male Student Intro Post

a n d yx[ F I N C H ] van derxr o o r k

What G O E T H E never said - - -


The glass was smudging as pale, reddening fingertips pushed themselves against the half-inch-thick windowpane. The glass was cold, just like the everlasting grey of the sky, and Finch pressed his cheek against it as the rain fell down outside his seat on a cement bench in one of the many corridors on the second floor of Hogwarts. The surrounding grounds were being thoroughly pelted by raindrops, and he could see students with their arms and satchels held above their heads running in from the rain. Suppressing a laugh, Finch smiled instead, resting his chin on the backs of his hands, which now lay flat on the tiny window's even tinier ledge. Blue eyes closed slowly and his mouth opened in a muffled yawn.

After all, he hadn't really let himself sleep the night before. Finch's cat Spock had insisted on a belly rub, first off, and then the other students had headed to bed. The canopies blocked a lot of light, but he'd pulled a torch into the bed with him, and his wand tucked behind his ear, flickering 'Lumos.' He had spent nearly the entire night with his head bent towards his lap. A bright new sheet of parchment had laid flat on top of Finch's History of Magic textbook (which he had used as a makeshift lap desk). Finch had been in the drawing mood again, and he spent hours using oil pastels to rub the vectorlike impression of one of his favourite actors onto the parchment's visage, dimples and all. He could not possibly stop until he was finished. And he hadn't.

He had woken up that morning to find his forehead pressed against the floor, his neck turned at an actually quite painful angle. Standing up to his full five feet three (and a half) inches, Finch turned around to find his oil pastel work missing. Running a hand through his blonde hair, he had tried his best not to panic. The trunk at the foot of Finch's bed allowed him to pull out his neatly folded uniform. He had dressed quickly, eager to find out to where his picture had disappeared. Practically running out of the sixth year Ravenclaw males' dorm, Finch had found a few straggling first years staring at the bulletin board by the entrance to the common room. Repressing the feeling of self-pity at the fact that the majority of them were taller than he, he wove his way to the front. Redness had flashed up his neck into his cheeks at the sight of his work tacked over an announcement from the Headmistress about an all-school meeting later in the day, and he had pulled it down without a single thought.

Classes were fairly easy that morning, and luckily, Finch was able to catch up some on his sleep in Muggle Studies (which he was taking for the sole fact that it was easy, and a nice break from the relative difficulty of Astronomy and Transfiguration). Care of Magical Creatures wasn't as dangerous now as some of his friends' parents had claimed it to be when they were at school, but it was quite a task- trying to keep track of all the different habits, behaviours, and preferences of the magical creatures, along with those of his fish at home, cat, and friends? A running joke he made was mainly about the fact of the matter that Hogwarts was a school for magical creatures.

Yawning again, Finch now struggled to keep his eyes open. It was extremely difficult, as the patter of rain just outside the window was soothing, lulling him into a light stupor. He tried to tune out the rasps, shrieks, and whispers of students passing by, but found it getting increasingly difficult as one word filtered through his brain approximately twenty times. "They said it's a Lethifold." "A Lethifold!" "Oh my God, a Lethifold?" "A real Lethifold..." Finch sighed, turning around and flexing his hands. He doubted there was a real Lethifold inside the school. And in the off chance that there really was one, the teachers were more than competent, and would be quite prepared to handle it. However, Finch felt it to be an obligation to follow the throngs of people up and down several moving flights of stairs, all the way into the main corridor in front of the Great Hall.

All-school meetings were actually fairly rare, despite the feeling of unity the Headmistress was eager to impress upon the students of the school of magic. It was obvious that no one really wanted to join in anything with the other students all at once. Especially now, when the three groups had split the school so intensely that hate was found more in the air than spells. Finch had little idea why it was so important that there be obvious splits between students. It all broke up families, friends, and relationships. Hadn't anyone learned from the First and Second Wars? Had anyone paid attention in History of Magic?

It wasn't his favourite of classes, but most of his fellow students' parents and their grandparents had participated in one or more of the wars. History repeats itself, Finch liked to remind himself, and this would be no different.

That was why he had joined the Opposition. It wasn't because he hated the Marauders, it wasn't because he hated Death Eaters- hate, there was too much of it- but he joined the Opposition (well, 'joined' was a relative term) because he didn't want to pick a side. He didn't want there to be sides. He had Marauder friends and Death Eater friends, and if all that nonsense wasn't stopped soon, there most certainly would be another war. Finch stepped back from the 'war' idea for a moment and looked at the big picture. If there was a war, he would be forced to pick sides, wouldn't he?

Finch turned his head from side to side quickly, as if to shake out all the white noise that had settled into his eardrums the second he stepped into the bustling Great Hall. His blue eyes scanned the Ravenclaw table, the knots in his stomach not daring to hope- Yes!

Working his way through the throngs of people milling around between the tables, Finch speed-walked his way to where Alex was sitting. Well, truth be told, it wasn't just Alex, it was Tara and Ravi and Elias and Nathan too, but everyone who knew him well knew how that went. "Mind if I join you all?" Finch didn't have much patience to wait for the answer, so he sat down anyway, whether they wanted him to or not. And truth be told, he really wanted them to. Alex was gesticulating lazily as he chewed on a licorice wand. Finch closed his eyes, trying to suppress a grimace and a slight groan. "So how many of us actually think there's a Lethifold loose in the school? Because honestly, I don't think I'd really care much to be here, even if there is."



t h e talks you [ NEVER ] had,
the saturdays you never spent,
all the [ G R O W N - U P ] places
you never w e n t x ✗