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esther-dot · 10 months

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Beauty and the Beast

Tokens of Life (give me) 9k WIP by @ihaveastorminme

Jon thought of his mother's family often. But he never heard a whisper from them. Not once. Until the day the northern wind howled through the ancestral halls of the dragon Queens, bringing with it snow and wolves’ cries at its tail. Five hundred different deities in that hall, and nobody whispered when she walked in, tall and forbidding, the skirts of her dress swirling about her like mist and snow glittering unmelted in her flame hair. She looked at him... and everything changed.

No Rose Without a Thorn 24k

Ten years ago, the Others were defeated, the Starks took back the North, the Targaryens reclaimed the Iron Throne, and the Old Gods transformed Sansa Stark into a dread and dangerous beast. Now, winter is coming, the beast remains, and the family would really like Sansa to be a full time human again.

The Beast, the Beauty, and the Bastard 3k

It is a reworking of Disney's Beauty and the Beast, but with a bit of a twist. Hope you enjoy!

Certain As the Sun 22k, incomplete

Sansa is bright, beautiful, and out of place in her little town. After her father is captured in a forgotten castle, she moves to take his place with the cursed prince.

Gifset by @dcbicki and Gifset by @yenstarkofrivia

Rapunzel

From Tower to Tower 10k incomplete

Locked away in a tower for eighteen years by a witch claiming to be her Mother, long-haired Sansa seeks freedom and a chance to regain her crown as Princess of the kingdom. But the tower is high as she has no means to get down, aside from her incredibly long hair, and no guarantee of safety in the outside world she has been warned about. One night, when the witch is out, and a thief who climbs the tower seeking refuge happens upon her, she stuns herself by taking a chance and asking him to help her escape. Assuring him that she will have all charges against him dropped when he returns her to her rightful parents, she embarks on a series of first discoveries with her new bandit friend Jon.

I'll not be climbin' up, I'll only be calling good morning 13k @violetcoloredglasses

Princess Sansa, the rightful queen, has been trapped in a tower by her usurping step-mother for nigh on three years now. Between the benevolent interference of a local woods-witch, the seemingly random appearance of a dashing young man on a horse, and a magical book that Sansa uses to turn a man into a crow, she may have found a way to change her stars.

flower shaped heart 25k, incomplete @missfaber

Alayne Stone has lived her whole life in her hidden tower, forbidden by Mother to leave. But she yearns for an adventure like the ones in the songs, so when a man named Jon Snow crashes into her tower and into her life, she seizes the chance. They travel to King's Landing where the floating lanterns shine each year on her nameday. The new world is exciting and frightening, but Jon Snow is there to guide her every step. He is not nearly as terrible as Mother said men are, though the rest of the world might be. Danger, betrayals, and lies form the steps of their journey as Alayne uncovers terrible secrets. corresponding moodboard

Let Down Your Red Hair .6k

A Jonsa Rapunzel story told in verse. With her father beheaded and her brother marching against the king, the last thing Sansa expects is for her hair to never stop growing. She is soon locked away in the tallest tower of the Red Keep, withdrawn from court as the War of the Five Kings rages on. Elsewhere, rumors of her magical hair have spread to the Wildlings, who see her fiery strands as their last hope against the coming winter.

Tangled edit by @kitten1618x, Tangled edit by @queen-sans-in-the-north, Tangled edit by @sardoniyx

Tangled gifset by @dcbicki

Sleeping Beauty

La Belle au bois dormant 4k

When The North celebrates the birth of Lady Sansa, all the realm is invited to celebrate with them. Each Lady of a Great House bestows a gift upon the little lady, including Cersei Lannister, whose presence at the celebration is both unexpected and unnerving.

Once upon a Dream 1k by @azulaahai

Sansa is under a curse - fallen into a magical sleep, she, according to the prophecy, can only be awoken by a kiss from a dragon. Arya rides south to ask for help from the dragon king Aegon, but the king’s grumpy half brother Jon might prove to be an obstacle.

Visions are Seldom All They Seem 14k

Sansa Stark is sure her life is a great song. She's a beautiful princess. She's been cursed. And the only way it will be broken is to sleep for a hundred years and be awoken by true love's kiss, given by a king's son. She's more then happy to prick her finger if it means getting her happily ever after with a handsome prince all the sooner. But a hundred years is a long time. To be fair to Sansa, Jon did not realize how long it would be either.

Sleeping Beauty Gifset

East of the Sun and West of the Moon

you are my sun, my moon (and all of my stars) 133k

When the white wolf came, the Lord of Winterfell had no choice but to give him his eldest daughter. Eddard Stark had grown up on legends of wolves, on the stories of bargains made by the First Men, on the knowledge of the price that he and his family might one day be forced to pay. His father had explained the reason their house had taken a wolf as its heraldry and “Winter is Coming” as its motto, a reminder of a promise to honor, a recognition of a debt owed that would need, one day, to be paid. Ned had breathed a sigh of relief when his sister’s twentieth winter arrived and the beast had not. And he had watched the dawn sky for the first signs of the snow that would mark that his daughter, too, might also be spared, might escape the fate that had been handed down by their ancestors. But no man could be so lucky. Sansa, too, had been born with the North in her blood, had been raised on the stories of white wolves, had lived her life with the knowledge that one might come for her.

this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty 22k by @dialux

“I fell,” Sansa says softly. “I flew.” [When a strange, hooded man appears out of nowhere, demanding a woman in return for keeping the Others and dead out of Westeros, Sansa goes with him. It’s the best and worst decision of her life.]

PRE CANON - WESTERN - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6

#jonsa #jonsa fic #fairytale au #there will be a part 2 #there are a lot of fairytale fics 😅#beauty and the beast au #rapunzel au #tangled au #sleeping beauty au #east of the sun and west of the moon au #dot fic list

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 1 year

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A Rose Without A Thorn (ao3)

Behold! Baby’s first Elucien fic. (For @elucienweekofficial day one)

Growing tired of all the barriers between them, Elain finally snaps during one of Lucien’s visits to the River House. Set post-acosf.

(The idea for this fic has been sitting in my wips folder since November, so it has been such a long time coming, but I'm a tad nervous because this is not my usual wheelhouse. It’s inspired by Sam Ryder’s song Tiny Riot, and the title was taken from and inspired by, of all things, Henry VIII. I’m a historian. What did you expect?)

The first Elain heard was his voice.

As warm as the sunlight that streamed through the kitchen window, and as soft as the butter she spooned into the mixing bowl, Lucien’s honeyed voice drifted down the hallway— so damned familiar and yet still so foreign. His voice was a song she ought to remember, a melody she thought she might once have heard in a dream— but still he was a stranger to her, no more solid to her than the wind, slipping through slack fingers.

Elain stood frozen, rooted to the spot, and as the string of polite words exchanged at the front door echoed, still she remained unmoving in the kitchen, static, trying to remember what it was to breathe.

In her dreams she heard that voice.

Every night when she closed her eyes she heard him speak, and in her dreams they spoke like friends, like lovers, like they had known one another forever. In her dreams he laughed, his tongue sharp and wicked, and in her dreams she blushed, smiling at the glint in his eye. Every night he spun her stories, weaving tales of romance and beauty whilst she slept— but every morning Elain woke alone, her heart sinking as if yearning for the beat of his.

Her dreams were pretty, but the reality…

The reality was this— the stark truth of it laid bare as Elain remained tucked away in the kitchen, up to her elbows in batter, unable to take a single step forward. He stood only in the hall, separated from her by just a handful of feet and a few wooden doors, but the distance felt like so much more, a stretch made impassable, uncrossable, by every awkward meeting and each stilted conversation, by all those times they’d sat politely across from one another, Elain quiet in her chair, knowing nothing but his name.

Every month he came, like clockwork, to meet with Rhys and Feyre and discuss whatever it was he’d been up to in his role as ambassador. Every month Feyre insisted Elain be present, and every month the four of them sat down to lunch at the river house. Elain always made cake, and she spent every single moment of every single luncheon trying not to notice the gleam in Feyre’s eyes, the way she looked at her as if she was wondering if this might be the month that Elain would offer Lucien more than just a perfunctory greeting and a small, subdued smile.

And every month all they shared was small talk, mild pleasantries exchanged with tight, straining smiles.

Elain might have been a seer, but she didn’t think her dreams were anything but figments of her imagination, the fractured pieces of a life she might once have had. She didn’t think they were any sort of glimpse into the future— how could they be? There was simply too much disconnect between them, like she and Lucien weren’t just on different pages— they were reading from different books altogether, and it hadn’t bothered her at first, back when she hadn’t really wanted to know more than his name.

But something had shifted lately, changed with the seasons, and with the deepening spring Elain found herself with every passing day growing… curious.

She heard the telltale sound of Feyre leading Lucien into the sitting room, the door closing behind them, and questions unasked and unanswered balanced on Elain’s tongue. She thought of him— how he’d spent so long in the Spring Court, surrounded by flowers and sunlight.

What was it like, she wondered?

What was he like, when the air smelled of roses and blossoms? In the bright light of day, in the summer heat— what was he like? What did that red hair look like beneath the midday sun, and who was he, outside these walls, beyond this court? Who was he really, the man that fate had bound her to?

He was an enigma, and as she cracked an egg against the side of the mixing bowl, Elain huffed. It sent a small cloud of flour rising from the countertop, and throughout the kitchen silence reigned.

All of those questions burned within her chest— but how could she ever ask, how did she even begin, when she was only ever forced to endure tea parties and elegant lunches when he visited, with Feyre always lingering? Or Rhys, or Nesta?

It was ludicrous. Suffocating— exhausting.

She was twenty-three years old, and her every move, every breath, every look was examined and analysed like she was a debutante at her first ball, barely cut from her governess’ apron strings. It was the weight of others’ expectations sinking them before they could hope to swim, and the most ironic thing - the most infuriating - was that Elain spent every luncheon trying not to study the lines of Lucien’s face. Trying not to notice the way his lips curved when he smiled, or how he tucked his hair behind his ear when he laughed. Trying, too, to pretend she didn’t see the way he looked at her, like she was a secret he was trying to figure out.

Slowly, she drew a breath, one made heavy by exhaustion and exasperation. Maybe, just maybe, Elain would like Lucien, if only she had to space to decide for herself.

Maybe.

She gritted her teeth now, that deep breath swelling in her lungs, coalescing with something bitter, and when she cracked another egg into the bowl, the shell shattered.

It was just… impossible.

Lucien was only ever polite, but every time Elain found herself in a room with him the conversation was forced— like neither of them quite knew where they were supposed to fit together. He looked at her like she was porcelain, breakable, afraid of saying the wrong thing, and though Feyre had broken the curse and freed him from the mask he’d worn for so long, Elain couldn’t help but feel he’d merely exchanged one mask for another when it came to her. He hid, now, behind those manners and that charming smile, that devastatingly polite exterior, and she couldn’t blame him, not really.

After all, her guileless smile was a mask of its own, wasn’t it?

One she had hidden behind for years— that demure and delicate little smile, the one Greysen had liked so much, so wholly appropriate for a woman of society, meant to be seen and not heard, to be looked at and admired. She had let that smile carry her through every social season, and though she’d once thought it as much of a weapon to her as Feyre’s bow and arrow…

It was different now.

It wasn’t a comfort or an asset— it had turned her into something fragile, something to be protected, like the smile on her face somehow made her weak. She hadn’t minded so much at first - Rhys and the others had always been so kind to her - but now… it was becoming an effort to curve her lips when they held their meetings behind closed doors, as though convinced she couldn’t handle it.

She plucked up her wooden spoon now, and as she began to mix the batter in the bowl she gripped the handle so hard her nails dug into her palm, tiny crescent moons marking the soft skin. She let out a single embittered huff - the last she would allow herself - glancing towards the doorway that separated them, the hall that stretched beyond.

Lucien was just as bad as the rest of them.

He looked at her like he didn’t know what to do with her, how to approach her, like she was a startled deer in the forest. In her dreams, he looked at her like he knew every inch of her, inside and out. Like he had committed every part of her to memory, knowing her as keenly, as acutely, as he knew himself. As the timbre of his voice resonated from the sitting room, for a moment Elain wished he would look at her that way now, in the bright light of day. She wished, too, that she knew what that voice sounded like in grand halls and marble ballrooms, in small spaces and quiet corners. For a moment she wished she had the courage to find out.

Furiously, she mixed that batter.

It was a mess— everything was a mess, and she hadn’t the slightest idea of how to fix it, how to make it better.

And then—

“Hello, Elain.”

Every nerve in Elain’s body stilled.

He’d come upon her silently— or had she just been so lost in her own thoughts that she’d stopped hearing his heartbeat through the walls?

Her hand went slack around the wooden spoon, her mind emptying as that voice filled the silence that stretched through the kitchen. It was a lilting voice, so elegant it was almost musical, with the hint of an accent softening his words, rounding out the edges of her name. Elain let her eyes slide closed for the briefest of seconds, feeling those smooth tones echo in her bones, warming her right the way through like a shaft of pure, brilliant sunlight. For just a moment - spare and singular - she let herself feel the bond in her chest, the warmth of it wrapping around her ribs, dancing as he spoke her name. It almost stole her breath, and Elain caught herself before it got stuck in her throat, righted herself before she could fall. She straightened her shoulders, plastered that stiff and stifling smile onto her face and lifted her eyes, catching sight of him in the doorway.

Gods, she almost wished she hadn’t.

Her dreams might have been wide of the mark when it came to their conversations, but even they had not exaggerated Lucien’s beauty. He stood, effortless and immaculate, in fawn coloured breeches and a loose white shirt, his long hair shining like burnished amber in the sunlight. His golden eye glinted as he clasped his hands behind his back, the golden hoop in his ear winking as the sun danced across his skin. He was lovely— lithe and graceful and elegant, and as Elain let the spoon fall with a clatter against the side of the bowl, she cursed herself for being so distracted.

As though only now remembering that she was supposed to be making a cake, she reached for the measuring cups as her mouth went dry, her tongue heavy. That feeling behind her ribs swelled, tugging the way it always did, and as Elain dunked the measuring cup into the sugar, she took a breath and somehow found the will to say,

“Hello, Lucien.”

Something flashed briefly in his eye when she spoke his name, a momentary spark, but she didn’t have time to study it. He buried it, hid it quickly as he dipped his chin in a courteous, practically genteel bow, a polite smile drifting across his lips.

Polite— he was always so damned polite, and though Elain didn’t doubt his manners for a second, sometimes she wished he would let his composure slip— let her see the sharp-tongued fae who had, by all accounts, suited the fox mask he’d been stuck in for half a century.

Silence crawled back into the kitchen, settling thick as Elain dumped the sugar into the mixing bowl. She was all too aware of his presence at the door as she added another cup, her eyes flicking up to find him watching her intently, following her every move.

“Do you need any help?” he asked.

She shook her head, biting her tongue as she filled another cup with sugar. She forced an easy smile on her face, accommodating and bland, the kind her mother had always told her worked well in high society. Lucien nodded, and Elain poured the sugar in the bowl, trying to remember how many cups she’d already added.

Was that the second cup? Or the third?

She couldn’t remember, his presence in the doorway a distraction so complete she couldn’t remember anything from the past five minutes.

Lucien cleared his throat. “Well, then,” he said, unlinking his hands from behind his back. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Elain nodded, wiping her hands on her apron as he gave her a long, searching look before turning on his heel and heading back to the sitting room. Once he was gone, Elain let out another disaffected sigh, one that was heavy in her lungs. She looked at the doorway, at the space absent of him now, and felt something like regret curling uncomfortably within.

Cursing softly under her breath, Elain huffed sharply and added another damned cup of sugar to the bowl.

***

Too much sugar.

She’d put too much sugar in the cake.

Elain’s hand tightened around the silver cake fork, one so dainty, so tiny, it was a wonder it didn’t snap. The cake wasn’t… bad. Not exactly. It was just…

The icing was too thick, the sponge far too dense from where she’d over-mixed it, and sweet, it was so, so sweet.

Lucien’s fault, she thought as her entire body recoiled from the sweetness on her tongue. It was his fault— him and that stupid smile of his, that stupidly lovely face that had seemed to glow in the sunlight. She’d lost count of the sugar she’d put into the bowl and just added another three cups anyway, and now there was a cloying taste clinging to the back of her throat, making her teeth ache and her gut twist, and as she did the maths… Oh gods— there were six cups of sugar in a recipe that called for three.

She glanced around the table, gritting her teeth as Feyre swallowed, pasting a smile on her face as she took another bite. The cake was terrible, and yet they wouldn’t tell her— too afraid of upsetting her, like they didn’t think she could handle it. Feyre practically winced as she closed her mouth around her second bite, and Elain glared down at her fork.

Lucien seemed more interested in his tea than in the cake that he had delicately taken only a small bite of, but Feyre smiled blandly as she forced a swallow, and at her side Rhys cleared his throat, silver fork cutting through the icing Elain had done an inch too thick— the glaze she had made whilst trying not to think of the look that had flashed in Lucien’s eye, wondering what it was and why he’d hidden it.

“Lovely as always, Elain,” Rhys said, masking a grimace as, with effort, he swallowed. “It’s sweet,” he added. “Just like you.”

He offered her a winning smile, but Elain couldn’t see the bright side. She half wanted to throw something. It was a joke, a comment made in jest to lighten the mood, but… she scowled. A Nesta scowl, an expression she’d seen on her sister’s face a thousand times and yet never once allowed to grace her own.

“A rose without a thorn,” Rhys finished.

And Elain… snapped.

“If it had no thorns it wouldn’t be a rose,” she countered flatly. “That’s not how roses work.”

Rhys paused, fork an inch from his mouth, and on the other side of the table, Lucien choked on his tea. Elain put down her own fork, hands lying flat on the table.

Wasn’t she allowed to have thorns, just for a day? To make a cake that wasn’t perfect and lovely? Why must she always be gentle and kind and sweet— why must she be coddled and cosseted?

Couldn’t she, just for once, make a mistake?

Vexed, she pushed away from the table.

Her chair scraped roughly against the polished floorboards, and Lucien’s teacup rattled against his saucer as he set it down, but Elain only tossed her napkin to the table, letting it lie in a pile of crumpled ivory fabric, half lying across her porcelain plate still laden with inedible cake. Honesty— it was all she had wanted, to be treated like a person instead of a child. She couldn’t bear it, and she didn’t look back at the table, at the cake half unfinished or the shock that cross her sister’s face as Elain made a beeline for the hall, for the kitchen, for the back door beyond that would take her out to the garden.

Feyre called out her name, but Elain didn’t stop.

She wanted her garden— wanted the peace and quiet of her garden, the only place she ever felt at home, but—

The breath sawed from her throat as she pushed open the door, gasping as the air kissed her cheeks.

It wasn’t hers, was it?

It was just a plot she tended in Feyre’s garden. In Rhys’ garden. It wasn’t hers, even though she’d cultivated every single bloom in every single bed. She could lay no real claim to it, no ownership, and as she breathed in the fresh air, drawing it deep into her lungs, Elain felt part of herself splintering, cracking beneath the pressure.

At the roses, she stopped.

She came to a halt, looking at the flowers - at the thorns - and reaching out, she traced one with her finger, feeling the sharp edge press against her fingertip, knowing it would take only the slightest bit of pressure to break the skin and bring blood blossoming.

Regret fluttered in her stomach.

The irritation she’d felt turned sour, and as her heartbeat calmed… Elain knew she ought to apologise to Rhys for snapping. To Feyre for ruining her lunch. To Lucien for… everything. For being so stand-offish, for closing herself off when all he’d ever done was try and get to know her.

But how could he ever succeed, Elain thought bitterly, when she didn’t even know who she was herself? She’d been lost— whoever she’d been before having vanished with the cauldron, dried up when she came out, dripping and freezing on the cold stone floor. Lucien had given her his jacket then, and ever since she’d plastered on that unassuming mask, only to find that, like poison ivy, it had burrowed its way beneath her skin and wound itself tight around her veins.

Who was she, without that bland little smile?

She didn’t know anymore— the answer always escaped her, snatched by the wind.

As if she’d conjured him, Elain heard footsteps on the gravel path behind her. Instinctually, she knew who it was. It wasn’t that she recognised the tread— no, it was the way the thread behind her ribs began to vibrate, to tremble, and she knew without needing to turn that Lucien had found her.

She turned, expecting to find a face lined with concern— but instead his expression was calm, like the afternoon sky after a morning storm, and he looked at her with a kind of ease Elain had never seen before. He stood with his hands so casually in his pockets, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. His head tilted an inch to the side, and Elain had never once seen him so… relaxed. He gave her a small smile, and for the first time it didn’t seem contrived. His eyes were alight - both the russet and the gleaming gold - a fire beneath the afternoon sun, and when that smile turned wider, showed teeth, for the very, very first time he wasn’t looking at her like she was some dainty, fragile little thing.

He didn’t look afraid that she’d break.

And for the first time he didn’t look like the kind of man who would buy her gardening gloves. No— he looked like he’d let her get her hands dirty, let her feel the earth, and sit right beside her as she did. His golden eye shone in the sun, and as Elain dragged her gaze over his face, the look he’d buried earlier in the kitchen flashed again, a flare in his single russet eye, and this time Lucien didn’t bother to hide it, to mask it. This time he let her see it, and Elain found… interest there, sharp and glinting, mingling with appreciation, with something that seemed an awful lot like attraction.

He looked at her like he wanted her, and Elain suppressed a shiver.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning her gaze to the roses, to the thorns. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Lucien cut in, interrupting her. He’d never interrupted her before, always let her finish. Elain suddenly felt like some pretence was dropping away, both his mask and hers eroding at last. “Don’t apologise.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped.”

Lucien snorted, taking another step closer until he was there looking at her roses too. He reached out, brushing a finger along the petals, velvet soft. Elain wondered what that touch would feel like against her skin, the drag of his hands on her waist.

“For the record,” he said softly, his voice carrying the hint of smoke, like he knew where her mind had gone. “I like roses.”

There was something heated in his gaze, his eyes lowering as for the first time he let himself look at her, really look at her. He dragged his focus over her cheekbones, across her jaw, lingering on her lips, so blatant and brazen she almost couldn’t believe it. Oh, Lucien was a gentleman, of that she was sure— but not all the time. There was a streak of something else in him too, something a little bit rakish, a shade of daring, and here it was at last, coming out to play as they stood between the roses.

He gave her a knowing smile, a sidelong glance that had the bond between them thrumming, alive in a way it had never been before, and Elain didn’t pull away or put space between them, even though this was the closest they had been since she’d been tipped out of the cauldron, when he’d draped his jacket over her bare shoulders. He was so close now that his arm was brushing hers, and when she breathed she could smell him— could feel his scent being pulled into her lungs as though it were the only kind of air she needed. It was something sweet and warm with a sharp undertone, and in her rose garden it was delectable, all sugar and spice and crackling embers. He was so close, all she’d have to do was tilt her head and—

His hand fell away from the flower, and he canted his head to the side as Elain looked up at him, suddenly feeling the world narrow until it contained nothing but this little square of the garden. His eye sparked, and as she watched… Lucien winked.

There he is, Elain thought. There’s the man Feyre told me about.

“And I like my roses with thorns,” he added in a whisper, almost conspiratorial.

Elain let out a surprised laugh as her heart kicked in her chest, and with the way his eyes widened, it shocked him almost as much as it did her. His eyes glinted as his lips split into a bright smile, and it was… lovely. Gods, how had she not noticed before, how utterly lovely he was when he smiled?

“And did you like my cake?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

It was Lucien’s turn to laugh now, a shocked bark escaping him as he shook his head, auburn hair cascading over his shoulder.

“No,” he said, apologetic. “No, I didn’t.”

“At least you’re honest,” Elain sighed. “I didn’t like it either.”

Lucien laughed again, softer this time, and as he dipped his head his hair fell across his face, masking the scar and the golden eye.

“Apologies, my lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” she whispered.

Not now— not yet. She wanted him to call her my lady when his lips were against her skin, wanted him to whisper it against the crook of her neck as his hands roamed. In her dreams, the only time he called her my lady was when he made love to her. Now— now it was only another barrier between them, a formality she couldn’t stand.

And she’d had enough of formality.

Suddenly Elain wanted to push that hair back, wanted to see his face— the face of the only one who had given her honesty when she asked for it. She wanted to run her hands through that hair, burnished by the afternoon sun. Wanted to see how warm his skin was beneath her fingers, how soft, and something began to build inside her, some kind of desperate anticipation, and even though she knew she should probably keep her hands to herself…

Tentatively, she lifted her hand, eyes growing wider as her heart began to hammer in her chest. Lucien stilled, his smile falling away as slowly, agonisingly slowly, Elain curled her fingers and brushed the hair back behind his pointed ear, feeling the strands between her fingers. Both of his eyes widened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

It was silent, but this wasn’t the silence of all their other meetings, where they had nothing to say to one another.

No— now there was too much, and Elain didn’t know where to begin.

“Call me Elain,” she said at last.

“Elain,” Lucien whispered, his eyes shuttering as though her name on his tongue was an unexpected pleasure, a delicacy he’d just discovered and didn’t ever wish to be without. His lips parted, and when he murmured her name again, it was as though he found it to be a balm to every one of his burns, spoken with a kind of wonder that made her shiver, made her feel like the world was shaking.

And gods— Elain felt the tremble in her blood and smiled.

“Perhaps,” she said quietly, barely able to hear her voice beyond the pounding of her heart, “you could call again next week and I’ll have a better cake for you.”

Lucien didn’t mask his smile this time. He met her eyes, gaze boring into hers as he held her wine-eyed stare. It started small, a soft smirk playing at the corners of his lips, but as he scanned her face it spread— like a wildfire, catching. His fingers rose in the space between them, his eyes turning bold as he brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek.

“I’d like that,” he said, his smile so easy Elain couldn’t understand why he’d ever hidden it, ever kept this part of himself back.

She leaned into his touch, feeling his fingers against her skin warm and light, like the first kiss of sunrise after a long, dark night.

“I’d like that too,” she said, before pausing and looking back towards the house, to the windows lining the kitchen where everything had gone so decidedly wrong earlier. “But you should probably stay out of the kitchen until it’s done,” she added.

Lucien frowned as confusion flitted across his russet eye, and Elain shrugged.

“It’s your fault I lost count of the sugar,” she explained.

Lucien laughed again, and with the sound something inside Elain began to unfurl, and for the first time… For the very first time, she felt like maybe this mating bond wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

#elucien #elucienweek2023

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ink-flavored · 2 months

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OC Musical Tag

Tagged by @noblebs , thank you i'm so excited to do this

Rules: Pick 1-3 songs you feel best embody a character from your WIP/s, either in general or at this moment in the plot.

I love making playlists I have so many playlists!!! Picking 3 songs is gonna be so hard. I'm gonna do it for Pride btw, you can listen to his full playlist on spotify or on youtube

Good Enough by Lø Spirit I've actually had the privilege of hearing this live (Lø Spirit opened for The Struts on their most recent tour, I saw them in May)! As soon as I heard this song I knew it was the perfect concoction of sad and pissed for my sad pissed demon guy. Lyrics example: How can I see roses, and only feel thorns? It never makes sense when everyone says that “the world is yours” I guess maybe I'm broken Or maybe I'm torn On who I once was, who I wanna be and how I was born I've been wearing these losses too long I price 'em out like diamonds, it's a problem It's so hard to feel good when I'm numb I just wanna feel good enough, good enough But what the hell's good enough, good enough?

Rat Child by Crobot If pressed, I could argue that most Crobot songs are about Pride, but this one in particular gives off his vibe so deeply. Lyrics example: There ain't no reason to serve this revenge cold Got my ears feelin' hot from this grudge turnin' old This vendetta's been bought and sold Bought and sold If you're willing to take it as far as I see I've learned everything that I really need Tired of waiting to kill the disease To rip out the anger that's buried in me It's kicked me down on my hands and knees And I can't breathe

Thank God I’m Not You by Himalayas Pride's vibe when he's in a good mood. Also I think it's very funny for a literal demon to go "well... at least I'm not YOU." Lyrics example: I'm a coward, I'm a freak The scum of the earth A liar and a cheat But I could be so much worse You could call me narcissistic You could say I'm of no worth You could call me the scorn of Satan But I could be so much worse I'm such a sinner And I have been since birth Full of greed and full of lust But I could be so much worse You say I'm hedonistic And a bit too extrovert Described as positively sadistic But I could be so much worse

I could genuinely make a sickeningly long post about all 50+ songs on his playlist, but I'll spare you. This time.

Tagging: @foxys-fantasy-tales @noblebs @ceph-the-ghost-writer @auntdarth @damageinkorporated @srjacksin @vacantgodling @duelistkingdom @sigridhawke @void-botanist and anyone else who wants to share!

#annika talks #ask game #Pride #P&J #Pride & Justice

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mysticstarlightduck · 3 months

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OC Picrew Tag!

I found this really cool Picrew and decided to make some of my OCs using it! I think you guys might like giving it a try as well, so I'm tagging a few people in this post (:

Here we go!

Rules: Use the provided Picrew to make one of your WIPs OCs, then provide a quick description of the character, and (optionally) a "funny/bad" version of a summary

SUPERNOVA INITIATIVE

Deimos Soll

About: An infamously silver-tongued assassin, sniper, and mercenary known for being unpredictable and always having hidden intentions, Deimos is Jack and Cassie's former crewmate and first childhood friend, turned rival, turned begrudging-friend-again. Deimos is the most successful and deadly sniper in the whole galaxy, feared even by the Junction at his full potential.

Badly/Funny Summarization: Essentially a young, alien, 'space opera' version of John Wick with extra angst and a very questionable moral compass

Lyorna Alyrii

About: A young and optimistic freedom fighter from a water folk of a faraway planet in the Khosmonian galaxies who believes in a freer future for her people and an end to the oppressive regime of the Junction. Focused and brilliant, Lyorna wants to uphold her father's legacy and bring peace to the galaxy. She becomes friends with Jack Tithus during his crew's mission on the Khosmonian galaxy and later on they become each other's love interest.

Bad Summarization: An overly optimistic, too-precious young adult who should be protected at all costs and has almost no plan for anything at any given moment in time and should not be left unsupervised.

Noctus

About: Though his full name is classified and unknown to the cast, his reputation precedes him. He is the single most successful special forces secret agent currently in the employ of the Junction - he has never failed a mission, never missed a target. And he always follows orders, always obeys the rules. However, is everything about him what it seems? A forgotten and suppressed part of his memory may prove that the system he fought so dearly to uphold may have actually made him into their perfect living weapon, and there may be many other lies yet to be uncovered

Bad Summarization: Twenty-something secret agent done with everything and everyone who only wanted to have a simple mission and ends up 'adopted' by the gang of misfits he was sent to supervise.

SONG OF THORNS

Tullieh Aerlys

About: The undefeated and steadfast commander of the Guardians, who protect the Mountain Elves' hidden kingdom and keep outsiders from discovering their land. Tullieh is a serious, no-nonsense young man to whom duty and honor mean everything, due to a personal grudge against humans, especially those who hunt mythical beings, he will do anything to honor his vow and keep his people - especially his younger siblings - from being found by outsiders, even if it means being ruthless and unforgiving to a questionable degree.

Bad Summarization: Traumatized ancient teenager who grew up way too fast and should never have been given a gun and a sword under any circumstances, but has both of those things and a lack of self-preservation instincts to make everything worse.

Renn Atrius

About: A foreign noble from beyond the royal lands, he was forced into the lifestyle of a thief from a young age, after being orphaned when his father, a Vampyr, was murdered for refusing to obey their neighboring kingdom's crown. Learning the art of disappearing into the night and taking valuables from the land that took everything from him and colonized his nation, Renn quickly became quite the nuisance for the King. But thankfully to his connection to raw blood magic, his slight vampiric abilities ensure no human soldier ever proves a real threat to him. He starts to fall in love with Roselyn, having become friends with her after trying to steal her coin purse (having mistaken her for a tourist from the capital).

Bad Summarization: Goth dhampyr way too reckless for his own good chooses to be a menace to the System while also refusing to deal with his very much unresolved childhood trauma.

Cadenza Narellie

About: A young faery noble, Cadenza is the only child of a once-powerful, now defamed, High House. After rumors about her father's supposed alliance with their nation's enemies, the human royals from the neighboring kingdom, their reputation came crashing down, and so did the bond they once shared, as her father grew mysteriously distant from her. Realizing something is seriously amiss, Cadenza takes it upon herself to investigate and find out the truth about what is truly happening, even if it gets her accused of treason herself.

Bad Summarization: Local faery with way too much time on her hands and no friends decides to dive into a conspiracy and is surprised when that decision has consequences.

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @cowboybrunch, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart

@leave-her-a-tome, @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

#wip supernova initiative #wip song of thorns #oc picrew tag #badly summarized ocs #writers #writers on tumblr #writing #writerblr #my wips #my characters #my writing #character writing #writeblr

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aphroditelovesu · 1 year

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.navigation

✿.｡Welcome to my blog! My name is Larissa, but feel free to call me Lari or Lady L, which is how you know me. I'm Brazilian 🇧🇷 and I was born on October 15th. English is not my first language. My pronouns are she/her and I am bisexual 💖💜💙. I am Libra ♎️ and INTP.

⤷♡. If you want to support my work or to just tip me, can you buy me a coffee? ☕️

⤷✿.Here I've gathered all my series, masterlists and some additional things to make them easier to find. Enjoy my blog, dear reader.

⤷♡.+ disclaimer: some of my works may have nsfw content in addition to the yandere genre. if you are sensitive to these topics, I recommend not reading.

⤷♡.+ genre: yandere/dark!au.

⤷♡.+ Requests are OPEN. Asks and concepts are open.

⤷♡.+ character ai: aphroditelovesu.

⤷♡.+ Rules and Fandoms List;

⤷♡.+ Emoji Prompt List + Prompts List;

⤷♡.+ Wips; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6; 7; 8;

⤷♡.+ Commissions;

‘‘Love you so bad, love you so bad, mold a pretty lie for you.’‘ ˚˖੭ Fake Love, BTS.

⤷♡.+ BTS; 💜

⤷♡.+ BLACKPINK; 🖤

⤷♡.+ ITZY; 🧡

⤷♡.+ Stray Kids; 💙

➷ EXO: Yandere Baekhyun (Romantic), Yandere Suho (Romantic).

➷ TWICE: Imagine as Classmates.

⤷♡.+ Greek Mythology; ⚡

⤷♡.+ Egyptian Mythology; 𓂀

⤷♡.+ Historical Characters; 📜

➷ The Lost Queen | Yandere!Alexander the Great ❝You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn't understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren't safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won't let you go so easily.❞ The Lost Queen Series Masterlist

⤷♡.+ The Vampire Diaries + The Originals; 🧛

⤷♡.+ House of the Dragon; 🐉

⤷♡.+ Game of Thrones; ❄️

⤷♡.+ The Sandman; ⌛

⤷♡.+ Outlander; 🗿

⤷♡.+ Wednesday; 🎻

⤷♡.+ Brooklyn Nine-Nine; 👮‍♂️

⤷♡.+ Bridgerton; 🐝

⤷♡.+ Shadow and Bone; ☠️

⤷♡.+ Outer Banks; 💰

⤷♡.+ K-Dramas; ❤️

⤷♡.+ Reign; 👑

⤷♡.+ The Tudors; 🗡️

⤷♡.+ Hannibal; 🍽

➷ The Bloody Viscount | Yandere!Anthony Bridgerton ❝You had fallen in love with Viscount Bridgerton and he had fallen in love with you. The marriage seemed perfect, but then why did Anthony Bridgerton always come home late and bloodstained?❞ Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; ➷ The Shadow of the Golden Dragon | Yandere!ASOIAF/HOTD/GOT ❝You have always been an avid reader and your greatest passion was delving into the pages of "A Song of Ice and Fire" by George R.R. Martin. You knew every character, every twist and every detail of the Seven Kingdoms as if they were part of your own life. But what you never imagined is that an unexpected encounter with a mysterious antique book seller would change your life forever.❞ The Shadow of the Golden Dragon Masterlist

⤷♡.+ Percy Jackson; 🌊

⤷♡.+ Harry Potter; 🔮

⤷♡.+ A Court of Thorns and Roses; 🌹

⤷♡.+ A Song of Ice and Fire; 🔥

‘‘We were born to be alone but why we still looking for love?’‘ ˚˖੭ Lovesick Girls, BLACKPINK.

⤷♡.+ Attack on Titan; ⚔️

⤷♡.+ Naruto; 🍥

⤷♡.+ Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir; 🐞

⤷♡.+ One Piece; 👒

⤷♡.+ How To Train Your Dragon; 🐲

⤷♡.+ Death Note; 📓

‘‘Don’t you know that you’re toxic?’’ ˚˖੭ Toxic, Britney Spears.

⤷♡.+ Marvel; ۞

‘‘I wish you would love me again, no, I don't want nobody else.’’ ˚˖੭ Love Me Again, V.

⤷♡.+ Love Letters; 💕

⤷♡.+ Love Letters II; 💕

⤷♡.+ Kinktober 2023; 🎃

➷ A Black Rose | Yandere!Ian Daerier ❝A cruel and narcissistic reaper falls in love with the woman he was supposed to take the life of.❞ Oneshot;

#navigation #masterpost #masterlist #masterlists #rules #fandoms list #prompts #emoji prompt #prompt list #yandere au #love letters #wips #yandere #dark au #📌 pinned post

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theink-stainedfolk · 1 month

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Writerblr Interview

Thank you for the tag @drchenquill ♡♡♡

Short stories, novels or poems?

I like reading and writing both Short stories and Novels. Poems are hard for me to write and even harder to understand 😭😭😭😭 all my friends that i made in school/college are great poetess and i always try my best to support them though their poetry is often confusing my braincells.

What genre do you prefer reading?

I prefer reading Crime Thriller, Psychological Thriller, Suspense, Political Intrigue,YA Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Enemies to Lovers and Magical Realism. Lately I've been scooting towards Adult fantasy or what most people would call "Dark Academia ". Also, i don't really mind if the characters are queer or not. To me, sexuality doesn't define a good story or characters, though it adds a bit of more charm to them.

What genre do you prefer writing?

Same as the above, but with romance.

Are you a planner or a write-as-i-go kind of person?

When i plan things for my wips, they don't go as i plan. So i am the 2nd type. Because i came to believe that in order to write the story, the story must also progress itself.

What music do you listen to while writing the story?

I usually don't but i have this playlist of my favourite songs that i can listen in any situation. Sometimes i try to listen the songs based of the situation happening in my wip but the songs sometimes are super boring.

Fav books/movies

There are so many I'd rather not write it here. I'll just say some of my favourite books are Sorcery of Thorns, The Caraval Series, A Good Girl's Guide To Murder series, Babel, Piranesi and The Will of The Many. Etc..

Any Current WIPs?

Yes... so many... too many...😭😭😭😭 Thorn-Kissed ,

Legacy of Creation , Shades of Erudition, The Masque of Murder, Whispers of Shadow and love, The Veil of Allegiance etc..

If someone were to make a cartoon out of you, what would your standard outfit be?

Very nice question. It would be abaya obviously but beneath it, I imagine my standard outfit would be a stylish yet practical ensemble. I'd likely wear a well-fitted jacket or blazer with a subtle pattern, paired with a comfortable, versatile top underneath. My pants would be sleek, maybe dark jeans or tailored trousers, allowing me to move freely. I'd have a pair of sturdy but fashionable shoes, perhaps ankle boots but i also love me some knee-length boots because it's hot. Accessories would include a distinctive watch and maybe a scarf or a book bag, reflecting my love for stories and creativity. Overall, my outfit would balance sophistication with comfort.😁

Create a character description of yourself

Meet me, a confident writer with a secret: I'm actually a self-conscious mess when it comes to my looks (don't mind my frazzled hair and questionable fashion choices). My brain is a storytelling factory, bursting with ideas and characters begging to be set free. But honestly, I just want to escape my stressful home life and find a peaceful cave where I can write in peace. As an ambivert, I can charm you (or not, depends on my mood) and engage in witty banter, but don't be fooled – I need my alone time to recharge. My sharp tongue and sarcasm might come across as rude, but deep down, I'm a squishy emotional marshmallow. When I'm not writing, you can find me binge-reading, K-pop/J-pop dancing, or obsessing over K/C/J/T dramas (don't judge me). Just be warned: I can talk for hours about my passions, but also respect my need for solo time – it's like refueling my creative tank! Friendships are my jam, but apparently, my friends don't prioritize them as much (ouch, harsh reality check!). Despite that, I remain a loyal and caring friend, always ready to lend a listening ear or a sarcastic quip. In conclusion, I'm a lovable, quirky writer with a heart of gold (i hope so), a dash of sass, and a whole lot of creativity. Just don't mind my insecurities, and we'll get along fabulously!

Do you like incorporating people you actually know into your writing?

No, not really. But i think i did it once or twice.

Are you kill-happy with the characters?

Sometimes i do it for the story and atmosphere (bye Hiram,sorry but Gentian didn't deserve you) i kill antagonists but i don't know honestly. But i do kill if necessary.

Coffee or Tea while writing?

Neither. Just my tears 🥲👍🏻

Slow or Fast writer?

I'm in the middle. Sometimes when the idea strikes, i write in a hour or so. But sometimes I'm just staring at the ceiling.

Where/who/what do you find inspiration from?

Anything anywhere anyone.

If you were put into a fantasy world, what would you be?

A very lethargic peraon with no motivations or anything. I hope it remains that way, but since this is a fantasy world, my peaceful life will come to an end due to some traguc events and someone will provoke me and my sole motivation will ignite.

Most fave book cliche?

👀 [redacted] just kidding. Enemies to lovers, fist/daggers talk instead of pillow talk. Enemies, one sided enemies, rivals. And they were roomates, one bed, fake dating to escape the situation, hidden heir, fake stranger, mysterious stranger,etc.

Least fave book cliche?

Brother's friend.... teacher student romance... insta love, mary sue protagonist, rich guy poor woman, love interest with no personal goals, stereotypical villains, stereotypical diverse characters, unrealistic relationships, cliched character archetypes, rushed endings, etc.

Fave scenes to write?

Anything with heavy feels. Like angst, romantic scene, character death, plot twist reveals, distressing situations etc.

Most productive time of day for writing?

When the inspiration is there, any time is fine but mostly at night.

Reason for writing?

Because i love writing stories and love sharing it to others in hope that they'll also enjoy as much as i do. My reason is simple.

I'll tag @finickyfelix @willtheweaver @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally @the-golden-comet @graveyardshift111 @thecomfywriter @roarintheheavens

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writers #writing #writers and poets #writers of tumblr #writblr #creative writing #my writing

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achaotichuman · 8 months

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Rules: In a new post, list the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I was tagged by @nocasdatsgay

Wips- Most of them are for A Court of Thorns and Roses. One is an original work.

The Call to Chaos and Destruction- Original work.

Naked Poetry- A gift for @fell-in-luvs

A Bloom In Spring- An AU request.

A Court of Song and Desolation

Son Of A Witch

How Nesta Archeron Learned To Trap A Beast

The Court of Outcasts, Thieves and Assassins- Prequal to A Court of Song and Desolation.

Spring In the Day Lands.

The One True High Lord

Azris Oneshot

Tags- @shi-daisy, @lorcanisdabest, @secret-third-thing,@bookishfeylin, @feynessupremacy, @praetorqueenreyna, @viviluvssmut

#tag game #acotar au #acotar headcanons #orginal story

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imogenkol · 9 months

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— WIP MUSIC MONDAY

I was tagged by quite a few people for wip wednesday last week, so I’ll just put out my tag list today (ask to be added or removed!): @adelaidedrubman @florbelles @marivenah @simonxriley @shegetsburned @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @v0idbuggy @inafieldofdaisies @statichvm @socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @gwynbleidd @shellibisshe @loriane-elmuerto @katsigian

once again I have been reworking out of date writing for my original works and I always had a soft spot for this moment between my little wolf sisters. This song really hit with it too.

“This way,” Jayde said over her shoulder as she led her sister through the cemetery.

Graveyards. Cemeteries. Jayde never really learned the distinction, if there was any. Nor had she really contemplated their purpose before she visited this one.

Blades of sheer morning sunlight carved through the clouds to illuminate moss covered stone with engravings nearly too weathered to be legible and with likely no one even alive to recall who they belonged to anyway. She didn't see the point. Whether a mundane grave or a supernatural being, all things fade. The lifespan of a memory is as impermanent as they are. Still, their bloodline should have lasted a lot longer than it had. In a less violent world, maybe they would have been given the chance.

“So…” Skye dragged the word out slowly as she weaved through the headstones. “Whose grave are we visiting?”

Jayde rolled the stem of a rose between her fingers and barely reacted to the small puncture that the thorn made into her thumb. The one in her palm had already started to knit itself back together in the short time it took to purchase the flowers and take them here. Jayde needed the small sting to ground her. She knew Skye had started to work it out as soon as they pulled into the driveway. Why else would they return home?

She handed one of the two roses she carried to her sister with a melancholy smile. “Ours.”

“Oh,” was all Skye replied with for several paces. The older sibling sensed the steady rise of her fear until Skye couldn’t handle the silence anymore. “Are we shopping for a nice plot for when we get our tickets punched? ‘Cause I always thought I’d be cremated and have my ashes spread somewhere dreamy like Hawaii. Or Dollywood.”

For once, Jayde felt grateful for the younger wolf’s unabashed wit. It alleviated some of the anxiety twisting up her insides. The first time Jayde visited this spot with Nadya, she had become so overwhelmed that she couldn’t decide if it tore her apart even more or actually started to put her back together. She feared for how her sister would react.

“Actually, I was gonna kill you,” she replied dryly.

“I knew it,” Skye said with a snap of her fingers. “Is this about the time I scratched up your favorite CD when we were kids? You never really forgave me for that.”

Jayde fought the urge to point out that it had been the very first one she burned with the help of their father, but she only scoffed and said “Everything comes back to bite you eventually.”

Just then, a familiar headstone came into view. One big enough to fit a family of names on its cold, glossy black face. Jayde’s palms grew numb and sweaty. She shook her free hand and wiped it off on her jeans, leaving a small streak of blood on the fabric. A few steps closer and every muscle in her body tensed as if it anticipated a heavy strike to her face. She wished it was that kind of pain. It would make her feel better.

The sisters came to a stop before the stone. Four names had only endured the test of time for a decade, making them as easy to read as a common street sign.

Tristan and Andrea Thatcher engraved in bold letters with Jayde and Skye in a slightly smaller font below them. Along with the exact date Jayde witnessed a bullet pierce through her father’s temple.

It hadn’t seemed real at first. Jayde experienced plenty of nightmares with an image just like this. To know it really existed reminded her that everything else had been very real, too, and it all just felt like the inescapable horror of her loss – a suffering that would never truly end. Not until she actually gets buried beneath the well kept soil she now stood upon.

Once the shock of seeing it again passed, Jayde felt a different emotion. Not quite comfort, but an understanding. She could see the appeal of a gravesite. Strangely, she felt grateful to have a specific place to mourn her family in what little peace she had been granted.

Skye stared at the gravestone in silence for a long time. Then she sank to her knees before it and reached out to trace her fingertips along the engraving of their mother’s name. “How did you know this was here?” she asked in a small voice, not unlike a child’s.

“Nadya found it,” Jayde explained. “The official story is that we all died in a car crash.”

“They aren’t even here, are they?” There was no question in Skye’s tone. She knew the answer.

“I don’t think so. Maybe dad is.” The thought gave Jayde pause. What use would the hunters have for a dead werewolf? He hadn’t even died in the more desirable form, so they must have left him for authorities to find and back up the story of an accident. If that were the case, then he could very well be buried here. Their mother, on the other hand, died long after that night. Jayde’s mouth went dry as her mind went through sickening scenarios for the disposal of her body once their barbaric research proved fatal. She shook her head to banish the thoughts. “I’m pretty sure mom isn’t.”

“I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Skye placed the rose at the base of the stone. “I’m still glad that this is here.”

Jayde set her rose beside the other and sat next to her sister. “Me too.”

Sunlight shifted as the clouds traveled onward and the scent of coming rain and damp earth brought Jayde back home to the ranch only a handful of miles away. On a morning like this, she would have been rushing to get outdoor chores done before the storm made it too miserable. At least that’s how her mother put it. But Jayde had been known to work through torrents of rain just to step inside and have her father clap her on the back as he expressed his pride. His music sounded the best on nights like that.

Before Jayde knew it, deep shame replaced the tendrils of grief inside her gut.

She broke the silence with a deep breath. “I never told you why it took me so long to come for you after I got out.”

Skye finally tore her tear streaked gaze away from the gravestone, but she kept her eyes down. “Yeah, you didn’t.”

“It wasn’t because I didn’t want us to be together. It’s just that… After everything, I wasn’t the same. I’m not the same. I was scared that you wouldn’t recognize me anymore. And if you didn’t, then they wouldn’t have,” Jayde nodded at the engraved names of their parents, “I couldn’t – I can’t handle disappointing any of you. I thought it might be better if you believed I died with them.”

“Jayde,” Skye started with a sigh. “I might not have gone through what you went through, but I still lost everything just like you did. Both of us are different. No matter how many times we change, I will always know who you are because you’re my big sister. That means they will always know you, too.”

The tears that welled in Jayde’s eyes fell as she tried to blink them away. They brought agony with them that felt just as earth-shattering as ever, but Jayde let herself feel it. She let it overtake her and choked out a devastating sob into the fabric of her sister’s jacket as she leaned into her. But it was okay, because just like the clouds above them, the shadow within her gave way to a warmth that made her feel safe. The embrace of her little sister reminded her that neither of them truly lost everything. They might be the last of their blood, but Jayde still had a family in her own little pack. It was more than enough to not only fight for, but to live for. She knew, not so deep down, that that is what would make their parents proud above all else.

They stayed until the rain arrived. Jayde felt her grief weigh heavy in her chest once more as she turned her back on the headstone. It would be some time before they returned. A part of her whispered that she may never see it again. Yet, even if she didn’t, it would remain here. When moss creeps through the worn cracks decades from now, it would still be here.

#oc insp: jayde thatcher #oc insp: skye thatcher #yeah broke my own heart with this one ngl #they are like the only ocs who had a picturesque childhood and I done took it all away in the most heart wrenching way possible huh #but the found family comes in for them <3 #Nadya gets a big hug and kiss for this

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