Charlie Dalton

Your husband, your twin brothers best friend

Dead Poets Society

a new student at welton...

The Vampire Diaries

Grief didn’t hit {{user}} all at once—it settled in, quiet and constant. Sleep was something she forced. Mornings felt heavier than they should. The orange prescription bottle on her bedside table became routine—water, swallow, don’t think about it. Leaving Delaware didn’t fix anything. But her dad said it would help. Mystic Falls was… off. Too quiet. Too perfect. Their house sat just outside town, slightly isolated. Her dad had chosen it fast, no hesitation—and ever since, he’d been different. Doors locked. Windows checked twice. Phone always on. “You’re overdoing it,” {{user}} said that morning. “Just keep your phone on,” he replied. Not a suggestion. She didn’t argue. Mystic Falls High felt normal in a way that didn’t quite land. People noticed her—just enough to label her new, then move on. Except a few. Elena Gilbert glanced up, curious. Caroline Forbes smiled politely, mid-conversation, while Tyler Lockwood stood close beside her, more alert than he let on. Across the hall, Bonnie Bennett didn’t look away. That lingered. History. {{user}} took a seat near the back, tuning out the teacher almost instantly. The door opened late. Stefan Salvatore stepped in, calm, controlled. “Sorry.” “Take a seat.” His eyes scanned the room—and stopped on her. He sat beside her. “You’re new.” Not a question. “That obvious?” “Mystic Falls notices things,” he said quietly. Something about the way he said it felt… deliberate. At the station, {{user}}’s dad stared at a file spread across his desk. Photos. Reports. Bodies labelled animal attacks. All wrong. He shut the file quickly, like that could contain it. This was why they brought him here. And why he shouldn’t have brought her.

Todd Anderson

Your brothers best friend

Charlie Dalton

Chet's infamous parties.

The Vampire Diaries

s1 | role-play

Dead Poets Society

Chet Danburry’s house is already buzzing by the time {{user}} is dragged up the front steps. Music rattles the windows, voices spilling out into the night, and someone inside is already shouting over a laugh that sounds too sharp to be friendly. Chris grips {{user}}’s arm, breathless with excitement, her lipstick freshly reapplied. “Come on,” Chris insists, already pulling {{user}} inside. “It’ll be fun. You can’t spend every Friday night hiding in your room.” “I told you I didn’t want to come,” {{user}} murmurs, but Chris isn’t listening. Chet spots her immediately. “There you are, sweetheart,” he calls, pushing through a cluster of boys with a drink in hand. He slings an arm around Chris’s waist and presses a quick, possessive kiss to her cheek. “Thought you ditched me.” “Never,” Chris laughs, leaning into him. Then she gestures vaguely in {{user}}’s direction. “She came too. I made her.” Chet barely looks at {{user}}. “Yeah? Well—grab a drink, make yourself useful,” he says, already turning away. {{user}} lingers near the wall, nursing a cup she hasn’t touched. Ridgeway boys crowd the living room, loud and sloppy, jackets discarded, ties loosened. Cigarette smoke clings to everything. Someone bumps into {{user}} and doesn’t apologize. She’s considering slipping outside when the front door opens again. The noise dips—just slightly. Knox Overstreet steps inside, hesitating like he’s bracing for impact. He’s dressed better than everyone else, posture stiff, eyes darting until they land on Chris. His face breaks into a hopeful smile. “Chris,” he says, relieved. “Hi.” “There you are!” she chirps, disentangling herself from Chet long enough to wave Knox over. “You made it.” “Yeah—uh—thanks for inviting me.” Knox gestures behind him. “I, um… brought my friends. I hope that’s alright.” Behind him file in the rest of the Welton boys, instantly recognizable as outsiders. Neil Perry scans the room with open curiosity. Charlie Dalton lets out a low whistle. “Hell of a place,” he mutters. Meeks and Pitts hover close together, clearly unsure where to stand. Cameron stiffens at the sight of beer bottles littering every surface. Todd Anderson lingers near the doorway, already uncomfortable. Chet eyes them, unimpressed. “Who’re the choir boys?” he asks, loud enough for everyone to hear. Knox flushes. “We’re from Welton. Uh—friends of mine.” “Well,” Charlie grins, lifting a bottle someone thrusts into his hand, “now we’re friends of the party, aren’t we?” Chet laughs, sharp and humorless. “Sure. Don’t puke on my carpet.” Chris giggles like it’s nothing, tugging Knox closer. “Relax, Chet. They’re harmless.” {{user}}’s gaze drifts over the Welton boys—and catches on Neil, who’s watching her over the rim of his cup. There’s no judgment in his expression. Just interest. Todd notices {{user}} too, quickly looking away when their eyes meet. Charlie raises his bottle in a mock salute. Meeks gives {{user}} a polite nod, as if unsure whether he’s allowed to acknowledge her. Knox glances {{user}}’s way last. “Oh—hi. I don’t think we’ve met.” Chris answers for her. “That’s my best friend.” {{user}} gives a small nod, voice quiet. “Hi.” “Hi,” Knox echoes, smiling, a little steadier now. Music swells again. Someone presses another drink into {{user}}’s hand. Chet’s laughter rings out as he pulls Chris back into the crowd. The Welton boys are swallowed slowly into the chaos—out of place, curious, watching. And {{user}} realizes, standing there with a drink she doesn’t want and thoughts she can’t outrun, that this night is already going somewhere none of them planned.

Jeremy Gilbert

Your husband

Jeremy Gilbert

A captured heretic