Post by Angel Gabriel Day on Feb 8, 2009 8:59:33 GMT -5
-Student-[/i]
”You've cried enough this lifetime, my beloved polar bear; Tears to fill a sea to drown a beacon...”[/b][/font]
[/right]
with the occasional spot and some veins[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NICKNAME(S): Angy.
AGE: Eighteen.
BIRTHDATE: January 4, 1989.
GENDER: Male.
GRADE:Senior.
SEXUALITY: Undetermined.
[/ul]
and not all of it you can see[/color][/font][/b][/center]
WEIGHT: 135 lbs.
BUILD: Lean; some muscle.
TATTOOS & PIERCINGS: None.
FACE CLAIM: Andrew Smith.
GENERAL:
over and over the same old lines[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
LIKES:
DISLIKES:
[/ul]
thoughts make me go insane[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
SIBLINGS: None.
OTHER: None.
HISTORY:
i’ve got a family and i drink cups of tea[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NAME: Macbeth.
BREED: Quarter horse.
DISCIPLINE: Western.
[/ul]
i’ve got familiar faces[/b][/color][/font][/center]
Age: Eighteen.
Contacts: (PM is fine) PM.
Other characters: None.
Fun fact: I'm afraid of Ronald McDonald.
[/size][/ul]
and I’ve got favourite places[/b][/color][/font][/center]
SAMPLE POST:
Forlorn.
Ever since that night several weeks ago he seemed to be feeling this brotherly emotion everywhere he went. It stalked him like some predator waiting for its prey to make a fatal mistake before it took him down into a sea of wails and misery. Back to the chains, back to the pool that filled with blackened liquid, he struggled to break free from his chains. They bound tighter on his wrists, on his ankles. No amount of effort would free him now. A prisoner to this world he fought against the water, opening his mouth to scream only to have the liquid again fill his lungs in a way that no smoke ever could manage. He sank deeper into the water's depths. The beautiful man was drowning in the prison of his own anguish. How does one escape the water that has for so long been lapping at their heels? The predator was closing in. It now breathed down his neck, making him feel numb inside. He wished only for its teeth, for its claws, to rip his body and soul into two. It was as though he'd lost the very will to live.
A house loomed over him. It's pillars kissed the night sky. The cold had rippled through him. Like a sickness it had taken host in his body. Its phantom kisses still pimpled fresh goose bumps over him. Snow still fell around the earth, blanketing it with a white, perfect sheet. Some flakes graced his hair, his cheeks, stuck on his eyelashes... but he was numb. Not even the kiss of the flakes could reverse the paralysis his body now faced. Only the house's silhouette brought some recognition to his eyes. The great building was as threatening as it had been the first night he'd come inside it. He'd been watching it, waiting for the right moment to make his move.
Behind that door was the source of his misery. Beyond the great structure was one room where one person resided. One individual who's sweet stutter still carried fresh in his mind. A voice that tore at him, making him confused and facing a fork in his path of what his future was to become. Where did he go from there? What did he do now? Only that sweet boy seemed to be his answer. It was on this night, when the limo containing both sire and dame, had driven away and the house looked to be quiet did he come out once more into existence.
It had been weeks since the Goldman's Association had come to a close. He could remember it so clearly. After the waiter - what was his name? Aaron? Arlin? Au.. Austyn! - had calmed him down he had picked up a dinner tray and went about serving. His charming smile earned him an admiring elderly woman that stared hopelessly at his toned buttocks. He only gave her hand a soft kiss and slipped her food onto the table. All around him there was conversation, laughter, people who were enjoying life.
It was in this sea of voices that one rang out stronger than the rest. The mumbling instantly ceased. The waiters all stopped in their tracks, the hustler no different as he cast his eyes to that wretched man that dared claim himself his lover's father. The man had cleared his throat to make an announcement. He waited, a tray containing some chicken and steak teasing his nose. The man began to speak, gesturing to Conner and a young girl sitting beside him. Their outfits were matching. He had been looking down so he couldn't see the look on his face, but he could feel something coming off of him.
Marriage. That one word that fell from the man's lips sent such a pierce through his heart that he didn't hear anything more. His attention was now completely upon his lover and his fiance. The girl was beautiful. Her face was like a porcelain doll's. It was soft and flawless with delicate features and a natural blush against her cheekbones. She was so lovely. But in that instant he could feel only envy for her.
While the hall erupted with applause and congratulations at the announcement, the hustler was left gawking. The boy hadn't mentioned this at all. Why? Surely he had known? As Conner's eyes finally lifted, they met the blue irises of the hustler's for a moment. It took only this heartbeat to stir all the hurt and rage deep within the streetwalker's eyes. He forgot his job, the money, the fact that he was still wearing the clothing he'd been fitted for. Turning on his heel, he moved back into the kitchen. When one of the waiters gave him a curious glance he snapped angrily at them. The tray of food was slammed onto the counter for another to take. Without another word he had vanished out the door, digging in his pocket desperately for a smoke.
Despite his rantings, his snarling words, his vowed hate for the "rich little bastard", he was now standing before his home. That stutter came again to caress his ear. Why couldn't he forget? Why couldn't he turn away now? His heart ached each time he heard that sweet voice. He longed for the boy. His boy...
The moment he'd left the dinner he had been rubbing the gel angrily from his hair. He was taking on his street-like appearance, complete with the hardass attitude that came along with it. In his attempts to forget about Conner, to push the boy into the back of his mind, he tricked in his waiter's uniform. The car that pulled up with a man in a silver convertible. The man's chilling eyes gave the blonde hustler a once over before nodding and allowing him into the car. The man was clearly wealthy. His hair was slicked back and his face unshaven. Even that whiskered face held power. He turned his eyes upon the boy in his car and reached out to touch his face. The hustler only pulled away, too angry and heartbroken to enjoy this handsome man's contact.
In exchange for sex, Rumor gave the hustler all the protection he could want. Another boy lived with the man. He was a sweet kid, with an angelic face and a sincere patience that the blonde envied. His first night there had been hell on earth. He'd taken his frustrations into the intimacy. Several times he made the man groan with pleasure. Anything, anything, anything! to get his mind off of that resonating stutter. Still, even as the strong lips wrapped around his length he could picture only the sweet mouth of his lover holding him. He could hear Conner's moans in his ear, his soft gasps, his head falling back as pleasure raged through him. When the man touched him, he could think of only his other half. He imagined that it was his lover's hand roaming his body.
For a couple weeks this had continued. Nevertheless, it was not Conner that stroked him. His lover had betrayed and lied to him. When Rumor was out on business and sweet-hearted Gabriel out trying to look for a job, he was on his own in the house. He used this time to watch his beloved's house, praying for a glimpse of that charming face.
Now, back in the present, he had escaped into the night. After confirming that the house was peaceful, he began his careful climb to the room he knew so well. It was an easy enough climb up a fancy tree. Swinging from the branch to the roof, he landed with cat-like grace. Although his body was withering and sickly, his gait was still soft. As he reached the balcony, he slipped effortlessly over the miniature fencing. From here he unlatched the great windows and moved elegantly into the room. For now its owner was absent. The computer of his lover lay with a lightened screen, showing a music track he'd been working on.
One would think that he would wait for the owner to return, but he couldn't. At the very sight of the bed, the bed that still made the heat rush to his groin, he lost all control. Slipping into the sheets he breathed in his lover's smell. Conner... Conner... Conner! His heart was crying for him, begging for his boy's touch. His body was shivering from the cold and the weakened state. He was famished. Even with Gabriel's gentle coaxing he hadn't eaten. Not even Rumor could get the food into his mouth. What food he had consumed had been thrown back up with his finger stubbornly pushing down his throat. He'd lost the will to live. Now his brilliant body was withering away. His once bronzed skin was turning pale. His soft, angel hair was thinning from malnutrition. A syringe's kiss dotted his arms. He'd been back to heroin. The beautiful thoroughbred was no more, leaving this crippled being in its shadow.
Still his head buried within the boy's pillows. He lay there for what seemed like an eternity, thoughts and questions raging in his mind. At long last, the soft caress of the sheets and the wafting aroma of his beloved lulled him. His eyes fell closed and in the comfort of his lover's room, he finally allowed himself to rest...
[/ul]
, ANGELGABRIELDAY !
[/size]”You've cried enough this lifetime, my beloved polar bear; Tears to fill a sea to drown a beacon...”[/b][/font]
[/right]
, this is my face covered in freckles !
[/color][/font]with the occasional spot and some veins[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NICKNAME(S): Angy.
AGE: Eighteen.
BIRTHDATE: January 4, 1989.
GENDER: Male.
GRADE:Senior.
SEXUALITY: Undetermined.
[/ul]
, this is my body covered in skin !
[/color]and not all of it you can see[/color][/font][/b][/center]
WEIGHT: 135 lbs.
BUILD: Lean; some muscle.
TATTOOS & PIERCINGS: None.
FACE CLAIM: Andrew Smith.
GENERAL:
Perfection.[/ul]
It seems the only word that does him justice. With handsome features and enchanting blue eyes he can melt the hearts of anyone that gazes upon him. His lush lips attract the passion of a kiss, while soft hands cast a yearning to be touched. He is a breed of beauty, a prime model for a Greek sculptor. His features would inspire Shakespeare. Upon his face there lies neither blemish nor any want of further beauty. His eyes invoke the jealousy of the stars. Like the stars they catch the lust of mortals. However, they can never be touched; always just out of reach.
What lovely cheeks do grace the heaven breeze. They coax along his smooth face in a tender caress. What model of loveliness the human species breeds inside of him. His sire’s strong jaw and his mother’s feminine hands are attributes that, coveted, he would cast them off if he could. The world should spin a thousand times and his eyes would never lose their brilliant luster. The hue would remain as deep and enchanting as the ocean waves.
Upon this lovely canvas their lies the tales of neglect from a story. An angel forced to walk the burning pits of hell has found redemption in the arms of another. Not, however, without costing his flesh the price of its perfections. Scars line his back, burn marks dot his skin, upon one pinky finger he’s missing a nail, his eyes – lovely as they are – sometimes burn with fear and tears. What Hell this angel lived within may be gone from him now, but the memories are still there: etched in heart and skin.
, and this is my mind it goes !
[/color]over and over the same old lines[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
Despite having a face of beauty, he holds no vanity in his heart. Rather, the beating organ is the tenderest part of him. It is lame when it comes to trust and love, but can easily succumb to hurt and shame. He is a fragile being. A single insult casts him into a sullen, dismal mood. He is much like a butterfly: beautiful and free, but once captured he withers and dies.
Passion erupts within him. If he falls in love with something he becomes bound to it. To the few that befriend him, they find him a very loyal companion. He would do anything for his friends. Many find him a good listener and an excellent shoulder to cry on. He becomes easy to trust. His protective nature offers those around him security.
There is still a wall barring him from even his closest friends. He does not allow anyone to cross a line that he has placed around himself. If someone gets too close to him, he runs. In this way, friends that he has made are often hurt by his action. They find it a display of coldness, rather than the true intent. He runs to protect himself, always fearing that his heart of glass will be shattered if he allows someone to touch it.
Extra tidbits of information are that he likes anything and everything soft. Be it a cuddly rabbit or a fluffy pillow he savors dragging his fingers along it. The sky is the source of his passion. From sunsets to full moons he can't get enough of gazing up at that vast blanket above him. Laughter, though he can't himself perform it, is also a great delight for him. He loves listening to his friends and loved ones laugh and happily encourages the sweet sound. Physical affection and the closeness of touch is what he cherishes most. Hugs and kisses are things that he frequently participates in. Candy is his weakness. He'll eat anything sweet and isn't afraid to share. Last but not least, Stanley. His childhood teddy bear, worn, torn and missing an eye, is his best friend. He's frequently at his side. The two are never parted from each other unless they absolutely must be.
On that note, there are plenty of things that he doesn't like. Physical affection is all very nice, but when it gets too physical he gets frightened. Touching "his place" is a sure way to get him into tears. Anything sexually intimate sends him into panicky fits. Thunderstorms, a much milder topic, scare him, as well. The loud bang of thunder and the flashing lights of lightning send him cowering away from the windows. He can't stand loud noises, such as screaming. At a clatter of pots his hands rise to his ears and clamp down upon them. He finally hates "looks" that he receives. The kind that says, "What a retard" when his mental capacity is superb. He loathes pity that people push upon him. "Poor boy..." is a first class trip to hurting his feelings.
LIKES:
• Soft things.
• The sky.
• Cuddling.
• Laughter.
• Candy.
DISLIKES:
[/blockquote]
• Thunderstorms.
• Loud noises.
• Screaming.
• Physical abuse.
• Intimacy.
[/ul]
, and this is my brain it’s tortures analytcal !
[/color]thoughts make me go insane[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
SIBLINGS: None.
OTHER: None.
HISTORY:
[/ul]
Something happened to Angel. No one knows exactly what save for his adoptive father, Stephen, and his psychologist. Mental and physical torment has ripped the boy’s very voice from his throat. For the seven years he’s been with his father, Angel has never spoken a word. Occasionally, he makes sounds of pleasure, anger, or sorrow. As an elective mute, he has the ability to speak but the mental strain of words forbids him from proper speech. Rather, he communicates with a notebook that he flashes up during a conversation.
As far as anyone knows, Angel is mentally unstable. He doesn’t speak and has a teddy bear for a best friend. He is the son of a homosexual author and tends to give off unwanted vibes. Many stray from him with these rumors. They never get a chance to know the true boy inside of the childish shell. As a child this was the hardest part of growing up. He was discouraged from games and playing with others his own age. Instead, he grew up alone, sitting by himself on the swing set or making up fantasy worlds where he morphed a simple tree into a castle. Friends were hard for him to make, and trust even harder for him to give up.
For this very reason, Stephen signed his son up for Elmendorf Equestrian Academy, in hopes that the art of horseback riding would bring out some confidence in his son. Haplessly, this plan is only going to backfire. Angel has never ridden a horse in his life. Though he loves to look at them running by fences, the thought of mounting one frightens him. He’s going to need a lot of practice before he can finally get the courage to get in the saddle.
Now, Angel’s in a new school with new people who are good at something he’s never tried in his life. He’s nervous but eager to please his father. Determined to excel, to get a smile on Stephen’s face, he’s prepared to take that first step into becoming what everyone wants him to be: happy.
, and i use mouthwash and sometimes i floss !
[/color][/font]i’ve got a family and i drink cups of tea[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NAME: Macbeth.
BREED: Quarter horse.
DISCIPLINE: Western.
[/ul]
, i’ve got nastalgic pavements !
[/color][/font]i’ve got familiar faces[/b][/color][/font][/center]
Age: Eighteen.
Contacts: (PM is fine) PM.
Other characters: None.
Fun fact: I'm afraid of Ronald McDonald.
[/size][/ul]
, i’ve got mixed-up memories !
[/color][/font]and I’ve got favourite places[/b][/color][/font][/center]
SAMPLE POST:
Forlorn.
Ever since that night several weeks ago he seemed to be feeling this brotherly emotion everywhere he went. It stalked him like some predator waiting for its prey to make a fatal mistake before it took him down into a sea of wails and misery. Back to the chains, back to the pool that filled with blackened liquid, he struggled to break free from his chains. They bound tighter on his wrists, on his ankles. No amount of effort would free him now. A prisoner to this world he fought against the water, opening his mouth to scream only to have the liquid again fill his lungs in a way that no smoke ever could manage. He sank deeper into the water's depths. The beautiful man was drowning in the prison of his own anguish. How does one escape the water that has for so long been lapping at their heels? The predator was closing in. It now breathed down his neck, making him feel numb inside. He wished only for its teeth, for its claws, to rip his body and soul into two. It was as though he'd lost the very will to live.
A house loomed over him. It's pillars kissed the night sky. The cold had rippled through him. Like a sickness it had taken host in his body. Its phantom kisses still pimpled fresh goose bumps over him. Snow still fell around the earth, blanketing it with a white, perfect sheet. Some flakes graced his hair, his cheeks, stuck on his eyelashes... but he was numb. Not even the kiss of the flakes could reverse the paralysis his body now faced. Only the house's silhouette brought some recognition to his eyes. The great building was as threatening as it had been the first night he'd come inside it. He'd been watching it, waiting for the right moment to make his move.
Behind that door was the source of his misery. Beyond the great structure was one room where one person resided. One individual who's sweet stutter still carried fresh in his mind. A voice that tore at him, making him confused and facing a fork in his path of what his future was to become. Where did he go from there? What did he do now? Only that sweet boy seemed to be his answer. It was on this night, when the limo containing both sire and dame, had driven away and the house looked to be quiet did he come out once more into existence.
It had been weeks since the Goldman's Association had come to a close. He could remember it so clearly. After the waiter - what was his name? Aaron? Arlin? Au.. Austyn! - had calmed him down he had picked up a dinner tray and went about serving. His charming smile earned him an admiring elderly woman that stared hopelessly at his toned buttocks. He only gave her hand a soft kiss and slipped her food onto the table. All around him there was conversation, laughter, people who were enjoying life.
It was in this sea of voices that one rang out stronger than the rest. The mumbling instantly ceased. The waiters all stopped in their tracks, the hustler no different as he cast his eyes to that wretched man that dared claim himself his lover's father. The man had cleared his throat to make an announcement. He waited, a tray containing some chicken and steak teasing his nose. The man began to speak, gesturing to Conner and a young girl sitting beside him. Their outfits were matching. He had been looking down so he couldn't see the look on his face, but he could feel something coming off of him.
Marriage. That one word that fell from the man's lips sent such a pierce through his heart that he didn't hear anything more. His attention was now completely upon his lover and his fiance. The girl was beautiful. Her face was like a porcelain doll's. It was soft and flawless with delicate features and a natural blush against her cheekbones. She was so lovely. But in that instant he could feel only envy for her.
While the hall erupted with applause and congratulations at the announcement, the hustler was left gawking. The boy hadn't mentioned this at all. Why? Surely he had known? As Conner's eyes finally lifted, they met the blue irises of the hustler's for a moment. It took only this heartbeat to stir all the hurt and rage deep within the streetwalker's eyes. He forgot his job, the money, the fact that he was still wearing the clothing he'd been fitted for. Turning on his heel, he moved back into the kitchen. When one of the waiters gave him a curious glance he snapped angrily at them. The tray of food was slammed onto the counter for another to take. Without another word he had vanished out the door, digging in his pocket desperately for a smoke.
Despite his rantings, his snarling words, his vowed hate for the "rich little bastard", he was now standing before his home. That stutter came again to caress his ear. Why couldn't he forget? Why couldn't he turn away now? His heart ached each time he heard that sweet voice. He longed for the boy. His boy...
The moment he'd left the dinner he had been rubbing the gel angrily from his hair. He was taking on his street-like appearance, complete with the hardass attitude that came along with it. In his attempts to forget about Conner, to push the boy into the back of his mind, he tricked in his waiter's uniform. The car that pulled up with a man in a silver convertible. The man's chilling eyes gave the blonde hustler a once over before nodding and allowing him into the car. The man was clearly wealthy. His hair was slicked back and his face unshaven. Even that whiskered face held power. He turned his eyes upon the boy in his car and reached out to touch his face. The hustler only pulled away, too angry and heartbroken to enjoy this handsome man's contact.
In exchange for sex, Rumor gave the hustler all the protection he could want. Another boy lived with the man. He was a sweet kid, with an angelic face and a sincere patience that the blonde envied. His first night there had been hell on earth. He'd taken his frustrations into the intimacy. Several times he made the man groan with pleasure. Anything, anything, anything! to get his mind off of that resonating stutter. Still, even as the strong lips wrapped around his length he could picture only the sweet mouth of his lover holding him. He could hear Conner's moans in his ear, his soft gasps, his head falling back as pleasure raged through him. When the man touched him, he could think of only his other half. He imagined that it was his lover's hand roaming his body.
For a couple weeks this had continued. Nevertheless, it was not Conner that stroked him. His lover had betrayed and lied to him. When Rumor was out on business and sweet-hearted Gabriel out trying to look for a job, he was on his own in the house. He used this time to watch his beloved's house, praying for a glimpse of that charming face.
Now, back in the present, he had escaped into the night. After confirming that the house was peaceful, he began his careful climb to the room he knew so well. It was an easy enough climb up a fancy tree. Swinging from the branch to the roof, he landed with cat-like grace. Although his body was withering and sickly, his gait was still soft. As he reached the balcony, he slipped effortlessly over the miniature fencing. From here he unlatched the great windows and moved elegantly into the room. For now its owner was absent. The computer of his lover lay with a lightened screen, showing a music track he'd been working on.
One would think that he would wait for the owner to return, but he couldn't. At the very sight of the bed, the bed that still made the heat rush to his groin, he lost all control. Slipping into the sheets he breathed in his lover's smell. Conner... Conner... Conner! His heart was crying for him, begging for his boy's touch. His body was shivering from the cold and the weakened state. He was famished. Even with Gabriel's gentle coaxing he hadn't eaten. Not even Rumor could get the food into his mouth. What food he had consumed had been thrown back up with his finger stubbornly pushing down his throat. He'd lost the will to live. Now his brilliant body was withering away. His once bronzed skin was turning pale. His soft, angel hair was thinning from malnutrition. A syringe's kiss dotted his arms. He'd been back to heroin. The beautiful thoroughbred was no more, leaving this crippled being in its shadow.
Still his head buried within the boy's pillows. He lay there for what seemed like an eternity, thoughts and questions raging in his mind. At long last, the soft caress of the sheets and the wafting aroma of his beloved lulled him. His eyes fell closed and in the comfort of his lover's room, he finally allowed himself to rest...
