#thesquadooc

[lcighfck]

jeezus, i’m very sorry i missed out on the truth or dare. life’s kicking me in the aRSE. i’ll reply to everything to make up for it. 🤧

[kai-eastaughffe]

JSUDSD THER’SE A BIG MOTH IN MY HOUSE

why

[supercasualtj]

triggered by the billboard hot 100 of 2009 its so great to imagine the squad bumpin to all of these golden oldies

[christabellemp-blog]

christabelle: mom friend

also christabelle: 5′3″

[remypascal-blog]

Hey there I’m Holly! Est timezone and I play Remy the Jokester, I would love to plot with you all if you want to talk about history or have any wanted connections. I am drawing a blank besides the established ones rn but also my discord is flungoutofspace#6192 if you would like to talk there.

[salem-saint]

hi team! my name’s maddie, and i’m in scotland in the gmt timezone, so i’ll generally be online at different hours to the majority of the group because of it lmao! salem’s full bio is here, but i’ve also put it under the cut for anyone that’s mobile. i’m super excited to start plotting with everyone - i’m dashing out to work pretty soon but i’ll be reading everyone’s bios and sending out some messages either late tonight or first thing tomorrow :) and obv feel free to message me if you have any ideas! my discord is maddie#5000, i’ll add ppl there as it’s generally a faster way to reach me than on tumblr

xxx

Wesley St. Ives was one of the most well-renowned senators from New York State. His reputation was perfect, barring one thing: his son. Salem was born troublesome. As a newborn he screamed relentlessly, and more often than not Wesley would have the nanny take Salem out for long drives at night just so he could get some rest. It quickly developed into less of a relationship between son and parents, and more of an acknowledgement of existence. At mealtimes he was picky and threw tantrums when he didn’t want to eat his vegetables, so the nanny was instructed to take Salem for mealtimes elsewhere. At work functions, Salem would be rude to the people Wesley most needed to impress, embarrassing the family.

They thought they might have some peace when Salem was old enough to be enrolled in kindergarten. Being a senator’s son, he was sent to the finest private kindergarten in New York, only to be turned out months later for causing too much trouble. He constantly disrupted naptime, refused to eat the snacks that were prepared for them, drew frightening things during fingerpainting time, and insulted the teacher as imaginatively as his five year old mind would allow for.

Despairing of their son, the St. Ives’ sent their only child to a less elite school in the quieter suburb of Manhasset. He wasn’t removed from this one, but they still got far more calls home than they would have liked. Salem had learned quickly that his parents both had such busy schedules - when they weren’t working, they were attending social functions necessary to further their careers. The only way he could reliably get their attention, was by acting out. His parents might be furious when they had to sit in the principal’s office listening to his latest misdemeanours, but at least they were there.

As he got older, his anger grew more into apathy. If his parents weren’t going to make the effort, why should he bother? He became withdrawn, rarely acting out in class except to make snarky comments when called upon by the teacher. Making friends was difficult for him, because he was embarrassed to invite people home. His family was ridiculously wealthy, and he didn’t want anyone to see that. He didn’t want anyone to see how his nanny, Armelle, was more of a mother to him than his own biological mother ever had been. He rejected the lifestyle his parents laid out for him, because it had never done him an ounce of good. They bought him expensive designer clothes, and he shrugged them off in favour of beat up bomber jackets and jeans with holes through the knees that he’d bought in thrift stores. He was no longer rebelling to get his parents’ attention, he was simply rejecting what felt like a predetermined life. He didn’t want to follow his father into politics, and that was where the two most often butted heads. He forced Salem to join the debate team at school, where he excelled when he tried - though more often than not he threw the debate by making irreverent jokes.

He was a lonely, angry child, and the first time he really remembers laughing in school was when The Jokester got moved next to him. Salem couldn’t even tell you what joke they made that so tickled him, but he did remember looking up with bright surprise in his eyes, grinning. They were the first person Salem ever invited back to his house - and god, did they laugh about it. Salem, in his punky little leather jacket, was the son of a high flying politician? There was too much material for them to not tease him about it, but somehow he didn’t mind. It didn’t feel like they were laughing at him, as much as with him. He settled with ease into a friendship with them, and the Punching Bag followed shortly after. More often than not, the Punching Bag was the butt of Salem and the Jokester’s humour, and sometimes Salem felt bad about that. But in the end, the whole thing was too cathartic for him to give up. If the Punching Bag ever thought they’d taken things too far, Salem was sure they’d speak up.

Or maybe he just said that to appease his guilt, because it did weigh heavily on him.

It felt like such an unlikely group of friends into which he fell, during the years of his schooling. Some of them were people he would never have looked at twice, but somehow they formed a happy little group. Salem, for his part, was more happy on the outskirts, drawling out sarcastic comments. He liked that it made people laugh. They didn’t think he was a waste of potential like his father did, they thought he was funny. Maybe he’d have spoken up more with the squad, but in many ways he felt almost shy around them. He actually cared what they thought, and he didn’t want to spoil his reputation as a funny guy, the one with the pithy remarks. Of course, he lost himself so much in that image that he often crossed boundaries. He said things that were too mean, things friends shouldn't say to each other. It meant more to him than he would ever say that they forgave him anyway.

The Squad made home life easier to deal with. He saw his parents less and less over the years, sometimes barely even aware of what country they might be in. He was left alone with Armelle for the most part, which suited him fine. She was only fifteen years older than him, an au pair practising her English in the States. It was only supposed to be for a year, but in the end she enjoyed her work, and the many perks the St. Ives supplied to her, enough that she stayed till Salem graduated high school.

To all appearances, Salem was a highly independent young man. But he did rely on his family for one thing: money. And his father had always threatened that if Salem didn’t keep his head on straight, he’d never see a single cent of the trust fund that was saved away for when he turned twenty one. And he hated to admit it, but that money would make a real difference. He just had to play along until his twenty first birthday. What ‘playing along’ meant, was getting good grades at school. It surprised many of his classmates, because Salem rarely participated in class, and always had a scathing attitude towards things, but after school he knew how to knuckle down. His homework was always done, even if he tossed it onto the teacher’s desk with the air of someone that couldn’t be bothered. He stayed up late studying for exams, and sometimes he even stood out. English was his favourite subject - he loved writing, particularly poetry, although his father discouraged it.

When Salem was accepted to study economics at Cornell, he wasn’t going to pretend it was because he’d really worked for it. There was no doubt in his mind that the generous donation made by his father had more to do with his acceptance than any real talent he had. Whatever the reasoning though, he had been accepted, and he was going to study a subject his father chose for him, and he was going to grudgingly carry on doing the bare minimum until he got the money. It wasn’t that he was greedy, he just wasn’t stupid - if someone says they’ll give you a small fortune for playing nice, you’ll learn to toe the line expertly.

Salem was miserable. He hated economics. He hated the other students. He stayed in touch with the squad perhaps more persistently than most would have expected of him. He’d always been teasing to the point of rudeness, raising eyebrows as well as questions of whether he really liked any of them at all. But the truth was, he’d come to depend on them in many ways, and Cornell was sapping the life out of him. He persevered for a year, surviving largely on the texts and emails he got from the members of the squad that kept in touch, and then during the summer vacation before second year he went to visit Armelle in Paris.

She’d flown back once Salem graduated high school; she’d cried, he’d pointedly told her to get a grip. It made her laugh. She’d always been the only family he really cared for, and his parents were happy enough to fork out for plane tickets to get him some culture. The trouble was, he didn’t come back. At nineteen years old, he moved in with Armelle, and sent an email to Cornell telling them that they could eat his entire ass if they thought he was coming back for one more semester at their insufferable university.

At first he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. His father cut him off entirely - no contact, no money, no home to return to. His mother tried in vain to mediate, but Salem and Wesley both preferred it this way. Salem didn’t want their money if it meant following their dreams instead of his own. Paris suited him: the people were generally rude and arrogant, the food was excellent, and the literature, exquisite. He began writing again, after having lost his passion at Cornell. It didn’t exactly pay the bills, so eventually he took up a job in a bakery so that he wouldn’t be such a burden on Armelle. Thanks to her efforts over the last nineteen years, he was more or less fluent in French, so he didn’t struggle. But he did submit his poems to several magazines, and got a few published. It brought in some money here or there.

It felt more like the life he was supposed to be leading. He woke up early, went to the bakery to stock the displays and sell as much as he could, and in the evenings he would sit outside some little cafe sipping red wine and scrawling out poems about life and love and beauty, largely spiked through with a sharp sense of nihilism and cynicism. Salem never quite lost his pessimistic streak. He stuck at it, and eventually published his own little poetry anthology, written dually in French and English, and found a moderate amount of success. Not quite enough to stop working at the bakery, but enough to keep him happy. Over the years, he lost touch with most people. He hasn’t heard from his parents in almost ten years, and barely touches base with any of the squad. He missed them, and their influence was in many of his poems, but he was worlds away. He had new friends in Paris. Now that he’d grown up Armelle was more of an older sister figure to him, and he went out to meals with his colleagues, and fell in and out of love with various people. High school was just a distant memory, until he woke up one morning to a message from The Soul.

Of course it was bad news. You don’t reach out to a friend you’ve not seen in a decade just to say ‘hi’. Despite all the years that passed, he had never forgotten how the Squad had made him feel a part of something when he’d felt like nothing more than an angry loner. He owed it to the Soul to go back and offer some support, so he dipped into his meagre savings and flew back to Manhasset as fast as he could.

In many ways, he’s still the same person they all remember him as. His sense of humour was always cutting, and the sharp French humour has done nothing to appease that. He’s still quiet, happy enough to let other people do the majority of the talking. He’s still more at ease sharing quiet, humorous glances with one person than being in a larger group. But he’s also calmer than they recall, more at peace with himself, and quicker to realise if his comments are taken the wrong way. Salem is a lover, not a fighter, but you’d never guess from the lazy drawl with which he snips at people.

[eeyahs]

oof ! this timing is not it cos i just so happen to have a million things to do for my internship this week ksjdskdjsd but regardless ah !!! so happy to be here. i’ll keep this a little brief. 

hi my name is pris and i play this one dirtbag named eya. here are her stats & u can read her full bio here. tldr, she was ur local lowkey troubled child n thrill seeker who did what she wanted when in reality it was a way to lash out at parents who seemed to not give a shit about her ... but then one day she tripped on shrooms really really hard, experienced an ego death, and basically went off to restart and didn’t tell anyone ??? which is why ppl just assumed she got sent to rehab or juvie when it was the literal opposite. years pass and she’s mother nature’s hoe now and a conservation ecologist ( who knew? not her ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ) 

if anyone would like to plot feel free to like this post and i’ll come bother you. u can also reach me on d*scord ( pris#9769 ) !!

[lumosaryrpg]

open for plotting

aaand as y’all’ve (lol) have been waiting for, we’re opening for plotting ! i’ll be posting the follows of those who have sent in their blogs immediately after this post and you can also find them on the blogroll. please start off with posting your bios/intros in the tag: thesquadintro. for any ooc posts, use: thesquadooc. 

if you don’t want to pre-plot, you absolutely do not have to! and if you’re unable to be around for plotting Right as i post this Now, that’s also totally fine! we have a good two days and a half to plot and you can jump in whenever.

something very important is not to be afraid to message someone else first! i’ve definitely hit up a couple of you to talk and everyone is friendly as fuck. and i also know sometimes plotting with so many people at once in the beginning can be a little overwhelming, especially when you’re still trying to remember everyone’s names and who plays who. i’d recommend using the masterlist as a helpful tool. 

with that said, we open for interactions on august 15th at 4pm pst. happy plotting everyone! if you have any questions, you know where i’m at!

[kai-eastaughffe]

in return for samuel’s moving lip sync rendition of avril lavigne’s classic masterpiece, girlfriend, kai will need to rope in several other people to get his lady marmalade off the ground, so comment on this post if kai convinces your character to be involved, and i’ll write you in as taking a verse. thank you all for your consideration. <3<3

[christabellemp-blog]

hey pals, i’m lia and my favorite hobby is making out. and as a pinay myself, i’m all about writing filipino characters. 

it’s been a little while since i’ve roleplayed but i still get emo about friendships

below is christabelle’s bio aka ‘the guardian’, basically what i wrote in the app but it’ll be more fleshed out in a sec! also, this is a new account so i don’t think anything is showing up in the tags yet, sad girls club. hmu @  aphroditzy 💋#5650

The role of the ‘guardian’ extended farther than within the friend group, and only those closest to Christabelle really understood that. In Filipino culture, the oldest daughter takes on the role of the ‘second-mother.’ When Christabelle’s mother was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer when she was 12 years old, that role magnified as she had been heavily relied on by her father and her younger brother and sister to take care of them. It increased even more tenfold when her mother ultimately succumbed to the disease. 

She had to mature faster than most pre-teen girls and she knew that was what she needed to do in order for her family to keep it together. Her father was no help as he shut down after the passing of his wife, leaving Christabelle to pick up the pieces. 

The squad depended on her to have her shit together so at school and when hanging out, she had no choice but to put on a facade. They needed her and in some sadistic way, she needed them to need her. Who was she without her giving and care?

It got harder throughout high school. her grades started slipping as she worked 20+ hours a week as well as being captain of the debate team, take care of her family, and not to mention she was dealing with heartbreak as the lover of the group started dating someone she truly, truly liked. It almost seemed as if she wasn’t going to graduate from high school.

No one knew what she was going through though--she kept it on the down low because if it seemed that Christabelle was struggling, how were the rest of the squad going to make it?

Through the miracle of God, she pulled it through with a B+ average--far from the 4.0 GPA she worked so hard for. Went to community college while she worked and took care of her family then once her siblings graduated from high school she transferred to a university then law school following right after that. She kept in touch with the squad following her moving out of town but mainly when they needed her advice on something. Some days she sent those calls straight to voicemail.

She met her ex-husband in law school where she succeeded and him not so much. He was caught cheating on an exam and was promptly expelled. That didn’t stop her from being in love with him. A year after she passed the bar, they got married. She worked all the time and he was jealous of her success. They tried to have a baby to fix their broken relationship but after the miscarriage, there was nothing to mend the bond they once shared. He filed for divorce and Christabelle was left heartbroken. Looking back, she wasn’t sure if she was ever really in love with him but she misses having a companion by her side. 

The news that The Soul’s father had passed away was so surreal. Time passed by in just a blink of an eye. She’s nervous to return but she knew that they needed her support. Everyone will at this time.

[lcighfck]

how dare y’all leave me in my lonesome

[christabellemp-blog]

the amount of poc on the dash rn makes a brown girl v happy

[lcighfck]

i just exploded in my dms with kafka bc wtf y'all we're finally complete???? tHAT said, new peeps, kindly give me your discord so I can hit you up with my awkward self. I'd go into the tags, but I'm mobile rn bc far away from home, so posts are wacky as hell. and finally, welcome!!! 🙌

[salem-saint]

hey team! i still have 1 reply to do but i gotta shoot off to barre class and then i have work. i might be back online in like, twelve hours or so, but if not i’ll catch you all later :*

[lcighfck]

call me dean “sees celebrities in everyone’s icons on discord” mcdean.

edit: I THINK I’VE ALREADY CAUGHT UP WITH ALL MY REPLIES, SO!!!!! if i missed out, please give notice!

[supercasualtj]

hope yall arent burned out cus i just walked in the door! i’ll be online in a couple minutes!!!!