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myfeetkeepdancing · 4 years

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A Devil’s Toy | Arvin Russell x Male!Reader

Request: Crossover where Arvin gets connected with the symbiote? Because Spidey!Arvin seems silly and unfitting but Venom!Arvin is kind of 😳😳😳

Words: 3694

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The town you lived in was always quiet. The birds chirped happily in the tree, nature at it's best. Cars approaching from the forest road were easily heard from miles away. Sorting the groceries you just brought home, a distant sound shakes you from your thought. Fast-paced footsteps approach your house from the treeline. They certainly were running. Before you were able to shove the curtain aside, you hear a voice call out your name. Repeatedly.

"Arvin?" You speed to the door, opening it for him. "What happened?" Eyeing the dirty cloth wrapped around his lower right arm. As you looked closer, it covered most of his lower arm. You couldn't see his hand nor wrist. His eyes were narrow, heaving for air, as he clutched his other hand tightly on the cloth. This wasn't the first time Arvin came in like this. In all those years you'd known him, he got in a lot of fights, with the necessary injuries. He won most of them, but some… He knew he was outmatched, yet it is as if he didn't care. As if the greater the challenge, the bigger the appeal.

"G-Get… me… a... k-...k-knife." He stuttered through the heaving breaths, unwrapping the cloth from his arm. You seat him down at the kitchen table and quickly bring him a large knife. For what was the question right now, but you never questioned Arvin. And if you did, most of the time, he didn't answer. At first, you didn't notice any blood as the cloth opened up. His denim jacket still in good shape. You notice how nervous and anxious he is. Eyeing his surroundings constantly. Trust was something Arvin didn't have. At least in most people. You always managed with him. But something was off about Arvin. He kept everything in check. As if he was expecting something or someone.

"Help me (Y/N)-..." He snarled while ripping the last the piece of cloth from his hand. "-get this off me." Struck by fear, revolt, and sheer terror, you jolt back a few steps. Covering your mouth with one hand.

"W-Wha… What is that?!" Arvin's hand was completely black, not from sickness. As far as you knew from a first glance. Because it moved. Your bowels churned in revolt. Feeling your earlier snack rise in distaste. The tar-like ooze moved and pulsated around his hand and lower arm.

"I DON'T KNOW!" He screamed, grabbing the knife. "I don't know! Just get it off me!" Trying to scrape it off with the sharp end. He shook all over, struggling to place the blade against the moving substance. From both angles, it was impossible to decide if he was going to strike the goo or his own skin. His hesitation held the blade at bay. "Goddammit! Help me (Y/N)!" He angrily shot at you.

"C-Can you move your hand?"

"Eh… Yes... "He said, seeing them move shakingly. "I can feel it..."

"Alright… Alright…." Grabbing his coat. "Take it off." You command, pulling him onto his feet. "We have to know how far it's-…"

"(Y/N)?" He asked with widening eyes. Seeing the fear struck in your eyes. "What's-…"

Step by step, you back up from Arvin. Feeling the trembles take over your body as the level of eye contact with him slowly rises. This had to be a nightmare. What Arvin's legs once were, wrapped in jeans, were now encased in the same black ooze from earlier. Forming a new pair of legs for him. And rapidly consuming the rest of his frame. The stuff that ate away at Arvin had towered over you faster than you could believe. Slowly stepping your way. Only Arvin's face now left. You wanted to scream out your lungs, call for Arvin. Wanted to help him. But all sense had left you. Terror had overcome you. Especially when you saw the rows of gigantuous, white razor-sharp teeth erupt out from the black being's skin. Engulfing Arvin's face from its forehead and chin. In a matter of seconds, Arvin had disappeared completely. Taken by the black pulsating goo that stood before you. A pair of white oval eyes stared at you as the jawline with long teeth stretched into what could be described as a smile.

With your back against the wall, the only response you could muster was throwing the closest thing beside you at it. A cup. It did nothing. The black mass towered over you as your legs buckled and crashed to the floor. "A-A...A-...Arvin...??"

"Well hello…" The creature spoke with a haunting voice. "Arvin is currently occupied... elsewhere." Chuckling to himself. As its jaws opened, your nightmare was complete. A red, ribbed, slimy tentacle of a tongue stretched outwards. Licking its so-called teeth. "He'll be fine, though." Approaching you, as you tried to crawl away. "I promise." It smiled; the drips of slime dangled from its teeth. "For now, I am hungry..."

"P-P-Please… I…" You pleaded, covering your eyes with your arms. Shielding you from the horror that was in front of you. The tears finally showing. Its arms were massive, bulking masses of muscles. It claws with sharp talons close to striking distance.

"Ooooow." It arched back up. "I see... "Nodding in sudden amusement at your shuddering frame, held in a fetus position. "Now, I get it." It chuckled. "I get it." Looking around the room. "I can't touch your lover." You notice the innards of the black ooze struggle and fight.

"A-Arvin's still in there…?"

"Oh, Yes." It said before the black ooze curled back from Arvin's face. Revealing him alive, and surprisingly well.

"I'm sorry (Y/N)!" He said. "There was this truck-" And as Arvin was telling his story, you notice the body language of the thing. Mimicking Arvin's way of speaking. As if Arvin was controlling the black ooze. But somehow was also… alive? Sentient? The story was impossible to follow as you watch the movements, streamlined with Arvin's. This was impossible. But you were glad Arvin was alive.

"Wh-... What was that about-... about...?" You shook your head, conflicted by so many things. "I have so many questions."

There was little time for Arvin to react as the ooze slipped back over his face. He protested; you could see the struggle. But somehow, the ooze retook control. "Sorry lovey-doveys… But it's time. Allow me to introduce myself." Bowing before you. "I'm Venom, and Arvin here-..." Tapping its belly. "-...is my new host." Laughing amusingly. "Together, we're going to have so much fun."

It's pale white eyes stared at you, as if it was expecting something from you. "And you are?" It asked. "It's customary to introduce yourself to newcomers."

"(Y/N)." You said in a shaken voice. "I'm (Y/N)."

"Well, I already knew that." It looked back up again. "I played along, out of kindness." Giving you a nod and a smile. Before turning its attention back to its surroundings. "Anyway. I hear them." It stopped, eyeing the direction the sound came from. It doesn't take much for your trained ears to hear the footsteps in the distance. The rushed, fast-paced ones. Cracking leaves and branches as they approached. Some walked with a determined stride. But they were with many.

"I thought it was you at first." It quipped back, showing you a sort of smile. "But I was wrong. Sorry!" The smile was highly uncomfortable to watch, the rows of teeth showing high and wide. The stench was something that came second. But not any better.

"I… I don't know what you're talking about." Keeping your eyes on the lumbering figure standing in the room. It somehow had a muscular physique to it, despite the otherwordly colors. Black and rippled with some sort of veins protruding from its so-called skin. It's highly disturbing to look at.

"Little Arvin and I will explain later." Moving its arm towards you. Every movement made you jump. Especially this, seeing its talons close in. "Don't worry." It smiled, seeing you repulse from fear, with your back against the wall. "I won't hurt you." It said, but its tone was more taunting than comfortable at this point.

"Take this." Opening his black oozing hand to you. The skin bubbled and moved as something began to emerge. From the torso, something slid underneath the skin towards the hand. The happening alone made you sick. "Arvin won't need it." Revealing the gun, you knew Arvin carried with him from time to time. "He has a better weapon now." He grinned, tossing it in your lap as it looked for the newcomers.

"W-Wh… What do I do?" You've had practice with a gun. That was a fact. Arvin had shown you, taught you. But at this point. You were completely blank—pulling at the magazine. Trying to get the damn mechanism to work. But your shaking hands struggle to make anything work right now.

"You phew phew that thingie-... "Pointing at the gun with its talons. "-at any one of those outside." It said while watching you struggle. "Plenty of targets."

"I… I… don't…" You stammer, dropping it to the floor. "Fuck…!" Cursing more under your breath while you clammy hands struggle to pick it up.

You recoil back against the wall, not that you could go further. The oozes torso ripple and move as you saw Arvin reach out. His entire upper torso revealing from the black ooze. "Come 'ere." He said while handling the gun. Cocking and reloading it. It surprised you to see Arvin this relaxed. Normally his anger would have surfaced and lost control over the situation. But now, he seemed convinced about what was about to happen.

You jump scare a little as a magazine for the gun popped into your lap. "Found this in his back pocket." Venom said as the hole in his shoulder closed.

He took your one hand, his grip firm and reassuring, warm to the touch, to the point of bolstering your confidence. For a moment, you're lost in each other eyes, feeling a sense of humanity return. Bringing you back as he helped to put your fingers on the gun. Closing your second hand around the other. "Use it if you have to." He said. "Stay safe."

"Arvin… How do we know if they're-" Your voice was cut off. The air knocked from your lungs. As the world around you was reduced to splinters, smoke, and glass. Eardeafening explosions shook you to the very bone. It all happened so fast. In that split second, the door at the other end of the room was reduced to mere splinters. Chunks of wood scattered across the floor and dug itself into softer material than itself. A loud ring sounded in your ears as you lost your bearings completely. Your vision had doubled, twice, or thrice—more than enough to see Venom move away from you. Through the whirling dust and flying wood splinters, you see it darting across the floor. The room wasn't that big, but in an instance, it sat upon the figure standing in the doorframe. Its scream didn't reach your ear because it didn't have time to. You shouldn't have blinked, but your ramshackle mind had too. Before you had any further chance to see what was happening. The figure had disappeared. Leaving Venom standing there, licking its teeth with that weird-looking tongue.

You jolt back into life as you feel the air coming back into your lungs. Coughing the dust and dirt up from your windpipe, it had forced itself in. A shock racked your frame as an object hit your foot. "Keep that safe." Venom's voice called out, noticing the large shotgun in front of you. Before you looked up and responded to him. Venom was already gone. Luckily your vision had begun to come back. To your shock, around you was a circle of splinters and fragments of other metal embedded deep into the wall. Struck by panic again, you check yourself. Hands, legs, arms. A relieved smile cracked your lips. You weren't hurt. Venom and Arvin had most certainly protected you from the blast. Seeing the damage all around you. It was one mass of destruction. With your courage gathered, and like any natural instinct kicking in, you try to get up on your legs. Water. You needed water. And eye the sink.

Shards of glass shatter across the counter as you duck back to the floor. You try to stay low, hunched as the sound of gunshots increased. The automatic fire increased as voices called out. Unfamiliar and loud. Commands were given. Screaming, yelling. They must have seen you as the bullets tore through the windows. The impact clearly seen on the walls. Ripping and tearing through every inch of the house. You duck lower to the ground. Terrified to the bone. Frames falling from the wall, and shelves coming loose. Everything went flying as the bullets tore it all apart. You didn't dare to look up. Broken glass and furniture flew through the air. Nothing was safe. Feeling the chances of survival slim by every passing moment.

Outside was this constant carnage, ripped screams. Trees being felled and branches snapping like twigs in a storm. It was a warzone outside. You could hear it, feel it—the tearing of limbs and flesh. The cries of the injured were short-lived. If there were any at all. With the sense of time and place lost in the heat of battle. The sound of battle and slowly began dying down. Less and less guns were being fired. Arvin better returns in one piece; you prayed to the Lord. In a moment like this, faith was a scapegoat option. Because you felt helpless and prayed for a good outcome.

The sound of someone approaching across the porch nailed you to the floor. Once the bullets had started tearing through the walls, surely targeting you, you had fallen to the floor. Flat on your stomach in the dirt and debris. Praying for your life. And now you lay there, with the gun in reach of you. You frantically crawl towards it, realizing too late that you were trudging through the glass splinters. But the adrenaline kept you going. Your fingers shuddered across the cold metal of the gun. Struggling to get a grip on it again.

As the heavy treads of boots stamped across the porch towards the already blasted open door. The voice of a man, different than Arvin's. Talking to someone. Tears had already flooded your vision as you brought the iron sights up along your eyesight. Clouding your vision. The gun shook terribly in your hand, as you crawled back up against the wall where you sat earlier. Countless holes had penetrated through the wall, now shafts of light shining through. It's mystical to see the dust flying around in the sudden silence. Only focused on the impending footsteps.

You squinted your eyes, trying to avoid the look on the person's face once you had pulled the trigger. You knew the mechanism; it was rough. Requiring a strong pull on the trigger to fire. "ARVIN!" You screamed from the top of your lungs. Crying out for help. "VENOM!" Tears rolled down your cheeks as your gaze swept to the other end size. The backdoor flew open with force.

"Son of a bitch is here!" Another voice called from the back. Taking steps into the house. Hearing the floor creak under the weight. You swing the gun back and forth. Not sure who was going to show up first. Either way, they were closing in on you. You knew the layout better than the intruders. You knew where the backdoor was, and how he had to walk down the hallway into the kitchen. You swing back to the front door. The one in the back had to be a few footsteps away from you.

The flash blinded you for a moment, rocking your entire frame as the gun fired its bullet down the barrel. Smashing through the wooden wall into the hallway. Splintering chunks of wood across the floor and into the hallway. A hushed curse came from the hallway. Your eyes catch movement at the front door. Everything went so fast. The man appeared in the doorway, almost in a veil-like light, holding a rifle. When a tentacle of blackness shot up into its side. Gurgled screams shot up from its shuddering frame. His arms go limb as the rifle hits the floor, and disappears as fast as he appeared. Not a scream, nothing. Just gone. A glimpse of white eyes and teeth are more than enough to reassure Venom and Arvin were there. A relief. Seeing the black mass surge past the doorframe off the hallway. A short burst of automatic fire forced you back into that scared fetal position as it connected with all sorts of pottery in the kitchen beside you. Piercing through the wall, shattering plates, pans, and cups. But silenced with a gurgle of blood and air, followed by a hard thud on the floor. The only thing you could hear was your own ragged breath and spend cartridges rolling on the floor.

"(Y/N)?" Arvin sped around the corner, seeing the last of Venom's skin disappear behind him. "You alright?" You nodded as you caught your breath, slowly sitting yourself back up again. Arvin didn't need an answer. He saw the small cuts and splinters in your forearm. He looked around through the destruction, searching that familiar cabinet that now had fallen to the floor. Kicking the broken pieces away with his feet. Fishing the first aid out. By now, he knew quite well where to find it. Approaching you with a caring look on his face, yet also a smile. A rare smile for Arvin. "You look like shit." He said, looking down at you with that same taunting smile.

"T-That's..." You laughed but was interrupted by a rough coughing fit. "T-That's my line."

"Not today." Handing you a bottle of liquor, he found lying on the floor, surprising intact. "Just like old times. But this time…" He kneeled in front of you, brushing the dust from your lips with his other hand. "I'll help you." Cupping your cheeks in his hands. Your heart already raced from earlier. But in that split second, it skipped several. So it was true what Venom said; that was the last thing that crossed your mind. Before his lips connected with yours. Kissing you with great care and precision. The world had already fallen silent, but now there was nothing more but you and Arvin. "Thank you." You mumbled into the slowly sloppier kiss.

"No problem." Venom responded in his dark voice before Arvin could. The silence was broken by the two of you chuckling softly in each others' embrace. It was true. Venom had done so much for the two of you. He was the reason you both were alive. And together. Finally.

"You still have a lot to learn, Arvin." You groan, locking your jaw as you observe him struggle with the pincers. Trying to remove the last shards and splinters of glass and wood from your arm.

"Sit still." He leaned upwards, giving you a kiss. "I need to concentrate." Ticking the bottle with his pincers, as a sign of telling you to drink.

"How can I... when you kiss me like that." Arvin's proud glance at you said more than enough. With his other hand, he guided the bottle upwards to your lip. He knew how much pain you were having. The adrenaline had worn off quicker than you expected. Arvin knew that all too well. "The preacher won't approve of us." You sighed, rolling your head back against the wall. The liquor slowly numbing your senses.

"And he ain't a good one, you know that." Arvin hissed. The rest of his muttering was impossible to hear. And it might be for the better. From day one, Arvin didn't have a good hunch about that preacher. But he was shut up by his sister. She believed in him, like so many others.

"Ow, I want to pay him a visit." Venom said, emerging on a string of gooiness beside Arvin's head. "Let's have some fun with him." He smiled viciously. "I can read your mind, Arvin. You hate him. All the more reason to."

"Won't hurt to teach him a lesson…?" Arvin looked at you for approval. As if he needed that from you. You and Arvin were on the same level on so many things. The preacher was one of them. You also didn't go to church for the longest time. To the disapproval of many in the town. But it made the Sunday morning one hell of a good morning. Arvin stopped going too and came around your place at that every Sunday morning.

"You know how I think about him." You grinned. "But what about all this?" Eyeing the interior of your house. "It's ruined." The destruction all around was immense. Bullets had torn everything apart. The table and chairs, reduced to chunks of wood. Large shotgun shells had blasted holes through the walls and wreaked havoc on the interior. It's a wonder the walls were still standing. "I can't live here anymore…"

"I don't know…" Arvin looked around, raking his fingers through his brown curls, lost in his thoughts.

"And how about all those bodies?" The thought had just crossed your mind. You hadn't seen one, but there had to be at least ten of them scattered around your house and littering the forest.

"I'm still hungry…" Venom said, showing its row of teeth, smiling very broadly.

"He ate most of them…" Arvin said, as if that was giving any comfort.

"And then...Arvin? What's next?"

Arvin's gaze was locked elsewhere, thoughts far beyond the room, but said nothing. He hunched on his knees, turned around, and sat himself down beside you. "I don't know…" He sighed, resting his head against the wall. "But we'll figure something out." Putting his arm around you. Resting your head against one another, watching the dust dance in the air through the beams of sunlight, shining through the bullets holes. "Together."

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apiratewhopines · 3 years

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Thanks to @teamhook for giving me all the stubbly men

In the Offing

Chapter 17 — Hat Trick

Summary: In which our heroine believes in magic

Chapter 17 on AO3

“When you move

I can recall something that’s gone from me

When you move

Honey, I’m put in awe of something so flawed and free”

-Movement, Hozier

It had been a rainy couple of days since her trip out to the cabin with Graham. They had originally planned to meet up again and scan the area to see if they could find the Blanchard remains but the weather had prevented any chance of that. Instead, they had traded texts that included her thanking him for going on record with the paper to say she was no longer a suspect in the shooting. She had noticed a definite warming toward her by the citizens after his comments were splashed across the front page.

Of course it being Storybrooke, rumors had already begun to fly about who would take her place on the most wanted list. She avoided all requests for interviews and tried to focus on the task of finding the responsible party, encouraged every day by the positive news she received from August’s medical team.

Graham wasn’t the only one she had been texting with. As the date of the wedding drew closer, she started receiving messages from Elsa and her sister Anna, who happened to be a ball of chaotic energy that would put a toddler to shame. They were constantly inviting her over to help with this or that stage of the planning but she thought maybe it was really to make sure she didn’t disappear before the ceremony.

It seemed like the only person she hadn’t talked with was the one person to whom she actually had something to say. However, fulfilling his duties as best man had forced Killian into a last minute trip to Boston with Liam to pick up tuxedos and flowers arrangements. She had stopped by the cottage a couple of times to try to catch him, feeling that what she had to say would be better in person than by phone, but she never managed to connect.

So it was that Saturday evening under a clear twilight sky, she pulled up to the cottage. Nervously she ran her hands down her pale pink dress to smooth it as she tried not to think about the fact that she hadn’t spoken with Killian since she hung up on him several days ago. The front yard, which stretched down in a gentle rolling hill to a bluff that provided a beautiful ocean view, was transformed. There were a couple of large, white tents set up to accommodate the ceremony and the reception. Due to the heavy rain, someone had the forethought to have planking laid down in a walkway to the tents, which had also been raised on platforms and contained a beautiful hardwood floor to provide some protection from the wet ground.

As Liam had predicted, it appeared as though the entire town did show up. Waving at several people who caught her eye, she started to make her way over to Mary Margaret and David. Taking in the way their gazes never wavered from each other, she guessed that their wedding day wouldn’t be too far behind. Before she could reach them, Anna came flying over to her nearly vibrating with excitement. “Where are you going? I saved you a seat in the front row next to Kristoff.”

“Oh, that wasn’t necessary,” she protested. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself by sitting in a row normally reserved for family. Plus, if she was being completely honest, she wasn’t sure she could take being in close proximity to Killian while he was sporting a tux. The man oozed sexual magnetism in jeans so one could only imagine the allure of him in formalwear. She didn’t need a repeat of the kitchen debacle from a couple of weeks ago while the whole town was watching.

“Emma,” Anna whined with a pouty expression. “Do you see how empty the family section is? It’s embarrassing. Not to mention that Kristoff might fall asleep if you aren’t there to nudge him from time to time.”

“Fine.” She gave in easily when she sensed eyes drifting their way in curiosity. Trying to take her mind off the fact she felt like an animal in a zoo, she smiled at the other woman and said, “You look great.”

As Emma took her seat, Anna twirled in a circle and squealed, “I do, don’t I? This has always been a good color on me. I’m so glad we talked Elsa out of the all that ice blue. I mean, it’s a summer wedding. We need bold colors and lots of skin.”

“You will hear no arguments from me, babe,” Kristoff joked with a wink. As she was finding to be the case with the young couple, once they were honed in on each other she could do as she pleased because they were oblivious. Trapped by the puppy love playing out in front of her, she used the opportunity to study the lovely white roses and low lighting that showcased the tent to its best advantage. She couldn’t help but wonder how they had pulled off such an elaborate event with only days to plan.

Any thoughts she had about price tags and logistics were immediately frozen when she saw Liam and Killian step onto the stage about twenty feet in front of her. The Brothers Jones looked quite dapper and refined in their black tuxedos. Liam was calm and collected as always except for the faint hint of red across his cheeks, not even having one arm in a sling could diminish the happiness that radiated off him. Killian looked like a fantasy wrapped in a dream and dipped in chocolate.

Unfortunately, as she was feasting on him with her eyes he must have become aware of her idolizing stare. His penetrating blue gaze met hers full on for the first time in almost a week. Her heart beat out a painful thump at the emotion that flooded her but she couldn’t look away. He was perfect, from the top of his rumpled hair to the bottom of his precisely polished dress shoes. And she was an idiot.

“Geez, girl. Am I going to have to get you two a room so you don’t burn down the tent?”Startled out of her staring contest by Anna’s teasing, she looked over to see her companions watching her with matching grins. “Elsa mentioned there was something going on but she didn’t warn me that it was combustible.”

“Cute,” Emma said in tone that warned against further commentary. “Speaking of Elsa, shouldn’t you be helping your sister get ready?”

“Oh crap! I was supposed to be grabbing her a glass of water. See you guys later!”

For the next several minutes, Emma did her best to keep her gaze from wandering back to the stage even as she felt Killian’s eyes burning a hole through her. Kristoff was helpful in that regard because he was as much of a talker as his girlfriend, although in comparison he was still the shrinking violet in their relationship. The hum of conversations increased as the tent filled until the opening strains of the Wedding March began to play. As everyone stood to see the bride enter, she snuck a glance out of the corner of her eye and smiled shyly when she saw that Killian was staring back at her.

To no one’s surprise, Elsa made a beautiful bride. Her white blonde hair was styled in a complicated braid that looked soft and elegant. Her slender form was hugged by a white lace gown that looked fit for a queen. It was her serene expression that truly made her a beauty though. She had the look of a woman who couldn’t wait to start her future with the man waiting for her at the other end of the aisle.

Just like that, Emma felt tears forming. Luckily, she wasn’t the only one. There were several sniffles and weepy smiles in the tent as the pair shared their vows and promised to love and cherish each other for the rest of their lives. Liam’s deep voice never faltered and when the minister pronounced them man and wife, he didn’t hesitate to kiss Elsa soundly in front of God and everyone. And for rather longer than strictly necessary.

Laughter ringing out at the groom’s enthusiasm, the crowd began clapping as the newly married couple led the way to the reception. They were followed by the best man and maid of honor, whose heads were bent together as if they were plotting to overthrow the government. Knowing the two of them, Emma couldn’t completely rule out the possibility.

Kristoff offered her his arm to guide her into the other tent but she waved him on. She needed some time to collect herself so she continued to observe from the fringe of the crowd. The first dance was a slow romantic matter replete with loving glances and sighs. The cutting of the cake was a dignified event regardless of the taunting of some of the more rowdy members of the audience. As the band struck up a new song, couples started making their way to the dance floor. She was pleased to see Mary Margaret and David were one of the first to go, smiling at each other with the kind of fondness that would never fade.

Trying to calm her racing heart, she knew she had put off her conversation long enough. As she stepped out of the shadows, she heard a familiar voice ask, “May I have this dance, Emma?”

Shocked out of her anxiousness, she turned to find Graham standing behind her with his hand extended. He looked striking in his suit, she had to admit. Not fantasy dream chocolate level, of course, but not hard on the eyes. Putting her hand in his, she allowed him to lead her out to the floor. “I’m surprised to see you here, Sheriff. Didn’t you used to date the bride?”

Cringing a bit and screwing up his face, he looked at her through one eye. “There’s that adorable directness. It was one date, a rather hopeless affair I’m afraid.”

“Oh well, there are other fish in the sea,” she murmured encouragingly, a little concerned at the longing she saw in his stare when he looked at her. He shuffled her around the edge of the dance floor, his eyes searching hers for something.

“There is one fish that I have an interest in,” he admitted. “But I’m afraid I might be a little too late to catch her.”

With regret for the hurt her next words would cause him because somewhere along the way she had come to really like him, she confirmed, “Yes, I think you might be.”

Nodding with understanding, he shifted his glance to the front of the tent where the wedding party was currently enjoying dinner. With a rueful smile, he commented, “I’m guessing by the daggers that Killian is currently shooting my way that I have been bested by another Jones.”

Touching his cheek gently to bring his attention back to her, she teased, “Third time is the charm, my friend. To my knowledge, there aren’t any other brothers to contend with. Go forth with confidence and find yourself a lady worthy of you.”

Graham smiled down at her. The song ended but he held her an extra second, squeezing her waist affectionately before stepping back. Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips and swept a soft kiss near her wrist while looking at her with eyes full of laughter. “Let’s see if that brings your erstwhile suitor running.”

Shaking her head at him, she grinned at his back as he disappeared into the crowd. She started toward an empty chair a couple of tables away when she felt someone approach from behind. She knew without turning that it was Killian. The air around her electrified when he got near.

“Swan, where do you think you’re going?”

“I was going to sit down and enjoy dinner, Dr. Jones. What brings you by?”

“I want to dance with you,” he stated, his gaze roaming over her like a caress. Holding out his hand, he continued, “You have the rest of your life to avoid me, love. Where’s the harm in one dance with a partner who actually knows what he’s doing?”

He really had no idea of the hold he had over her. He was still under the impression she planned to walk away. Yet there he was, reaching out to her as if her touch wouldn’t leave bruises. He may be the bravest man she ever met.

“I think I’m willing to risk it,” she whispered huskily as she eased into his arms. It was like coming home.

—

The night passed in a blur of champagne and dancing. Once Killian had her in his arms, he seemed loath to let her go, to the point of glowering at any man who approached. He did allow Liam a dance, and David and Kristoff grudgingly, but he always returned to her side as the final notes of the song played and pulled her into his arms again.

“I thought I agreed to one dance,” she teased, bracing herself one-handed on his shoulder as she tugged off her right shoe and massaged her foot. It was after midnight and the crowd had started to thin now that Liam and Elsa had run through a minefield of bubbles to the limousine that waited to take them to New York City for a mini-honeymoon. “I’m not sure my feet are going to recover.”

“Darling, if you can run down skips in stilettos a couple of dances with your many admirers shouldn’t be a problem,” he pointed out, dragging her out to the dance floor again. Willing to pay any price to continue to be this close to him, she plucked off her other shoe and tossed it gently under a nearby table. He abandoned his normal poise, wrapping his arms around her back and settling her against him in what amounted to little more than a hug. The world faded away as she rested her cheek against his chest.

The slow, romantic song continued to play in the background and he hummed the words as he swayed them gently in time to the music. She felt a tingle start at the base of her spine and work its way through her entire body. She didn’t even bother moving apart to say goodbye to Mary Margaret or Anna when they passed by to let them know they were leaving. When the band started to pack up and the caterers were tearing down tables, she observed quietly against his collar, “I think I ate too much cake.”

“You speak of the impossible,” he murmured into her hair.

“Killian,” she said in a hushed tone.

“Yes, love?”

“Will you take me home?”

Tightening his grip a bit, he answered, “Of course, Swan, but I let Kristoff and Anna borrow my truck so we’ll have to take your car. Where are your keys?”

“No,” she replied with a smile up at him. “To the cottage.”

Eyes widening in understanding, he asked, “Are you sure? There will be no coming back from this. No more running away, no more secrets. There’ll be no getting rid of me.” He waited patiently, his face inches from hers. She thought she detected the hint of a smile forming.

“I’m ready if you are,” she promised as she went up on tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

With a predatory grin, he deepened the kiss and before she knew what he was about, she was upended over his shoulder with her eyes having a very nice view of his lower back and beyond. “Let’s sail away, love.”

Shrieking over his laughter, she asked, “What in the world are you doing?”

“I can’t have you trudging through the mud and muck in your bare feet, Swan,” he explained with a fond pat on her bottom. She felt him glide through the tent and buried her face in her hands when she heard him say good night to several of the staff as they passed by.

“And you couldn’t carry me like a normal person?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Too caught up in muttering promises of revenge, she didn’t realize they were at the porch until he gently lowered her to the floor. “There you are, my lady. Safe passage to the front door.”

They were eye level with each other since he was standing on the stair below her. The blue gleam of his gaze was unearthly. His mouth was curved in a playful smile but she could tell he was nervous. She thought he was probably afraid she would run again and realized that he stopped there for a reason, as if he wanted her to commit to this and move inside on her own two feet. Taking his face in her hands, she stared at him and hoped he could see everything she was feeling. “I’m sorry. For a lot of things, really. Most of all, I’m sorry if I made you doubt me, doubt this. I’ve wanted you since before we even met.”

“I never doubted you, Swan. Not for a moment. But you are an impossible woman sometimes,” he whispered, twisting his face to press his lips to her palm.

Stepping away from him, she reached out and let her hand trail slowly down his chest. With a saucy smile, she opened the door and backed into the living room. To her surprise, he didn’t trip over himself trying to get to her, rather he followed her inside and braced against the closed door, seemingly content to drink in the sight of her.

“I’ve dreamed of you every night since you left,” he admitted, hunger in his voice. “There were times I nearly got in my truck and drove to the loft.”

At this, he moved closer. His eyes never wavered from hers. She felt as though she had lost the ability to speak. He was the only person who could do this to her with nothing more than a look. He was standing so close she could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the champagne on his breath but he didn’t touch her. Instead, he leaned in and murmured, “Tell me, love, would you have let me in?”

When she did nothing but shiver, he continued, “If I had gotten down on my knees and begged, would you have opened your door?”

His lips skimmed softly over her cheeks, then forehead, then her chin. Fleeting caresses that felt like gossamer against her heated skin. “If I had promised to be your devoted subject and do your bidding always, would you have allowed me to share your bed?”

“Need I remind you what happened the last time you took your time,” she teased, her head light with desire. She had never felt like this before, this swirling, chaotic emotion that caused her to tremble. “Please.”

“Please what, darling?”

“Seal the deal,” she joked weakly, biting her bottom lip as she fought against the force of the passion that rocked her.

“You do have a way with words,” he teased. “I’m afraid the deal was sealed the minute we laid eyes on each other. Perhaps even before then. Fate hasn’t always been kind to me, love, but I’ll pay whatever price is needed a thousand times over to ensure that for the rest of our lives you continue to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”

With a whimper, she gave in to temptation and closed the distance between them. The magic he weaved with his honeyed tone and bewitching words was nothing compared to how it felt when he reached down to pick her up and wrapped her legs around his waist. Without breaking their kiss, he carried her to the bedroom where he proceeded to show her how much he meant every single thing he said.

—

They didn’t leave the cottage for two days and she was certain there was not a surface that wasn’t put to good use during that time. It was as if the outside world no longer existed and Emma was happily ensconced in some odd alternative universe where she was content and loved.

Eventually she emerged long enough to let Mary Margaret know she was still alive, to chat with Henry, to check in on August, and to cancel search plans with Graham. She knew sooner or later she would have to go back to the loft to collect her things if nothing else. Luckily, her slovenly ways and hasty exit from the cottage after their fight had proved useful in one regard. She had left enough of her belongings behind that she wasn’t walking around in her wedding outfit the whole time. It had done strange things to her heart to realize that he had collected all the clothes she left after their argument and neatly folded them, placing them in the top drawer of his bureau.

She noticed other signs of him making room for her in his life and, beyond that, making her feel welcome. Her preferred coffee cup was always clean and ready for her each morning. He had stocked her favorite shampoo in the shower, although how he knew it was her favorite when she never mentioned it she was still trying to figure out. He had added a couple of books to his shelves for her after a late night conversation about classics she had never had the chance to read.

Even when she had left, even when she had pushed him away, he hadn’t retreated. Not entirely. He had merely given her space to figure out what he had probably know all along...that they were good together and that needing someone wasn’t something to be feared.

So it was with some chagrin that she awoke Tuesday morning to find the bed empty. The quiet of the cottage was like a slap in the face after several blissful days of being adored. Even knowing he had to drop Anna and Kristoff off at the airport before meeting a client that morning at the marina, she was still surprised at how lonely it was. She, the woman who prided herself on her independence and self-reliance, was pining for a man after a mere five hours apart.

The wizardry of Killian Jones was limitless.

Looking over at the clock, she realized that yearning was all well and good but breakfast would be better. Taking her time to get showered and dressed, she walked out to the kitchen island to find a vase full of yellow flowers, a package of strawberry poptarts, and a note from her—whatever Killian was to her now—inviting her to join him at the marina when she woke up.

Grabbing a cup of cold coffee to go and the breakfast he left her, she ventured outside for the first time in days to find the sun shining brightly and the temperature pleasantly warm. She hastily ate her breakfast one-handed while driving to the marina with the windows rolled down. There was absolutely no traffic on the road and she pulled into the parking lot convinced that she was the only living soul in the area. Locking her car, she made her way to the last dock where the pirate ship was moored passing only one person on the way, a strikingly familiar redhead that caused her to do a double take.

Staring after the woman, she heard Killian shout. “Swan! I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up.”

Dragging her eyes away from the retreating figure, she faced the man who was responsible for the increasingly frequent smile to be found on her lips. “Never, Dr. Jones.” Climbing aboard, she gave him a quick kiss that he seemed to take as a challenge to extend. “Was that—“

“Ariel?” Killian continued to pepper her face with sweet kisses as if supremely unconcerned that there was a Hollywood starlet wandering around the docks. “Yes, she was the client I was meeting with this morning. The studio sent her to be briefed on pirate lore. I had intended to introduce you but my little Sleeping Beauty couldn’t be bothered to roll out of bed at a decent hour.”

Snickering because they both knew why she needed the extra sleep, she allowed him to pull her into the Captain’s Quarters and promptly make her forget her own name.

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himooonlight · 4 years

Text

who are you? pt. 2 (reggie x reader)

pairing: reggie x reader

word count: 4.8k

plot: you dream about reggie constantly and when you see him perfoming with julie, you decide to ask her about him

warnings: reggie is too cute. that's the warning

A/N: english is not my first language and this is my first fanfic, so please, be nice ok? enjoy :)

you can read part 1 here

- What? How can you know that? - Julie asks, sounding surprised. - No, Luke, I don't know her.

Reggie's gaze is fixed on me. I feel chills rising from my belly to the tips of my ears so I shake my shoulders, trying to get rid of the sensation.

- Alex, don't do that. - Reggie says, looking in my direction. Confused, I turn around looking for Alex, but there is nobody there.

It's amazing how realistic the hologram is. It's almost like I can see the colors of Reggie's eyes clearly, even his pores and freckles. I search for a projector and find nothing, so I decide it's time to stop ignoring my questions. Reggie has already confirmed that he is who I imagined, so it's Julie's turn to clarify what kind of madness is going on.

The acting classes haven't prepared me at all for the moment that I find myself questioning my own sanity.

- Are Alex and Luke part of the band? - I ask to no one in particular. I accept responses from Julie or Reggie. Maybe I prefer Julie, since Reginald is a synonym for craziness in my mind. - Reggie never told me their names.

- Can't you see them?

- No. Are they here too? Why can't I see their hologram as well?

Reggie gives a short sarcastic laugh, something I've never seen him do. Be ironic. That was not as attractive as his easy-going personality, his funny and flirtatious ways and his warm smile. It seemed to clash with his version of my dreams and I wondered if maybe it was all a lie. It could be that I had created that Reggie completely and as much as the happiness I felt for him was not a lie, it could be that he, as the person I loved, did not exist. Still, I wanted to be close to him and be able to love him from up close.

- We are not holograms and I thought you already knew that. - He replied. - No, Alex, it's okay. I can't explain, but I just know she is important. It's natural, just like you can tell when it's time to go to the bathroom, you know?

I look at Julie waiting for her to say something, mainly because I prefer not to think about Reggie's comparison of his feelings with an internal sphincter alerting his brain about his physiological needs.

Julie doesn't seem convinced, but she looks defeated.

- I think we have a lot to explain, but we need time. Can you meet us after class? In the chemistry lab? It's my last class of the day. - She says, looking tired and conflicted. I really don’t want to make her feel that way, but I am already too irritated at the way I handled things before. I'm almost mad at my own personality.

I am basically a shy person. However, there's a lot of different personas within me that can appear depending on who's around me or where I am. The original Y/N, the person I am independently of the environment or how I am with, is irrationally careful. I prefer to observe people, not bother anyone, not speak too loudly if it is not necessary. That's why I am not offended that Julie doesn't know me; because I am unapologetic for my personality - I am not ashamed of not wanting everyone to know my name, no matter how much I like the art that puts me in the spotlight.

Maybe art is different for girls like me and Carrie Wilson, for example. She performs for other people while I do it for myself, to help and express myself. I'm still not sure what kind of person Julie is, possibly a mix of both of us.

- I think I'll spend the rest of the day with... what's your name again? - Reggie says, looking a little more like the version of my dreams.

I was excited before, but now I am just questioning my own decisions. I seemed to have complicated Julie's life and Reggie didn't seem so happy to meet me. The idea that I had created for that moment was certainly better in my head than in real life, because in my imagination Reginald would have explanations for me and would also fall in love easily. I blame it on my overthinking skills and stupid research, because according to what I had read, it was a case of "connection beyond life", not just a series of coincidences and feelings nurtured with patience. Apparently, we were soulmates.

Or it could be that I saw his band somewhere before and created the whole story in my mind. Detailed and with too many specific facts, but it's still a possibility.

For the first time, I don't prefer to believe in the rational explanation. Sometimes it just takes a little bit of madness and magic for things to sound and be better.

- My name is Y/N L/N. - I answer. - But in a dream you called me…

- L/N! - A shout coming from the door interrupts me. Nick is standing there, looking weird. His dark jeans and long black jacket don't seem to match the boy who usually greets me with an excited and happy smile. It's something in his posture and in the way his eyes seem to call for help. He looks uncomfortable. - I waited for you in the cafeteria to help me with math, but you didn't show up.

He doesn't say anything about Reggie, so I assume he disappeared again. I don't know what Julie's trick is, but I don't turn around to check so I don't look crazy.

Nick's features soften unnaturally. He seems to be practicing some theatrical exercise, considering that his mouth forms and deforms a smile every second, imitating a broken doll. His eyes are on Julie, as if expecting a reaction from her and I wonder if he's using me to try to make her jealous. Which clearly wouldn't do any good. People don't even associate my name with his; everyone knows that I am only his tutor. And to me he is almost like a distant younger cousin.

- Sorry, Julie was helping me with a song. - I lie, smiling weakly at him and adjusting my backpack. I don't like to lie because I'm bad at it, but we're not close enough for me to feel bad or anything. The actress persona helps at times like this. - But now I have to go to my next class. Thanks for the help, Julie. Tomorrow at lunch I'll help you, Nick. I'm really sorry, I completely forgot about it.

I nod at her and widen my eyes when I see Reggie standing beside me. I turn completely to Nick and he doesn't show any reaction, so I just keep walking outside with Reggie by my side, looking at me with a funny look on his face. He walks sideways and I can't help but smile at the feeling of him so close to me.

In order not to look crazy, I search my pockets for earphones and grab a script from the last play we worked on. I pretend to train lines while talking to him.

- Nobody can see you. This is too weird. Shouldn't you be a hologram? - I ask, looking ahead and speaking quietly. There aren't many students in the hallways yet because there are still a few minutes before class starts, but I need to be discreet anyway. - Why can I see you then?

In a wider step, he stops in front of me and starts walking backwards. I can look him in the eyes while I feel butterflies in my stomach. With his attention on me, I seem to have an entire zoo inside my stomach wanting to express how I feel about him.

- I'm not a hologram. - He answers. - Do you know what happens to people when they die?

- They turn to dust? - I try. Reggie ponders, but nods no. - They turn into stars?

He laughs. In a precious way that seems to heal any pain I may feel.

He laughs. And time seems to stop.

Seeing his smile and his happiness in front of me makes me want to physically express what I feel, so before I can think about it, my arms reach up to hug him. In slowmotion, I see Reggie close his eyes and smile, as if waiting for my arms to wrap around him, as if he also wants a physical confirmation of affection. His cute dimples appear and I imagine that I, standing alone in the hall, look like an idiot.

My arms go through him, so I pretend I'm stretching.

- I wish I could feel you. - He speaks. His tone breaks my heart even when I thought it was not possible to feel more disappointmented.

I don't know what to say to him, so I don't say anything. It was natural in my dreams to walk hand in hand, touch his nose with mine, hug him and feel the warmth emanating from his body. Both dreams, as a man and in the recent ones as myself: I always knew that Reginald was there. As much as dreams were not part of physical reality, I seemed to really feel him, so I made an effort to demonstrate how happy he made me feel. And he also didn't hold back, always expressing with his body that he was there; either touching my hair, playing with my fingers, bumping his shoulders against mine, anything. I didn't understand how frustrating it could be to not be able to touch him until this moment. When this simple verb is all I desire.

To touch him.

But he is dead.

I'm in love with a ghost that lived in my dreams.

The two of us, defeated and without exchanging another word, get to the auditorium quickly. The door is open, but there is no one inside. We enter in silence and sit in the back. The comfortable black chairs and the maroon carpet are about to witness my madness when he sits beside me and puts his hand on mine. He stares at his fingers with intensity, making a vein in his neck pop a little. I can't help looking at him without reservations, mentally writing down his details. The way his face is triangular, his pink cheeks and his adorable asymmetrical nose. His lips are slightly parted and his hair looks so soft and inviting to the touch. I only look away from his face when I feel a light weight on my skin.

He is touching my hand in a timid and almost imperceptible way. Shocked, I look at the position of our fingers, feeling hope run through my body. The intoxicating and numbing hope.

Hope that he can be real.

- I can hold a few things when I focus. - Reggie doesn't look able to focus on more than one thing at the same time though. - And with you I have difficulty focusing, to be honest.

With that comment, I can't help but smile. My shock is exchanged with happiness to know that I'm not feeling all these beautiful feelings alone. That I'm not by myself, trying to understand the bad ones either.

- Are you a ghost, Reggie? - The question rolls off my tongue with difficulty. It doesn't sound like a question; it's more of a statement. He confirms my assumption and I can taste the bad flavor that hope can give. It's a taste of disappointment, sadness, resentment. - And I am your unfinished business, hum? What does that mean?

- I'm not sure what I need to do, but I know it involves you. At least I think so. And even if you don't feel the same way, you can see me, but not Alex and Luke. Until now, I thought we had unfinished business together, but maybe each one of us has separate things that we need to take care of. - His touch disappears and I miss him. I can't feel him anymore, but the weight of his words certainly make up for it. - We need to find out what's our deal.

"Our deal". So romantic.

Before I can answer, the teacher arrives with a group of students behind him. I wave at them and get up, sitting in the third row. I like to be close, but not too close. That way I have some space to ponder about wanting to participate or just keep watching.

- Y/N. - Reggie calls. I can't say anything with so many people around, so I decide to ignore him. Mr. Ortega, the teacher, looks excited. We will start discussing the characters for the next play and he will probably comment on contributions to the story. - L/N. Darling. Cutie. - I still don't answer, but I can't help smiling. Listening to those things really feels like he's the Reggie from my dreams. - Pumpkin. Precious little nugget.

My attention remains focused on the teacher, who decides to sit on the edge of the stage. He pushes himself up with his arms and turns his torso to land correctly where he wants to. It's amazing how most of the theater people seem to express themselves naturally, as if they can float. Most of my classmates also look like this, as if they don't overthink anything. What they wear, how they speak, their hand movements; everything is fluid. It's intriguing how different people can be.

I assume I can be wrong too. Maybe the teacher thought long before he sitted there, maybe he thought about it over lunch. Maybe my classmates are nervous to answer simple questions, maybe even Carrie has her doubts about herself. People are also intriguing because you can never tell what's on their mind, how they truly feel, what's honest and what's just mean lies.

Most days I'm fine not knowing though.

- If you don't answer me, I'll be mean. - The teacher starts talking about our choice between a musical or an immersive play (that he sounds very excited about). - You leave me no choice, Y/N. Hey, bowl of cereal that's been sitting out for like an hour. Tiny wet socks.

He needs to stop before I start laughing while the teacher talks about his love for immersive theater. I look in his direction as if begging for him to stop, but Reggie sees it as an incentive.

I couldn't have created his personality. Not in my dreams nor in real life. Reggie is interesting, quirky and too adorable for me to have invented him. My imagination is not so fertile as to be able to come up with a person as engaging as him. But it is no comfort to know that he is a ghost, that there is no chance that my dreams could come true.

I was basically stuck on a roller coaster that I didn't want to go on. It was like I was at the top, happy to see the whole park and sad to know that I was going to fall soon. Ruthlessly, with the possibility of getting sick on the way, sure. Still there was no possibility of leaving or regretting being there. There was just the option of going forward knowing I couldn't be the same as I was before I saw the park from up there.

- Rainy day. - He continues. I take a pen out of my backpack and flip the script over, writing a "stop it" in block letters. - Do you need to pay attention in this class?

I look at the teacher, who continues to talk excitedly about our options for the play, and write "you've got 5 minutes", to which he responds by jumping in his seat. I keep looking ahead, but pay attention to what he says, leaving my palm facing up. He sees it as an invitation and leaves his hand over mine, without touching it. Reggie begins to tell a story of when he went to a kennel and saw a puppy named Y/N and wanted to adopt the little animal, but he found out in the worst way that he was allergic. He said he didn't care. Then he told me that he liked my perfume and that it reminded him of spring. And that he missed being alive. I write a "I can't smell you; what do you smell like?", which he reads quickly. He takes his wrist up to his nose and smells it.

- I think I smell like autumn. - He shrugs. - I'll let you pay attention now. See you with Julie later, okay? Have a good rest of the day.

Reggie leans over, like he's going to kiss me on the cheek. He did that in my dreams too many times, whenever he said hi or goodbye. It had started with a conversation about different cultures and ended with a promise to travel together - just words thrown in the wind. I remember waking up sad to know it would never happen. With him so close now, I can only hold my breath and hope he can kiss me.

- Sorry. - He says, walking away before we can find out how his lips would feel on my skin in real life. He disappears before I can say goodbye.

I am spring, he is autumn. Opposite seasons that will never exist at the same time in the same place. Both important, intense and simply different; both loved. It's still very bittersweet that such beautiful feelings can't blossom together; because when I bloom, he dies, just like autumn leaves.

The rest of the class is focused on the choice of the play and I try my best to pay attention, but it's difficult to think of anything other than Reginald. I can only focus on something else when I am in the last class of the day and Nick sits next to me. It's math and I assume he's going to ask for help with his homework, but he starts the conversation questioning my relationship with Julie. His tone is not subtle curiosity, but more like someone who is going to ask for a favor.

- I really just wanted to ask something about a song that I thought would be good for our next play. - I try to sound chill about it, but the way Nick looks at me makes me anxious. He's different, acting like he's playing a part I don't know about. I don't know much about him to bet on it, but I believe I am good enough at reading people to know that there is something strange about him today. - But is there anything I can help you with? I thought you were going to see her on Saturday. You did go to her house, right?

He smiles at me and a shiver runs down my spine.

- Yes, I went to her house. I just wanted to know if you guys talked about me.

I answer a simple "no" and let my brain interpret his words and actions. His posture is too upright and there is an air of superiority in the way he moves. His body language looks different. He seems to feel like he is better than everyone and I never took Nick as pretentious.

He starts to draw something that I don't really identify at first, but I soon recognize the tarot card number one.

The Magician.

The man in his drawing has one arm up and the other is pointing down, representing the magician's connection between the spiritual realms and the material realms. I can only tell this is the Magician card because of the four elements Nick draws on the paper: a cup, a pentacle, a sword and a wand. It symbolizes the four elements water, earth, air and fire, meaning that the magician has it all.

Nick takes his time to draw the flowers and foliage around the magician, which makes me think that he believes that this person or feeling is very creative and clever. At least, that's the original meaning for the card. The boy also draws the infinite symbol above the head and when I think he's about to finish the drawing with the snake around the magician's waist, he stops.

It's incomplete.

The infinity symbol and the snake mean access to unlimited potential. Maybe Nick's magician doesn't feel so powerful. Maybe there's something holding him back.

- Sneaky, huh?

His voice is firm and low. He doesn't sound mad or surprised that I was in fact watching him. He sounds superior, like he is trying to tease me.

- Sorry.

I can't focus on the rest of the class because it seems that as much as Nick's head is turned forward, towards where the teacher is, it seems like he's paying attention to every move I make. How I hold the pen, how I breathe, how I write. It's nerve wracking.

When the class is over and Nick leaves, I think about his drawing and notice a detail that I hadn't paid attention to before. Nick's quick fingers painting the magician's robe.

It's a black robe. Nick's magician has a black robe.

It's never a black essentially, because it's supposed to be white, alluding to purity.

- Ready to go? - Reggie's head appears on the door. I pack the rest of my things and say goodbye to the teacher. She smiles at me, not knowing I'm about to speak to the dead.

We really never know what's going on in someone's life.

I take out my phone and put it close to my ear so I can "talk" to Reggie. My classroom is in the same corridor as the chemistry lab, but at opposite extremes. Because it's a big school, we have about 5 minutes to get there, especially with the slow pace he and I take. The boy smiles and does the same as before, walking backwards in front of me, so that we can talk looking at each other. I like that he also likes to look at me.

- Tell me some of your stories. - He asks.

Testing the waters, I tell him the same story I told a few days ago, in my dreams.

- My mom once ordered two pizzas from different places because she had coupons. The two delivery guys arrived at our door together and one of them started singing "why can't we be friends" in a very funny way, but the other didn't like it very much. In the end I'm sure they exchanged numbers. Too much tension in the air, you know?

- I can only imagine their faces. - Reggie replies. - But that's very smart of your mom. She sounds nice.

- She is very cool. My dad is very funny and my older sister is… well, older. She is grumpy most of the time, but she has a good heart. Do you miss your family?

I would miss mine for sure. I only have my mother, my father and my sister; the rest of the family decided not to accept my sister's girlfriend, which made the four of us form our own independent clan. No aunt, no grandfather, no cousin. Nobody else; we could only trust ourselves. As much as holidays like Christmas could make us smile fakely and reduce our lifespan a little with boring conversations, at the end of the day it is the four of us against the world. A cruel world that did not accept my sister for who she loved, which was stupid.

- Yeah, a little. My parents didn't love each other anymore, but they were still my parents, right? It doesn't matter that they were a couple first.

- And they will never stop being your parents. They can split, but even now, they're still your parents, Reggie. - He smiles sadly at me. - Don't you wanna see them?

We stop for a while in the middle of the hallway. There aren't many students because most of them have already headed to the exit. I put my phone back in my pocket so I can extend my hand to him. Every contact needs to come from him, because no matter how much I focus, I can't meet him halfway. He has to go all the way by himself. He reads my intentions quickly and imitates me, holding his palm up. I can feel the pressure of his hand against mine and his timid warmth. His thumb gets between my thumb and pointing finger, almost intertwining our hands. His pinky is almost circling mine in a half hug. I stare at his eyes with love and adoration, hoping I'm interpreting right and he is indeed doing the same.

He must be focusing a lot for this to happen.

- Would you help me find them? - He asks.

Reggie doesn't know, but with his hands on mine I'd say yes to anything and everything.

- Of course! We'll find them.

He starts walking again and I quickly put my hand down.

- Thank you. But now, tell me: - His smile makes me smile too. I'm glad this version of him is very happy all the time. - did it hurt?

- Let me guess. When I fell from heaven?

- No.

- What?

- Did it hurt when you fell for me?

I roll my eyes and walk faster, passing him to get to the classroom before I can say that yes, it hurted. A lot. Falling for him was oh so sweet, but also hurtful.

Loving him made me realize that distraction and destruction sound awfully alike and sometimes you don't understand which one it is. Distraction, destruction; both, none.

What started as a way to feel more excited about life and its possibilities turned into something more, something bigger that I couldn't explain. In the beginning the dreams were entertaining, interesting. Just emotions not really related to me as a person. It was more about sensations, experiences. But soon enough I was thinking about him when I got up too, not just before going to sleep.

- Hey, Y/N. - Julie says as soon as I see her exiting the classroom. She's with Flynn, who probably knows everything by now. She smiles and waves at me. I wave back and Reggie does too, like the fool he is. - Do you want to go to my house? You can stay for dinner too, if you want.

- I'll check with my sister. If I know her at all, she'll take me to your house and check with your dad if he's fine with everything. Is it ok?

- Sure! - Julie answers. - Is she going to pick you up here?

- Yeah. She'll be here any minute actually. You can text me your address and I'll meet you there.

She hands me her phone and I add my number saved under "Y/N (who's very sorry about everything)". They wave goodbye while Reggie stays by my side.

- I'll see you in a bit, right?

He sounds unsure and I wonder if anyone would ever be stupid enough to leave him. His puppy eyes are too much for me to handle, so I start walking to the parking lot, where my sister usually waits for me. He follows me.

- Of course. Even if my sister says no, I will text Julie and we will figure something out. - That would be the moment that I would give his hand a squeeze, just to make sure he knows I mean it. - Don't worry, okay?

- I'm not worried. I have this feeling I'll always find you, so it's alright. - Before disappearing, he winks at me. - See you later, alligator.

I'm still smiling when I spot Daisy's car and get in. My sister looks at me with her eyes half closed, silently questioning what happened for me to be in such a good mood.

- Okay, I have boy problems. - I say. She doesn't drive, so she can still stare at me. - Big ones.

- Like "his dead body is too big to hide" or "you like him" problems?

- I like him.

- It's a shame then. I could've helped you with the other one. - She starts driving and misses the way I roll my eyes at her answer. - Why is it a problem though?

- Oh, it's simple. He doesn't exist.

- Too many fanfictions, huh?

- Something like that. - I shrug. - Can you take me to a friends house? I'd like to talk to her about my boy problems.

As we drive to Julie's house, I wonder why I'd be Reggie's unfinished business and if I'll ever be able to meet him halfway, because we do share the same feeling, even though I didn't say anything to him before.

I also feel like I would always find him.

Doesn't matter when or where, I'd always find Reggie.

#reggie x reader #reggie x y/n #reggie fanfic #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms fanfic #jatp fanfic #jatp #reggie jatp #reggie #juke fanfic #julie and luke fanfic #julie molina #luke patterson #alex and willie #fanfic #fanfic reader #fluff #fanfic fluff

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lilyswrittenworks · 4 years

Text

Intimacy

Pairing: Husband Optimus Prime x Wife Reader

Rating: PG & contains fluffy moments!

(1,982 Words)

~~~~~

Tonight, the moon shone down with such brilliance along with the stars that adorned the cloudless sky. The asphalt road was illuminated from the truck's headlights and there were no other vehicles in sight. Watching with heavy eyelids as the scenery changed from being surrounded by buildings until it was replaced by various tropical trees.

It was the first week of summer which meant that the restaurants around town would be packed, and I was right. Today was supposed to be like any other Wednesday which meant that it would be a much slower day than the rest. However, the place was filled to the brim with people that by the end of my shift I was utterly exhausted.

Since I work almost late at night as a waitress and a bartender at the same time was not an easy task. My extroverted self could only take so much interaction at a time that by the end of the day I simply can’t function, conversation wise. Let’s not forget about the sleepless nights that I’d have to endure on some occasions, especially when it was a large event, like New Year's Eve. It’s a good thing that my husband is almost always the one to pick me up whenever I worked overtime.

With my shoulders slumped from exhaustion as my eyes were staring aimlessly through the tinted windows of the blue and red costumed semi-trailer truck. I involuntarily hummed tiredly and then rested my temple on the window. The soothing sound of the truck's engine made me close my eyes and was slowly falling asleep.

“You mustn't sleep just yet.” His baritone voice had roused me from my short-lived sleep haven.

My half-lidded brown eyes landed on the radio where his voice emanated from. “But Optimuuuus,” I drawled out his name playfully. “I want to sleeeeep.”

“You can recharge after we return home, Sweetspark.” He gently reminded me and moved his rearview mirror to look at me.

I let out a soft whine at the rearview mirror and then subconsciously traced the soft padding of his upholster with my thumb. This small action caused the interior of his cabin to shiver. It had been almost twenty-five minutes since our short conversation, and I remained awake until he had arrived just outside the gate. Right as I was about to open the door when suddenly I was held back by the seat belt which had tightened around me.

“Ah-ah, no need. I will be opening the gate.”

I turned to see Optimus’s holomatter materialize into existence. There sat a middle aged, well-built man with a full-on trucker beard with hair that was somewhat slicked back. He had on a red and black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and wore a pair of dark slim pants. I watched in silence as he exited out of the vehicle with the spare keys in hand and opened the gate manually.

Since Optimus and I couldn’t afford to get an automatic gate it was best to have a manual one until we could afford to get one. Yes, Optimus works too, even though I told him on multiple occasions that I could easily handle our income. Yet, he simply refused and got a job as a—you guessed it—a truck driver!

Once his alt mode was on the other side, his holomatter closed the gate and then entered the semi. From there he drove for another mile down the gravel road until he parked right beside the house. Just as I unbuckled the seat belt Optimus had already opened the door for me in his holomatter.

I smiled at him gratefully and exited out of the costumed semi-trailer truck. As soon as my feet touched the ground I was greeted by the dull pain on the soles of my feet.

“Coño… my feet are killing me!” I murmured tiredly and then swung my purse over my shoulder with a huff.

“Busy day?” Optimus inquired curiously as he shut the passenger door.

“Yeah... one moment I was attending three tables and the next thing I knew the place was absolutely flooded with people! It was chaotic to say the least.” I then brushed my fingers through my short hair and gently grabbed a strand of it to stare at. It had been dyed dark red recently since my brown roots were already growing out and I don’t plan on showing off my real hair color anytime soon.

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt his arm wrap around my waist. I tilted my head up to see Optimus staring down at me and he easily towered over me. Being five foot four next to a six-foot hunk and I only reached just below his broad shoulders.

It was so unfair to be this small.

Soon we made our way up the front porch and there were two porch lamps already lit and then entered inside our cozy little log cabin. I flipped on the light switch and then hung my purse on the coat rack that was embedded on the wooden wall. Our coat rack was filled to the brim with our jackets, keys, and a little box filled with our mails. We got a second one for guests only and it literally had a single cowboy hat on the top that may belong to Optimus.

“What time is it?” I asked before slipping out of my shoes and immediately felt relieved to have them off.

Optimus looked down at his wristwatch. “Past one.”

I hummed softly to myself and then turned to give him a hug which he reciprocated. “I’ll be taking a bath since I practically reek of alcohol.” Then went on my tiptoes to give him a quick peck on his lips. “Join me, will you? ~”

Without giving him time to react I scurried off into our master bedroom and was beginning to prepare the bath. I made sure the water wasn’t too hot before adding a blue bath bomb, which smelled like blueberries, and then proceeded to slosh it around to get that nice bubbly effect. Satisfied with the amount of bubbles on the surface, I then proceeded to strip down, throwing the dirty clothes into the basket and then entered the tub. Right as I sunk down into the warm water Optimus had walked in.

I watched as he began to peel off his clothes and was admiring his physique without him noticing. No matter how many times I've seen him undress, I still can't get over the fact at how handsome he looked. Even if he was in his bipedal form, he is still the sexiest man.

There was a smile that I couldn’t contain and then laid back on the bathtub where my gaze met the bathroom ceiling. It wasn’t long before the water shifted below my legs and glanced down to see Optimus staring at me.

“Take a picture, it'll last longer.” I playfully said which got a light chuckle from him.

The bathtub we laid in was a decent size to fit two people, it was wide enough for Optimus to fit in considering his height. The closeness we shared at this moment was pleasant, even calming whenever we bathed together. I then lowered my legs and intertwined them with his which he didn’t mind, in fact, he enjoyed the tangled mess with our legs.

“When was the last time we bathed together?” I blurted out with my head resting back against the tub.

Optimus sat back and allowed his arms to rest on the rim. “Given our hectic schedule, I believe it was one earth month ago.”

“Huh, it honestly feels like forever...” He was right. We have been so busy with our jobs that we rarely had enough time to spend quality time together. The only times we ever get to do so is when we’re getting ready for bed. Lately, I’ve been missing every little moment we shared, from his gentle kisses, our odd conversations, but most of all, it was his overall touch against my tanned skin is what I craved the most.

While he was relaxing, I took this opportunity to move and lay right beside him where he then draped his arm on to my waist. His muscles were firm to the touch and there was white froth sticking to his skin from the bath bomb I added. There were also faint traces of old battle scars on his skin, some were more prominent than others. He explained it before to me, whenever his cybertronian self would take damage it would then manifest on to his holomatter.

My eyes drifted onto his chest and there was a vertical scar which stuck out the most to me. It was located where his heart was. I went and traced my fingers across the scar with curiosity and wondered how he got it in the first place.

“Optimus?” A hum rumbled through his chest. “How did you get this scar?”

He raised his head and looked down to see me tracing the scar. “A friend whom I considered a brother did this to me… which resulted in my immediate demise.”

My fingers stopped stroking the scar and a frown had formed on my face. The thought of seeing his lifeless body plagued my thoughts and this made me feel emotional. I attempted to swallow down the lump forming in my throat but that didn’t stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks. Optimus noticed this and gently positioned me on top of him where he proceeded to cradle me close to him.

This is the one thing I absolutely hated about myself: it was being overly sensitive. Thinking back, I had always been the typical shy girl during my school years. Which meant that I was prone to getting bullied constantly. I was an easy target for them, and I didn’t fight back. The bullies back then were never physical in their assault; however, it was their hurtful words that struck the most. Eventually when I was in high school the bullying had been toned down significantly. Although that didn’t change me being an overly sensitive person… and for the silliest of things too.

“I’m sorry for getting emotional.” My voice was muffled against his chest and then felt him kissing the top of my head.

“You needn’t apologize for yourself.” He gently caressed my back, feeling the warmth of my breath prickling his skin.

“You’re too kind for me.” I whined and raised my gaze to meet his azure eyes. That’s when he leaned forward to kiss my forehead.

“How can I be a good husband if I don’t treat my wife well, hm?” He inquired thoughtfully a sudden glint flashing across those beautiful eyes of his before he closed the gap between us.

Our lips connected and instantly melted into his lips. His kisses were gentle and held so much love behind them that it made my heart soar in delight. As we parted from the kiss, we then stared into each other for what felt like forever. I reached out to rest my hand on the side of his cheek to which he leaned into my touch and then kissed the palm of my hand. How do I deserve such a wonderful husband? Even after we married, he still treated me like he did when we first met. Using his actions instead of his words to prove to me how much he truly loved me. The mere reminiscent of it made my emotions swell again, except this time it was from pure bliss.

“I love you so much.” There were already tears streaming down my cheeks except this time I had a smile on my face. Optimus smiled down at me and then lowered his head where his forehead rested against mine.

“And I love you, Sweetspark, to the moon and back.”

#optimus prime x reader #reader insert #transformers the last knight #husband optimus prime x wife reader #short story #fluff #fanfiction #transformers bayverse

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ohokimdumb · 4 years

Text

Carlos Oliveira Imagine (Deep Sadness) 😥💔

WARNING: This imagine mentions: depression, If you are not comfortable reading these topics, please read at your own risk.

Request: Hi, I really love the way you write, it's enjoyable... Keep up the good work and I hope you first take care of yourself before you take requests. Here is my request : How would Carlos react to a S.O that is hiding her sadness but around other people even Carlos, she acts fun, enjoying life, makes other laugh and always helps other feel better? And maybe a short scenario where Carlos realizes that even he at some point was comforted by his S.O but feels guilty about how she actually feels inside.

Word count: 1.2k

Everyday it got more difficult getting out of bed. Even when Carlos woke you up with a fresh cup of coffee, eggs, toast, and a loving kiss…you still felt empty. Honestly, you weren’t sure why you were so unhappy. You had everything you wanted. The perfect boyfriend cuddled with you every night. Supportive friends overloaded you with messages every day, and yet…it wasn’t enough.

You sat in bed in a deep silence and examined your surroundings. Everything felt gray, even though the master bedroom was filled with color. The skin under your eyes itched from dried mascara you didn’t have the motivation to wash off last night. Carlos’ black Champion hoodie was like wearing a tarp. It was way too big for you, but that was why you loved wearing it. It also smelled like him. His hoodie didn’t cure your sadness while he was at work, but it tamed your dark temptations. Sun began to slowly shine through the thin curtains. You counted down the seconds for Carlos to walk in the bedroom with your breakfast on a tray. For some reason you felt guilty he brought you breakfast every morning. You knew it was out of personal desire, but it didn’t seem worth his time.

The bedroom door creaked open and Carlos quietly walked in with a bright smile on his face. You smiled back; it didn’t feel genuine. A fake smile was better than a bland straight face that would bring him concern.

“Good morning, baby.” Carlos greeted you. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled your nostrils. He set the tray next to you, but you weren’t interested in eating. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, you didn’t feel hungry. Your body certainly needed the nutrition, but it never told you when you were hungry. It felt like your body was shutting down and didn’t know how to properly use basic functions.

“Morning.” You respond in a bland tone that caused Carlos to casually frown. He sat at the edge of the bed and gently rubbed your ankle. You could tell he was starting to catch on. It only took him a week to even slightly notice your struggles. It wasn’t his fault. Hiding how you felt was a professional skill you held close to your heart.

“How have you been feeling lately?” He asked cautiously. Carlos wasn’t too sure if he was invading your privacy, even though he had a right to ask about your mental health. He cared so much and the last thing he wanted was you to feel pain, no matter what shape or form. You remained silent. Ignoring him while he was directly in front of you was just cruel, so you sat up and looked in his eyes. You felt too tired to speak; as if you forgot how to use words. Instead, you shrugged. It felt like you were going to fall apart then and there, in front of him. You felt pathetic and weak. You didn’t ask to feel that way, you didn’t beg to fall in a deep depression for no specific reason.

“You’ve been distant, we’re all worried. Your friends have been constantly calling me to see if you’re okay. Isolating yourself isn’t healthy, y/n.” Carlos brought his hand back from your ankle and looked down.

“I know I haven’t been the best. I’ve been busy with work and I haven’t had much time to spend with you. I want to help you, but I don’t know how.” Carlos twiddled his thumbs as he glanced over at you. His breath hitched as it grew uneven; he was forcefully holding back tears. He felt horrible. He had been so oblivious to your emotional state. He had then realized how sad you were, and still struggled to understand why. Carlos understood loneliness; the fear of the deep pit of hopelessness to never have someone. Pure unmixed depression was something he never felt. You rarely saw Carlos cry. He had always been your rock, and you his. Now that you weren’t strong for him or yourself, he was falling apart.

“I’m so sorry for being a terrible boyfriend. It wasn’t my intention.” Carlos stuttered as he apologized to you. He tried to pull himself together; if he wasn’t strong, then there was no hope of you getting better. But it hurt him knowing you were in so much pain.

“It’s not your fault.” You took a hold of his hand and squeezed tightly. Carlos looked up at you, a tear ran down his cheek. The South-American looked so vulnerable in front of you; something so unfamiliar, but relieving. Carlos could never know how much you loved him; he was everything you ever wanted. You cupped his face in your hands and pressed your forehead against his.

“I don’t know why I’m so sad.” You admitted. You didn’t want Carlos to think bad of himself for even a second. Tears began to well-up in your eyes as your heart pounded in your chest.

“I’m so lost…” You viciously cried in the crook of Carlos’ warm neck. His expensive cologne filled your nose when you breathed in deeply. Carlos wrapped his strong arms around your body and pulled you into his lap; you were light as a feather to him. You curled up in his lap as Carlos held you tight.

“Shh…” Carlos lovingly ran his hand through your hair. He never failed to comfort you. No matter what he did, whether it was holding you, playing with your hair, or sitting in silence…the sadness faded away for a short time. You seemed to quickly calm down in Carlos’ embrace. The two of you had a deeper connection than most. Carlos found you at his lowest point in life; a servant for Umbrella.

“What do you say we go to the park for a walk. I promise I won’t make you do cardio with me today.” A smile curled on his lips as his tears dried; his emotional strength had returned.

“Can we pig out after?” You asked as you fluttered your eyelashes, hoping to win him over with a cuteness overload. You chuckled and poked your nose with his.

“Anything to make you happy.” You sat up a little bit; you hung onto his neck with one arm. He leaned in, knowing exactly what you wanted. Your heart fluttered in the best way possible as Carlos’ soft lips connected with yours. Carlos immediately deepened the kiss as he slipped his tongue between your lips. A giggle escaped your lips as Carlos grew playful with you.

Even though your sadness seemed to evaporate in thin air, you knew it wouldn’t last forever. But that was why you had Carlos in your life, not only to love and cherish, but to have him support you through thick and thin. It would take some time to get back on your feet emotionally, but Carlos had proven he was patient and more than willing to hold your hand through your struggles.

Carlos kissed each of your hands and helped you out of bed. He looked you up and down, examining every part of your body.

“I think you look more than perfect.” Carlos planted one last gentle kiss on your cheek; your cheeks flushed a bright pink. There was nothing more perfect than Carlos showering you with affection. He admired how his massive hoodie hung from your shoulders; he fell in love over and over again every time you wore a piece of his wardrobe.

#carlos oliveira #carlos oliveira imagine #carlos oliveira x reader

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cloudywriter · 4 years

Text

i never got to say i love you - 1

~~~

A/N: heyy, so i wrote this like a month ago when i was super into reading some modern university au acotar fanfiction & then i even planned out a whole storyline but then i just kinda sat on it. but i like it so i decided i would just put it out there, i can continue it if people actually like it too.

masterlist & AO3

~~~

Feyre walked along the sidewalk leading to one of the dorm buildings of her new school, Velaris University.

Although she was focused on lugging her single suitcase behind her as one of the wheels was broken, she couldn’t help but admire the tall impressive structures that surrounded her. She could hear the trickle of the Sidra river to her right while observing the courtyard adjoining multiple dorm buildings to her left. The courtyard was large and pristine, made of stone, with an abstract silver metal statue which stood erect in the middle loosely resembling an infinity sign. The housing units were situated around it in a semicircle.

A path winded down from the courtyard and back towards the main section of campus, organized there were the various department buildings, the cafeteria, admissions, and so on. Feyre was making her way up said path after she retrieved her student key card from the main office.

She had just transferred from Courts Community College after she finally saved up enough money to afford tuition to VU.

In her senior year of high school, Feyre visited the small city in which Velaris was located, Prythian, with her school on a field trip. It was on that small excursion she fell in love with the Prythian and the university it had to offer. In particular, Feyre loved the huge art district that occupied nearly a quarter of the city.

Her family looked down upon her choice of major, art, they told her time and time again that it was impractical and her success rate in the field was microscopic. However, their comments didn’t deter her, she couldn’t imagine studying business or stem as her father suggested, it simply wasn’t for her. She wanted her life’s work to be doing what she loved even if it came with the risk of struggling financially down the road.

Feyre finally reached the tall double glass doors of the middle building. She grabbed her ID from her jacket pocket and held it up to the scanner. The device beeps three times loudly, flashing a dot of red light. Feyre tries again with the same result. She sighs, did she get a faulty card?

“Turn it around,” a feminine voice suggests from behind her.

Feyre whipped around. There stood a young woman, likely Feyre’s same age. She was breathtakingly pretty with long, bright blonde hair that stopped below her chest and eyes that were a shade darker than honey. She was fairly tall as was Feyre and her demeanor demanded respect. She seemed sure of herself and her looks and capitalized on them.

“The black bar on the back is only good for your dorm room door, to get in the main entrance you have to scan the front of your ID. I know, it’s weird, took me five minutes to figure it out yesterday,” the woman explained.

Feyre gave an appreciative smile and nodded, turning her attention back to the scanner which now responded to her with a flash of green.

“Thank you,” Feyre breathed as she opened the door and held it for the student behind her. The girl strolled through and smiled at her. “It’s no problem.”

Feyre directed her attention to the slip of paper in her hand, failing to remember where it said her room was. Room 223, Level 3. A blonde head peered over her shoulder.

“Room 223? You’re right next door to me!”

Feyre offered her a smile. “Does that mean you’ll show me the way?”

The blonde looked delighted and casually looped her arm through Feyre’s as if they’d been friends for years and led her towards the elevator. This slightly alarmed Feyre, she had never had very many friends let alone pretty girl friends, usually, they weren’t all too kind to Feyre. Despite the fact that her sisters, Nesta and Elain, were rather popular. Nesta easily took on the role of the pretty mean girl, though she wasn’t outwardly mean often. She just radiated the energy and didn’t bother with most people.

Elain, however, was friends with everybody and was sweet to all who crossed paths with her. She had almost everyone in the school wrapped around her finger, though she had no idea; from the boys who tripped over each other to open the door for her and the girls that scrambled to sit near her at lunch.

Feyre did have one redeeming quality in high school, well, redeeming person. Her high school sweetheart was Tamlin Spring, the football team’s star quarterback. He was one of the boys in the school that the girls drooled over constantly, but somehow it was Feyre who caught his eye and it was Feyre he asked to accompany him to homecoming. You’d think this high up connection would earn her some credit but no, the girls still teased her, convincing her it had all been a dare.

Feyre remembers, in a fit of rage and embarrassment, she stomped over to Tamlin’s locker after the last bell and confronted him. It was there he promised her that it was no prank, it was there he first kissed her. Feyre felt like they had clicked until her mother suddenly passed away from an undiagnosed illness, the death leaving an ugly, deep scar carved into Feyre’s and her family’s lives. Feyre’s life took a turn for the worse and with it so did the relationship she shared with Tamlin.

The gentle ding of an elevator door alerted Feyre before she found herself spiraling too deep into her thoughts.

Her leader didn’t seem to notice her brooding state as she took Feyre out and to the right, down a decently sized hall. The floor was mostly white tile with dark blue, almost purple tiles making a design down the middle; the walls were painted a light gray and littered with numerous posters. Feyre didn’t have time to read what all the papers said before the woman stopped outside a wooden door, a plate engraved with the numbers 223 to its left.

“This is your room. I’m just next door in 225.”

Feyre nodded. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” The girl smiled at her and then her face lit up in realization.

“Oh, my gods! I didn’t even introduce myself!”

Feyre let loose a small smile. “I’m Feyre,” she said at last.

To her surprise, the mysterious girl pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, “I’m Morrigan, but I really just go by Mor.” Mor then pulled back, still holding Feyre at arm’s length.

“My roommate is named Vivane by the way. We dyed her hair silver in the bathrooms last night, you can’t miss her. She’s always hanging out with her boyfriend though, so if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to come find me!” Mor offered politely.

“Thank you.” Feyre breathed out a little sigh of relief having found my dorm without too much trouble.

A girl down the hall called Mor’s name, she muttered a quick see you later and disappeared into the herd of students and luggage.

Luckily, Feyre managed to open the door without issue and hauled her suitcase inside. She felt a little silly walking here with such a small amount of stuff, most students had a cart full of their belongings.

Feyre observed the room, the same white tiled floor and light gray walls as the corridor she just exited. It wasn’t ridiculously small, but it would still be a bit of a squeeze. Nothing Feyre wasn’t used to, having shared a room with her two older sisters growing up. A few boxes and bags were already scattered about on the right side of the room. It was clear her roommate had been here and left. She dropped her black, sticker ridden suitcase on the empty bed, plopping down next to it.

Both sides of the room were identical, two tall beds held up by drawers pressed against opposing walls, two nightstands, two narrow desks situated at the ends of each bed, and one decently sized wardrobe, all made of the same light creamy wood tone. Rather flimsy-looking violet plastic chairs were also tucked into the desks.

Feyre began to unpack her clothes into the drawers holding up her bed in an attempt to distract her growing anxiety. She pulled out her bag of art supplies and dropped it on her desk. The bag held a paint set that was on its last leg, paint brushes that were horribly frayed at the ends, both drawing and colored pencils, sad leftover eraser nubs, and her worn leather bound sketchbook.

The door to her room opened up with a click revealing who could only be her roommate standing on the threshold.

She was on the short side and was relatively curvy. Her skin was a tanned brown and she had dark brunette curly hair that was tied up in a loose bun. They both stood observing each other for a second.

“I see you took advantage of the half-off sale at the uni shop too.” She spoke with a smile, gesturing to the identical, oversized VU sweatshirts they were both wearing over black leggings.

Feyre returned her smile and nodded. “I’m Feyre.”

I held out my hand which she took instantly with a squeeze, “Alis.”

Feyre felt a sense of relief in Alis’s presence. She had a gentle, calming, almost motherly aura about her. Alis invited Feyre to join her for an early dinner to get to know each other.

The girls entered into a huge room adorned with the same marble looking tiles and gray paint mixed with pillars of dark brick filling the walls where windows were absent. Two of the walls were almost completely glass letting a vast amount of natural light fill the space. Above them, three huge circular lights hung from the high ceiling. Wooden tables of various sizes and the same shade of violet accent color plastic chairs neatly filled the room. Stretching along two of the walls were a number of booths to grab food.

Feyre and Alis settled on grabbing salads from one called Sabrina’s Kitchen and snatched a table for two near one of the walls of windows. They talked about the usual, their family, where they were from, what they were studying, etc.

Feyre learned that Alis was from the town adjacent to Feyre’s own, Springlee. She used to live there with her sister, her husband, and their two boys. She only left to pursue a degree in education but missed them terribly.

Feyre gave Alis a quick rundown of her own home life, leaving out many details that came with her dysfunctional family and explained she’d transferred after two years at Courts Community, working on an art degree. Alis loved the idea of having an artist as her roommate and insisted Feyre paint pictures to decorate their dorm.

They’d long since finished their salads but continued chatting as the cafeteria began to fill up nearer to dinner time.

“Whoa, whoa. Don’t look now but the hottest group of guys just strolled in,” Alis gasped.

Feyre giggled a little and rolled her eyes, she wasn’t the type of girl to fawn after hot guys anymore with her track record. She did not trust a pretty face. Alis’s eyes were transfixed behind Feyre.

“Would you like me to grab you a napkin to clean up your drool?” Feyre poked at Alis.

Alis playfully swatted her hand away. “Just look at them!”

Feyre huffed and turned around in her seat; she didn’t even need to ask for clarification from Alis it was clear who she was referring too. In one of the lines stood a group of three guys, she could hear them laughing and talking from her seat.

She could only see two of their faces, but that was all she needed. They all had similar shades of black or very dark brown hair and tanned complexions, not to mention how fit they all were. One’s hair was shoulder length and half was pulled back in a bun, the other two had shorter hair cut in rather nondescript styles. Though, the quietest one who had his arms crossed over his chest and only said a few words or offered a small smile every now and then had some curl in locks. The last one had his back turned to Feyre but if his backside and friends were any indication she could only assume he was equally as beautiful.

Noticing Feyre’s prolonged glance, Alis spoke up, “who needs a napkin now?”

Feyre snapped back around and giggled. “Shut up!”

The sheer number of students piling into the room had it near overflowing as Alis and Feyre tore their eyes from the boys and walked back to their dorm.

They sat on their beds and talked for a while more, mostly making up ridiculous ways to find out who those boys were and how to get their attention. Feyre doodled in her sketchbook while Alis suggested they break into admissions in an attempt to get some information on them, that plan quickly fell apart as she realized they’d need to know more than their faces.

Eventually, both girls turn in for the night.

~~~

enjoy, let me know if you want more or not!

#feysand au #feysand fanfiction #feysand fanfic #feyre x rhysand #feyre x rhys fanfic #feyre archeron #morrigan #acotar fanfic #acotar #acotar au #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #cassian #azriel #i never got to say i love you #modern au #fanfiction #feysand

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fisheoctrashdump · 3 years

Text

Holiday

Castor doesn't have a favorite holiday. they celebrate Valentine's Day the most, but that's only because Skylar expects them to go all out for her. Castor likes celebrating other people's birthdays, tho, because they like the attention being on other people. Castor makes big plans for their friend's birthdays :)

Cooking

they don't cook a lot. when they have to get their own food, Castor relies on fast food and ramen. it's not that they can't cook. Castor's actually pretty decent at it. they just have other ways they want to spend their time.

Sleeping

Castor has trouble staying asleep. they usually fall asleep pretty easily, but they wake up constantly throughout the night. as a result, they're always exhausted. they refuse to use sleeping aids, either. Castor consumes a lot of caffeine during the day to make up for it.

when they wake up and can't fall back asleep, sometimes they leave the house to ride for about an hour, but this results in them staying awake for the rest of the night.

Driving

Castor got their driver's license at 16, but got their motorcycle license when they turned 18. they only use their motorcycle now.

Bathing/showering

they usually shower at night while everyone else is asleep. Castor uses coconut scented soaps :3

Hugging

they don't often hug people. Castor is very reluctant to hug someone unless the situation calls for it. the only exception to this is when Cyra wants a hug. Castor loves Cyra's hugs

Kissing

Castor is normally a very passive kisser. they let their partner take the lead. this includes when they start dating people other than Skylar - Castor just lets their other partners do the work when it comes to kissing

Sex

and when it comes to sex. Castor feels more comfortable when their partners take the lead. they have a really high sex drive, but won't initiate even if their life depended on it. it's just how they be.

General physical contact

Castor doesn't like to be touched, in general. the exception to this is once again, Cyra. they'd let her mess with their hair, pat them on the back, whatever she feels like doing. the other exception is Tracy, but it takes a while before they feel comfortable. Castor avoids initiating contact with her as well, because they just feel weird inside when they do.

Physical Appearance

Castor has short black hair with long bangs that covers their left eye. their eyes are yellow, and they have light brown skin like Cyra.

they are 5'7 with a slightly muscular (toned) build

Castor and Cosmos are identical twins, so they look exactly alike.

Wardrobe

Castor is normally wearing their favorite leather jacket

they wear black clothing pretty much always, and studded biker boots are their fav. they have a knife concealed under their clothes at all times for self defense, but this didn't start until the event where they were attacked outside of a bar.

Jewelry

Castor has snake bites, usually with rings instead of studs, a nose bridge piercing, and two eyebrow piercings.

Castor wears chains and studded bracelets occasionally

Nickname

Cyra calls them Cas, and Dia calls them Cassie. Lena calls them Grumpy. (Castor isn't actually grumpy, they just look that way lol)

Dancing

Castor dislikes dancing. they find it more annoying than fun.

Singing

Castor has such a smooth and nice voice. they don't sing often, because it's something they feel weird about. their friends have caught Castor singing a few times, but Castor gets really flustered and denies they were singing at all.

Anger

Castor has a difficult time containing their anger. regardless, they still attempt to put a lid on it and hold it back until their whole body is shaking and they are almost literally seeing red. Castor will eventually work through it (they use their senses to ground themself and breathe through the anger) but if provoked enough, they will explode on someone. Cosmos is normally the one on the receiving end of Castor's anger.

Soft spot

Tracy and Lena.

Dia.

Vincent.

Animals, but cats more specifically. Castor goes out of their way to be around and protect cats. they even help Cyra out at the cafe. Castor has been known to rescue strays and re-home outdoor cats. they sometimes spend several minutes in the cold/heat trying to earn a cat's trust so they can help it.

Cyra.

The color green.

Favorite possession

Their motorcycle. The kandi Tracy has given them.

Favorite photograph

A picture of them with Cosmos when they were little. The two of them were finger painting together, and the picture is of them with colored hand prints on each other's face, their art displayed behind them.

a picture Cyra took of Castor holding newborn Vincent

Another is a picture Castor took while hanging out with Lena and Tracy. they were under an overpass just vibing when Castor decided they wanted a picture with both of them.

Relationship with ___

Cosmos

Castor's relationship with Cosmos is pretty bad at the moment. they constantly feel like Cosmos is looking down on them. it doesn't help that Cosmos never puts any effort into their relationship. they've been fighting since they were about ten years old.

Castor has tried many times to repair their relationship with Cosmos, but every time they do they're met with Cosmos showing disinterest. Castor can only see Cosmos as selfish because of this. Castor has resorted to lashing out at Cosmos and destroying his things because of this. despite Cyra's encouragement to both of them, they both viewed their relationship as irreparable.

this was the case until Cosmos had reason to be worried about Castor's relationship with Skylar, however by this point it was too late. Cosmos showing concern for Castor only made the situation worsen.

Dawson

Castor has no strong feelings for or against Dawson. they have felt loved and supported by Dawson over the years, but Dawson is also obnoxious and bites them so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Cyra

Castor is very close to Cyra. she has comforted them through a lot of breakdowns, and has helped them fix many of their problems. she makes Castor feel important, and always seems to know just what to say to them. Castor would both kill and die for Cyra, and that's not an exaggeration.

Dia

their relationship with Dia was pretty bad until recent years. Castor neglected Dia when she was younger because they were so caught up in their rivalry with Cosmos. needless to say, Castor regrets not being a stronger presence in Dia's life before now. they are currently working to make it up to her.

Tracy

Castor is currently only just starting to realize their romantic feelings for Tracy. they feel most themself when they're with her. Castor's friendship with Tracy has been the most important one in their life so far, because it was their first healthy friendship

Lena

okay, so maybe part of why I pushed these two together is because a trans and enby (one being a triplet and the other being a twin) was just. so much serotonin for me.

but really, Castor feels so close to Lena. they listen to the same music, and they have really similar weird energy. Castor has the most memorable conversations with Lena, and they both encourage their weird hobbies. Castor finds it fun to just sit in the grass with music playing softly and talking to Lena while she's throwing knives.

they've been feeling very lost lately without Lena as a friend (and with the weight of Lena almost losing her life on their shoulders). Castor doesn't know how to fix things with Lena, and they're afraid of losing her for good.

Skylar

Castor is super in love with Skylar. they often make excuses for her behavior because they don't believe she would intentionally want to hurt them. their self esteem issue plays a lot into this, because they usually shift the blame to themself when Skylar blows up on them. the situation with Lena is starting to open Castor's eyes to the possibility that Skylar might not have their best interest in mind, but it's been extremely hard for them to digest. Between the manipulating Skylar has done over the years and the fact that they need to cooperate on caring for Vincent, Castor is scrambling even more desperately to stay blind to her true nature. they are scared of losing her, because they feel in need of her.

Skylar meddling with Castor and Tracy's friendship will be the breaking point, but it will still take Castor a long time to openly admit they need help leaving Skylar.

Karissa

their relationship with Karissa is just out of convenience. neither of them feel especially close to the other, but they do find Karissa fun to hang out with in a group setting.

Certia

Castor and Certia don't interact very often. Certia played a role in connecting Castor with Lena, but she doesn't get involved much after that. Castor doesn't quite understand what Certia sees in Cosmos, but they don't ever discuss their feelings about Cosmos with each other.

Castor also has two other siblings, but because they have zero development, I have no idea what Castor's relationship with them will be like

#castor #hnmp gen3

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

Text

Once Upon a Dream

Pairing: VIXX Leo x Female Reader

Type: One Shot

Genre: Dream!AU, Fantasy

WC: 3K

Warning: None.

Summary: There are people that are deep dreamers. The kind that have the ability to spin their nightmares into something else. So what happens when the Dreamer is apart of someone else's dream?

A/N: This is one of those dream within a dream scenarios. You know? The one where you have a dream - wake up, only to realize your ass is still dreaming? Yeah. I maybe had Shangri-La on repeat one day while I slept.

-----------------------

She always dreamed in bright and vivid colors. Like a rainbow whirled in colors of deep space pulsating nebula. It was always like this, recently, that she could pick out each color blend. Every night as music drifted into her ears, and the calm settled over her mind - this dazzling display always seemed to be waiting.

One night something changed.

She didn't know the why or how of it - but something was different. The landscape of the dream had morphed into something...more. She could always see a tall figure looming ahead. A silhouette made more prominent by the shifting colors of the dreamscape.

She would always see him turn his head, ever so slightly, over his shoulder. It gave her pause after many nights of approaching this figure. Some nights she'd get closer, some nights it seemed as if she was walking in place. The distance between them grew - but she never gave up.

It never crossed her mind as anything but an overactive brain trying to settle after a hard day.

The next night came around and the day had been particularly difficult. Her emotions had swung from each end of the spectrum of good and bad. The stresses of family difficulties weighed heavily that night. She grabbed her earbuds with a heavy sigh. The music streaming app had paused on the last song she hadn't finished before waking for the day.

Music had always been an escape, a way to sway the torrent of emotions that she fought against daily. Music, next to writing, was a saving grace against the mental goblins of depression: a playlist created for each emotion, for the sadness, for the malaise, and the yearning of a lonely heart.

"For once, I just...want to sleep. No dreams." Her fingers curled around her phone as if negotiating with it. Like it held power to determine where her mind would take her tonight. Her fingers sunk into her blanket as she pulled it over her head. The music filtered into her ears as her breathing eased into a soft lull.

She could always remember when deep sleep started. It always started to blur the sound of the music, like she was traveling farther away from the melody. Like the connection between the waking world was playing through a layer of fabric.

Then she opened her eyes. "No." A hushed whisper as she stared up into the 'sky.' The whirling colors of the universe danced in front of her. An arm rose to cover her gaze, hiding from the intense display.

"What took you so long?" A surly voice echoed around her. For all that attitude, he spoke softly. Pushing to sit up, eyes wide, she looked around to find the source.

"You've got to be kidding me." Her gaze lifted upward. Of all the things, the places she could have had dancing through her dreams. Why...

Why HIM?

Draped in silk reflecting the colors above them, he was perched on a rock - staring down at her. "You really should stand up." A brow rose as she continued to stare up at him. The realization caused her to scramble to her feet.

She stared at him for a long moment before closing her eyes. "It's just a dream." An exhale as her hands pushed out in front of her. As if she could move the scowling vision from her sight. There was a swish of sound that tickled her ears before a strong grip caught her wrist.

"Don't do that." The tug was strong enough to throw her off balance. She stumbled forward into him and suddenly began to doubt her sanity. It was a dream.

It WAS a dream.

But, he felt too solid for her liking. "You're not real. I'm exhausted. I'm tired. This is a dream." He pulled her against him, staring down into her wide eyes.

"Is it?" He was so close to her. He was so very close. He was way too close! She wasn't a short woman by any means. He had enough inches on her to make that tilt of his head just enough to put them almost nose to nose.

"Is it a dream?" His breath felt hot against her face, against her cheek. So close to the corner of her lips.

"IT IS A DREAM!?" Her heart was beating furiously. She could feel a lump form in her throat. These physical reactions seemed too much. They were, in fact, too much.

Enough that she pulled away from him and the world seemed to open under her feet. She gasped as she fell into the darkness. The last thing she saw was the sudden darkening of his gaze and a look of silent rage as the muscle ticked in his jaw.

She woke up gasping, sweating, and clutching her blanket to her chest.

It was only 4 a.m.

"Damnit." She hissed finally releasing the tension from her fingers. There was a thump as she slapped the edge of the bed, forcing herself upward. She shook her fingers as she padded toward the kitchen, followed by a trio of worried doggies.

The faucet rumbled as water filled her glass. It was raised to her lips before her gaze settled on the tilted heads of her pets.

"It's fine, guys. I promise." The glass was drained of its contents in almost two swallows. She set the glass in the sink with a sigh. Was it really fine? Another glance to the tilted heads caused her to shake her own.

If animals could speak? She was sure they would tell her - they didn't believe her.

Hell, she didn't believe herself.

She stared at her bed for a few minutes, as if contemplating whether it was worth it to try and sleep any more. "I think I'll just..catch up on some writing." Yeah, that was safe.

This continued for the next few days. She always woke up in that 'realm' greeted by colors and HE was always nearby. No longer a distance silhouette, no longer a mystery. Always waiting, scowling and surly, for her to arrive.

Always getting closer and closer to her. Always seething when she forced herself awake.

Today was no different. The day progressed faster than she realized. Before she knew it? Her phone screen blinked at 7 pm. Her hands stretched upward as her eyelids began to droop. These extended hours weren't new to her, but it had been a while since it had been consecutive in this fashion.

"Ugh. What's the point of eating now?" The heel of her palms dug into her eye sockets as she tried to blink the sleep away. It wasn't working. A nap would solve all of this. Just a short nap, to knock the haze off.

She didn't remember getting in the bed or bothering with the blanket. She didn't even remember if she put on the playlist. She just remembered the cool softness of a pillow - and then nothing.

She had achieved the nothingness she wanted, finally.

Or so she thought.

The vivid intensity of color was gone. There were lights like stars dotting the blackness beyond. She moved her from one end of the display to the other. And there he was, again.

She blinked, and he was suddenly closer.

"You're a strong dreamer." His long fingers curled against her cheek. She could feel the metal of his rings against her skin. "...but that won't work tonight. You know that, right?" There was still that slight surly, scowl in his tone. Normally expressionless, you'd almost think that he..smiled? Smirked? There was a twitch in his lip that gave away to some emotion. His fingers unfurled as they tucked under her chin. He was right; tonight would be different. There's a difference between dreaming in a controlled state - and dreaming in an exhausted state. And she was in a state of utter exhaustion. Her body was running on fumes and had every intention of resetting its energy levels.

Which meant she would sleep like a log until someone or something woke her. How did he know? How did he know that?! Infuriating! He was absolutely infuriating.

He loomed over her, their faces close. She could feel the fingers sliding down the side of her neck. The fingers were cool as they put a possessive pressure against her throat. She made an unexpected sound, covering her mouth in embarrassment. A smile spread across his face as he pulled the hand away, pinning it above her head. "Who am I?" His voice was low, moderately as if he was mustering every ounce of menace in his very being.

"You're a dream."

There was that possessive pressure that sent shivers from head to toe. That sound escaped her again; he looked pleased. "Who am I?" His face was too close again. He straddled her knees pinning her to the floor.

"This is impossible." She spoke between clenched teeth.

"And yet here we are. Say my name." He urged again pushing her free hand into the ground harder.

It was stress. That's all this was. This was some music-induced stress dream. And maybe, if she just went along? It would end. Sometimes you have to go with the flow. She was constantly in the business of controlling the flow.

Fine. She'd let this go wherever it was heading. This fighting, this strange battle was becoming too deep nightly. It was causing fitful sleep. So, she willed herself to relax. She became soft and yielded beneath him. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. "Say my name." There was a huskiness to his voice.

She took a deep breath, exhaled softly as she closed her eyes. And she said it. She said the name that linked him to the waking world. She said the name she had screamed at the computer during live broadcasts. She said the name she yelled in her car as her favorite songs came on. It was strange to feel the flutter of her lashes against her cheek as her eyes opened. He looked satisfied, hungry almost. He was too close.

His lips brushed against hers. Her eyes flew opened wide on a gasp - and he took advantage. He tilted her chin upward locking his lips to her own. It felt too real! The slide of their lips together, the teasing tip of a tongue daring entry. He went from straddling her legs to covering her body with his own. He still held the one arm captive above her head. She had forgotten all about it. Beads of sweat formed, her heart began to run a derby in her ears. It was too hot; she couldn't breathe. The weight of him was too real. And when the panic was growing? He finally let up allowing her to breathe uninterrupted.

"I've been waiting for you." He said. Her brow furrowed in confusion. This is a dream. His fingers slid through her hair as he searched the planes of her face. It was too hot. He frowned, recognizing external stimuli was starting to interfere. Pushing to stand he pulled her up with him. That weird blurring of the world caused a strange static in her ears.

Wait, no. I don't want to wake up yet! He was saying something. His hand was on her tight, for dear life. As if he could somehow hold her there. He was talking as she shook her head. She was waking up; a panicked look up at him as his lips moved.

"I..I can't understand what you're saying!" Her voice rose in pitch as the world fell away. She could have sworn she heard a faint echo — something reverberating in the walls of her mind as she fell into the dreamless state. Maybe it was her imagination. Because the last thing she heard?

Soon.

The dreams became more infrequent, more irregular as time passed on. Then they stopped altogether. She found herself sad, oddly, that nothing greeted her but that vivid nebula of colors. It was time to settle into the normality of things. Because she was sure it was just stress, right?

A friend called, out of the blue, with strange, yet fortuitous news. "So, I know you've been in a slump. I'm going to KCON and I think you should come with me. It would do you some good to get out of the state." Her friend sounded chipper, hopeful.

There was every excuse, and story of why she couldn't go - why she shouldn't go. And finally, a good fat excuse dinged in her brain. Like the sound of a microwave done zapping a meal. "You're right. Let's go." Wait, what? She shocked herself! And before she could change her mind? Her friend squealed with joy, rushed that she would figure everything out and hung up. Shit.

Barely a week had passed and she was on a plane, headed to L.A. Her friend rambled about all the things they would do. All the food they would eat. All the hi-touch, autograph and photo opportunities. It went into one ear and out of the other. She promised to not ruin this good time for her friend. They landed in California, it was bright and sunny. It was warm and loud. It was different from home and it invigorated her, just a little. They checked in, had dinner, and passed out. Tomorrow would be a long, packed day. She dreamed that night, but couldn't remember anything but fragments. Vivid colors. The sound of water. That distant silhouette.

Soon

She didn't dwell too long on it as they rushed to dress comfortably and leave. There were so many people! It was a sensory overload of scents and sounds. Her friend was rambling on about..something or the other. A word, a name caught her attention causing her to stop. Her friend turned to look at her, concerned. "What?"

"You - I'm sorry, where did you say we were going first?" Her friend laughed. "I thought I'd surprise you! You like that one group, right? VIXX?" The friend reached back and grabbed her arm to tug her along. "We're going to the fan event! Come on or we'll be in the back!"

It felt like the world went in double-time. They maneuvered through the throng of people to get, decent spots, in line for the fan event. Sure, she'd missed them when they were on the East Coast. But, this too advantageous.

Then it happened - the lights dimmed. The host came on the stage to mild applause. Everything seemed muffled like she was trying to listen with water in her ears. She could feel her nails digging into her palms. Using it as an anchor to keep her grounded, she watched as the group flood onto the stage. The applause, screams, and tears of fans rumbled the walls. They introduced themselves in typical fashion. Each stating their name and position, adding a smile, a wink or some type of aegyo at the end.

"They're doing a concert tonight!" Her friend nudged her excitedly. "We've got great seats for it!" She could only nod as they began their Q&A. The crowd yelled answers to questions. Laughed at jokes and silly antics, and then with the last chunk of time left? There was an opportunity to high-touch. Her friend dragged her to line squeezing in just at the cut-off. She turned to face her friend who gave her two thumbs up as she approached the stairs. I'm definitely going to kill her later.

The rough sound was louder than she realized, the girl in front of her turned with a questioning look. A small cough left her as she went up the stairs. She was the last one. Pictures really didn't do them any justice. They were really like mystical creatures.

The Leader smiled in that way that causes everybody to scream - it was intense.

The Rapper was charming, in a boyish way! It was a stark comparison to his bad boy rap persona in videos.

The Cute Main Vocal reminded her of a cherub. The slightly pudgy-faced, rosy-cheek messenger angels.

The Visual was stunning - what more could you say? The nickname Artwork fit him perfectly. You felt a sudden warmth at the width of his smile. He rightfully earned his title as bias wrecker supreme.

The Evil Maknae had grown so well! He was reaching the point where his height was starting to crest over the other members. She couldn't help but laugh as they high-five. This was good! This wasn't too bad, at all. She managed to get in words of thanks for their hard work in with each high-five.

There was a lopsided smile on her face as she continued on to the last member - her bias. She felt the smile begin to waver a tad but held up as she raised her hand to complete the line. A calming inhale as her eyes lifted to meet his. Her hand connected with his, "Thank you for your hard work. Good luck tonight."

His fingers interlocked with hers with that intense stare. "You."

She knew that stare from her dreams. Her nostrils flared as the grip on her hand increased. "Impossible!" She was frozen in place.

He leaned down those few inches. The others members turned to look confused, shocked and stunned at Leo’s behavior. The sound of murmurs, gasps, and squeals flooded the room. There was that look on his face. He was pleased with her response. Their noses brushed as she stumbled into him again. "I told you I would see you soon." His lips brushed against hers again. The same strange heat and intensity. In front of everyone! In front of these cell phones and staff!

He broke their contact, releasing her hand causing her to stumble. Her arms pinwheeled as she fell backward. The world opened up beneath her as he watched her fall. He smirked as the world began to fizzle. "You're not the only strong dreamer."

Her eyes went wide as she fell into darkness...

....and woke up in her bed.

Gasping.

Sweating.

...and clutching her blanket to her chest.

#kwritersworldnet #thekpopnetwork #vixx #vixx fanfic #leo #jung taekwoon #vixx leo #leo x reader #leo imagines #vixx imagines #one shot

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originofjaehyun · 4 years

Text

Constantly, Consistently, Continually, You. | Prologue

CCCY Masterlist

Word count: 3.3K

Warnings: None just hoping you guys would like it ha-ha

Prologue – She is stillness in the world of chaos

“We never had to force love. We were drowning in it the moment we met.”

There’s no other sound except the sound of your pencil scratching the paper. Messy is an understatement if someone were to see your table. Pencil and pens, markers, fabric samples, are just a few of the things that are visible in a glance. You’ve been sitting on your desk for hours now and the clock on your laptop has shown you that it is a little bit past 10 PM. Before you knew it, you’ve been doodling instead of being productive.

You know the reason, your neighbor who happens to be a NEET has been playing whatever online game since yesterday and he’s still going strong. The walls between your unit are quite thin and you could hear him ferociously screaming “MONSTERS ON YOUR LEFT! MONSTER ON YOUR LEFT!!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

You had enough. You barely get any sleep and sleeping has been a struggle because of your neighbor. You don’t even know how he was able to pay the rent when all he did was to play games all day long.

“I need to go somewhere.”

All you wished were to lay down on your bed, still with the messy duvet because you really don’t have the energy to even make up your bed. But ever since you were hired as a fashion designer at 0MILE – one of the hippest Korean fashion brands – you were so busy at work especially when you entered the company during the preparation for Seoul Fashion Week. You really have to make more progress on your work and your neighbor is definitely not helping.

You packed all the necessary stuff on your tote bag and tied your hair into a top bun. You can’t be bothered with contacts at this hour so you grabbed your glasses, wear your black jumper while pairing it with a cozy black track pant before exiting your apartment.

You feel refreshed as the night breeze slowly dances around you. It’s been a long while since you live in this neighborhood. The first time you moved here was when you’re just 22. After college, you decided to move here because it’s really close to your first workplace. Now that you’re 25, even if you’re blindfolded, you can probably still press the passcode buttons on your apartment door. This place has grown on you, and while you’re making more money than before, you can’t just move just because of that reason, knowing how expensive the rent cost is in Seoul. You’re saving up for your dream.

Before you know it, you are already in front of the door of a cafe just around the corner. Sun&Moon, as the vintage-looking gold sticker reads on the door’s glass. You’re glad that this small coffee shop in your neighborhood actually opens until late. As you pushed the door open, you can see two male baristas-turned-waiters behind the counter. The cafe is relatively empty, considering it’s almost 11 PM. There are only a couple and a group of four people left in the cafe.

As if you’re on autopilot mode, you took a seat on the corner and put your tote bag there before making your way to the counter to order your coffee. This is your third coffee of the day but you really can’t afford to fall asleep while the deadline is chasing you.

You actually know what you’re going to order your usual – cafe latte, considering how late it is, plus, having Americano as your third coffee of the day might not be the best idea. But seeing the cakes on display kind of stimulates your appetite. When did you have your last meal, anyway?

Raspberry and Rose Eclair sounds good

Oh, but so does Chocolate Salted Caramel Tart

But having sweets at this hour is a sin, no?

Then a soft velvety voice snapped you back to reality.

“Uhm, miss?”

“Yes!” You answered almost instantly

He chuckled, and the most prominent set of dimples on both of his cheeks appeared.

“Are you ready to order? Or do you need more time browsing our cake?”

You felt both of your cheeks are now slightly warmer. It’s kind of embarrassing because you are so concentrated while you’re looking at the cake display.

“Oh yes please, I’d like to order. Can I have a hot latte? And also…”

“Nonfat milk and make them extra hot, regular size. Is that correct?” He cut you off before you finished your sentence. On top of that, he got your custom order correctly.

You knit your brows together. How did he know my custom order?

“Oh no need to be alarmed,” as if he knows you’re slightly judging him right now and probably think that he’s a stalker or something.

“You happen to be our regular and you’re very specific with your orders. We, the baristas here thought it would be great to start learning our regular’s order, especially the custom ones.”

You soften your facial expression and it instantly curled-up your lips into a smile.

“Why, that’s a very nice gesture.”

He smirks, “So, did I get your order correctly Miss?”

Unconsciously you let out a small giggle, “You bet you do. Congrats on memorizing my recipe.”

“Well, this is nothing. One latte coming up!” He said it in a playful tone.

You gave him your card as the final numbers of your bill appears on the cashier screen. He then gave you the receipt and politely asked you to go back to your seat as the waiter will deliver your order to the table. You turned back to your seat, allowing him to start making your drink while his co-worker is busy washing the dishes.

You checked the receipt after you sat down.

Your cashier: Jaehyun. So that’s his name.

You typically don’t do this, as you find it slightly… odd to be attracted to someone who’s going to prepare your coffee. But the thing is, he undoubtedly one of the most good looking people you’ve seen in a while. His pale skin that paired perfectly with his soft brown hair that he just messily styled, with eyes that are in the color of deep sienna. They glisten with something else, something that gives you shivers and wraps you in a warm embrace at the same time.

What Am I thinking? Focus, [Y/N]!

You took out your laptop and plugged in your charger to the nearest power plug, before connecting the two. You then spread your notebook on the bench, since the table beside you is empty. In a flash, you are already deep inside your own little world.

After a while, you automatically took a sip of your latte.

Wait, when did this arrive?

You lift your head, eyes searching for Jaehyun. He was in the middle of cleaning up the table from the couple before. You then took a glance at the clock on your laptop screen.

It’s already past midnight. You were so immersed in your work that you didn’t realize the waiter already delivered your order and there’s only you and another group of people left. You kind of regretted it though, that you forgot to say thanks to the waiter. If it’s Jaehyun who delivered it to you, at least you’ll get a chance to hear his voice again.

You brushed off the thoughts and you immediately start working again. As boring as it might sound – that you missed a chance to exchange eye contact with Jaehyun – you really got to finish your work.

The clock keeps ticking and suddenly you could hear a clink of a plate. You lift your head and now your eyes are locked with the delicate pair of brown eyes.

“I didn’t order this.” You said in a confused tone.

“It’s on the house.” As he said while putting a plate of the eclair you stared before.

He continued, “You’ve been working for a few hours now, I thought by now you’ll need some sugar rush. Plus, I know what you’re working for it's probably important and I don’t mean to rush you but we’re closing in about 30 minutes.”

“Oh!” You quickly saw the time. It’s already 1.27 AM.

“Shit, I hope that crazy neighbor is asleep.” You mumbled.

“Sorry?” Jaehyun raised his brows, wanting to confirm what you said.

“Oh, nothing. Well, thank you for this. I’ll eat this and I’ll pack immediately.”

“Please, no need to rush. You are our esteemed guest, after all.” He said this with a smile, turning his eyes into a shape of a half-moon and as if he knows this is his best feature, he showed his pair of dimples.

As he walks away from you, you asked yourself: Is this a cafe or is this a host bar? He is very soft-spoken, and even though you only hear a few sentences from him, you’re already addicted to his tender voice. You wonder why you haven’t noticed this guy previously.

You quickly take a bite on your eclair, you saved your project before closing your laptop while still chewing your food. You’re slightly embarrassed because Jaehyun saw you in this messy state. Your stuff is everywhere, taking spaces even the table next to you as you are the only person in the cafe right now. You quickly shoved everything to your tote bag and frantically carrying some stuff that couldn’t fit inside. How come everything can fit when you go out but now that you’re rushing it felt like your items are multiplied?

“Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed the cake, good night!” You said as you were about to leave the cafe.

“Ah, yes, thank you. Please be careful.” Jaehyun stands up, a bit surprised with your sudden leave. He was reading a book while waiting for you to finish. He was about to approach you but you already turned your back before he’s able to.

You would never guess that night is where the string of fate started.

***

“Shit, shit, shit!”

You repeated frantically as you scattered the content of your tote bag. You lost one of your fabric samples. This season, 0MILE material revolves around checkered plaid and without the sample, you might not be able to move forward with your design.

You searched throughout your room that looks more like a shipwreck instead of a room, you even search at weird places like the inside of your freezer but the sample is just nowhere to be found.

“Fuck, I might left it at the cafe yesterday.”

You grabbed your phone and took your bag in a hurry. You’re moving your feet like the flash as you speed up on every turn towards the cafe before you realize it’s only 10 AM and the cafe only opens after lunchtime.

But you can’t afford to lose anymore second as you have already gone more than halfway to the cafe. As you approached the cafe, you saw a familiar figure.

Isn’t that yesterday’s barista?

He looked in your direction as he heard your footsteps. His eyes sparkled before he showed that warm smile moving towards you so that you meet mid-way.

“Uhm, hi, uh, morning… uhm…” You’re busy finding the right sentence.

“Hi, I think you forgot this.” He handed over the fabric sample you’ve been looking for all morning.

“Oh my God!” You excitedly took it from his hand. Realized that you’re probably being rude to him, you quickly apologized to him.

“Uhm, sorry about that. It’s just that I’ve been looking for this all morning.”

“Don’t sweat it. I noticed that this is important as you were always referring to this before registering it to your laptop last night. So when you left it, I thought you might be searching for this first thing in the morning.”

“Wait, so you’ve been waiting for me?” Your eyes widen.

“Well, I would feel bad if you’re waiting in front of our cafe all morning. Also, I was the last one who cleans up the cafe and that is when I found your stuff. I brought it home because today is actually my day off.”

You’re stunned. As you examined his appearance, his eyes are slightly teary, with ears that have turned red due to the cold weather.

“How long have you been waiting?”

“Uhm, around an hour I guess?” He said like it's not a problem when it actually is. He has been waiting for an hour in cold weather, and as far as you can see there’s no seat available so its either he’s been standing for an hour or he probably squatted.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry you have to do that! I mean, it was my mistake to leave my belongings, but you didn’t have to go that far for a stranger.”

He knows that you are panicking because of your tone, but he just chuckled before giving his reply.

“Well, you’re not entirely a stranger.”

“I mean, you are our regular for quite some time now.”

You let out a sigh, “But still, we don’t even know each other. I’m glad I got this back because it is important, but how could I ever repay you?”

Then he gave a devilish smirk, “We can fix that,”

“How about you treat me for brunch today? I didn’t get to eat my breakfast today because I thought you were already waiting at the cafe, but it’s already too late for breakfast now.”

You’re startled. Did he just ask me for a date?

No that can’t be it. He’s just a kind person that happens to be hungry at the moment, that’s all.

You would actually agree to his condition instantly, but then you saw your slippers and you realized how unkempt you are right now. The person standing in front of you is blessed with his look. He’s definitely bare-faced but he looked photoshopped.

“Uhm, how about lunch instead?” You said while fidgeting with your fingers.

“I’m… not exactly confident with how I look right now. Let me fix myself first, then we can go for lunch? I know the best sundubu in this area, it’ll be perfect for this kind of weather.”

“You’re fine the way you are right now, you know?” Your heart almost jumps because of how smooth he is with his words.

You shook your head, “I promise we’ll meet at lunch. Here, let me give you my number in case I run away. Which, I would never because I always keep my promise.”

He then handed out his phone to you and you added your contact details to him. He then dialed your number and your phone rang, confirming that the number that he’s calling is in fact yours.

“[Y/N].” He said, in a low voice.

“It’s funny, huh? We never introduced ourself and yet I know your name because of sundubu”

Only then you realized you guys never properly introduced yourself to each other.

“I’m Jaehyun, nice to meet you, [Y/N].”

“At least let me introduce myself,” You pouted.

“I’m [Y/N]. It’s also a pleasure meeting you, Jaehyun.” You acted like you don’t know his name when in fact you already know it yesterday.

“Feisty, aren’t you?” He said with one of his eyebrows went up.

You let out a small laugh, “Well, I’ll better get ready.”

“Uhm, so… where do you want to wait? I mean, you can wait at my place if you want.” You said that and instantly your face turned red. Did I just ask him to crash at my place? You literally just know his name a few seconds ago and it almost felt like you invited him to do something dirty at your place as an added bonus for his lunch. He then laughed.

“I’ll be a gentleman today and wait at the cafe.”

“Let’s keep that one for another time.” Jaehyun continues.

Your brow furrows, “Hang on, you had a key all along?”

He answered with a nod.

“Why didn’t you wait inside? It’s cold out here!”

Again, he smiles.

“The cafe owner is slightly stingy, especially with the utility bill. Also, I could see if you’re coming better if I wait outside, so you don’t have to walk too much.”

You can feel the heat on both of your cheeks. He could definitely see you blushing.

Seriously, how sweet could this guy be?

“Well, I’ll see you at lunch. I’ll be fast, let’s meet again here?”

He grinned, “Take your time, [Y/N]. I’m looking forward to it.”

***

“So you’re a fashion designer?” Jaehyun said while he’s busy preparing the cutleries for both of you.

“Wait, how did you…?” You said in a confused tone. Clearly you haven’t told him anything about you.

“Before you’re getting any weird thoughts,” he chuckled, as he might felt like you just labeled him a stalker.

“One, you carry things like that to our cafe. Secondly, I accidentally saw some of your sketches before.”

You’re in awe. How observant.

“And last but not least,” he continues

“You’re always dressed well. Even though there are times when you visit our cafe in the most comfortable outfit, everything is still very pleasant to the eye.”

Your ears started to turn red.

“Oh you don’t need to flatter me. The meal is still on me.”

He chuckles, “No, I'm serious. You really do have a great sense of style.”

“Well thank you. You’re a charmer as well.”

Then it’s his ears started to turn into a shade of pink. You think to yourself that it is the most adorable thing as he clearly tries to hide it. So he blushes when he’s embarrassed.

The conversation goes you guys started to eat your meals. He told you more about himself, about the reason why he lives alone right now. He said his family lives far away and he moved out because he wanted to live his dreams. He wanted to be a musician, but since he is supporting himself he currently worked in a tech-startup company at day and took part-time jobs like becoming a barista at night. He does music on weekends, sometimes he would compose his own songs, or do a cover and upload them on his SoundCloud. There are days where he would perform at a cafe or a bar, but he said it’s been a while since he last did that ever since his current day job has been so demanding.

Once you guys are full, you settle the bill and Jaehyun politely thank you for the meal. He constantly insisted that he should pay at least half but you really want to show how grateful you are, at least with a meal.

“I guess we can call it even?” You said it to him while tugging your hands to the pocket of your coat.

He smiled, and you still can’t faze at the sight of his dimples.

“You really don’t have to, you know. But yes, let’s call it even.”

Then an awkward silence came.

“Uhm, I guess I’ll see you when I visit the cafe again?” Fidgeting your fingers, you really hope that he doesn’t notice that you’re nervous. Am I asking him out?

“Sure.” The response was almost immediate and that is when you noticed he’s also feeling nervous. “I’ll see you around. Again, thank you for the meal.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

After sending your greetings, you finally parted ways with him. Not sure where he’s heading, but he walks on the opposite way of where you’re heading. You are lost in your thoughts until you snapped out of it, after walking just two blocks from where you’re coming from. A notification from your phone brings you back to earth.

Jaehyun (Sun&Moon Barista) 01.27

Hey

Jaehyun (Sun&Moon Barista) 01.27

On second thought, I don’t think it’s even yet. I actually waited more than an hour and we only had 30-minutes lunch.

Jaehyun (Sun&Moon Barista) 01.27

Care for a coffee? I’m still around the area.

You felt the heat start to rise to your face as the color of your cheeks starts to turn into a rosy-pink shade. If this were your room, you would scream your lungs out.

You quickly type in your reply.

“Gladly.”

#nct #nct127 #nct au #jaehyun #jaehyun scenarios #nct aus #nct fic #nct angst #fic jaehyun #angst jaehyun #jaehyunxreader #constantly consistently continually you #cccy

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thebeauregardbros · 4 years

Text

LFRP: Alus Beauregard | Crystal Server

THE BASICS ––– –– –

Occupation: Free Paladin | Field Medic | Café Proprietor

Hobbies: Fashion | Tea Brewing | Pastry Creation | Jewelry Making | Reading Faerie Tales

Race: Miqo’te (Sunseeker Descent)

Sexuality/Romance: Asexual / Panromantic

Relationship Status: Single; never married

Languages: Eorzean | Common. Understands all languages; possesses The Echo.

Alignment: Neutral Good

PERSONAL ––– –– –

Alias: “Alice” (💢)

Residence: The Goblet, Ward 8 : Sultana’s Breath Apartments; Wing 1; Apartment #21

Place of Work: Café Nobilitea: Lavender Beds Ward 20, Lot #8 | Anywhere his Eorzean Grand Company sends him.

Birthplace: ??? (Grew up in Eorzea; particularly in the Thanalan area)

Fears: Slugs | Failing to keep his comrades safe | Failing to save his enemies from themselves

APPEARANCE ––– –– –

Height: “Tall for a miqo’te” (5′8″/173cm)

Build: Barrel-chested, muscular; untoned muscles | Long legs, wide shoulders, slender hips.

Age: Unknown; nameday 20 yrs ago. Approximately 23 summers old.

Gender: Male

Skin tone: Tan; Gold Undertone

Eye color: Heterochromia; Deep Fuschia (Right) | Golden Yellow (Left)

Hair color: Golden Blonde

Body Mods: Pierced ears.

Distinguishing Marks: [SPOILER] Large amounts of large-scale bruises and scars all over his body. They are almost always covered up with his clothing. There are no visible scars on his face, neck, or hands.

Common Accessories: Large amounts of gold jewelry; Excessive rings, bracelets, pocket watch chains, earrings, tiaras, circlets, crowns | Large amounts of fresh and/or fake flowers; On his lapel, coming out of his pockets, warn as a flower crown, tucked in his hair, tucked amongst the buttons on his outfits, etc.

BODY LANGUAGE ––– –– –

Walk: Excellent posture; he carries his upper body with strength, while his legs nearly cross in his stride like an elegant female runway model.

Voice: His voice is often strong, clear, deep, and commanding, with the slightest hinge of huskiness. While off-guard, however, his voice cracks into a higher pitched and goofier voice. His quiet tones are very soft and sweet, like a warm fuzzy blanket wrapping you up in it on a cold winter’s night. (Voiceclaim/reference: Johnny Yong Bosch, particularly his roles as Vash from Trigun and Zero from Marvel vs. Capcom.)

Tics or Mannerisms: His speech consists of a shakepearian inspired word usage with a consistent disuse of contractions, similar to Urianger. | He tends to step-dance or become especially physically clumsy while nervous in social situations. | He will elegantly dodge all physical contact, even minor, unless he is comfortable enough with you to make the first contact.

Smell: Gardenia (Jasmine) / Cuttlebone dust

Posture: Constantly straight and erect; shoulders rolled back, chest out. Never looks truly relaxed, even while sitting. A model of good posture.

Disabilities: [SPOILER] Surface numbness on his scar tissue. Mild numbness in his left-hand fingertips.

RELATIONSHIPS ––– –– –

Romantic Partner: (None.)

Parents: Gwenneg Beauregard (Adoptive) (Deceased)

Siblings: Arc Beauregard (Twin Brother) (Alive)

Children: (None.)

Extended Family: (Unknown.)

Pets: Various unnamed wild songbirds and a fledgling Dodo that followed him home. He keeps feeding them, so they keep coming back, but he does not claim ownership of any of them. | He has also developed a relationship with a wild white horse he’s named Marion who consistently comes to his call. | His military-issued chocobo is named Erminia.

Other: Alus considers everyone he meets to be a friend.

PERSONALITY TRAITS ––– –– –

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Addictive / In Between / Nonaddictive

RP HOOKS ––– –– –

Café Nobilitea: Alus is the proprietor of a western-style teahouse with a distinct theme for elegance, royalty, and other-worldliness - His café is bright, full of flowers, and always playing soft kind-hearted piano music; the type of place a person could become lost in whence they’ve become tired of the grueling and dark outer world; a real heaven and haven. He often spends his free time there and enjoys sitting with his customers to get to know them.

Grand Company Militia: Alus is a very active member with the Eorzean grand companies in fighting against the Garlean empire and any other threats to the peace there might be upon the world. It’s very possible your character might have teamed up with him at some point in active duty.

The Prince on a White Horse: Alus patrols random fields often in order to keep the peace. Your character or someone your character knows might have been saved by the mysterious ‘Prince on a white horse’ while being attacked by bandits or beastmen, who oft leaves without giving his name.

A Fellow Warrior Of Light: Alus has helped out the Scions of the Seventh Dawn on occasion due to his status as a Warrior of Light; one of many.

LOOKING FOR ––– –– –

Long-Term ANYTHING!: Friendships, rivalries, casual familiarities, romances, anything. Alus has lived a long life without any PC RP interactions, and I feel his writing suffers for it. I want someone who will be there for the long run and get to know him. I want stories to develop. I want Alus to grow because of other people.

Open-minded villains!: Alus has the patience of a saint and will befriend the nastiest of criminals no matter what. Alus will stop them from directly committing serious crimes he may be there to witness (murder, kidnapping, robbery, etc.), but will ultimately be very forgiving and calm when dealing with these topics. He wants to genuinely make a connection with people he doesn’t understand and strives his best to soften anybody’s heart, no matter how hard. His ultimate goal is to change their ways for the better through patience and understanding.

Platonic flirts!: Alus has a lot of love to give and happy to give it to nearly everyone and anyone. He throws around the words ‘I love you’ quite easily, and if he is especially crushing on someone, he will hold their hands and hug them openly despite his normal dislike of physical touch. He is most happy when he has a large circle of queerplatonic relationships, but will be absolutely exclusive to their ‘steady’ when he has made that romantic commitment.

Distant family members!: Alus knows very little of the Beauregards; his adoptive father and surnamesake did not speak of them much. Alus is fascinated with Elezen culture and considers himself one of them. He would be incredibly happy to find anyone with the same last name who would welcome him to his adopted ancestor’s information.

ADVENTURE!: Once in awhile, let’s RP somewhere other than a unmoving place. Let’s RP in a dungeon. Let’s RP while doing gold saucer chores. Let’s RP while talking to random minor NPCs. Let’s RP while doing something other than just sitting! It can help a lot with improvisation and keep the creative juices flowing.

ABOUT THE MUN ––– –– –

Who I am: Hey, my name’s Will. I’m a 24 y/o prep cook living in Alaska. My family’s straight-up wiccan, I got 3 black cats, I love super flashy ridiculous fashion, 1980s comedies, and my favorite game’s Bayonetta. I’m a queer Aquarius with mild ADHD. Buddhism and pacifism are super important to me. I love the McElroys?? and uh. I yell in caps a lot. i WILL make you a playlist of music if you ask for recommendations, don’t fuckin tempt me. I’m a casual goofus fuck. here’s my ‘me’ tag on my personal,

Server: Balmung, Crystal Data Center

Time Zone: Alaska (GMT-8)

Availability: 11AM-2AM (subject to change)

Writing Style: Rapidfire! 95WPM. I like to RP just like I type normally - as thoughts pop up, I type ‘em, just like if I was talking. I’m not a big fan of waiting for turns; I have an anxiety disorder and that particularly makes me extremely anxious! However, I am happy to do short paragraph RP with you if we’ve been RPing long enough. Huge paragraph RP is 100% OK on Discord!

Platforms: In-game(preferred) or Discord.

Restrictions ––– –– –

No ERP!

No Permadeath! I really do not want to RP with anyone who intends to eventually kill off their character, either. This is a legitimate trigger for me.

RP Fighting...? I’ve never done this before. I’m not a fan of physical injury so it’s unlikely I would want to, either. But if the situation really calls for it, I’m open to learning. I will not allow you to permanently disfigure or disable my character - temporary injury is alright, but please talk to me about it first.

Mature Themes...? This is okay for me. Swearing, murder, prostitution, drugs.. I’m an adult! I don’t mind these themes being mentioned or being used as a backdrop to a prompt. Alus isn’t a fan of these things though! So just keep that in mind.

Sexual Assault...? For the most part, NO. However, a forceful kiss? An inappropriate touching that stops as soon as my character says no? Maybe. Ask me beforehand and be clear about what you’re thinking, no surprises.

More Info ––– –– –

Click here for Alus’ RP blog and all the memes and asks I’ve written for him!

tags;

@ffxiv-crystal-rp @crystalxivrp @mooglemeet

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #ffxiv rp #ff14 #ffxiv lfrp #alus beauregard #crystal data center #meme

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sketchyglinda · 4 years

Text

Ozma: Part II

Everything in the room is green, including me. I threw up four times in the first hour alone. Every time I see my new body I get sick, so I’ve stopped undressing. I lie on the awful green bed with my eyes closed, and pretend none of this is happening. There’s puke in my hair, which never used to happen when my hair was short. Jellia Jamb is now my personal maid, and she hovers and worries and calls me “Princess,” even though technically I think I’m a queen. I can’t tell if she knows I’m the boy she met last week—I’m not allowed to talk about it.

Nick went home to the Winkies, and Scarecrow went with him. I’m not sure what happened to the Wogglebug; I really don’t care. My first and so far only act as Queen was to have the Gump disassembled. I don’t have the guts or the power to un-bring him to life like I think he wants, even if the horror of it all is really relatable. I separated him from the unfamiliar body he woke up in, at least. Mombi’s probably in some prison, but Glinda won’t tell me where. I’ve asked, but she just gets all sad and starts talking about how I’m traumatized and confused.

So there’s only Jack and the Sawhorse left. The Sawhorse is fine. He’s being pampered down in the stables. But Jack—pumpkins spoil. I know that, I’m not stupid. I’m still a farm boy, even if it was all a spell, and I’m supposed to be this awful girl, really. Pumpkins spoil. He wouldn’t shut up about it from the moment he figured it out—this isn't a surprise.

It’s only been a couple weeks.

It isn't fair. He’s all I have left from home—really from home—we picked up the Sawhorse on the way. I don’t even have my body anymore, or my hat, or the pants Mombi said I’d grow into but now I guess I never will—I lost everything. Everything. And pumpkins spoil.

He’s still alive, technically. But his head is all mushy, so bad you can see bits of it dripping off if you hang out for a few minutes. And he can’t really talk anymore, not so it makes any sense, and I don’t think he recognizes me.

Which is fair, because I sure don’t recognize me either.

Glinda comes by every couple days to check on me. I ignore her as much as I can. She’s talking about a party, after I’ve adjusted. Only she seems to think that “after I’ve adjusted” should have been about a week ago now.

It’s only been, what, two weeks? Three? Less than the lifespan of a pumpkin.

Jellia walks in on me saying some very unprincessy words. She doesn’t say anything about it.

“The people want to know their leader,” Glinda says. Which is hilarious, because it’s pretty damn clear I’m not in charge of anything here. “Don’t tell anyone where you came from,” she said. “You’re Ozma now; I don’t want to hear the name Tip again.” “Pants are inappropriate for queens.” “That language is inappropriate for girls.”

I don’t know why she doesn’t just crown herself and let me go home.

“I don’t care what the people want,” I tell her, because I’ve just put on a dress and dragged my stupid girly body down the hall to see Jack, and it’s worse than ever, and ignoring Glinda is just not good enough today. I feel like a fight.

Glinda sighs, because she is a Sorceress and won’t stoop to my level. “I know you’ve been through a traumatic experience, Ozma, but lingering is not the answer. It’s over, and your life will only improve from now. I understand it’s an adjustment, but this is all for the better. You’ll see, with time.”

It’s impossible to pick a fight with someone like Glinda. I turn away, because my stupid girl eyes are constantly trying to cry, and I hate when she sees.

“I just don’t know what you want from me, Ozma.”

“Fix Jack.”

“Excuse me?”

I turn to look at her again. “Fix Jack, and I’ll do whatever you want. The party, the queen thing, the girl thing, whatever. Just make him okay.”

“Is that all? Jellia, come here please.”

Jellia walks right in, and I wonder how long she’s been standing in the doorway, how much she’s heard. I guess it doesn’t really matter.

“Make Ozma presentable, then have her taken to the pumpkin fields. Her friend needs a new head.”

“It’s that easy?” I ask.

“It’s that easy,” Glinda says. She softens a little, looks almost as kind and maternal and sympathetic as I think she wants to seem. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

Even my hands are different. Even carving a pumpkin is harder. I pick the biggest, orange-est, freshest one, but my hand keeps slipping. His mouth is wider than it should be, and lopsided, and his eyes are crooked. The soldier with green whiskers—the one who was guarding the gate when Jinjur’s army first came—is the one who took me to the pumpkin field. He offers to help, once, but I don’t let him. Jack is mine. If someone else made his face, maybe he wouldn’t be, and I can’t risk that.

He’s all I have left.

I let the soldier carry the pumpkin back to Jack, though, because I’m constantly tripping over this awful skirt, and I don’t want to drop his new head.

I wonder if Glinda would have told me I could fix Jack if I had just asked. If I hadn’t made a deal for it.

Too late now. Gillikins always keep their promises. If I even count as a Gillikin anymore. And it’s not like I really had a choice about all that stuff, anyway. Glinda would have made me, somehow. She’s the most powerful person in Oz. Maybe the most powerful person in Oz ever, now that we know the Wizard was a humbug all along.

Jack reminds me of the old man who used to live across the river. How gone he is, how bad he smells, how his face droops. I take his head off, and it turns into goop and slips through my fingers, landing on the floor with an awful squelching sound.

I take the new head from the soldier and put it on Jack’s neck. I can tell as soon as it connects, even though the carved face doesn’t change, exactly when it stops being a random squash and starts being Jack.

“Tip!” he says.

“Ozma,” I remind him, because the soldier is listening, and I don’t want Jack getting in trouble with Glinda. Not so soon after I almost lost him.

“My head feels funny,” he says, and I start laughing, hysterical, for probably the first time since everything happened.

Nothing is really funny, but Jack starts laughing too, his whole stick body shaking with it, and I catch his head just as it comes flying off.

The soldier helps me really stick it on this time, and I make Jack practice nodding and shaking his head until I’m sure it isn’t going anywhere.

Nick and the Scarecrow come back to Emerald City for the party, and they bring the Cowardly Lion with them.

He’s the coolest character from The Witch Who Fell From the Sky. After Dorothy. I never thought I’d actually get to meet him. I never thought I’d get to meet any of them, and it isn’t worth it.

He thinks I’m some stupid girl. Nick and the Scarecrow call me Ozma like it’s normal, like I was never Tip to them, and I hate it. I hate everything here so much.

Glinda helps me get dressed for the party. White dress, gold sandals, long, shiny black hair, clean and untangled. She magics away the circles under my eyes, and the way my cheeks are red and chapped from endless days of crying. She calls me “darling,” and “beautiful girl,” and “my sweet princess,” and I hate her. I hate her.

She makes my finger and toe nails shiny. She makes my lashes longer and darker, my lips redder. But I’m not beautiful, not really, and she can’t make me be. I’m viciously grateful for my sallow skin, my boxy figure, my knobby knees. I was delicate as a boy; as a girl I’m square-jawed and awkward. She can’t make me prettier, she can’t make me more graceful, and she can’t make me look happy.

Well, she could, maybe. Probably. But that would be transformation magic, and transformation is Wicked. That’s what she told me on the second day, when I begged her to change me back. That, and that someday I would understand, and be grateful to her for returning me to my true form.

“You’ll need a crown,” she says, running her fingers through my hair. I think she might be braiding it—the girl down the road always used to wear her hair in braids. “Your mother’s and grandmother’s were lost when the Wizard came.”

“What about my father’s crown?”

“Also lost,” she says, tone sharper. “And too heavy. It wouldn’t have suited you. I have a tiara that will do for the coronation tomorrow; it’s only symbolic.” She takes a step back. “There, dear. See how you look.”

She’s braided my hair into a circle around my head, making a nest for the crown to sit in. I see her in the mirror behind me, smiling. I don’t see myself.

I haven’t bothered exploring the palace, or the city, so I have to stick close to Glinda—I don’t know where the party is happening. Maybe I could get lost and miss the whole thing.

Glinda would probably cast a spell to find me. And if this is my life now, running and hiding isn't a great way to start it.

Nick is there as soon as we walk in, and I hug him even though he’s made of metal and really not designed for hugging. The room is huge and gauzy and gaudy, too crowded and too colorful. The Scarecrow comes, and I hug him too—that feels much better.

“Where’s Lion?”

“He’ll be here soon,” Scarecrow says.

“Spend time with your friends,” Glinda says. “I’ll bring along some people to meet you later.”

I don’t want to meet people. But what I want clearly doesn’t matter here. Not really what I expected royalty to be like.

“You look lovely today,” Nick says. Which is not what I want to hear, but I don’t know how to explain that to him. Apparently we’re just pretending that I was never Tip.

“Is Jack here? Have you seen him?”

“A few minutes before you got here,” Scarecrow says. “He was talking to Jellia. Did you make him a new face?”

“Yeah. It’s a little messy. Can we go see him?”

“Of course, Ozma.”

Jack calls me Ozma now too. But at least I had to remind him. At least he still hesitates for a second, remembering. He’s not made for hugging, either—I have to be really gentle. I’m feeling clingy tonight, I guess. These are the only people left who really know who I am. Even if they’re acting like they don’t.

Mombi told me that Santa wasn’t real. It turns out she lied. (It turns out she lied about a lot of things. But she was still my mom. At least when she changed me, I was young enough it didn’t hurt me.)

Apparently, the Wizard kept Santa out of Oz. Santa doesn’t say how. He doesn’t say why. He does say that to make up for it, he’s giving me all the Christmas presents I should have had today.

Then he turns around, opens up his sack, and starts pulling out dolls and dresses and jewelry, all things I would never have put on a Christmas list, when I was little and didn’t understand how poor we were, when I still wasted time with things like Christmas lists.

Either Glinda got to him or he’s lying about still seeing my lists, even locked out of Oz like he was. I know I never wanted a porcelain doll in silk skirts. I did have a doll for a while. We had to burn it after a really bad sickness swept through, and I was too old by then to care enough for a new one. But he was burlap, with button eyes, and he got tossed around in the dirt every day. Sometimes he even came swimming. What good would a doll be that was too fancy to play with?

I say thank you, instead of all the things I’m thinking, and move on to the next person Glinda wants me to meet.

There’s kings and queens and princes and princesses from other lands, places I’ve only heard about in ballads. Ev and Mo and Ix and Noland. Gayalette and Quelala live in Gillikin country, not far from home, but I would never have met people like them, before.

I would never have wanted to. Mombi disapproves of Gayalette. She took in Quelala as a child younger than me, and brought him up to be her husband. And she enslaved the Flying Monkeys. But she’s an old friend of Glinda, and Mombi is the one they call a Wicked Witch.

Quelala is nice, in a quiet, distracted way. He’s much older than me now, and much older still than he looks—magic. I don’t know if I ought to feel bad for him or not. I’m too busy feeling bad for myself to bother working it out.

The Rainbow King has sent a few of his daughters, which is apparently an honor. The Nome King didn’t send anybody, which is apparently an expected slight. Glinda whispers all this to me as she makes the introductions.

The Munchkin King is here with his wife, and the Witch of the North—my witch, the Gillikin one—comes for just long enough to meet me. She’s known for not venturing often from her part of Oz.

The most important person of all, Glinda says, is Lulea of Burzee Forest. She’s a fairy, closely related to Lurline—my many-great grandmother, now. No one knows if Lulea is a daughter or a cousin or what, but they say she actually knew Lurline, personally.

She’s very old.

I don’t care. I just don’t care. About any of it. I thought it would be fun, at least, meeting all these famous people I’ve grown up with the songs of, but it’s not me meeting them, at all. I feel trapped inside this body, and so far away from everything, and I barely feel alive at all. I don’t know if it will go away. I don’t know if I want it to—if I can do this, can be a girl, and not want to be dead first, does that mean Glinda was right? Does that mean she wins?

“Psst. Ozma.”

I turn around—a second too late, because I’m still not used to this being my name. The Cowardly Lion is hiding behind a curtain.

“You look bored. Want to get out of here?”

“Lurline, yes. Please.”

“Get on my back. I’ll take you riding in the woods.”

I met everyone. Santa and Gayalette and half the country. I’ve given Glinda enough for tonight.

We end up deep in the woods. I sit in the moss, leaning against a sappy tree, and stare up at the stars. You can’t see any good stars from my room in the palace.

“You’re staining your dress,” Lion says.

“I don’t give a shit,” I say, and he laughs a rumbly, roary laugh.

“You must be making life interesting for Glinda.”

“I try.”

We sit outside for a while, until a friend of his comes to meet us. The Hungry Tiger, Lion introduces him as.

“Well, why don’t you eat something?” I turn out my pockets—they’re full of bread. I was too nervous to eat, at the party, but Emerald City has such good food, I didn’t want to miss out.

He sighs mournfully. “My appetite can only be sated by fat babies. But no one will ever let me eat any.”

“Babies? You wouldn’t, really, would you?”

“If someone gave him a baby,” Lion says, “the first thing he would do is find it a new set of parents who wouldn’t give it away to hungry tigers.”

“I like you,” I decide. “You should come see us at the palace.”

“I will,” he says, looking pleased, and eats a piece of the bread I dropped.

I fall asleep, and they must carry me back, because I wake up in my new green bed, still dressed in my moss-stained dress, hair falling out of my braids. I only have a few minutes to myself before Glinda and Jellia come to dress me again—today is my coronation.

“You disappeared last night,” Scarecrow says.

“I made new friends.”

“Well,” Nick says, “if you’re looking for friends, you must meet Prince Marvel.”

“Why?”

They both lean in closer, and Nick says, very quietly, “He used to be a girl.”

The other way around, but still—I’m not the only one?

Prince Marvel is a very cheerful boy, older than me—maybe Jellia’s age. He has another, grumpier boy with him, who Scarecrow says is his friend Nerle.

“Ozma!” he says. “My little cousin!”

“Cousin?”

He smiles at me. I glance back at Nick and Scarecrow, or try to—I’ve been abandoned. “You’re a fairy princess, Ozma. We’re all your cousins.”

“I’m a fairy?” They didn’t tell me that. I wonder if I was a fairy when I was Tip, too, or if that’s another thing Glinda did to me.

“Of course!” Prince Marvel says.

“And you’re a fairy?” I mostly pictured fairies as pretty young girls.

“Well. Not at the moment. I asked to be turned into a mortal, see, because life was so boring as a fairy.”

“You were a girl fairy.”

“I was.”

“And you don’t mind? Not being a girl anymore?”

“Mind? Why would I mind? Being a boy is so much more fun!”

“Yes,” I agree, looking down at my stupid dress, “it is.”

He laughs. “Oh, I like you! I’m going to ask Lulea to make you a present.”

He wanders away before I can ask him anything else, and then I’m alone until the princess of Noland finds me. She’s even more cheerful than Prince Marvel, her name is Fluff—Fluff!—and she wants to talk about dresses. It’s ages before I can get away, and then Glinda is introducing me to the princess of China Country, which is only cool because she met Dorothy Gale, too.

The coronation isn't so bad. All I have to do is sit there while people—mostly Glinda—talk and talk and talk. I thought the witch of the North went home already, but she’s here again—she, Glinda, Nick, and the Munchkin king, as the rulers of the four realms of Oz, all have lines in my coronation. I only have one—yes. I have to say it a lot.

Lulea is there in Lurline’s name; Glinda said usually it’s my oldest female relative on the royal side, but everyone is dead now.

As soon as the ceremony is over, I dump my shoes and tiara in a flowerpot and go to hide in the gardens, which are huge and poorly kept and exactly like an ancient forest. From there, I watch all the guests leaving the palace.

Glinda finds me eventually. She tries to scold me, but I don’t pay enough attention for it to really take. I interrupt her in the middle of a sentence about my new responsibilities.

“That room you put me in. That’s my room now, right? Forever?”

“I suppose so,” she says slowly, because she knows me well enough by now to be cautious.

“If I have to stay there, I want to not feel sick all the time. It’s too green, and it makes me dizzy.”

She looks surprised. “Are you asking for permission to redecorate? Ozma, this is your home. Your kingdom. You can do whatever you want.”

She doesn’t mean it, clearly, because ten minutes later we’re having a fight about my crown.

Glinda says I should have a proper crown. I agree, and I tell her I’m going to design it myself. Get a metalworker on hold for me, and tell him to stock some gold. I’ll get back to you in a couple days.

Just once, couldn’t things be easy? I do get my way in the end. We argue endlessly, but I end up on a garden bench with a pen and paper, sketching my ideas. Sometimes I win.

Scarecrow and Lion and Tiger stick around. And Jack and the Sawhorse, but they don’t have anywhere else to go. I try to spend time with them, doing responsible, royal, girly-type things. But now that my room is open and clear and less green, now that all the mirrors are gone, being there doesn’t make me feel even more terrible anymore. So I spend a lot of time locked up alone, staring out the windows.

Glinda doesn’t like that. She comes in, talks a lot, this big long speech that doesn’t really say anything except that I need a hobby. I stare out the window at the tangled jungle of garden.

“I’ll renovate the gardens,” I tell her. That’s girly enough, and I know there must be secrets there, under a hundred years of neglect.

If I can find them first, they can’t be used to hurt me.

I’ve been in the gardens all day now, alone—Glinda’s finally come around to agreeing that I don’t need supervision here, not in my very own gardens, not when I’ve spent all my childhood running across the countryside alone in pants.

I think she tries to pretend it never happened. Sometimes I wish I could do that, too, but I’m Tip, I’ve always been Tip, and I don’t know how to do this Ozma thing.

Couldn’t I have at least kept my name?

She’s given me books of flowers. It’s odd—everything I have and use is sent for specifically by Glinda, but this is a palace, isn’t it? Oughtn’t there to be a library, a whole big room full of books that I can choose from for myself?

There are a lot of odd things here. And Mombi always hated Glinda—she must have had a reason for it. Probably a good one.

The books, anyway, they tell me that this one flower running all over everywhere is called a poppy. It’s red, with a black center, and I like it. There’s probably some fancy metaphorical reason for that—the Scarecrow thinks, at least, that everything has a fancy metaphorical reason, and he’d probably come up with something to explain to me about the poppies if I asked. But I just like them.

Most of what I see, though, isn’t in the books at all. Jellia says that means they’re weeds, and I should pull them all out and put something prettier there instead. Jellia knows that I’m just a dumb little boy, really, or she should, and I don’t know why she thinks I’d care at all what’s pretty. I like the weeds.

Well, some of them. But I guess most of them will have to go, because that’s what you do with weeds, and it’ll look awfully strange if I’m renovating the gardens and leave them all cool and jungley.

Girls are so boring.

I’ll make it work, though. The gardens go on just forever and ever and then some, and I could get lost in here, live in the jungle like I always wanted to when I was little. I don’t think they’d find me.

But I shouldn’t, I guess. Glinda could probably find me anywhere. She probably has something magic stuck to all my clothes so she always knows exactly where I am.

I notice the first building when I’ve been doing it for about a week. Everything’s overgrown all around it, so much you can hardly see, and it’s half falling down. I go to it because it’s really hot out, and I figure old stone buildings are probably sort of cold, but I think it’ll only have old spades and flowerpots and crap in it.

I’m really wrong.

There’s a basement, a dark narrow staircase leading down, half hidden by a large shovel, dank and musty smelling. I make my way down feeling carefully along the damp, rough stone walls, feeling like the bravest of adventurers, imagining the way I’ll present whatever priceless object I’m recovering to the beautiful princess who is its rightful owner, and in return her father will give me her hand and half the kingdom.

And then my dress gets caught on a loose stone in the steps, and I trip over myself and remember what I am now.

The stupid, girly eyes are trying to cry again. I blink it away and keep on down the steps. The dress is torn now, probably. Glinda will ask about it, and I will point out, again, how completely stupid it is to go out and completely rebuild miles of gardens singlehandedly while wearing a thin, pure white dress, when things like worn pants and shirts of sturdy material are so readily available. And tomorrow I’ll go out in another delicate white dress, and ruin that one too.

How does someone so damn impractical get to ruling an entire huge kingdom like Oz?

The actual basement isn’t nearly as dark as the staircase is, so I guess there must be a window or something down here, but I don’t see it anywhere. What I do see is a giant fancy trunk, full of books and papers, lots and lots all stacked up inside, and I start to pull them out, try to make things out in the dim light.

It’s a good thing Mombi taught me to read. I wonder if it was because of this, because she knew—she had to have known it wouldn’t go on forever, what we had. We were always going to be found out. I was always going to have to be the stupid queen of stupid Oz.

Stupid, stupid Oz. I used to love this country.

In the end I have to lug it all back up the stairs and outside to see it well enough, ancient pages spilling out of the books as I go. I think I get them all back, feeling around on the staircase, but it’s too dark to be sure. And of course there’s no way to get them all back to where they belong inside the books, not until I’ve read through everything here, and even then it’s going to be like putting a puzzle together, harder than any puzzle I’ve done before.

It only takes a page, though, to see that these—some of these, at least—are old royal records. Records like Glinda said she wanted me to write but I didn’t, and she let that go awfully fast for her, when I asked to see some of the other ones for inspiration. She said they were lost, or something, in the great war between the Wizard and the Wicked Witches who he drove from the central length of our land.

Well, it looks like I’ve just found them.

I make three more trips up and down the narrow stairs, this time putting it all back into the trunk. I’ll come back tomorrow with a light, and hope Glinda doesn’t take an interest in what I’m doing.

She always knows things. I don’t know how she does it. The first few days I was here, I was with the soldier—the one with green whiskers—crying about how much I missed Mombi and pants and my boy parts and all. She had a long talk with me a couple days later about how I’d been kidnapped and mistreated, abused, been manipulated into thinking and feeling things that weren’t right, and now I needed to let myself accept the changes in my life and keep moving forward, so that someday soon I could understand everything and then I would be so much healthier and happier. It was even more detailed than her last speech on the subject.

I almost spit in her face. But that’s not ladylike, or whatever. And I guess she kind of scares me. Just a little. She wasn’t even in Emerald City that day; she went home to check on her Quadlings. And I know the soldier didn’t tell on me.

If I’m going to make any sense of these papers at all, I’m going to need to know the line of succession. My father’s name was Pastoria, I know, but beyond that I’ve never heard anything. Pastoria, the Wizard, me. I have to find out who came before us, and in what order. But Glinda’s been pretty shifty about that kind of stuff before.

I have to play the sad, lonely little girl card in the end—she always goes for that, even if it is humiliating for me.

“I never even got to meet my family, Glinda. Any of them. And I know you’re here for me, and the Scarecrow and the Lion and Nick and everyone, but I just feel so alone, still. I don’t even know my own mother’s name, and if I could just see a family tree or something, I think I would feel a lot more at home here. Tangible proof that I really belong, you know? This is so good—so much better than—it just feels like a dream, Glinda, and I’m afraid one day I’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone, I’ll just be trapped for the rest of my life like a—like—”

“It’s all right, dear,” Glinda says, soothingly. She pulls me into a hug, and I know, long before the neatly bound genealogy appears on my desk the next morning, that I’ve won this round.

I am a girl. Really, truly. There are reports of my birth in here, Tippetarius, daughter of Oz Pastoria, heir to the throne. It’s not just some lie or wicked trick of Glinda’s. I’m a girl. I’m really a girl.

That’s the worst thing since I started this project. The best thing is the bits of our old language, the original language of Oz, that I’m learning through the old records.

Ozma isn’t my name. Glinda never told me that. It’s only a title. All the queens are called Ozma, just like all the kings are called Oz. Oz Pastoria, my father, and Ozma Tippetarius, me. Tip is my real name. Tip was always my real name.

So why do I have to always go by Ozma?

I really think I’m starting to hate Glinda. Mombi would be proud.

I wonder if that’s a title, too. Glinda. It must be—it shows up too often in the records to be all one person. Not consistently, though. Through my father’s and the Wizard’s reigns, and I suppose that could all be her. I know she’s much older than she looks. Not during my grandmother’s, and just one brief mention of her at the very beginning of my great grandmother’s. But the name Glinda shows up, periodically, throughout the entire histories. There was a Glinda here when Lurline was, and still throughout the reign of the first Ozma. But then she disappears. She always disappears from the records, and a generation or so later she’ll come back, no explanation ever given. And it doesn’t offer real names, the way it does for the Ozzes and the Ozmas.

I wish I could ask her about it, but then she’d know I’ve found something she doesn’t want me to see.

It can’t have been all one person, all this time. Can it?

The genealogies are better than nothing, I suppose, but they are kind of useless in some ways. Only the name of the Oz or Ozma is given. The spouse will be referred to as the husband or wife, the king or queen, but they only bother listing the names of people actually born into the royal family. A major oversight on someone’s part, obviously.

I wonder if it was always like that. I wonder if the fact that half the names are missing means something else that Glinda is hiding.

Glinda summons me to the throne room, where a package is waiting for me—square, as tall as I am, wrapped in silk. Glinda isn't actually there when I come down; she’s probably busy running my country. There’s a woman standing by the package, tall and beautiful and kind of familiar, probably one of the fairies from the coronation. She’s wearing the same kind of soft, gauzy dress they were—the same kind Glinda usually makes me wear.

“Ozma,” she says, sort of tilting her head down at me. “This is your coronation gift from Lulea, Queen of the Burzee Forest.”

She pulls the silk aside, revealing a giant picture frame. It’s the most detailed painting I’ve ever seen, but it’s just some grass. “It works like Glinda’s Book of Records,” she tells me.

“Glinda’s what?”

“The book that records everything that happens in Oz,” she explains, slowly, like this is something I should already know. It probably is—no one ever tells me anything. It’s fine; I’m only the queen of Oz. “The Magic Picture will only show you the present, but it isn't limited to Oz; it will show you anything in the world. Would you like to try it?”

Yes. Yes, I would definitely like to try it. A princess gift that’s actually useful, not just a reminder I’m a girl now? This is amazing! “How does it work?”

She turns to the picture. “Show me the Burzee Forest.”

The super-detailed grass melts away into gigantic, moss-covered trees.

I try it six or seven different times—asking to see normal, boring things, nothing that tells the fairy lady anything about me—until she starts to look sort of bored, so I thank her and let her go home. The soldier helps me carry the picture up to my rooms.

I’m so excited to have my own magic, it’s a few hours before I remember about the other thing she said. Glinda’s Book of Records. I guess it’s public knowledge, because Jellia tells me all about as soon as I ask.

It’s terrifying. She can read anything that’s ever happened in all of Oz. I lived my whole stupid life with her able to see right over my shoulder anything that I was doing, and I wasn’t even anyone who mattered then. She can just see anything anyone is doing whenever. She can watch us pee. Shower. Anything. Terrifying.

So how didn’t she see me go to Mombi? How didn’t she see what Mombi did to me?

Mombi’s last gift. For the boy I made you, she said. To keep your secrets safe.

She probably knew about Glinda’s Book. She probably gave me a spell to hide from it. I keep the tin beneath a floorboard under my bed—it’s full of a thin, purple powder. It’s worth a chance, sprinkling it over myself, doing something outlandish, and seeing if Glinda comments on it.

I’m not supposed to leave the royal grounds on my own. Even—and Glinda was very specific about this—with Lion and Tiger. So the next time she goes home to the Quadlings, I sprinkle some of Mombi’s powder on my head. I sit on Tiger’s back, Jack sits on Lion’s, and we ride and ride and ride, well out of Emerald City and into Munchkin land, then just barely into Winkie land, then home again.

Glinda doesn’t say anything about it when she gets back. She doesn’t even look at me disapprovingly, which is how she usually looks at me.

The powder works. I can hide. And the tin is huge—I can hide for a long time. Not forever, but a long time.

I wake up in a pool of blood. Jellia comes running when I scream.

“What’s wrong?” she asks me. I gesture down at my red sheets, which used to be white. “Oh!” she says brightly. “Your first time, is it?”

“My first time what? Bleeding out?”

“It means you’re a woman now,” she tells me, still sounding cheerful.

“A woman? I’m covered in blood and it means I’m a woman? I can’t—I’m too young.” Barely three months ago I was a little boy.

Jellia sits on the edge of the bed. “It comes early for girls, growing up. They didn’t tell you about this, where you were?”

“Why would they tell me? Boys don’t bleed.”

“Of course not. What does that have to do with anything?”

“What does—you met me, Jellia! I was—when Jack and the Scarecrow were—I told you Jinjur was coming!”

“That was you?”

She didn’t—she really didn’t know?

There’s a sudden, sharp pain in my stomach before I can ask her more about it, and more blood comes pouring out. It’s—there’s so much. There’s—it’s not that much, probably, but any amount of blood is—and it just keeps coming—it’s—I’m not—I can’t—I can’t breathe—I’m not—this isn't right. I’m not supposed to be like this.

Glinda bursts into the room. “Ozma.”

“That’s not my name.” I’m covered in blood, and I’m crying, and I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. “That’s not my name!”

“Jellia. Get the Pumpkinhead. The Lion if you can’t find him—she likes him.”

Jellia runs out of the room.

“Ozma, sweetheart.” Glinda sits down where Jellia was, sighing. “Tip. Jack—your son is coming. You don’t want him to see you like this, do you? You want to set a good example for your son.”

I don’t want Jack to see me this upset—she’s right. It’ll just make him upset, too. But I can’t stop crying, and I can’t catch my breath, and the blood is still coming.

“All right, come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” She has to half carry me to the bathroom—the palace has running water, which is one of my favorite things about it. “Do you want privacy?”

I shake my head—this isn't my body, I don’t care who sees it. And I’m not sure I can stand alone. I don’t—it’s not just that it’s not my body—I don’t even feel like I’m inside it.

“All right, Tip. All right.” She sets me in the bathtub and starts to strip off my bloody night dress. I can barely see through my tears.

Jellia comes back in. “I can’t find them. Either of them. The Tiger is downstairs.”

“Not the Tiger,” Glinda says. “I don’t know him—I’m not giving him royal secrets on a platter. Help me undress her.”

The blood keeps coming, tingeing the water red. They drain it and start again. I still can’t breathe; I’m dizzy with it, and the edges of my vision are black. It feels like I’ve always been crying. My throat is raw like I’ve been screaming, but I haven’t. I think I haven’t. The lights have been flickering since I started crying, and my Magic Picture, what I can see of it through the bathroom door, is an angry mess of black and red.

Glinda stands and takes a step back. “You can’t handle this. Damn that backwaters witch, she should never have—” She cuts herself off. “I’m going to fix this, Tip.”

She puts her hands right over my crotch—I’m too tired to even feel violated—and says words I can’t understand. For a minute I think—for a minute—but when I look down I’m still a girl.

The bleeding has stopped, though.

“You won’t bleed again,” Glinda says. “Not until the time is right.”

I don’t know what that means. I don’t ask. I feel limp and wrung out, and I let them wash and dress me without saying anything else. Then I leave—the room reeks of blood, the smell sticking in my nose like bad smells do, and I don’t want to be here while Jellia cleans it.

I end up on one of the sofas that used to be the Gump’s body. His head is hanging on the wall nearby.

“Would you really rather be dead?” I ask him.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t kill you. I’m sorry I can’t kill you.”

“I’m sorry I can’t kill you,” he says, because we understand each other. “Tip.”

“Thank you.”

I fall asleep on the couch. When I wake up the Lion is taking up the rest of it, half on top of me. The Tiger is on the floor, and Jack and the Scarecrow are on the Gump’s other couch.

It’s a few days before I feel like myself again. Or as much like myself as I ever do feel, now. I go back to the gardens. Set all the old records aside, ignore all my friends. The deeper my hands are in the dirt, the closer to normal I feel.

I won’t bleed again. We don’t talk about it—Glinda and Jellia both pretend the day didn’t happen, not even the part where Jellia found out I was Tip.

I plant poppies and roses and big, colorful things I don’t know the names of. I collect all the weeds I like and move them into little clusters so they look deliberate. It’s starting to look less like a jungle. More like a proper garden. I don’t hate the change as much as I thought I would—this is mine. I created it. Like I created Jack. The garden won’t love me like Jack does, but it’s still mine.

I find a lot of benches and fountains and arches. I plant big bushes to section off the gardens, make places that are available for everyone and places that are just for me. I don’t finish everything—there’s still plenty of jungle, and I’ll work through it slowly, so I have an excuse to be out here in the dirt for a long time.

One of the fountains is called the Fountain of Forgetfulness. It has a golden placard that says anyone who drinks from it will lose all of their memories.

I leave the vines and trees grown up around it. I talk with Glinda and meet the people she wants me to meet. I attend committees about money and roadwork and permits. I wear white dresses and close my eyes when Jellia sets me in front of a mirror to brush my hair. I go back to the fountain. I think about long summer days making mud pies on the shore of the river. Shucking corn, stacking hay. The year every chick we had was a rooster, and there were going to be no more eggs. How Mombi turned half of them to girls with magic. I think about drinking from the fountain, about forgetting all of that, and being the queen Glinda wants.

I turn around and go back inside. I’ve already given up my body—I won’t lose my mind as well.

I’ve never thought much about fairies before—they’re just something from old songs. But they were all over Emerald City for my coronation, and Prince Marvel says that I’m one, too.

I stare out at the rain, and think about how all the lights in the palace blew out when I bled. I wonder what, exactly, a fairy can do.

Mombi is a witch. Glinda is a sorceress. Could I be as powerful as them, with the right training? The right tools?

Jack comes up to see me later. As soon as he walks into the room, the rain stops.

We had a vegetable garden and an herb garden at home. Mombi wouldn’t let me touch the herbs—called them “finicky, magical things, not for children.” But I always had to weed the vegetable patch, and I never thought of myself as particularly good with plants.

A week after I plant my new poppy seeds they bloom, and the flowers are as big as my head. Some might be as big as Jack’s head.

I sit out in the gardens with my weird little family—me, the boy fairy queen, and my two wooden sons.

Someone plated the Sawhorse’s hooves with gold while I was busy with one identity crisis or another. He seems pretty pleased, but it’s not exactly practical.

Jack’s head is just barely starting to get soggy again—I’ll replace it much sooner this time, now that I know it can be replaced.

Sawhorse likes being petted and praised and plated with gold. He’s good here. But Jack doesn’t sit well on velvet couches. He’s awkward and out of place here. I don’t really fit in either, but I don’t have a choice.

Maybe Jack does. Maybe it’s time to be a good father, and let my son go.

It was Scarecrow’s idea—he found the place. But I think he’s right.

“There’s a pumpkin farm for sale a few miles east of the city,” I tell him. “We could buy it. I—I have to stay here, of course. But you could come back to visit, and I would come to see you all the time—any time you needed a new head, for sure.”

“I’d like that,” Jack says.

I nod, stroking Sawhorse’s splintery neck. Parenthood is hard.

I think I’m beginning to see why I had to be a girl.

It’s still not okay. It’s never going to be okay. But our last two rulers have been men—my father, and the Wizard who killed him. And my grandmother, before them, she had a long and prosperous reign. It was good, back then. Oz flagged in my father’s time, and the Wizard was a cruel tyrant who lied and stole and manipulated children into doing his dirty work. And it’s been like this, or similar, generation after generation. Oz flourishes under women. And there have been plenty of men who were good kings. But I can see how, coming after the Wizard, and then the Scarecrow (I love the Scarecrow, but Lurline help him he was not cut out to rule a kingdom), and then Jinjur’s rebellion on top of all that—I can see how Oz would follow another queen more easily.

Even if she is just a puppet and a figurehead.

And then there’s Lurline, of course. Mombi would get to talking about Lurline sometimes, and I liked it, and we all swear by her, but I never got the whole history of it or anything. I can’t find that history, anywhere. I’m not sure it exists anymore. And I don’t dare to ask Glinda.

I understand why Oz needed an Ozma. I just wish it didn’t have to be me.

I still have the wishing pills. The others think we dropped them in the Jackdaw nest, but they’re in the tin under the floorboard with Mombi’s magic powder. For the boy she made me.

Why would she do that? Didn’t she know it would catch up with me someday?

I could wish to be a boy, but Glinda would only change me back. I could wish Glinda straight out of Oz. I could wish no one but me could ever change my form. I could wish I’d never run away.

If I hadn’t run away, I wouldn’t have met the Sawhorse, or the Scarecrow, or Nick or Lion or Tiger.

I’ve been crowned. As a queen. I don’t know what would happen to me if the sovereign ruler of Oz vanished, and I was the boy left in her place.

Lurline’s bloodline ruled without interruption from the day she created Oz until the Wizard came.

Oz needs a queen. A king could never have the same power, could never bring the same stability. Not so soon after the Wizard.

I can’t just think about what will happen to me anymore. I have to think about what will happen to all of Oz.

My crown arrives. Three crowns arrive, really. Glinda stuck her nose in it, like she does in everything I do without Mombi’s powder, and said I should have different designs for different occasions. I guess she’s probably right—I still have no idea what I’m doing, ruling Oz. I still sort of wish she would just take over officially and send me home.

My favorite is the least interesting—just a ring of gold. One of the others is a ring, too, but it spells Oz across the front. The last has a ring with a tiny pointed crown in the center, which was Glinda’s idea, probably so she can do fancy things to my hair around it. She really likes messing with my hair. I’d like to chop it all off, but she’ll never go for that.

I put on my favorite, because I’d better start getting used to something heavy on my head all the time, and go out to the gardens. Jack is gone now, living at his pumpkin farm. The Sawhorse is running an errand for Glinda, halfway across Oz, and the Scarecrow went to visit Nick in Winkie land. I don’t know where Lion and Tiger are—not here. I’m all alone. At this point, I wouldn’t even mind spending some time with Glinda, but I think she’s at home with the Quadlings for a few days.

I wander through the sunflowers, then the morning glories, before I end up in the poppies. I seem to always end up in the poppies. I lie down for a while, and I think maybe I’ve started to fall asleep by the time Jellia comes running to find me.

“Ozma! We’ve just had word from Ev—the king is dead and his entire family has been kidnapped by the Nome King.”

I sit up. There’s grass in my hair; Glinda would be horrified. No one’s ever come straight to me for a problem before, and it’s kind of cool, even if it’s only because Glinda’s not here.

“Should we do something?” Jellia asks, like I’m actually in charge here.

“Yes. They came to my coronation. We have to rescue them.”

I’m lonely, and bored. An adventure is what started this whole mess in the first place, but I think I’m due for another one—it’s not as if things can get worse. If I set things in motion to go rescue them myself, publicly, I don’t think Glinda will actually be able to stop me without making it clear how much of a figurehead I am. I stand up, brushing leaves and dirt from my dress. “Let’s go make a plan.”

Jellia frowns at me. “You’ll need to change your dress first. And your hair is a mess—is that your new crown in there?”

I nod. “They delivered it today.”

“Hm.” She tilts her head. “It needs something. Take it off.”

I hand it to her. She bends down to pick two poppies, and twists them around the circle, then sets it back on my head, so one poppy sits above each ear.

“There. Now you look like a queen.”

I still don’t feel like one. But I have a job to do.

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lilmajorshawty · 5 years

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Uranus in The houses : The Unhinged.

Uranus In The First House : A Calamity

(Kanye Feat. Jay Z - No church in the wild)

for natives with this placement the world itself can feel almost restricted in it’s dense formatting. To them people play pretend, and this makes them create walls as a means to escape from this “playground” of superficiality and conformity. they in many ways can be fantasy, operating on whim and wanderlust rather than any understandable motive. The ego here is complex, rather it’s constantly changing and augmenting. These natives can seem detached, far or aloof even if they have a rather watery or earthy ascendant. They keep distance from the world around them and can find it rather hard especially when young to cope with being “different” from the rest. Uranus in this house can cause standout features such as cheekbones, hair patterns and colors, eye colors or rather even just a unique scar or beauty mark on the face. these natives can be problem starters or deviants, in some ways many with this placement if not outright have that hidden side to them that seeks to test the boundaries of people or things in their immediate environment. Stark reds or blacks tend to color their wardrobe especially if they happen to already be a water or earth ascendant. despite Uranus here they can hide this energy despite it sitting in the first house if Uranus is well aspected or partnered with another planet or aspect to the rising sign.

Uranus In The Second House: A Power-Outage

(Kanye West - Fade)

Uranus in the second house natives have the Judas Kiss. In most scenes this is seen as a taboo or rather bad relation; rather in this situation I would say this natives are capable of a great good but also a tremendous evil if they so please. the temperature here is cool to hot very quickly much like the finances of these natives. on one side they can have massive ups, and rather godly luck in matters of money. But seemingly from nowhere money can be lost, stolen or even misplaced just as quickly as they found it. the cycle of having and losing usually is what causes these natives, especially later in life to become very free when it comes to money matters. their self esteem can see its fair share of ups and downs but once they accept their uniqueness for what it is they no longer feel bound to the standards of beauty or security they've been taught to uphold here as Uranus forces them to create a new definition of the idea of “security.” these natives can be GORGEOUS; of course in saying this I don’t mean every other Uranus placement lacks the ability to be beautiful, rather Uranus in this house adds a special type of sensuality, the type that seduces a room without even a second thought. They have a star quality, almost like the lights are drawn to them effortlessly. The throat can be a bit unique or even possess tattoo, piercing, or in some cases freckles and or beauty marks(moles.) the tone of voice can either be raspy or faded in a way, fluctuating and “different” these natives can be untouchable once they master the art of loving thy self in regard of all uniqueness.

Uranus In The Third House: A Stormy Sky

(Run The Jewels - Call Ticketron)

Uranus in the third house natives in true third house fashion Love the mind, they can take on a rather personal stance towards understanding others but a more impersonal one on understanding their own mental makeup. They are true creatures of impulse, seeking to dig and devour every aspect of the human response. They want to know the “why,” the “how,” the many intricate reasons on why you close your door before you go to sleep, why you cuff your jeans before you head to the date, why you cover your mouth when you laugh. To them the mind is a machine and one they are endlessly fascinated by. They can have moods in which they are extremely choosey and cliquish about who they show their genius mind to but in some ways its not them being stuck up or snobbish, rather they need to be mentally stimulated by people who know how to have free thought. People who can challenge them, people who can give them a new perspective or who have a deep mind are like eating the sweetest cherry pie for these natives. they adore mental diversity and often remain more introverted until they find that in the environment they’re in. They can have a rather fixed gaze in their eyes as if they are caught in a deep thought or on a destination you’re not apart of. They can have beauty marks and moles on the arms unless other planets sit in this house, the nails and or finger tips on women or men can be slender and boxed. the hand movements can seem very detached from the movements of the body they belong too. the arms can also be rather cold in their temperature. the speech pattern is quick and get far away as they speak as if they are talking away from you as the conversation continues. They also have the tendency to avoid touch or have an intensity to the way they do initiate touch.(handshakes). Very punk rebel vibe to them.

Uranus In The Fourth House: A Silent Bolt

(Travis scott - Astrothunder)

This can be a bit of a taxing place for Uranus to be in a persons chart as it can create a distant sort of ways a way feeling in the most vulnerable place in someone’s heart, home. The home can seem a bit “for now” for the native even if the family Is loving and caring as can be. the native carries this energy as if the security they feel may only last for a moment. the family can in some cases be unorthodox or a bit strange in its composition. it could be that the native is an adopted child, lives or has lived in a ever shifting home environment or may have a detached relationship with those they get intimately involved with, including their loved ones. Uranus could also create a situation here the child is raised by relatives or siblings rather than the parent or in some cases raised themselves. the native could've seen the home as a place to test the mind or the concepts of life itself. at home is where their ideas and concepts find voice often causing the natives to seem detached when you get to know them as you will soon realize that it is impossible to make these natives feel as though they “need’ anyone. Due to their detachment to their fourth house often started from child hood they don’t have the same emotional grounding as most. this makes these natives Extremely hard to get to know as they keep so much of their feelings hidden away from anyone, even family. Uranus here doesn’t just build walls, it creates circumstances that force the native to fend for themselves and be independent. these natives don’t know how to “need” people and because of this usually have to teach themselves how to allow themselves to feel certain emotions, and in many ways they have to teach themselves to “care” about people despite the possibility of vulnerability that may come from it. These natives have deep feelings but regardless seek freedom frim their intense emotions as often they feel immensely understood on an emotional level and prefer to be their own “ rock” so to speak. the parents could have professions in medicine and even science and or law. parents may be gone often or be unable to provide for the native emotionally in the proper way necessary. The chest region can be unique in some way, be it scars, moles, or different skin tones than the rest of the body. the chest is very vulnerable. heart palpations and unusual heartbeats can be common place. Uranus here can cause cold body temperatures. these natives have a hard time letting people in and because of this the more you get close to them or force your way into intimacy with them the more distant they will get. they crave a life free of people and connections, in many ways they want to be nomadic, feeling and experiencing in reclusion.

Uranus In The Fifth House : A Electric Current

(Kanye Feat Sia, Vic mensa, Frank Ocean - Wolves)

Uranus in the fifth house is a powerful position for Uranus, despite being situated in the house of its opposing medium. Uranus in the house causes the native to experience their fare share of heartbreaks as it invites love liaisons that are exciting, passionate but brief in nature. it can seem like their is a divine lesson to be learned in the realm of romance and even children as these natives will be forced to relinquish control over their children much earlier than most parents as the kids will be strong in Aquarian/uraniun energy. this isn’t to say other planets and even the sign on the cusp wont augment this, but the natives will have to allot their children the room and freedom necessary to grow otherwise the children will rebel. the dating scene is likely turbulent, periods of draught and nun- like celibacy only to be bombarded with periods of intense intimacy. the natives can attract the idealist type, the rocker type, the bad boy or the conspiracy theorist. the kids are often visionaries but detached, they can adore the native as a friend or the cool mom, dad. the casual sex encounters are often memorable but can push the native into deeper themes of self realization. the party scene is often indie, a bit nuance and a bit of a sacred relic. they tend to be off to the side or inhaling the energy so to speak almost as if they’re seeking a greater party elsewhere within the very party they’re are attending. the hobbies and things sought out of pleasure are often odd. these natives tend to be stimulated by electronics and gadgets but more importantly documentaries and alien flics often are more their scene. they love a good conspiracy and even more so love to research the topic. they can be a bit flighty when it comes to the seriousness of intimacy which is often reflected back onto them in the grand scheme of karma. the back can have beauty marks, moles on it and can also have a strangeness to it appearance.

Uranus In the Sixth House : A Perplexing Case Of Deja Vu

(Disclosure - Jaded jammer Remix)

to put it in simple terms these natives are erraticccc, with a capital E. They can create the wildest day to day schedule and it’ll somehow be much more organized and neat than any of us could ever do. they live by their own compass and tend to loathe any outside reinforcement of how and what they should be utilizing their schedule to do. They value a certain level of independence in their day to day and can easily feel afflicted if they are being forced to follow any one else's regimen than their own. their health can also take on the same erratic tone. some times the guessing game they play with their bodily health is part of what adds to that insane happy-go lucky energy they carry and partly why they are the least effected by bodily alignment. Uranus makes the body heal quickly here, often causing these natives to do better dealing with their own health issues unless absolutely necessary. Surgery may in some way shape or form be necessary for these natives as Uranus in this house and the eighth house tend to do that. The stomach can be unique in its appearance but this is often negated especially if the sign on the cusp is in its last decan. the internal organ structure however will operate and preform much different than most. The native will often have odd schedules at work or detached and new age type of co-workers. the native may get jobs as a journalist, a CEO at apple or a new generation company. the ability to get a job “can” be easy sometimes and hard in other times it truly just depends on how Uranus is vibrating. The native may have a sort of cosmic back drop, as Uranus in this house can create premonitions and or preludes to situations set to occur soon. the native should take much care to pay attention to these.

Uranus In The Seventh House: A Unstable Party of two

(Big Black Delta - Huggin & Kissin )

Uranus in the seventh house natives are quite the experience. To put it fondly these natives can be a maelstrom of ups, downs, here's and there’s, Back and fourth's, Two le fro. The story can drain you but you’ll find yourself sucked into their electric vortex of sex, love, passion, anger, rage, and numbness. they are in a sense a sweet little jingle all to themselves wrapped in thorns. they are passionate souls, but the electric uranian current causes them to send out that passion in an overwhelming fashion. people attribute this placement to cheating which is something I have to disagree with, this placement on it’s own in it’s depth means that these natives crave and need a connection that touches their spirit and mind on a cosmic level. Their standards are high which causes them to seem flighty. they are unique and very perplexing individuals and for that reason they’d do anything to find that one perfect gem that reflects their storm, making a colorful shimmer. to them the chaos in a relationship is what makes a connection but the ability to take one another, bare and complete is what they attribute to be real love. The conquest can make them seem like sluts, or whores but in reality they aren’t the type to sleep around or even date for the sake of it as many of them prefer the loner lifestyle. these natives can be hard as hell to understand and even harder to win over but once you do you’ll likely see just how powerful cosmic love can be, and baby it is a groovy experience. these natives can have very cute butt dimples or beauty marks around these regions. depending on how daring they are these natives also get ass tattoos. these natives are very sexy and have an energy to them that makes them the prize. most people want them but they normally don’t notice there fans and prefer the types who don’t blend in normally with society. Exp(drake leo rising Aquarius DC falling for Rihanna, Rebellious, independent, passionate but aloof) They often are level headed and non-emotional in their interactions with others and vice versa. the start of the marriage can begin abruptly and depending on how evolved the native is the marriage can also end abruptly.

Uranus In The Eighth House : A Fallen Apostle

(Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Sacrilege)

Ah Uranus in the Eighth house, The epitome of Intensity and the icy cool of hell all in one. These natives are very much so the dark witch dressed as damsel in distress, the virgin dressed in sheer red panty less, the red eyed lover sitting atop the debris. to these natives the world, it’s people and their psyche isn’t safe from their all seeing celestial aura. these natives are blessed with a sight so clear and so powerful that often they can sense you and your intent ions before you even glance their way. they feel energy like an electric vibration and react to it consciously and unconsciously. they operate on this divine modem yet still reject any guidance from any higher power as they want to be in control of their own fate. in many ways they take on the form of a rebellious angel favored by the ruler of all, not just for their “balls” but for the limitless nature of their tenacity. these natives are ambitious when it comes to the world of the dead, they want to transverse spirituality and the cosmic window and many can be drawn to the occult, be it astrology, actual cults, tarot, psychic mediums, paranormal investigations and so on. these placement is very spiritually powerful as well as these natives tend to earn the respect of good and bad ghost. demons and angels tend to take on passive energies towards these natives more or less being rather curious as to the life choices and directions the native will choose to follow. they often have very strong dreams and can easily hear divine calling if they surrender to the unknown but these natives as brave as they are can be afraid of how “real” their own spiritual ability really is and in turn shy away from the heavier stuff. they can have a past life linked to science and innovation, one in which they discovered something of great importance in their present life. in many cases having Uranus in your 8th house in this life time can mean you’ve lived many lives and carry many souls within your body hence the heaviness of this placement. the body temperature is often very cold and the native can easily get shivers and tremors due to sudden temperature changes. these natives tend to dislike to much heat and can suffer from being accident prone. the native will likely have surgery and an interest in surgery that will become more apparent over time. the genitalia will have unique features or just be shaped in a different way. the hips will be in a sort of hourglass shape depending on other influences. Uranus here also causes a much darker eye color, as with all 8th house placements. the native will have good luck in finances but, their will be a constant fluctuation in finances especially with Neptune here due to Uranus and it’s 50/50 nature. that being said inheritance and money deals will usually run smoothly even if Uranus is badly aspected, but still caution is advised with harsher aspects. sex can almost be experienced in seldom as usually from what I've seen the universe is very picky about who is able to sleep with these natives. usually the natives are put in long moments of celibacy and then sprung by sudden and long periods of constant sex or thoughts of sex. the natives can be very detached and very, very hard to get emotionally close to as the darkest and most intense side of themselves is put behind a uranian wall. they are in a sense the darkest place for Uranus because of how overwhelming their real energy is. not to exaggerate but these natives are not easy to handle and they know that, no ordinary person is usually capable so these natives tend to be very choosey about who is ready to take them on.

Uranus In the Ninth House : A Divine Exit

(Foals - Exits)

For Uranus in the 9th house natives much could be said bout their rebellious spirit but even more could be said about their influential presence. These natives share a obscure world view, one far from the norm and one that isn’t supported by the rest. the can have passionate views on the political landscape but can keep these thoughts tight to their chest especially if they are a more shy person. they prefer a world lived in truth rather than blind following and desperately seek to create that even if in a small way in the world around them. they are buzzing with the rebel energy and can seem like the bad boy or bad gal in town even if they’re sweet as can be. the nature of Uranus in this house is to challenge the status quo which often makes these natives huge advocates for reform and leaks as they need and want the public to have the opportunity to think on their own. These natives can be extremely open minded and one of their most admirable qualities is the safe haven they create for those who don’t feel safe speaking or validating their own truth. these natives albeit strange are very good hearted anarchist. the travels can be interstellar(literally) as Uranus rules space age tech and these natives tend to travel often to highly industrialized places. the natives can have rather aloof or detached engagements with foreign places which allows them the greatest avenue for self discovery and change. they often adore history and language but can despise the ecosystem of paid college and governmental institutions which usually makes many of them seek outside sources of knowledge or in some extreme cases not go to college or further schooling all together. the hips and thighs can be unique in their shape or have freckles(moles).

Uranus In the Tenth House : A Earthly Anomaly

(Alexandra Savior -Frankie)

Uranus in the tenth house is very intimidating. These natives have these kind of critical yet leering gaze to them, this honest and suffocating loathing of society and its little nuances. They know the end and beginning and often find themselves augmenting the results only to be disappointed by it’s commonality. They view people in spades and often find themselves testing reactions and situational responses from environments and people involved. their public persona can be viewed as detached, rather cool and unassuming. their media profiles can range from conspiracy to vintage oldie sit-com. they live in an era that is long dead and gone. they value genuine expression and often adore the new, and rather simplistic approaches to beauty and art. to them keeping some of the old, and taking your own spin on it, bringing it to life in your own light takes an immense amount of dedication and skill. they can seem rather elderly in their approach to concepts and carry a sort of pre-historic air to them yet in so many ways they are ions beyond everyone else as Uranus in this house gifts these natives with not only a resourceful mind but a encompassing mind that sees the beautiful stills and angles yet to be used. they tend to be very poised and serious individuals who dislike a misuse of the “outsider” aesthetic. to them not fitting in isn’t a “trend” rather it’s a experience, it’s a very real aspect of life and one they take seriously. they project this air of independence but can easily overwhelm you with how easily they can remove their feelings from an encounter and treat you as if you were a speck of sand they happened to pay a little to much time on. they have a strong capability to do anything technical, be it space science, astronomy, be it bacterial research, chem labs, cancer research, robotic engineering and so on. they could care less about status and tend to be fond of jobs that allow them some level of reclusively. other planets can augment this description. the bone structure can be rather striking in it’s build leading to either a stranger look or taller look.

Uranus In the Eleventh House : A Transparent Fuse

(Metronomy -reservoir jaques Lu cont remix)

Uranus Can act a damn fool in it’s own house, you’d imagine Uranus would be pretty happy here correct? you’d be right! Uranus is a force in this house but not in the way you would think. The natural ability to make friends is capitalized here but it’s also strange in how it’s brought about. friends and the idea and concept of this will constantly be a out of reach understanding to the native. The friends take on the real role they were supposed to which is being a mirror into the soul of the individual. every aspect of these natives friend is an aspect of the native her/himself. the friendships can start and end quickly and have rather odd middle periods almost as if its a simulation of sorts. The natives themselves can be quick of wit and insanely bright, their mind just receives and accumulates knowledge like some sort of intergalactic sponge. they tend to take on a humble conscious though and tend to loathe seeming overly educated in any one subject as they believe there is always something more to learn. these natives can struggle with hot and cold periods especially emotionally as they can feel sudden bouts of direction less-ness. they can seem a bit self critical and self deprecating only because they hold their mental state to such an abnormally high standard. they tend to be very drawn to organizations of any kind and have very giving and sacrificial hearts. that being said they can smell a con from a mile a way and aren’t to types to mindlessly donate. they can have a strong moral compass and a truly authentic rebel soul yet a great deal of who they are is presented very calmly and flows much easier than any of the Uranus placements so they actually seem the most “normal’ out of the bunch. the ankles can be a bit on the small side and can have some unique marks or bone structuring towards the foot.

Uranus In The Twelfth House : A De-Railed Train

(Tangerine Dream - Love on a Real Train)

Uranus in the 12th house is very different from Uranus conjunct Neptune, or Neptune in the 11th..rather it’s a placement that creates this energy of oneness, a seemingly collective stimulus in a final alignment. These natives are Psychic batteries, they feel and sense the world in such a deep way that they often can easily be written off as “weird” or “odd” to the general populace. in many ways they represent the cosmic due to how deep and personal they feel the vibrations of their environment. they often have strong escapist tendencies that are worsened because Uranus often feels stifled in this house. they tend to operate on two planes of consciousness and switch in and out of these personas on a continuous scale. they can often seem as if they’re not feeding you the entire plate, which is true, they are often withholding large chunks of their mind and inner realm from those they meet as a measure of protecting themselves. The dreams can be vivid beyond belief and can have rather peculiar and odd contextual themes that never seem to go hand and hand. the dreams tend to increase in intensity in response to outside triggers. the spiritual constitution is very intense but can get better as more experience is gained over time. behind closed doors these individuals are Brainiac's, wizards, mad scientist and lab rats. they understand it all, listen to them and hear the astral plane on the tips of their tongue. they are immensely intelligent and unknown to many of these natives once tapped, their minds can do unforeseen things. they are adaptable and easily able to pick up information and skills in the blink of an eye. to them there isn’t an uncharted place in the sky, but since this is the twelfth house this beautiful skill is hidden somewhere in the hum-drum of their psyche and it’s waiting to be freed.

#mine #uranus through the houses #astro

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