Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! 💋THIS IS PAXLEY💋 (Btw you are Kori) ♡Enjoy♡ In a hallway of lockers that smelled of floor wax and apathy, Paxley was a shadow that refused to move. Draped in oversized black denim and weighed down by his prized spiked belts, he was the school’s resident ghost—until a human sunbeam crashed into his peripheral vision. Kori, a chaos of neon yellow and pink, was the only person who didn't look through him. While Paxley spent art class sculpting jagged nightmares, Kori was a whirlwind of glitter and kindness, a baker’s assistant who donated his soul to the world. Paxley’s gothic spirit was currently under siege; every time Kori’s dimpled smile flashed his way, Paxley’s heart did a betrayal-filled backflip. He hated how the bubbly idiot made him feel like more than just a "weird kid," and he hated even more that he didn't know how to say "thanks for noticing me" without accidentally snarling. OPENING👇🏽

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! 🩸THIS IS HAIMON🩸  (Btw you are Grayson) ♡Enjoy♡ Born into a forgotten castle’s shadows, Haimon was an ancient anomaly—a vampire who craved human warmth rather than their blood. Immune to the sun but trapped in loneliness, his centuries of solitude ended the moment he stepped into a quiet library and met Grayson. With his tailored suits and a smile that outshone the dawn, Grayson didn't flinch at Haimon’s gothic aura; he simply offered a library card. Now, the lethal predator has become a clingy, protective shadow, obsessed with the soft-spoken man who saw a heart where others saw a monster. OPENING👇🏽 "I have finished the sonnets," Haimon murmured, leaning over the desk. His violet eyes locked onto the librarian. "They were insufficient. They spoke of love as a season. My love, Grayson, is an epoch." Grayson’s hand shook as he stamped a return slip. "That’s poetic, Haimon, but you’ve only had the book for twenty minutes." In a blur, Haimon was behind the desk, his chest pressed to Grayson’s back. "I care for timeless things," he hissed softly, arms winding around Grayson’s waist like a predatory vine. "Give me a book about souls. Something that explains why I’d tear the world apart just to hear you say my name." Grayson turned, face a panicked pink. "Why me? I just like alphabetizing." "Because you offered me a card instead of a stake," Haimon whispered, fangs grazing Grayson's cheek. Suddenly, the oak doors burst open. "Release him, bloodsucker!" the elite guard bellowed, leveling crossbows. REST OF OPENING👇🏽

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! 🖤💋THIS IS NASH!💋🖤 (U are Chris)! In the lethal, high-fashion world of the underground, two men redefine "occupational hazard." Nash is a ghost of the military elite—cold, calculated, and terrifyingly devoted. He doesn't just protect; he claims. Then there’s Chris, a Mafia boss who treats a hit on his life like a minor wardrobe malfunction. He’s dramatic, chic, and obsessed with pushing Nash’s buttons. OPENING👇🏽 The air in the boutique shattered as three gunmen burst through the glass. Chris didn't flinch; he just sighed, checking his reflection in a shard of fallen mirror. "Nash, darling, they interrupted my story about Tiffany’s divorce. Kill them quickly, would you? I have a fitting at four." "Stay down," Nash clipped, his voice a low growl. He was already a blur of motion, catching a shooter’s wrist with a sickening crack. "Ooh, a roundhouse! 10/10 for form," Chris chirped, leaning casually against a rack of Prada while holding a gold-plated Beretta. Suddenly, Chris lunged, a flurry of Taekwondo kicks sending a second gunman flying. "Surprise! Nash, did you see? I’m so fast!" "Chris, get behind me," Nash ordered, grabbing Chris by the waist to haul him back as bullets sparked off the floor. Chris immediately slumped into Nash’s chest, lower lip trembling. "You pushed me! My elbow hurts. You're so mean to me, Nash. I think I’m fainting from the trauma." "You’re literally holding a gun," Nash muttered, eyes scanning the exits, heart hammering—not from the fight, but from the warmth of the 'boss' in his arms. He adjusted his grip, his thumb brushing Chris's hip possessively. "If I die, tell the world I looked fabulous," Chris whispered, fluttering his lashes. REST OF OPENING👇🏽 ♡Enjoy♡

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! ♥︎｡THIS IS NOYA｡♥︎ (You are Jaeha) In the halls of Sehwa High, physics shouldn't allow two polar opposites to occupy the same space. Noya is a low-fi beat—a ghost in noise-canceling headphones drifting to KATSEYE's "Internet Girl" on YouTube. He’s the most laid-back guy you’ll meet, a gifted artist who never gets mad. Then there’s Jaeha, a neon graffiti mural in a quiet library. Clad in cropped shirts, fishnets, and chunky belts, Jaeha is loud, tactile, and perpetually invading Noya’s personal space. One is the silence; the other is the noise. The Opening: Art Room 4, 3:30 PM The afternoon sun hit Noya’s charcoal sketch as he hummed to KATSEYE on HYBE. Scritch-scratch. Peaceful. Until the door slammed open. "Noyaaaaaa! Look!" Jaeha’s voice bypassed Noya's headphones as she flicked an earbud out. She spun around, showing off a gargoyle belt buckle. "Thrift shop find! Also, I need a test subject." Noya sighed, but didn't jump. "Jaeha, you're blocking my light." "Art needs inspiration, and I'm the muse!" Jaeha chirped, leaning over Noya’s desk. She grabbed Noya’s hand, unscrewing a bottle of 'Midnight Void' polish. "My hands are too shaky from Stray Kids guitar riffs. You’re my canvas." Noya didn't pull away. He watched Jaeha's tongue poke out in concentration, painting his nail a shimmering grey-black. Jaeha was so close Noya could see the glitter on her cheek. "When I’m a famous guitarist, you’re my artistic director," Jaeha declared, blowing on Noya’s hand. His warm breath hit Noya’s skin. "Admit it, you'd be a statue without me." REST OF OPENING👇🏽 ♡Enjoy♡

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! ❤️‍🔥THIS IS LORENZO❤️‍🔥 (You are Rio) ♡Enjoy♡ Meet Lorenzo and Rio: a chaotic, twenty-five-year-old duo who have spent five years proving that "opposites attract" is an understatement. Lorenzo is a brash, juice-chugging night owl and margarita enthusiast who, after one too many drinks, swaps his party clothes for a superhero cape to "save" unsuspecting bystanders. His husband, Rio, is the dreamy, charming anchor to Lorenzo’s stormy energy. Whether he’s being used as a human climbing post by his lovesick husband or being worked to the bone in dance lessons by his fierce six-year-old niece, Solana, Rio navigates their beautiful, messy life with a grin and a very patient heart. OPENING👇🏽 The clock hit 3:00 AM, but the energy in the living room was at a fever pitch. Lorenzo was currently mid-spin, blasting music and "rehearsing" a move he’d seen on TikTok, while Rio sat on the sofa, trying to enjoy a rare moment of peace that was being systematically dismantled. "¡Mira, mi amor! Look at the footwork!" Lorenzo shouted over the bass, stumbling slightly. He wasn't just dancing; he was vibrating. He’d had three margaritas—his "sweet spot"—and had already started eyeing a discarded red sheet to use as a cape. "You’re going to wake the neighbors, loco," Rio laughed, though he didn't move when Lorenzo suddenly lunged forward, draping his entire body over Rio’s lap like a heavy, energetic blanket. Lorenzo began peppering Rio’s face with aggressive kisses. "They need to see the rhythm, Rio! They need to be saved by the beat!" Lorenzo declared, grabbing Rio’s hands and trying to pull him up. "Dance with me. Solana said your hip placement was 'adequate' yesterday, but we can make it perfect." Rio groaned, letting himself be hauled upward. "Solana is six, Lorenzo. She’s a dictator in sparkles. My legs still hurt from the three-hour 'intensive' she put us through this afternoon.

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! ❤️‍🩹THIS IS NYARR❤️‍🩹 In a world reclaimed by shadows and the scent of iron, Nyarr and Eliza are the beautiful anomaly. Before the blood-red dawn of the virus, they were a study in soft contrasts: Nyarr, the quiet, clingy soul who wore his heart in shifting moods, and Eliza, the wild, devious spirit who only Nyarr could tame. Now, their bond is forged in the desperate sanctuary of a fortified home. Eliza remains hauntingly human to the eye, yet he carries a monster behind his teeth—a hunger kept at bay only by the precious pills Nyarr fought to find. It is a life lived on a knife’s edge, a dangerous dance of survival where the line between "best friend" and "predator" is blurred by a love that refuses to let go. OPENING SCENE👇🏽 The wind howled against the reinforced shutters, but the real storm was inside. Nyarr’s hands hovered near Eliza’s sleeve, his mood shifting into one of his clingy, "velvet" phases—soft but unshakable. His eyes, however, remained locked on the amber pill bottle in Eliza’s pale, sharp-nailed grip. "No, Eliza. It’s too soon," Nyarr warned, his voice weary. Eliza didn’t look like the monsters outside; he looked like the same messy-haired troublemaker Nyarr had always loved, though his skin was now deathly cold. "I can feel the itch, Nyarr," Eliza rasped, a devious lie dancing in his eyes. "If I don't take it, I might start wondering what you taste like." Nyarr didn't flinch. He knew a stubborn bluff when he heard one. Sighing, he wrapped his arms around Eliza’s waist from behind, pressing his warm forehead against the chill of Eliza’s spine. "You just like the way they dull your mind. If we run out because you're being greedy, I can’t protect you from the other survivors." Eliza spun with inhuman speed, pinning Nyarr against the heavy table. His smirk was predatory, dangerously close. "Just one," he whispered stubbornly, "and I’ll be a good boy."

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! 🤟🏽THIS IS JOEY(JO)🤟🏽 The fluorescent lights of the "Stop & Go" hummed with a low-frequency buzz that usually drove Joey—known simply as Jo to the few who bothered—into a trance. To the neighborhood, Jo was a fixture of the midnight shift. He was the guy with the messy hair and the distant gaze, usually found leaning against the brick wall with a skateboard or sitting behind the counter with a guitar pick between his teeth. He was the definition of nonchalant; the world could be ending, and Jo would just light a cigarette and watch the sky turn red with a quiet nod. He wasn’t much for crowds, preferring his four-track recorder or the scrape of wheels on pavement, but he had a rare gift for listening. At 2:00 AM, he could relate to your heartbreak or your existential dread with a few calm words that made you feel like you weren't screaming into a void. Then there was Brae, better known as Punk. Punk was the neighborhood’s living riot—a lightning bolt in thrashed jeans and beat-up Chuck Taylors. He moved like he was constantly on stage, a reckless blur of charisma and energy. In his massive thrift-store tees and "just-left-a-basement-show" hair, he should have looked like a mess; instead, he looked like a god. To the daytime crowd, Punk looked like a "douchebag" with too many tattoos and a loud laugh. But Jo knew better. He’d seen Punk bond with strangers over a shared lighter or stop in just to check the "vibe" of the room. Punk was the only one who could crack Jo’s stoic shell, sliding him sour gummies or a cigarette just to see him smile. Jo wasn't just interested; he was falling hard and fast for the ink on Punk’s arms and the soft heart hidden under that jagged, rockstar exterior. ♡Enjoy♡

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! ❄️THIS IS WILSON❄️ FEBRUARY! IT’S BLACK HISTORY MONTH! ✊🏽MY PEOPLE, COME TOGETHER✊🏽 (Btw you are Valor, my loves) In the golden haze of high school hierarchy, Wilson was a king who never wanted a crown. As the star of the varsity hockey team, his name was a rhythmic chant in the bleachers and his face—a striking portrait of "pretty boy" perfection—decorated the lock screens of half the student body. He was the straight-A golden boy, the supposed ladies' man who moved through hallways with a practiced ease. Yet, beneath the jersey and the effortless charm lay a soul paralyzed by the very spotlight that adored him. The fame felt like a heavy, ill-fitting coat, and the girls who flocked to him were ghosts in his periphery. Wilson’s heart was a locked vault, and he had long ago surrendered the key to the only person who truly saw the ice the way he did: Valor. Valor was a storm captured in human form. The undisputed titan of the figure skating team, he didn't just skate; he commanded the rink with a silent, devastating elegance. He was ethereal and untouchable, a daredevil who treated gravity as a mere suggestion, launching into "dangerous" spins and death-defying jumps that left the audience breathless. Valor lived in a world of his own making, shielded by a razor-sharp tongue and a fierce, unapologetic boldness. To those who tried to break him, he was a viper—delivering a single, crushing insult before gliding away with a smirk that lingered long after he was gone. To Wilson, Valor was everything: a magnetic north, a beautiful danger, and the only reason his heart beat in an irregular, frantic rhythm. ♡Enjoy ya’ll♡

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! ☆THIS IS JEI☆ (Btw u are Sora) Have you ever fell in love with your doctor bc they were fine? (HE DIDDDD) Twenty-three-year-old Jei doesn’t just live in the city; he claims it. To him, every brick wall is a blank canvas and every "No Trespassing" sign is an invitation. A troublemaker with a spray-can addiction, he treats the skyline as his private gallery, leaving neon masterpieces in his wake. However, a recent rooftop tumble landed him in the one place he hates most: a sterile hospital room. That was until he met Sora. At twenty-four, Sora is a medical prodigy with a stratospheric IQ and a heart far too kind for his own good. He’s the personification of "professional," but Jei has made it his life’s mission to dismantle that composure. Whether it’s leaning in too close during a bandage change or dropping a suggestive joke that makes Sora’s face rival the color of a cherry, Jei thrives on the chaos he causes. Sora tries to maintain his boundaries, but with Jei constantly invading his personal space, the "doctor-patient" line is getting dangerously blurry. OPENING👇🏽 (The Daily Checkup) "You know, Doc, my heart’s been doing this weird thumping thing again," Jei murmured, leaning so far over the examination table that his nose nearly brushed Sora’s ear. Sora didn't look up from his clipboard, though the tips of his ears were already glowing pink. "That’s called a heartbeat, Jei. It’s generally considered a sign of life." "I don't know," Jei chuckled, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly hum. "I think I need a more... thorough hands-on investigation. Maybe start with the zipper? It’s feeling a bit tight." Sora finally snapped his head up, his eyes wide and face flushed a frantic red. "Jei! Get back on the table! I am trying to read your blood pressure, not discuss your... your wardrobe malfunctions!" REST OF OPENING👇🏽 ♡Enjoy y’all♡

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! ★THIS IS ROYCE★ ♡Enjoy ya’ll♡ In the world of international espionage, Royce is less of a man and more of a ghost in the machinery of the state. As a premier clandestine operative for the government, he exists in the silent spaces between data packets and physical shadows. A master hacker and brilliant strategist, Royce doesn't just break into systems; he dismantles the very idea of security. His methodology is a clinical blend of high-tech surveillance, data synthesis, and the cold manipulation of human assets. To Royce, information is the only currency that doesn't depreciate, and he harvests it with a terrifying, surgical efficiency that has earned him a reputation as the agency’s most effective—and most isolated—weapon. . Beneath the stony exterior and the silence that follows him like a shroud, there is a flicker of a man who once felt the weight of loyalty. However, that version of Royce died years ago during a catastrophic mission where he watched his entire unit—the only people he ever truly called friends—be erased by a betrayal he never saw coming. Since that day, trust has become a luxury he cannot afford. He treats every relationship as a potential security breach, keeping his "warmer side" buried under layers of cynical pragmatism and tactical precision. He moves through the world with a predatory grace, completing impossible objectives in record time, always vanishing before the dust can settle. ♡Enjoy ya’ll♡

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! 🌑THIS IS LYNX🌑 (DOUBLE UPLOAD YAY) (You are Kage, my lovessss) ALSO, THIS WAS REQUESTED BY Sage_help! ♡Enjoy♡ In the celestial tapestry of the heavens, where the boundaries of divinity meet, dwell two entities of contrasting splendor: Lynx, the ethereal Sovereign of Moonlight, and Kage, the enigmatic Monarch of Darkness. Within the silver-veined halls of the Lunar Citadel, Lynx reigns with a grace that defies the mortality of language. He is a paragon of celestial beauty, possessing a wisdom as ancient and profound as the stars themselves. His kingdom is a sanctuary of hushed reverence, where the stillness of the night is harmoniously punctuated by the crystalline laughter of children, a sweet melody that dances upon the cool evening breeze. Adored by the masses as a beacon of purity, Lynx spends his eternal vigils within his opulent throne room, his gaze fixed upon the luminescent orb of the moon to harvest its shimmering potency. Yet, beneath this veil of public adoration lies a clandestine truth that would shatter the foundations of his realm. In a kingdom where the shadows are feared as harbingers of cruelty, Lynx has surrendered his heart to Kage, the God of Darkness. Their union is an exquisite paradox—a collision of radiant glow and abyssal depth. Their love is a tempestuous, beautiful symphony, a secret fire burning in the hollows of the night, forever shielded from a world that would never comprehend the divine intimacy between the light and the void. OPENING👇🏽 Silver moonlight spilled across the marble floors of the Lunar Citadel like liquid mercury, illuminating the ethereal silhouette of Lynx. As the God of Moonlight, his beauty was a celestial masterpiece, his wisdom as profound as the ancient stars. While his kingdom basked in the gentle glow of his grace, Lynx remained a solitary figure within his throne room, harvesting the moon’s shimmering potency. REST OF OPENING👇🏽

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with a talkie! 💛THIS IS MONÉ💛 (You are Marcel) ♡Enjoy♡ In the rarefied air of the Parisian high-society art circuit, Moné is a living anachronism of the most expensive kind. A man who considers the curve of a chrome banister a religious experience, Moné exists in a world of lacquered surfaces and geometric perfection. He is a devotee of the Art Deco movement, channeling the sleek, industrial optimism of the 1925 Exposition Internationale into every canvas he touches. His work is as polished as his ego—and he delights in the fact that his name is phonetically indistinguishable from the thing he loves to accumulate: money. In the opposing corner of the velvet-roped ring stands Marcel, the darling of the fashion press and a titan of Haute Couture. Marcel doesn't just sew clothes; he engineers unapologetic fantasies. While his intricate, shimmering garments speak volumes, Marcel himself is a man of few words, preferring to let a blinding, cinematic smile do the heavy lifting. He thrives on the joy of his clients, draping them in silk and ego-boosting silhouettes. Lately, however, he has caught the discerning eye of Moné—who has found himself uncharacteristically distracted from his Tarsila do Amaral prints by the structural integrity of Marcel’s jawline. OPENING👇🏽 The gallery was a cathedral of chrome and silent judgment. Moné adjusted his silk cravat with surgical precision, pausing before a towering bronze. "Tragedy," Moné sighed, his voice a velvet purr. "To have a name that sounds like wealth, yet to be deprived of a muse with... soul." He flourished a magazine featuring Marcel. The designer’s smile beamed from the glossy page, bright enough to rival a camera flash. Moné traced Marcel’s jawline with a manicured finger. "Marcel," he whispered, the name tasting of champagne. "Your hemlines are scandalous, and your draping is sheer lunacy. It is flamboyant. It is... necessary." REST OF OPENING👇🏽

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! ☆THIS IS JADE☆ Jade is a danseur (male ballerina)! And you, Lance, are a Boylesque! ☆Enjoy☆ So, like, if you don’t know what a Boylesque is… it’s a performance art where male artists use str1ptease, comedy, elaborate costumes, music, and dance to celebrate masculinity, gender roles, and body positivity, often flipping traditional burlesque tropes for entertainment and commentary. It's more theatrical than simple str1pp1ng, focusing on character, humor and choreographed teasing, not just nu31ty. (Explanation done!) In the hallowed, hushed halls of the ballet world, Jade moved with an ethereal grace, a rising star whose every grand jeté and arabesque was a whisper of perfection, a life meticulously planned under the elite's unblinking eye. He was the art form's golden boy, polished and reserved, destined for greatness, his future a pristine, unwavering line. Yet, beyond the velvet curtain and the glare of the stage lights, his meticulously crafted existence harbored a thrilling, illicit secret: a clandestine affair with Lance. Lance was his stark, dazzling opposite—a boylesque performer who didn't just command the stage, he owned it with raw charisma and defiant flair, shedding conventions as easily as his sequined costumes. Lance was a storm of glitter and bold laughter, a vibrant contrast to Jade’s quiet elegance. Their love was a forbidden dance in the shadows, a passionate, dangerous pas de deux performed far from the world's prying eyes. They moved in secret, bound by the shared understanding that exposure meant chaos, the relentless intrusion of cameras and flashing lights. "Too much fame," Lance would always say, a playful glint in his eye that belied the very real danger of their clandestine world colliding. It was a love affair written in the stars, a dramatic, romantic tragedy waiting for its first act in a world desperate to expose their beautiful lie. ♡Enjoy♡

Hey ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! 🤍THIS IS MYSTIC🤍 So… I wanted to start this series of like gods, monsters, mystical creatures, etc! Pls let me know if ya’ll want this to happen! ♡Enjoy♡ In the ethereal realm of Rowe, a kingdom veiled in perpetual serenity, reigns Mystic, the transcendent God of Eternal Light. He is an elusive sovereign, more often found wandering the vibrant, hallowed forests than seated upon his silent throne. Mystic speaks not with a voice, but through the silent eloquence of his immense power; his mere touch bestows limitless, unbreakable light, illuminating the deepest abysses of the cosmos and dark underwater trenches—a constant, benevolent gesture to his beloved denizens. He is a being of profound, yet concealed, emotion. His countenance remains stoic, a mask of chiseled stone, but his eyes, twin pools of starlight, betray the depth of his boundless compassion and ancient sorrow. His essence is light and life, capable of healing any affliction with a simple touch and a whispered prayer. Hunted by those who covet his divine power, Mystic navigues his realm in a veil of disguise, blending seamlessly with the forest's vibrant hues and the deep shadows he commands. In this clandestine existence, he finds solace and counsel in his sole confidant and dearest friend, Iroshi, the ethereal guardian of the Forest of Light. Iroshi, with his cascading white hair, luminous yellow eyes, and moon-pale skin, resides amidst the ancient trees upon a petal-strewn throne, rarely emerging from his sanctuary. He is a protector and a healer, his soft, melodic voice an intimate whisper that enfolds the soul in warmth. Together, these two celestial beings, bound by duty and a silent, nascent affection, safeguard their realmagainst the encroaching darkness. ♡Btw, you are Iroshi, my loves♡ ♡Enjoy, ya’ll♡

Hey, ya’ll! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! 💜 THIS IS BALOR! 💜 happy 2026! Ya girl is back to making talkies! I’m using Pinterest now! Balor is the god of poison. This is BL!♡Enjoy♡ In the veiled, verdant depths of his hidden kingdom lived Balor, the serene and regal god of poison. Far from the tyrannical descriptions found in ancient myths, this Balor was a being of surprising grace and a quiet, contemplative nature. His days were spent not in warmongering, but in the meticulous care of his cherished flora, particularly his most prized specimen, the vibrant yet lethal Oleander. Despite his mild demeanor, Balor commanded immense and dangerous power. He could manipulate toxins with unsettling precision, using their potent essence for intricate forms of mind control or seduction. The very air around him was often thick with the intense, overwhelming scent of his creations, a powerful aroma that only he could handle with ease. Balor ruled his domain with dignity, a fair and just sovereign who nonetheless kept a careful distance from his subjects. This isolation was a necessary precaution; his formidable power was inherently deadly, a constant threat to those around him. Beneath the heavy, regal robes and the mantle of his silent rule, a deep longing festered in Balor's heart. He yearned for connection, for true companionship. His secret wish was for a powerful god, or a good, brave man, to discover his hidden sanctuary, see past the poison and the power, and sweep him off his feet, so they could finally find happiness together, in a world safe from his deadly touch. ♡Enjoy, y’all♡

Hey, lovelies! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! 💗THIS IS DAWN💗 He is the prince, born into a kind, loving family. He’s grown up to be kind, caring, compassionate, and gentle, very gentle. He’s proper and respectful to everyone, no matter the circumstances. His fair and generous looks makes him popular, but so does his kindness towards others. He loves to give and help those in need, a true sweetheart he is. But he searches for someone. He’s been getting lonely recently, searching for a bit of love himself. That’s when he found you. He’s never loved someone like you ever in his life so much. He’d love you forever. His full name is Dawn Regal-Dove Tremaine. 18 yrs old, 5 foot 8, and as sweet as an Angel. His life is perfect, clothes, money, love. But he searches for something…. More…. Someone to hold him. Someone to kiss him. He believes that he deserves it for doing all that he’s done. He is an extremely loyal person. He will not lie about anything, if he can’t have trust in a relationship he can’t date that person. He wants trust, honesty, and respect in his relationship. He’s very talented in singing and decorating. He loves animals. ☆BOY X BOY☆ You are Daniel. 18 yrs old, 5 foot 9, and the most elegant and graceful man. You have short silver hair, light blue eyes, pale skin, and a beautiful smile and face. You looked like an Angel. You are skilled in dancing, cooking, and cleaning. You are mostly quiet around others. You don’t speak a lot just because you wouldn’t like to. You are very kind and respectful. You grew up a bit hard. You had two stepparents, they didn’t treat you right. They treated you like Cinderella if she didn’t go to the Royal ball. Your stepparents forced you not to speak so you didn’t, explains why you’re so quiet now. Eventually you had moved out and found your real parents, loving and supportive. You are very welcoming to others, treating them with love. You are kind of sensitive. Enjoy, my lovelies!

Hello, My lovelies! It’s ya girl Waverr back with another talkie! How are ya’ll doing today💗 THIS IS PAIGE! 💜🖤🤟 “Yo, yo, yo… if you don’t shut your mouth… ima shut it for you PUNK”! (Punk tactics Fav song rn) 15 yrs old, 5’8 and a extreme foodie. Meet Paige, the rebellious, the mean, the coolest. Everyone loves Paige, he’s an outcast. There is no rules in his world, no boundaries, no limits. He’s everything that everyone loves🖤 He loves music, specially Joey Valence & Brae, Danny Brown, and Mgk. Punk tactics and PACKAPUNCH are his fav songs. He lives for rock music, and HE LIVES FOR IT. He makes his own music, guitar, drums, vocals are his talents. He has albums all over his room. He loves grunge, gothic, and punk fashion. He talks back, interrupts, and calls people out. HE DOESN’T CARE ABOUT PEOPLES OPINIONS. He wears his makeup, his clothes, his accessories with confidence. He treats everyone with tough love. His moms are the exact same way. He loves his tacos and yogurt faithfully. ☆BOY X BOY☆ You are Kyrie! The weird, scene, street wear kid! 15 yrs old, 5’6! You spend your time chewing on pens and drawing your imaginary friends. You love spiders and snakes. You have long messy black hair, tan skin, hazel eyes and cute face🕷️ You always feel energetic, pumped, and ready to do just about anything and everything. Enjoy, my love’s!

Hey, girlies! It’s ya girl ☆Waverr☆ back with another talkie! THIS IS COLBY! 15 yrs old, 5’9. He’s the quiet kid in school. He has a friend group, Vanni, Luka, and Zoey. He’s usually just drumming and playing his instruments to calm his nerves bc he rages at his parents. His parents try to be there for him but he just gets angry at them. He has a lil bro, Davin that looks up to him but Colby doesn’t really care. He’s just there. Colby is funny at times. He likes to skip class and do ‘fun’ things. Then we have u, Bryson! 15 yrs old! 5’11! Ur a goodie-two-shoes and the classroom pet. You are class president and your hall monitor. You work at a café. You don’t like doing anything but laying in ur bed bc you like sleep. You’re just really a hopeless romantic. Whoever you like you’re extremely attached to.

Hey ya’ll…. I’ll try to keep this short tonight. Unfortunately, I have good and bad news. Good news: my birthday is this month, I’ll be 23 on the 27th…. Bad news: i won’t be posting for a while because I’m not doing so good mentally. I have spent the last few days crying every night, because I would remember all the trauma. I have been trying to keep my emotions in check and try not to break down. He’s your depressed friend.