6 Works by gilraenstar
Listing Works
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Summary
Upon the death of Aella Wyvernwind, Orym takes up the hefty task of bringing life back to her garden. While escaping his own grief, he realizes he might help another in need.
Loosely based on Secret Garden and I mean very loosely.
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Summary
“Keep breathing,” his friend reminded him gently.
Orym was so lovely. He deserved so many wonderful things.
Another shaky breath allowed him to wrestle the words out of his mind and into the air. “I- I’m not…” He wheezed, “I’m not really… myself? At the moment?” His eyes focused on the wood grain of his lute, needing something visual to entertain his restless brain. Black to grey to white hair was falling into his vision. He didn’t have the energy to fix it.
“Okay,” Orym replied solemnly. There was no ‘I know,’ or ‘what does that mean,’ or ‘get over it.’ He could cry. He already was, probably. “Is there anything I can do? To help you get back to you?” His hair was fixed for him. The amount of love the gesture showed made him uncomfortable, but not because he didn’t like it.
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artstudent!EXUcrew (and probably some of Bell's Hells in the near future) College AU
Every pose this new model shifted to turned Orym a different shade of pink and he was horrifyingly aware of it. The air genasi lived up to his heritage in the most striking ways. He moved like a dancer. As if the air around him held his weight with just the slightest input from the genasi. A dazzling ornament set atop a pedestal to be rightfully appreciated. Unabashed scratching at his paper took all of Orym’s energy. Charcoal sketched limbs arched over in a mockery of what he saw, and each ten seconds felt like a lifetime. And he had to deal with this for four more hours.
Get ready for a ficlet style slow burn with all your favorite mushy artist ingrained romanticism.
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Summary
It took all his energy, but the halfling reached up, brushing Dorian’s hair back behind his pointed ear. He squinted weakly, intending to place a flower there, but his body betrayed him, and a wilted drift of pale indigo petals fell from his hand to the cold stone instead.
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“Recall?” Ana piped up. “Winston ordered a recall?”
Angela laughed, pressing her fingertips to her temples in a weak attempt to force the pain out of her skull. “I apologize. You’re both dead. Of course you wouldn’t have gotten the memo.”
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Picking up the world starting with Bastet. Stay tuned for some violence, eventual McHanzo and a few other pairings, and a fun slowburn world building experience.
Thanks! -
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Summary
Ana Amari was not dead. Ana Amari was also not blind. Not completely.
(I was personally a little underwhelmed with the writing style used in the new short that was reused, so I decided to kind of repackage it. It's still the same plot points and sort of pace as the original. No disrespect to the original writer, of course. It just wasn't my cup of tea!)