#andreya

I'm sure I've made this post before but it was probably many years ago, and I've since added some more OCs to the roster, so I thought I would just share the current list of my OCs and their arcana/signs/birthdays as I've assigned them using my guide!

Alec al-Saleh

Queen of Wands

Aries Sun, Sagittarius Moon, Cancer Rising

April 6th

Jamil Alfonso Parsa-D'Oria

King of Wands

Leo Sun, Pisces Moon, Pisces Rising

July 30th

Camia-Marie Baudelaire

Queen of Pentacles

Capricorn Sun, Taurus Moon, Aries Rising

January 1st

Leon

Knight of Swords

Gemini Sun, Aries Moon, Leo Rising

June 9th

Meredith Gwynsdottir

King of Swords

Capricorn Sun, Leo Moon, Aquarius Rising

January 20th

Saoirse

The Hermit

Virgo Sun, Aquarius Moon, Scorpio Rising

September 2nd

Rodrigo Luis Aguilar

King of Pentacles

Aries Sun, Scorpio Moon, Leo Rising

April 1st

Jacqui Larrieux-Desroche

Ten of Wands

Sagittarius Sun, Aquarius Moon, Scorpio Rising

December 10th

Jade Castella

The Emperor

Aries Sun, Aquarius Moon, Gemini Rising

March 23rd

Drago Fortunado D'Oria

King of Swords

Capricorn Sun, Gemini Moon, Virgo Rising

December 31st

Sydney Aloisio De Luca

King of Pentacles

Taurus Sun, Scorpio Moon, Gemini Rising

May 12th

Miriam Giada Nora Diamandis

Knight of Cups

Pisces Sun, Sagittarius Moon, Cancer Rising

March 10th

Viviane Aurore Baudelaire

Strength

Leo Sun, Libra Moon, Cancer Rising

August 20th

Bluebird

Knight of Cups

Aquarius Sun, Scorpio Moon, Leo Rising

February 13th

Andreya

Justice

Libra Sun, Capricorn Moon, Capricorn Rising

October 16th

Elizabeth

The Star

Aquarius Sun, Sagittarius Moon, Leo Rising

January 31st

Theodore

Ace of Cups

Cancer Sun, Cancer Moon, Pisces Rising

@andreya-roche​​

[In his defence (because if he doesn’t defend himself, literally no one else will —except, okay, maybe Carrington, because he did officially defend him in a courtroom that one time but... he definitely wouldn’t defend him in this), he’s done the chores thing. Sure it’d taken him a while to get through it (they don’t supply ADD meds like they used to, yo) but he’s loaded the darks with the darks and the lights with the lights and he’s even pretty sure he’s kept the houses separated like he’s supposed to, and now he’s pushing around the little wheelie basket, debating on how well he’d fit, if he were to get in. 

Well. No better way to know than to try. Duh. So holding onto the top of one of the washers, he gingerly swings one leg in, holding his breath so as not to lose his balance and send the wheels sliding out from under him, and then the second. And then, with an unceremonious squat, he’s butt down in the cloth basket, spindly arms splaying out the sides.

Naturally, he reaches out to push off the edge of the washer and make himself roll (as one does when attached to wheels), and then is struck with an idea so great, he can hardly stand his own genius. He’s not sure at first if it’ll work but... a furrow of his thick, caterpillar brows and a surge of focus and he’s able to push with his Telekinesis against one of the washers and send himself rolling back in the process. He pauses. Smirks, broad and delighted.] 

Oh, hell yes, [he mutters to himself. Moving his hands accordingly, he somewhat messily pushes himself around the room, making an attempt to direct himself towards the door, though taking several indirect zig-zags in the process. He’s just starting to get the hang of it, and is telekinetically pushing himself out the door and into the corridor, when the sound of approaching steps have his head whipping around. 

Right. Public space. Shit. ] 

Uh—I can... explain? [It’s his go-to line, even though it’s never, ever true. And he doesn’t know why he still uses it, really. He’s shit at explaining even things that he’s not potentially going to get in shit for. He’s never been an articulate person.] 

@andreya-roche

[Constantin has given up trying to explain it to himself. Maybe it’s because the clouds have parted and he can see, once more, just how vast this tiny world is. Maybe it’s because he’d had a dream, last night, about asteroids and the freezing vacuum of space, and Ana hadn’t been with him. Maybe it’s just because he’s got a lot of issues to work through. He really has given up trying to pinpoint any one cause: all he knows is that some mornings, he wakes up and he simply feels like everything is wrong.

He wishes he could join the others in training, but Dr. Fitrei says he’s still not well enough. That’s part of the problem: he’s trapped in his mind, and he can’t share that with anyone because he struggles to communicate in English, and there’s hardly a whole host of people that speak Romanian waiting to connect with him. He had watched his roommates head out to training, sitting blankly on the edge of his bed. Tried to do some of his rehabilitation exercises. Fought against his shaking muscles. Failed. Cried, angry tears of frustration. Beat his fists against his useless legs. He feels so trapped, and he can’t go to Anaya. He can’t burden her with this, because he needs to be strong for her. He rarely lets her see him when he gets like this.

So he goes to CISM instead, hoping that perhaps someone there will have time for him. He doesn’t know what he needs, or wants. Just someone to hear him, he thinks. Every time he’s alone, black thoughts cloud his mind and he can’t fight them. They’re too loud, too demanding. When he opens the door, he sees only one person in the room. He’s not sure of her name, but he’s seen her around a few times as he passes through to therapy sessions. She seems young to be a therapist, but she does carry herself with the ease and confidence of someone older. The way she moves is so fluid and assured; she reminds Constantin of a dancer, somehow, and he feels ashamed of his own awkward, clumsy gait as he approaches her. He moves like the world is a heavy weight upon him, because it is,  and he knows his face still bears the marks of his earlier tears: red eyes lined with dark, clumped together lashes, cheeks sticky, hair a mess from where he had raked his fingers through it over and over. He feels particularly pitiful next to Andee: a natural beauty, at ease with life around her, face holding a sort of kindness even when there is no smile on it.] 

I have no appointment, but I can ask if there is anyone I can speak vith? Today is being difficult for me. [His voice is hoarse, but his words are blunt and to the point, spoken without hesitation. He’s long past worrying that people might think he’s weak if he admits that he is struggling. Everyone is struggling: he’s no less a man for admitting it.] 

@andreya-roche‌:

[Nothing feels stranger than the gaps of memory between the start and end of a nap. Might as well be waking up on a different planet. Bodies and brains so used to something being different at the end of a sleep, that it almost feels like a trick to still be somewhere in the same day, completely knocked off your feet. Andee rests her head back to orient herself with the late hour and the fact that she’s got the opportunity to go back to sleep – but her unattended tasks nudge her brain to get done now what she failed to do earlier. Good, locked up in the office at three in the morning, working out alone in the dark. Good ideas, Roche.

Her brows pop up with a smile as he admits to being restless. Relatable as much as anything. She remembers too vividly being completely unable to sleep when she first arrived at 22. Nightmares tucked in every corner of her eyes, each traumatic event replaying themselves throughout her dreams. These days her imagination is much calmer, her psyche more maintained, and the nightmares are infrequent at best. She sleeps like the dead.]

Think they call that insomnia. [She smirks in his direction.] I can imagine people have already told you all sorts of ways to cope with it, so I’ll spare you.

[The suggestion of tea perks her ears like a cat hearing a can of food being opened. Which reminds her, goddamnit, Figaro needs to be fed, unless one of her roommates took care of it.] God, yes, please. [Nothing like a good cuppa to still the nerves, even if she’s only semi-conscious. She swings her legs over the side of the sofa to fetch the water.] I love how quiet it is late at night – I say as I interrupt it by speaking. This kind of silence used to frighten me. Felt like I was always waiting for a disaster to ruin it.

[He mirrors her pensive smile, and there’s still ghosts that hang off it as he does. Just little harmless ones in the form of memories and things he doesn’t quite realize he misses until they make themselves known at the forefront of his thoughts with a quietly cheeky hullo.] They have. But you know... [A pause, as he shakes his head, grinning to himself as he blows gently at the steam rising from his mug.] I think I spent a lot of years not really wanting it fixed. I saw it as a... convenient opportunity to work longer hours, to get ahead, to come at that paper with yet another rewrite... [he shrugs] I realize now that it wasn’t the most logical of approaches. I realized it then, too, I suppose. But what can I say, even I’m not above temptation, [he quips lightly, teasing.

Sleep hadn’t been the only thing he’d willfully let go of in favour of putting his studies first. He rarely ate large meals, as he hated the way it made his body want nothing but to sleep immediately after, and if it wasn’t convenient, or quick, or something he could do while also pouring over his studies, he at times didn’t eat at all. And he’d known Sid had been more concerned about it than Teilo believed he had reason to be—it was sweet, the way his friend looked out for him, of course—but honestly he’d never seen it as a problem. He wasn’t without control over it, he felt sure. Sid had been less easy to convince.

With a smile and a nod, he grabs another mug from the modestly stocked cupboard near his head and rips open another tea bag for her. As he pours, he shakes his head.] Please, it’s not like I’m adverse to a bit of friendly company. Besides, if... the whole of the Colony is... an orchestra, say, then one voice is... [a pause as he considers, then looks up at her and walks the mug her way.] A string quartet, [he finishes with a small smile, passing her the drink.

He sits back down into the arm chair across from her.] By ‘used to’ do you mean... before D-Day, or after it?

Not that he minds. He’d never been hugely physical prior to D-Day, but he’s in great shape now and feels undeniably better - no more pudgy belly composed of pizza and pork scratchings. Still, it wouldn’t kill them to shake things up a bit. It feels like it’s always 1v1, always focused in some way on combat or survival. It’s never fun, and Kip grows bored of the same thing quickly. After training, he flops down in the grass and takes a long drink of water. It’s cold out, but it feels good against his warm, sweaty skin.] 

Always with the punching. When do we get to start our basketball teams? Or soccer - football, whatever. Delma could kick Calyset’s asses. We all know that, but let’s prove it.

It’s high time I practiced other body types as well.

Princess Elizabeth, Ser Andreya, and Prince Theodore