Everyone is minding their business.

Wives are playing house while their husbands are out playing poker with the boys.

Children are sleeping in their cozy beds after mother tucks them in.

But there are three very wealthly, very famous, families.

These families dislike each other, wanting to rule over the land, wanting each other's wealth.

They expect their daughters to be Lady-Like, a bunch of Proper Young Ladies.

Their sons must be gentleman but need to grow up sooner then their supposed too.

But when the children of these families end up in a private academy for supernaturals, they become friends without knowing they're meant to be rivals.

BOUNDS BY RIBBONS is about children from three wealthly families becoming friends at the Riverborn Academy. A academy for supernaturals. The children are clueless of each other's families... What happens when the children of these families find out the truth about each other?

Do some remain friends? Do they all split up? Do they all remain friends? Or worse...

Interested In Joining?

Vladimir rolls his eyes. ``Seriously, Keith?`` He mutters as his eyes trail over Keithern's outfit. ``What?`` Vladimir shakes his head with a light scoff before snaking an arm around Keithern's shoulders. ``You look like a rip-off Edward.`` Keithern gives his best friend a 'are you serious right now?' look. He shrugs Vladimir's arm off and walks away but Vladimir quickly catches up. ``You know I hate those stupid movies, jerk.`` ``What happened to being an asshole?`` Vladimir quickly says before laughing softly. His playfulness disappears quick though, as soon as Keithern pushes past him.

Vladimir catches up to him quickly again and grabs his wrist, tugging him over to their friends. ``Hey guys!`` Vladimir grins happily as he snakes his arm around Keithern's shoulders again. Keithern pulls away and stands beside his siblings; Pandora, Yua, and Kaelen. ``Ignore him. I think someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.`` Vladimir winks at Keithern, who rolls his eyes. Keithern's arms cross over his chest. ``And I think someone forgot what today is. We get the ribbons today.....`` Keithern looks at his dark sneakers. Vladimir tilts his head slightly, ``And?`` Keithern shrugs, ``What if our soulmates... aren't who we actually love?`` Keithern keeps his head down, tilted away from his best friend.

Vladimir smiles lightly and hugs him from behind, whispering softly. ``They'll be whoever we love the most.`` Vladimir pushes Kiethern gently away, ``Now, stop worrying!`` But secretly? Vladimir started doubting whoever his soulmate was because everyone knew his crush was obvious even if his crush was dumb enough to see past the 'secret'. ``Hey... How about we play Truth or Dare for a hour since we're early for our classes to even start?`` Vladimir murmurs.

(I hope this posts, we're on-the-go so no wifi)

Evangeline Leviathan ll 16 ll Mentions: Siblings, in brief

🝔🜲🝔

En Passant

Or, “In passing” in French.

Chess was a complex game. It involved quick thinking, strategies, and reading ahead to the opponent’s moves. Often it came with sacrifices and tough decisions that could be the line between failure or victory.

Although many people did not study the game of chess anymore, much could be learned from its base values.

En Passant is a special term for a rule involving the sacrifice of pawns, expendable soldiers that bend to the King’s will.

Typically, a person will move a pawn two squares forward. Then, their opponent can immediately move their pawn that would have laid next to it diagonally to claim it.

It wasn’t the most complex of rules, yet its validity could be debated amongst amateurs. Much was the life of a pawn.

In a game of life, people moved a lot like pawns- pressured to make decisions based off of others’ actions.

Evangeline sighed and set her hairbrush down on her vanity. She met her reflection in the glass. Within noble circles, she often felt like a pawn. The older generations were set on holding their beliefs firm; but, her and her siblings wanted more than that. More than anything else, she wanted her own life- a life where her mother didn’t get a say in her personal life.

She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and smoothed it until it was perfect. Her long fingers pulled out strands of hair to frame her face; and, with one last glance, she was good to go.

After closing the heavy wooden door, she padded down the stairs and toward the foyer. The first day of school was never her favorite day of the year. Learning new things was enticing, but the people? Not so much.

A little voice in the back of her head nagged her about her posture as she stepped into the foyer. She drew in a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, making sure everything looked perfect. Often, if reporters saw you slacking at an event, they would tear you apart in some gossip column. If Evangeline could roll her eyes without her family noticing, she would.

One of the members of her family was MIA, missing in action. Vladimir, the second eldest, had left earlier in the morning. She awoke to the floor creaking down the hallway and assumed it was him. It usually was. He was well-intentioned toward her and the rest of her siblings, but had his own agenda. And rightfully so- they all need their own lives. However, she was pretty sure he was with Keithern again. Vladimir had some serious rose-tinted glasses, or honestly was wearing a lamp shade over his head at this point.

She shook her head lightly. Her own beliefs were that relationships were dumb. Often they only distracted people from what they needed to be achieving in life. She didn’t want to be held back by some guy.

Her other siblings were either still getting ready for the day or left in a more conspicuous manner.

River was the oldest of the bunch. She was cautious around him due to his quiet nature- it was simply less information she could keep on file. Bonnie was the youngest; and she sure did act like it. Or maybe Evangeline just disliked being tailed by those younger than her. She had trouble talking to people who weren’t on the same intellectual level as her, regardless of age. Simply, she expects people to have similar beliefs to her, but then is blindsided by frustration when they can’t understand the “better” point of view.

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure if she should wait for them to leave or depart on her own. Classes started in about an hour and ten, leaving ample time to make it there and settle in. Or maybe she’d just be stuck in the foyer to stare at old family portraits and elaborate floral arrangements. Her mother’s elaborate idea of impressing others made her want to gag.

“Someone just take me out now,” she muttered, staring up at the chandelier above her.

Kaelen was alone in his room, deliberately ignoring the world beyond his door. The house breathed with distant movement, pipes clicking, a floorboard creaking somewhere down the hall, but none of it reached him in a way that mattered. Despite his reputation for stirring drama wherever he went, he still did his best with school. Not out of passion, not even out of discipline. It was more like a quiet habit, a reflex that kept life from collapsing into something worse.

He bent over his desk, writing a couple of paragraphs on the novel they had been assigned. His handwriting was careful, deliberate... almost sweet, curling letters that looped neatly into one another as if they had somewhere important to be. It was the only thing his teachers consistently praised. Not his ideas, not his participation, not his effort. Just the shape of his words. They said it with polite smiles, as if neatness were a personality trait worth preserving.

His actual writing skills were like everything else he did in class: average. Competent enough to avoid concern, forgettable enough to escape expectation. It was a comfortable middle ground. If he performed just well enough, his parents would leave him alone. If he didn’t shine, no one expected brilliance. Mediocrity became a kind of shelter.

He finished the last sentence and let the pen hover for a moment before setting it down. A sigh slipped out of him before he could stop it. He already knew what his teachers would say. They always said the same thing, that he had potential, that he should apply himself, that he could do more if he cared. Each time he shrugged as if their words slid off him, but they lingered longer than he admitted.

The quiet pressed in around him.

Too quiet.

Silence was something he could never tolerate for long. It crept into his thoughts, filled empty space with questions he didn’t want to answer. That was why he created drama. Arguments, rumors, reckless jokes, sudden alliances, anything loud enough to drown out the stillness. Chaos was easier than reflection.

But here he was, trapped in it.

His room was large and carefully decorated, every surface touched by intention. Posters arranged just right, shelves filled with trinkets he barely remembered acquiring, string lights casting a warm glow that made the space feel softer than it was. Scattered across his desk were folded notes, confessions, compliments, dramatic declarations from girls and boys alike. He picked one up absentmindedly, unfolding it just to feel the texture of paper between his fingers. Words meant for him, attention directed at him, proof that he existed in other people’s thoughts.

He turned the note over once, twice, then set it back down.

Even surrounded by reminders that people noticed him, he still came home each day with nothing louder in his mind than his own quiet dissatisfaction. It was a dull, persistent feeling, like background noise he could never switch off.

As the second youngest in his family, he had always simply been there. Not the first to accomplish something, not the last to be protected. Just present. Just another name called at dinner, another voice in the house. No defining moment, no story that belonged only to him. His siblings had their identities carved into memory; Kaelen had impressions that faded when you looked too closely.

So he created moments.

If being remarkable for good things never came naturally, then being impossible to ignore would have to be enough. Attention was attention, even if it arrived sharpened by annoyance or resentment. If people rolled their eyes, if they whispered his name, if they reacted at all, that meant he had made an impact. That meant he existed in a way silence couldn’t erase.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling where the soft lights glowed faintly.

The room was still quiet.

And for a moment, without the distraction of noise or performance, Kaelen wondered what would happen if he stopped trying to be noticed at all. The thought unsettled him more than any argument ever had.

He reached for another note, not to read it, but simply to break the silence with movement.

Because silence meant thinking.

And thinking meant facing the possibility that being “just there” might not be something he could outrun.

River had woken up earlier and had gone down to the grounds around the house to practise archery. They kept their bow in their room, why? because he didn't want anyone messing around with it, aaand for protection although no one needed to know that.

River was pretty decent with a bow and often practiced alone, he had a hard time accepting compliments whether it was schoolwork, hobbies, sometimes even his appearance. He hates when people assume things about him, one of the assumptions being he dresses for other people, while he sometimes did most of the time he does it for himself.

That was earlier he was now in his room stressing about more social interactions. Did anyone else know he struggled with it? Absolutely not, not even his siblings. No one knew what he struggled with although his siblings might have an idea but hadn't fully formed a full conclusion, he was very good at that although he did occasionally slip up with certain emotions, like anger.

He closed his bedroom door behind him. Now standing on the landing River walked along it barely any sound beneath his feet.

River glided down the stairs, briefly noticing the people in the room. He often knew things that others didn't and had them all noted down in his head.

He stopped for a second just by the bottom of the stairs but ultimately started skulking around the room. People often didn't notice him when he entered rooms and it often took him to start talking for them to. His family on the other hand noticed him, sometimes.

alexander layed on his bed half asleep he groaned as he sat up and streached he sat up tossing his legs over his bed rubbing his face with both hands muttering something incoherent probly about it being to early or somethinghe stood up and streached he tossed on his black tanktop and redand black cargo pants then walked out of his bed room and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth after he finished that he brushed his hair and splashed water on his face to helpp him wake up better then he left the bathroom and went tothe kitchen to get something to eat he looked down and silently cursed under his breath and went back up staris to grabe his stuff for scholl and his shoes he also grabed his hoodie and tied it around his waist he kneeled down to check his bag to make sure he had all his school stuff he would need for the first day "damn i really dont want to go" he muttered to himself zipping up his bag he tossed it over his shoulder and left his room shutting the door behind him and he sat on the stair well and glided down he woundered if his siblings were up or if he had to go wake them up.

Channing Lee Moore ll 24 ll Teacher ll Mentions:

✢⛯✢

“First day o’ class and I’m al’eady stuck with detention duty…” Channing mumbled to himself. There were always some delinquents who were stupid enough to have to serve their detention after school the following year. Some boys were dumb enough to treat it like a game; who could do the craziest thing on the last day of school and get away with it? Spoiler alert: none of them did.

This time was special, as the headmaster finally got fed up with the nonsense. He vaguely remembered how the senior pranks had been banned, after an incident he was not privy to. Instead some of the juniors were retaliating by causing chaos the last day of class.

Channing lifted his coffee cup to his lips while marking the chalkboard. The stick clacked against the board as he scratched out the year’s itinerary. From what he had been told, he had to start the year off with cultures. This was usually the most enjoyable unit for students, as they got to learn about their and their classmates’ heritage. Then they did a brief unit on the school, as it was a required topic to graduate. (Prestigious schools had a habit of doing this.) This was followed by ancient wars, famous philosophers, progress from European royal lineages, and more modern industrial developments. Anything “current” was taught in an elective class. Anything delving into the ancient cultures is yet another elective class. Government was the guy next door’s job.

He only really taught a few classes. Three hours of the required class and two electives. This gave him a planning period in the morning and an empty lunch hour, which was regrettably spent as a cafeteria monitor. Such were the woes of a first year teacher.

Thankfully he helped coach track and field, which helped for the pay gap. Just don’t get him started on the extra hours…

He set down the chalk and returned to his desk. It had been a hand-me-down from a retired teacher, but was already showing signs of its change in ownership. Coffee rings and ink blots covered its surface, papers were scattered without any rhyme or reason, and the finish was already wearing off from the summer prep work he had completed. Despite its messy appearance he had everything how he liked it to be. Well lived in was better than a harsh cleanliness- and honestly it was too distracting.

Everything was in place- except for the syllabus handouts.

Sighing, Channing set down his coffee cup and left for the office. It wasn’t too far away, but he had to journey through the science and ag hall to make it there. That section of the hall always stank. Whether it was a dissection or farm animals- there was always something happening with those teachers.

It was awfully silent- except for the click of his boots against the tile. He paced around the corner and into the office. “Howdy,” he nodded to greet the secretaries.

The printer was already finished with the papers he ordered. After all, he did ask for them hours ago. But that was well before he got distracted with writing the entire schedule on the blackboard (legibly).

He retrieved the papers and resumed his trek across the school. Surprisingly there weren’t any other teachers out at that time in the morning. Most everyone else kept to their rooms to prepare lesson plans or brace themselves to deal with teenagers. Channing didn’t feel too far out of school to experience a culture shock though. At that age, kids were still pretty immature. At least *most* of them turned in their work on time.

Channing Lee Moore ll 24 ll Teacher ll Mentions:

✢⛯✢

“First day o’ class and I’m al’eady stuck with detention duty…” Channing mumbled to himself. There were always some delinquents who were stupid enough to have to serve their detention after school the following year. Some boys were dumb enough to treat it like a game; who could do the craziest thing on the last day of school and get away with it? Spoiler alert: none of them did.

This time was special, as the headmaster finally got fed up with the nonsense. He vaguely remembered how the senior pranks had been banned, after an incident he was not privy to. Instead some of the juniors were retaliating by causing chaos the last day of class.

Channing lifted his coffee cup to his lips while marking the chalkboard. The stick clacked against the board as he scratched out the year’s itinerary. From what he had been told, he had to start the year off with cultures. This was usually the most enjoyable unit for students, as they got to learn about their and their classmates’ heritage. Then they did a brief unit on the school, as it was a required topic to graduate. (Prestigious schools had a habit of doing this.) This was followed by ancient wars, famous philosophers, progress from European royal lineages, and more modern industrial developments. Anything “current” was taught in an elective class. Anything delving into the ancient cultures is yet another elective class. Government was the guy next door’s job.

He only really taught a few classes. Three hours of the required class and two electives. This gave him a planning period in the morning and an empty lunch hour, which was regrettably spent as a cafeteria monitor. Such were the woes of a first year teacher.

Thankfully he helped coach track and field, which helped for the pay gap. Just don’t get him started on the extra hours…

He set down the chalk and returned to his desk. It had been a hand-me-down from a retired teacher, but was already showing signs of its change in ownership. Coffee rings and ink blots covered its surface, papers were scattered without any rhyme or reason, and the finish was already wearing off from the summer prep work he had completed. Despite its messy appearance he had everything how he liked it to be. Well lived in was better than a harsh cleanliness- and honestly it was too distracting.

Everything was in place- except for the syllabus handouts.

Sighing, Channing set down his coffee cup and left for the office. It wasn’t too far away, but he had to journey through the science and ag hall to make it there. That section of the hall always stank. Whether it was a dissection or farm animals- there was always something happening with those teachers.

It was awfully silent- except for the click of his boots against the tile. He paced around the corner and into the office. “Howdy,” he nodded to greet the secretaries.

The printer was already finished with the papers he ordered. After all, he did ask for them hours ago. But that was well before he got distracted with writing the entire schedule on the blackboard (legibly).

He retrieved the papers and resumed his trek across the school. Surprisingly there weren’t any other teachers out at that time in the morning. Most everyone else kept to their rooms to prepare lesson plans or brace themselves to deal with teenagers. Channing didn’t feel too far out of school to experience a culture shock though. At that age, kids were still pretty immature. At least *most* of them turned in their work on time.