#[ waxen wings ]

[as-the-stars-foretold]

ask me about the mmvstr waxen wings au PLEASE

[andiloveyoutooangel]

on realizing i do, in fact, have a type

[snowysand]

You ever see someone so hot that it makes you sad?

[larapeteira]

Falling to a Devilish Exercise

Season 1 Episode 2 ‘Fifth Chair’

[I’ve had this episode (and the rest of season 1) kicking around as drafts pretty much since I did the pilot, and it’s really about time that I got on with them. We will call this episode the difficult second album.]

The orchestral version of ‘Lisztomania’ gets its first outing as opening titles for the series in this episode. The classical cover of a contemporary track with historical inspiration acts as a calling card for the series’ perspective on music: that what matters most is to make it, and vividly. More than this though its title speaks to the plot of this episode in a specific sense. Like the Ken Russell film its an example of how creative enthusiasm can lead to carnage.

‘Think less but see it grow’

As presented to us at the beginning of the series, Rodrigo’s global, cosmopolitan free-spirited, but ultimately self-centred vision of life shapes how he approaches the orchestra. In the ‘Pra não parar de Sambar’ sequence his appreciation of music is instinctive: he enjoys the busker’s playing, he pays her $100. Later, Hailey plays with the blood, so he finds a way to have her play with the NY Symphony. To his mind it’s all very simple and perfectly natural. At this point he’s coming to the orchestra as multiple musicians, not yet as its conductor. He’s driven by a love for each of their individual contributions.

Combining these factors, we get the main musical theme of this episode: Faustian pacts. Mahler’s 8 (Symphony of a Thousand) is ultimately swapped for Berlioz’s La Damnation de Faust. It’s almost immaterial whether or not Rodrigo intends to stage the works in full, both pieces are gargantuan. His underlying arrogance/overweening ambition and constant movement are the real problems. He makes his pact with his own enthusiasm and in this episode we see what follows when it outstrips his sense of practicality.

‘Follow, misguide, stand still/ Discuss, discourage’

I really enjoy how the Mahler conveys the ripple effects of Rodrigo’s decision to put it on the programme. The tension in the repetition of the piu mosso spreads into Lizzy and neighbour Stan’s annoyance at Hailey’s endless practising. On the one hand she suffers for Rodrigo’s pursuit of instinct, ending the episode out in the wilderness as the orchestra strikes up the Rákóczi March.  Her position as fifth chair is shaky and all too dispensable. Centring the story on her shows that the charm of his whimsy can only go so far.

On the other hand she is suffering the consequences of her own enthusiastic pact. There are advantages to getting to play with the orchestra, whether for her career or simply sharing the joy of their comradeship, and Hailey’s not blind to their enticements. Still its failure is a salutary reminder to be strategic about opportunities and to be wary of being too starry-eyed about people.

It tolls for three

Narratively and musically, Rodrigo and Hailey’s connection is apparent from the start, but there’s also Thomas to contend with. He appears to have detached himself from the situation, lost in his own wilderness, and this is reflected in the music. He’s still focussing on Rodrigo’s comments from the pilot about his conducting of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto in D. Yet at the heart of the episode - its musical hinge -  La Campanella signals a warning for all three characters.  Ultimately the music in this episode serves to establish the similarities in all their temperaments and aspirations, the variations playing out in their respective career and life stages.

[thesiltverses]

The Silt Verses RPG has just launched from the acclaimed designers of Brindlewood Bay and The Between!

Investigate stray angels, strange haunts, and murderous cults in a world of gods and sacrifice as a disciple of the Saint Electric, Trawler-man, Watcher in the Wings, Cairn Maiden, Pox Martyr, or the Waxen Scrivener.

Delve into backwoods towns, floating markets where sacred relics are bought and sold, bustling clinics where medical 'miracles' come at a hideous cost - and even a towering skyscraper of conjoined steel, glass, and flesh.

You can purchase a copy over on DriveThruRPG, or at the Silt Verses or The Gauntlet Patreon, netting you the rulebook, 8 Assignments, 6 Faith Sheets, 8 Journey Sheets, and more.

This game really is a labour of love from a small team of innovative indie RPG creators, and already a genuine work of art (so we'd be incredibly grateful for your help in playing, giving feedback, and spreading the word far and wide) - we think it's an absolutely fantastic achievement, and we know The Gauntlet are only going to keep building and improving on the game from here.

You can find out more by joining The Gauntlet Discord.

[ex0skeletal-undead]

Waxen Wings II by nickbleb

[starberriemilk]

The EGO name is "Waxen Pinion"

When you search "pinion birds" in google the first thing that appears is "pinioning"… which is, as wikipedia says "the act of surgically removing one pinion joint, the joint of a bird's wing farthest from the body, to prevent flight."

Hmmmmm…

[thepromisedbride]

in light of the finale coming out:

[baldurs-writers-3]

Hidden Gems 1: A Baldur's Gate 3 Fanfiction Rec List

This week, we have Hidden Gems! Check under the cut for 17 fics that haven’t gotten nearly enough love, and as always, comment and kudos if you like them!

sating appetites by mallowspace (1599, Mature) Content Notes: None Pairings: Gale/Tav

Tav forces Gale to beg for a magical artifact.

Reccer says: this is so mean and cruel, i just love pleading desperate gale so much

A Word by Irken (4915, Teen) Content Notes: Hurt/Comfort Pairings: The Emperor/Illithid Tav

This is a one-shot about the Emperor giving a fresh illithid Tav get used to their new biology and methods of communication.

Reccer says: It's short and sweet and thoughtful and fluffy enough to cheer me up after a bad day :) and the author's descriptions of mind flayer communication are so evocative!

Notes from the Ceremorphosis Unit by narla_hotep (11942, General) Content Notes: Body Horror Pairings: N/A

A series of letters, memos, and other documents translated from Qualith tablets found in Oryndoll; the largest illithid colony in the Underdark. In the Ceremorphosis Unit, they transform prisoners and thralls into new mind flayers to serve the colony's Elder Brain and further the Grand Design. But even in this cruel and alien culture, there is still typical workplace drama and passive-aggression...

Reccer says: I love fics that explore the world of BG3 in some way, and this is a great (and often humorous) look at the world of the illithid hiveminds. Fun read!

You know what they say about monsters by Snailpals (25770, Explicit) Content Notes: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Pairings: Astarion/Dark Urge

Some durges are more put together than others at the start of tadpole times. Echo is a durge that is very much /not/ together, not even remembering what race they are! Astarion slowly falls head over heels for someone even more pathetic than he is. How could he not?!

Reccer says: Two sad wet cats fall in love

Crisis of Faith by The_Dancing_Walrus (4152, Explicit) Content Notes: Cult Pairings: Shadowheart & Astarion

There's a new God of Murder, and Shadowheart can't remember who it is she wants to kill.

Reccer says: a lovely, vicious exploration of Shadowheart fighting past and through and beyond Shar's worship, with some help from a fanged God of Murder

A Night Ashore by Tynithia (3981, Teen) Content Notes: N/A Pairings: Balduran/Tav, The Emperor/Tav

Before Balduran became a legend, a dragon rider, and the founder of Baldur's Gate, he was a ship's Captain. When his ship takes shelter at a seaside village near Illusk, Balduran wakes from a vivid dream about a beautiful elf, or was it a dream?

Reccer says: This is the start of multiple unique stories by the author. I loved the idea of an elf!Tav who knew Balduran before he became a Mind Flayer and I was not disappointed! The author touches on Balduran's life as a sailor before the events of BG3.

On Waxen Wings We Soar, In Spite of Inevitable Ends by Pokimoko (15613, Teen) Content Notes: Terminal Injury, Suicidal Ideation Pairings: Astarion & Karlach

Karlach's engine is about to go - but not quite yet. She's got time enough for a road trip, and maybe a companion on this last adventure.

Reccer says: utterly gorgeous and heartbreaking exploration of a terminal Karlach, directionless Astarion, and the inherent question of who do you want to be when the curtains close.

Strange Highways by NoCryptoGrapher (28939, Mature) Content Notes: None Pairings: Cazador / female OC, Cazador & male OCs, Cazador&Petras, Cazador&Astarion

Cazador gets Isekai'd to 1980s and ends up joining a heavy metal band.

Reccer says: Hilarious, addictive and tight plotted. Couldn't stop reading. Loved the soundtrack too.

a decade starved by ballofbitter (4906, Mature) Content Notes: nope Pairings: Karlach/Tav

Karlach and Eos have some good cuddle time, talking about Karlach's dream for the future. Tinged with sadness as well, at this point, Karlach has just recently been told she will die if she doesn't return to Avernus. BUT SHE CAN CUDDLE NOW SO THATS GOOD.

Reccer says: Tails! Both Karlach and Eos feel like real characters, they both are explored a bit, in under 5k words! One doesn't feel just like a prop for the other. ALSO TAILS.

What You Made Me by Denesmera (20176, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav

Six months since the defeat of Elderbrain, Maeve is at a crossroads in her life.

Reccer says: I enjoy how the story focuses on growth, indecision, and hidden desire between the two main characters along with an entire plot. The story plays on the aftermath of decisions that were made during the game and the writer did a great job at exploring the 'now what'. The writing and dialogue has this beauty and flow to it that must not be missed. Worth a read! A hidden gem!

a story better than the real thing by not_whelmed_yet (1100, General) Content Notes: N/A Pairings: N/A

Wyll is alone in the woods, in the wilderness, and the heroes of his youth spoke only of victory so maybe he can convince himself of it, too.

Reccer says: a wonderful character study of Wyll as the Blade of Frontiers - creating a storybook persona so he can try and distract himself from the miserable realities of his current situation. very sad. very fascinating.

Hero of the Hour by Aeona (7779, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Karlach / Wyll

It's Wyll's birthday. He tries to make it about everyone else. Karlach won't let it be about anyone but him.

Reccer says: this is so precious and pours so much love into their interaction

The Contract by This_One_Bites (3899, General) Content Notes: No Archive Warnings Apply Pairings: Astarion & Mizora (Baldur's Gate)

Post game story where Astarion is in the Underdark taking care of the spawn while Tav has to deal with some other things and Mizora comes along and makes an offer he can't refuse.

Reccer says: The tension in this was amazing. The author went through all of Astarion's fears, wants and needs and wrapped them all into a perfect contract. The ending just left me wanting to pull my hair out! It might be one of the best stories I ever read and I can't believe it doesn't have more hits!

Under the Sussur Tree by bravelikealady (3160, Teen) Content Notes: None Pairings: Wyll / Gale

The Wizard of Waterdeep and the Blade of Frontiers find themselves rendered merely Gale Dekarios and Wyll Ravengard under the neutralizing affects of the Sussur tree. Without the bite of the Weave or the call of Mystra, Gale finds something fighting for space with the orb in his chest.

Reccer says: this is so romantic and soft and poignant, beautifully written!

Deep Haven: An Archive of Historical Records by Our very own Professor_Rye (3676, General) Content Notes: N/A Pairings: N/A

Centuries after The Absolute Crisis, a historian works tirelessly to hunt down and gather any and all documents relating to Deep Haven, The Under Gate, and The Shade Way that connects them. Or: How the Tad-fools and friends help a little under 7000 vampire spawn start a new life

Reccer says: Gap filler and world building documents are always fun to me, but this fic takes it to a new level with a custom work skin: scrolls, letters, and all manner of documents help craft an immersive look at what the characters might've gotten up to post-quest in BG3. :)

In Time by Fartastic durge (27784, Explicit) Content Notes: Graphic depictions of violence Pairings: Astarion/Tav, Astarion & Gale

Taking place 19 years after the original events of Fated, Astarion finds himself in a place that could be close to acceptance of the events that transpired that day when they defeated the Netherbrain. In the hopes of finding his happy ending, he takes one last chance to seek answers to lingering questions that prevent him from moving on entirely when Gale suggests a trip to Candlekeep.

Reccer says: I binge read this once I started it! It's a follow on to a previous work, but easy to get the gist if you haven't read that. Love the relationship between Astarion and Gale, and the Tav complications! Sinister with a dark humour.

And two recs for: Cutlass Tavern by Tynithia (33395, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Balduran/Ansur, Balduran/Tav

Balduran and Ansur's relationship was already on the rocks when Balduran makes it worse by spending the night with someone else.

Reccer #1 says: I enjoyed how the writer created an original story from two characters who only had a letter and one scene together in the entire game. Their original characters were woven in so easily into their story, I went to the Forgotten Realms wiki to see if they were real characters. I also enjoyed the point of view chapters from each of the characters, it really gave the story more insight to how each were thinking. It's a great emotional roller coaster and worth a read. I laughed, cried, and rooted for all the characters - a hidden gem indeed! Reccer #2 says: Like with many long established relationships, there are ups and downs, no matter how much you love each other. Balduran and Ansur were no exception, especially when one is an elf and the other is a dragon.The story is told from the perspective of the three main characters Balduran, Ansur, and Ellandra (Tav/OC) with Gaius Dekarios (Gale’s great-grandfather/OC) in a supporting role. Really enjoyed this glimpse into Balduran's past life and loves. A great read with lots of angst, laughs, romance, battles and sea tales around the past lives of the characters.

Hidden Gems are any fics with less than 150 kudos! We want to uplift authors in our community, and sometimes all a fic needs is that little push. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we’ll be coming in with our first instance of a recurring theme, with Extraplanar Travel!

From the House of Hope to the Astral Prism, this theme has range! So tune in next week!

[sentientsky]

here, have a little angelfish ficlet (ft. lots of queer yearning. also. “be gay, do crime” vibes)

It's all the same; a slow, monotonous dragging of time through liminal space. There had never been room enough for shifting tides or changing winds—no room to stretch one's wings. Because Heaven, by its very nature, is antiseptic. Pure autoclave, all pressure and steam and the absence of touch. That's part of the deal. You want to keep the wings? The halo? Well, then, you have to learn to live under the fluorescent glare of a silent god.

It's all the same, save for the slippery red heat of Michael's heart hurling itself staccato against her breastbone. In truth, it’s a heart that doesn’t really need to beat—that doesn’t need to exist at all, save for her inclination to feel the heavy weight of it writhing in her chest. In a way she doesn’t quite yet understand, she wants proof. She wants to feel her pulse, feel it move in a way that leaves a mark, bruises flesh. 

She sits with her hands folded, one pressed over top of the other. From afar, it might even look as though she’s praying (it might look as though she’s holy, still held firm in the Mother's grasp). She breathes in. Slow, tentative—as though the air might carry unspoken words out and away from her. There’s a certain chilling numbness that creeps up on you when you’ve lived this way for so long; a buzzing static that burns from the base of your skull, all the way down to the backs of your knees, your calves—the place where your feet hit the ground running (always running, always dying to get out even as you lean into the punches). It’s the feeling of living in the hollowed-out limbs of a corpse, of walking around with waxen, rotting flesh and a smile that stretches slightly too far to be genuine. 

And yet, now, for once, her body is no longer whirring—no longer silently humming with agitation or the drive to propel herself forward and up, ever up. For once, she’s still, save for the thrashing in her throat. She breathes out. She rolls words around in her mouth: flashpoint, epiphany—whispers them like a prayer spoken to no one—lightning strike, catalyst. A thread pulled so taut, it cuts to marrow. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep the pace, hold the line. Adjust to the status quo. But the status quo has never looked so unappealing. Because, she realizes, if someone had asked her to paint the slope of a silver-blue throat, or the upturned palm of a scaled hand, she could do it with her eyes closed. She could do it in complete darkness, at the edge of existence. Of this she was nearly certain.

--- It had taken place in the corridors that stretch from one end of infinity to the next; a slicing wound driven between the ribs of the universe. And it had been innocuous, really—a passing glance, at first. And then an icy nod, the turn of a jaw towards the stale light. The brush of shoulders, and the ache that bloomed in her at the touch. Time wore on, kingdoms rose and fell. The sea drew towards the shore, Michael’s eyes drew towards a too-sharp mouth. In their own fragment of purgatory made heaven made something completely new, she and Dagon exchanged rasped whispers—hushed murmurings of a revolution.

The inferno in her gut grew, consumed, devoured. Years clawed past. It's important to note that angels, as imagined in most popular religious scripture, are exceptionally good at self-restraint. And for the most part, this is true. But those who wrote the holy texts never considered the canted slope of the devil’s mouth; they never imagined that the devil could be gentle, could press her palm to yours like a promise and speak new religion into being. And so, after what could have been eons or mere decades, they fell together, breath intermingling in the space that had become more sanctuary than abyss. Flashpoint, epiphany. It had been inevitable, really. Lightning strike, catalyst. They were two neutron stars collapsing in on themselves. Gravity, heat, the press of a sigh into her open mouth. The hunger that settled in the bottom of her gut. --- So when Gabriel walks into her office, head held high and grinning, Michael swallows it all down. She chokes it back, feels all the love she has for her demon lodge in her throat and stay there.

Of course, she could open her mouth now to speak and have it all tumble out onto the floor. She could Fall—had Fallen already, in a sense, the world pitching around her with the weight of all she wanted but could not have. The muscles of her back ached, wings flickering somewhere in the aether, thrashing like an augury. Like an omen. Let it ache, she thought. Let it wound me, infect me, take me down. If this is my destruction, so be it. Beneath the desk, the blade in her hand glittered like a piranha’s open mouth. Maybe Heaven needed a little shaking up, after all.

[as-the-stars-foretold]

tell me about the mmvstr waxen wings au please <333

OK SO as spoopy likes to call it, it's the Mica Fucking Dies AU

basically mica goes out on an intel collecting mission but he gets found out and executed in front of prometheus, who then proceeds to massacre the mafia mercs

but then, she obviously has to get the body back to HQ and tell Mica's little sister that her brother died and explain that to their agents: not fun! cue morality crisis, Cody yelling at her, and them FINALLY making the switch from Neutralists to Nemesis

au is called that because of the copious amounts of icarus/daedalus imagery el oh el

[andiloveyoutooangel]

"I know that face." Her voice is low, raspy from sleep, but still playful. He floats above her, caught in the act. Morning sunlight slits through the cracks in the blinds he's trying to close. Whatever doesn't fall on his skin lands like patchwork on the blanket she's curled up in, her tired eyes meeting his. "What are you worrying about now, hmn?"

"Ah, désolé, did I look worried just then?" Despite his self-assured tone, his expression betrays his sheepishness, as he ducks down to press a kiss to her forehead, "I only wanted to close the blinds so the sun wouldn't wake you before your alarm. I guess, uh, I woke you before your alarm, instead...?"

She's been so tired lately, is what he doesn't say, so busy and drained of energy. He wants her to be able to rest fully, as much as she needed, in the way where he'd threaten a solar eclipse if the sun dared disturb her on her first day off in so long.

"Taylor, you're so dear to me. Thank you." She says, simply, sincerely. Her smile is warmer than sunrays, "It's okay, you don't have to. Sun's good for me, in the winter."

"Ah. Okay, okay." So he leaves the blinds, slightly ajar. No solar eclipse then, if his love prefers the light. The dark of the room is warmly hued, tinged with mellowed gold. He hovers awkwardly, wings slowly flapping to keep him uncertainly afloat.

Wordlessly, she raises a wing and an arm towards him, an invitation, a request. Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself beside her. With much less care, she unceremoniously tosses the blanket over him so they're sharing, and he grins, ducking his chin beneath the covers.

He lets a wing drape over her, covering his charge, his human, his partner. In turn, she intertwines a hand with him and closes her eyes. Safe, content, trusting.

"I love you." She says, squeezing his hand gently.

"I love you." He returns, and they doze until the alarm wakes them properly.

[delicrieux]

hello darling! soo i’m one of the Aemond gals, could you maybe write something with him? maybe the reader is from our world and just out of blue she finds herself in Westeros! Aemond is so dumbfounded - here she is, this weird girl, talking about some nonsense things, well educated in history and philosophy (another nurts obvi) with sparkling dragon-like coloured irises, so lost but welcoming everything that surrounds her, even all of him. welll as you can see - I’m so deep in it! if you decide to write something about this, thank you so much!! take care! 🌟🌟

TRAVELER | endless drabble series (winter edition)    

summary: differences can actually be appealing pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader a/n: i changed it up a bit, i hope you don’t mind!! i didn’t rly know how to incorporate our world reader into westeros, so i just made her origins unknown but heavily implied to be from sothoryos, which, to be fair, is kinda from a different world too! used 4. mulled wine from this list <3

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open for the winter prompts list 1 & 2 !

It had been a regular flight - easy winds, no storms but an odd fad of snow - when he had noticed a strange figure asleep in the frost covered plains up North. From so high up, Aemond could not yet tell if it was a bear or a human - the first would be easier to explain, but his curiosity was quipped and so Vhagar cast her wings and dipped down and what he saw proved to be quite extraordinary.

There, a woman in a dress, asleep in a ring of dewy grass. The only thing valuable seemed to be her jewels - big, heavy silver rings and long, clunky pendants made from black oily stones. Like a lily submerged underwater, he figured she had died from the cold. But as he landed, and the ground shook, so did the body, and the woman slowly, achingly opened her eyes to see the mouth of a dragon.

That waxen face now breathes with life in a local tavern. Drunken sonnets spill into the air like ale on wooden tables, and she nurses her second cup of mulled wine. The cup’s clay, chipped - she had cut her lip when she first took a sip, though it seemed that she did not notice. Aemond, sitting across from her, measures her up and down once more - so far, she had given no indication of knowing where she is, or who he is, nor did she portray any surprise faced with a dragon.

Covered in furs and deer hide, she’s finally warm enough to speak, “My thanks, stranger.” She says, and he’s fascinated by her accent, a fluid song broken by the harsh rasp of the chill. She smiles, and her jewelry glimmers in the dancing fires of the hearth.

“It’s surprising you didn’t die,” He comments, holding his own cup, “the North is not usually so kind to travelers.”

“I am lucky,” She admits, almost shyly, “though I don’t recall how is it that I got here, nor where I came from.”

“Perhaps you’re from beyond the Wall?” He suggest smugly, but she only shakes her head with a small smile.

“In the Lands of Always Winter, I do wonder what world lies there. Where it ends, and where it begins - at the same point of measure, perhaps? It’s easy to get lost in the snow, turned around all over; perhaps there are dragons there as well that breathe frost, not unlike those in the Shivering Sea?” She tilts her head at his confusion, “You’ve read the histories, no?”

“I’ve had the leisure.” He says curtly.

“Then you must know a great deal of Valyria.” She says, “Have you ever been?”

“There’s nothing left of it.”

She blinks, “...Truly? Nothing? No graves or gold or cadavers to tell tales older than time? No ancient ruins and histories lost to us, only to be rediscovered?”

“You seem to know all but of the fact that old Valyria is covered in greyscale. Or did you forget to read that page in the tomes you poured over before falling ill in the North?”

She laughs, “Are you afraid?” She lowers her head, watches him under her lashes, “A Prince, afraid of sickness. I figured Targaryens cannot be burned, thus cannot be ill. Or are those all fairy tales as well?”

He raises a brow, “So you do know who I am.”

“Hard not to when the bard sings praises of Prince Aemond One-Eye as soon as you walk in with me in tow,” Her gazes fixates on the leather patch, “what happened to it?”

“My cousin cut it out.” He retorts.

She hums, “Blood for blood. Have you taken your vengeance yet?”

“I’m a patient man.”

“Patience is a kind virtue unless used otherwise.” She empties her cup, “More, please,” She pushes it to him, “I still can’t feel my fingers.”

He looks at her rings as he holds up a hand for the waitress, “Those seem expensive. You surprise me, traveler. I wonder how they have not been stolen.”

Something shifts in her expression, and a chill creeps up from behind. The waitress pours wine and the traveler smiles, but it’s a strange smile, one he should not trust. She feels dangerous, suddenly, and he is all the more intrigued.

“Would you like to keep one?” It’s an innocent question, but it holds something dark underneath all of that loveliness.

“I have no fancy for jewelry,” He refuses easily, though his heart beats just a tad faster. If he did not know any better, he’d think it’s from nerves, “as a prince I have many and find it quite ugly. My brother would like one, though.”

She retracts her hands and her smile falls, “He didn’t save me from the snow, so he has no use for it.”

It did not quite seem as if she needed saving, but the severity in her voice urges his pride. Perhaps he’ll be a hero yet.

“Have you got a name?” He inquires, and he’s all past common decency, never had any to begin with. He wishes to know.

She thinks, “Everyone has a name, no? Surely, I do think everyone does. Even toys, the objects of our affection, and our sword, and ships, and pets, do. I heard some ladies name their favorite perfumes. It builds attachment, you never forget something or someone with a name. I must have a name, I think, only for the life of me I do not remember it. Which begs to question whether I ever had one at all.”

After a pause, she sighs, “I suppose I’m fortunate. I can pick one for myself. Become new, here, in the North. But I don’t think it important. I have no one to share it with, and no one here would like to recall me.”

“I’d like to know your name,” He says, “but only because I wish to know who I saved.”

She grins, “...Then you are free to name me yourself, prince.”

hope u liked it! xx

[froggipied]

For Science- Chapter 1

Ao3 link; https://archiveofourown.org/works/41680413/chapters/104553549

Discord Server Link: https://discord.gg/KB6vWVAp

To summarize tags for those reading on tumblr; This is x reader fanfiction. This work of fiction is partially canon compliant, but is planned to be 'canon-adjacent'. This genre is Isekai, but mainly for explanatory purposes and forced omnipotence of the mc.

Portal mods included in story: Portal stories: Mel, Portal: Revolution

Word Count: 4.4k

----

Chapter One

Science is objective. Anything could be an experiment, and to Aperture Science, Ethics are a suggestion made by Morons.

–

You knew something was wrong the moment you opened your eyes. It felt like waking from a dream, although you were certain you had just closed your eyes for a moment while talking to a co-worker one moment you were in a bleak little office party with disinterested co-workers, talking to the one you could stand, and the next, you were in a little bleak creme colored room with one pair of doors opened on the other side of it. The hinges to the doors squeaked back and forth as they rattled opened and closed. Dazed, you stare around yourself, look down at your hands for confirmation. Not a dream. At least..you’re doubtful it were. Time would only tell, but most dreams have something off about them.

A panel to one of the walls collapsed before your feet as you stood up, revealing wiring and metal that didn’t seem normal. A room was built of panels held up by wood or metal framing, but this wasn’ a frame. You were no architect but even you knew this wasn’t normal for a panel.

The door behind you squeaks again, catching your attention, and against your rational judgment, you left the soft colored room out into the bleak.

Stark gray pillars as far as the eye could see, stretching into the sky and far into the ground below. The only walk-space you had was a narrow catwalk made of decaying bars that shuddered and creaked as you stood on them. Unnerving,you decided. You'd try to find an area not made of catwalks sooner than later.

You Give yourself another once-over while you walk. Same shirt, same pants. Same shoes, too. Nothing about your attire had changed. That'd be a first for a dream. 

The catwalks stretched on for what seemed to be forever. As far as you could see, they connected and spiraled and led to different areas of a bleak open space. Somewhere broken with rusted metal hanging just over your head, other areas shuddered and clattered as you jogged across them. It felt like you were running behind something. The area itself reminded you of the backstage. Was there something on the other side of the panels? A show, maybe? 

You entertain yourself with the thought, just for fun. Something to brush your mind away from bubbling worries of kidnapping or escapes. 

What if, behind that very panel, were some actors playing a terribly done rendition of Macbeth? Funny enough, in your opinion.

The catwalks lead you through doors that whirr as they unlock, a little orange light turns green. Occasionally, they take too long to open, as though rusted. Like the rest of this place, you find yourself lamenting in annoyance. You wanted to get out of here quickly. Through one set of doors was a catwalk leading beside a time. One little blinking red light catches your attention. While the thing is familiar, you can’t make sense of it.

Though you try to walk by, a little voice stops you. 

“I’m different.”

“Hm.” you have places to be, and you really can’t spend time with..whatever this is. “Nice ch–”

“Icarus flew to the sun on waxen wings, desperate for its warm embrace.Though gentle to the earth, the sun was not gentle to man. Icarus burnt,falling to the cold sea.”

“..Nice chat.” you mutter, thoroughly disturbed by the little thing as you passed by another set of doors. It’s just mythology. And not even accurate mythology.

There’s something familiar about all of this, though you couldn't put it in words. Something like deja vu, which seemed outrageously silly to you. Until you heard a voice, muffled behind a set of doors.

“I should probably bring you up to speed on something,right about now.”

Familiar. You decide. Like someone you’d heard before. You swear you recognize it, but you can't puzzle it out. You passed through the squeaky set of doors, glancing briefly down at the floor of tattered checkerboard,unaligned and broken, concrete raised precariously out of the ground that you had to step around to avoid 

Familiar, you frown as you walk through the hallway and see it. Him, more like. A robot, followed closely by a brunette woman in a jumper with something in her hands. Their backs were turned to you while they walked, and while he talked. 

You know where you are, and you felt silly for not realizing it sooner. A game you played as a kid, and what the hell were you doing here?

Though the robot wasn’t just a core, he did have arms and legs and a body as anyone would expect of an android..but the core for a head. Weird, you decided.

“In order to Escape, we have to pass through Her chamber…and she will most definitely kill us. If she's awake”

Your foot slips against a checkered tile, and it slides a few inches ahead of you, clattering around with the sound of fragile glass. It gives both the android and the woman pause. The woman looks over her shoulder, and her gaze narrows as she spots you. The android, on the other hand, starts walking over without another thought “Oh, Hello! Are you staff? You must be staff, since there isn’t anyone–” he pauses,optic blinking wide”er–ignore that, nothing’s wrong with the folks in suspension! Heh..-uhm..” he taps his hands together as you stare between him and the woman standing rigid behind him.

He follows your gaze and after a moment, he waves dismissively “her? She’s a bit brain damaged, you know how they are when they come out of it! Can’t speak at all..” he squints “I think.”

“Right.” You mutter. The moment you speak, the core’s head turns back around and he exclaims 

“Ah-! You speak. Great, really great. I was getting a little tired of being the only voice in the room. uhm..So- I’m trying to get this one out of here. She seems eager enough, and er..that’s..that’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

“Ah..No, not at all.” why you were going along with what the moron set for you, pretending to be a member of aperture, you weren’t sure. To avoid suspicion? Chell, however, seemed perfectly suspicious of you, not moving from where she stood on the far side of the room. “She’s offline, as it were,so…testing can’t really er..happen.”

“Right.” the core nods, turning back around on his heels as he keeps walking after chell, talking loudly “So, to recap. Facility? Brink of destruction,totally unstable. Unfixable, even. Getting the lady-and myself-out of here through her..her chambers.” He grunts and shies away from the door once it starts opening from Chell’s proximity to it. “Actually– hold on, wait, we don’t have to. We should just– leave it be, yeah we should leave her be and–” the door reaches the top, and in a heap of dirt, dust and botanic life was a humanoid figure with an oblong head, optic partially hanging out of the ‘head’ “Whew– she’s off.” Wheatley mutters, hanging to the side of the doorway for a moment as Chell trudged ahead of him without stopping. You followed after the human and robot, and Wheatley whistled. 

“There she is..” he steps delicately over her body while you walk around her “Nasty piece of work she was–right?” he looks at you with a wide optic.

“Right.”

Wheatley jogs to keep up with Chell, and you followed suit “A proper maniac she was, really. Word of mouth? She killed everyone in the facility once. Railway operations department was not happy about that.” he shakes his head. “Know who took her down, in the end? A human. Like you too. All flesh and bones took her down.Not much known about him. Just..took her out and went and uh..no one’s seen him since.” you almost find the prattling amusing. If you weren’t trying to figure out a whole different matter of how to get out of here. “And uh…not much has happened since. Just..a lot of quiet and then us escaping now so er..yeah don’t touch anything.”

While Chell walks ahead of the two of you, Wheatley just keeps on talking, which you don’t particularly mind filling the silence. “This place has seen better days,certainly. I’m er– glad that she’s gone, of course. But it was a lot cleaner when she was awake. There’s this one fellow I know? Obnoxious with the cleaning ‘this is messy’, ‘this chamber is filled with bones’, ‘this track is broken and i can’t fix it,what if someone comes’, just prattling, really.” he huffs “not the best of guys, either. My standards are..not everyone’s, of course. Probably fine. Probably a fine guy but uhm..he wanted to turn her back on. Tried to, too, I think. Dunno how that went down but seeing as she’s still off…safe to say he failed, i’d think.” you’re not even sure who the hell he’s talking about, but it is filling the silence, so you don’t interrupt him,for his own sake. “Ah, we’re coming upon a drop. Rusted bars n’ all. Might want to watch your head. And your feet. And maybe..” he glances over at you, squinted and scrutinizing. “You..don’t have fall boots.”

“Nope.”

“Well, that is definitely an issue, considering the drop. I mean, you humans are plenty fragile without the danger of drops or injuries or blood or–well actually, no, a drop like that might be fine, if you can stand a broken bone or two. Though, we don't actually have any way to reset the bone, so as long as you’re fine with a permanently odd leg, then it should be perfectly fine.” he eyes the drop over Chell’s shoulder, and starts up again “uh–lady, think you’ve got the boots to sp–” Chell jumps off of the railing without a second thought, hitting the floor rough and stable. She briefly turns, looking back up at the railing, before she takes a step back to rest against a wall. She’s waiting, now.

Wheatley glances down at the drop again, and squints “Actually, now thinking about it, a human’s head would split like a melon from a height like this. So, a good bit of advice doesn't land on it. Or your arms, either. They'll break like the legs. So uh..don’t go head-first. Or arms first. And especially not elbows first. I don’t have elbows, but if i did, i wouldn't want to fall on those. Or–actually, judging it..it is probably too high to jump without long fall boots. so…Metal man, Human..person.” he squints “More likely to survive a good old fall, yeah? Not made of plastic and all that.”

“You’d probably be fine.”

“Well...i did fall off my management rail and was perfectly fine, so..” Wheatley hums as he stares down at the drop. Unceremoniously, you were thrown over the android’s shoulder, which hurt far more than it should’ve, and dropped back onto your feet after the jump. “Et Voila!” Wheatley hums with a little flourish of his arms ``perfectly intact, the both of us.” Chell bumps her shoulder off the wall as she turns around the corner..to another set of catwalks. Wheatley yelps not long after, staring directly below himself “Ah- I do not recommend looking down, awful long fall…Ah-! Just done it again, terrible..This place just goes down. Miles and miles really. All sealed off years ago, of course.” The robot mutters, metal hand gripping the bars to the catwalk far too tightly as he shambled after Chell.

A silent woman on a mission, she was. Understandably so. A desire for freedom from the hell that aperture was at its core. A Tumor of unethical practices and a lack of humanity or morality.

Chell pauses upon coming across the main breaker room, and wheatley walks around her, squinting at the wall of buttons “Alright,” he chirps “So, there should be a switch labeled ‘ESCAPE POD’, don’t touch anything else. Not interested in anything else. Don't Touch anything else. Don't even Look at anything else, just--well, obviously you've got to look at everything else to find ESCAPE POD, but as soon as you've looked at something and it doesn't say ESCAPE POD, look at something else, look at the next thing. Alright? But don't touch anything else or look at any--well, look at other things, but don't... you understand." Wheatley rambles on as his head turns this way and that, searching up the wall of levers and switches with a narrowed pupil, humming to himself “No..no.. movement controls, interesting– no. nothing else. Lights…mmmnh no nothing else.” In a fluid movement, the android spins halfway to face you and Chell. 

“Tell you what, Might be easier if I'm plugged into the system. And..the lights. Might need the lights. So just plug me on in and I'll turn on the lights.” You were going to ask how exactly to go about that, before Chell pulls a long cable from the main breaker, plugging the cable into the back of Wheatley’s head as he turns back around to the system. The lights flash on at once, and both you and the woman cover your eyes briefly as Wheatley gestures “Let there be light!”

“That’s uh…god. I was quoting god..” Wheatley trails off slowly, and when met with an awkward silence by both you and the mute woman, he grunts “Tough crowd.”

There was an issue you hadn’t considered. Glados. She was going to turn on, throw Wheatley to rubble and throw Chell into testing, but just what would she do with an outlier? And Anomaly, more like? A wrench in the plan, even. You’re not entirely certain you wanted to find out.

But aperture rarely left time for pondering, as the platform started to turn slowly, and Chell wobbled on her feet, grasping behind her for anything to hold onto. “Oh, it’s turning!” Wheatley chimes nervously as he laughs “Ominous..but fine, as long as it doesn’t start moving up. Now..escape pod..escape pod.” he trails off quietly to himself. The platform whirrs loudly as it starts moving up, and the robot grunts “Ah it is–it’s moving up.” he hunches over the control panel as he talks “Okay! No, don’t worry. Don’t worry at all, it can fix this, I can fix it–fixing it…now” Wheatley’s pupil shrinks to a pinprick as he looks above himself. “No..makes it go faster..uh-oh..”

“Can you still fix it?”

“Listen– don’t panic, stop panicking” Chell watches the robot with a stony expression as the main breaking clicks into place at the ground level. “I Can, I Can still fix this, I can still stop it.” Wheatley glances down at the main breaker as the intercom whirrs to life

“Powerup initiated.” Daunting, that’s what that is. A message in dead air of what’s to come. A very large part of yourself hopes that Glados finds you an interesting anomaly and keeps you alive.

“Ohh that is not good” Wheatley mutters “ah- oh.there’s password. That is..fine. I‘ll just hack it. Not a problem.” You’d say you and chell beg to differ.

As Wheatley tries to hack the password combination by combination, Chell’s expression steels at the sight of the android’s figure being lifted up from the ground by pipes and wires connected through the back of her neck. Her legs were in a state of disrepair, one torn with red and blue wiring spilling out of it, and blue and yellow sparks flew as water dripped out of cracked casing. Her head slowly rises and falls backwards while sparks flew from her head, optic pulling itself back in and establishing a connection.

“Can you help at all?” Wheatley mutters “I think…I did B already. Someone needs to write this down. Grab a pen or–”

“Powerup Complete.”

“Okay, okay alright. This is fine.  Just be nice– totally nice, act natural, we’ve done nothing wrong.” Glados’ head falls forward as her optic constricts and contracts, before ultimately focusing on Chell, who stares right back at her. Without a lick of fear, that one. “Hello!” Wheatley chirps.

“Oh.” Glados’ steps forward and broken legs. It nearly looks like levitating,pulling along by the tubing out of her head “It’s you.”

Wheatley’s head spins to look between you and Chell. A silent woman, but her glare gives her away “You know her?” he questions.

“It’s been a long time.” Glados chides smoothly, not paying any mind to you nor the core, focused on Chell “How have you been?” Chell’s eyebrow twitches. You conclude that this ‘long time no see’ tone of phrase isn’t all that pleasing to the woman “I’ve been really busy being dead.” Glados breathes without the need to “You know, after you murdered me.”

“You did what?”

Two claws descend from above Glados’ chassis, lifting chell up from the hand, though if she were in pain, she betrays nothing to Glados. It’s commendable..if not worrying. Wheatley on the other hand, is lifted from the head, screaming “No no no—No no no-Agh!” Sparks flew as the wire connecting him by the head to the main breaker was ripped out and clattered by your feet. 

“Okay, look. We both said things that you’re going to regret.” glados’ head doesn’t even turn to regard the core before the claw drops and grabs, crushing Wheatley's outer casing,and his optic blinks out as the claw tosses the body into a heap across from her. Something about even that reads to you now as restraint, exerting Control, even. Crushing the core as to not crush her enemy. “But I think we can put our differences aside. For science. You monster.”

As the claw slowly drags Chell over the incinerator, Glados’ voice takes on a lighter tone,body being dragged along by wires “I will say though, that since you went to all the trouble of waking me up, you must really really love to test. I love it too. There’s just one small thing we have to take care of, first.” You watch as the claw drops the woman into the incinerator. Only once it closes and the claw rises up and away, does Glados turn slowly around to regard you. The anomaly.

Glados’s optic stares down at you, a blinding yellow light amidst the decay, and you shrink back a step, towards the heap of scrap that Wheatley currently was, laying in a broken pile. The robot’s angular body shifts forwards as she walks towards you, wires dragging slowly behind her broken legs. Commanding, that’s what you think of her in person. She commands a respect about her, and she was downright scary, even smaller than you’d seen her in the game. 

“You are not permitted to be here.” She states. Not a question. An objective, undeniable fact. “You are not a test subject.” Glados has no panels to her optic, like the core. It’s far harder to read her ‘expressions’ beyond tone of voice. The monotony of it doesn’t help you one bit. Mad? Intrigued? Civil? You couldn’t be sure.

“Yeah.” you trail off, not denying the fact.

Wires spill out behind her legs as she walks straight towards you, looming over your head.”What are you doing here?”

You don’t have an answer for her. What would you say, something as childish as ‘i dunno’? Absolutely not. So you lie. “..Studying.”

The robot’s head tilts backward as she scrutinizes you. Or at least, you certainly feel as though she was. ‘Go.”

“What?”

“Study.” She states, turning slowly on her heel. “When the incinerator is operational, your study ends.” You don’t like the sound of that. It’s not malice, but it’s undeniable that in the robot’s view, you were an intruder of some sort. “Take the core with you.’ It’s not a request for you to do so, she was telling you to leave and take the core with you through a different door she had opened. 

“Why?” You don’t know exactly what compels you to ask. To question Her, while she’s telling you your time is limited. You don’t have the seconds to waste, and yet you were.

“A test.” she doesn’t turn around, nor turn her head to stare at you. Instead, she regards her facility in such a state of disrepair. “Humans are made of Will, in theory. She proves it.” You’d think that might be the nicest thing she’s said of Chell. “Either she is an anomaly, or you will prove it as well.” So it’s a test for you to get answers about her.

You don’t have it in you to stay any longer in the room with a homicidal rogue AI who is still currently upset from the encounter with her murderer, instead quickly hooking your arms around the broken core’s body and dragging him along with you back through the door, which slams shut as soon as you were through it.

Wheatley Whirrs back to life not long after, on the catwalks. You had dropped him not moments ago, the strain being too much to bear on your arms. He sits up, searching and bewildered as you laid your hands on your knees, breathing hard. Solid metal, you’re frankly surprised you got this far. A single turn away from the door you were allowed through.

“Oh…this is not good.” Wheatley mumbles as his cracked optic looks this way and that, constricting and contracting. A constriction too small for the iris, and sparks would fly “Agh-”

“Thank god.” You mutter “Heavy metal.”

“What?”

“You. Are heavy.” You point with one hand as you straighten back up, turning your head around to stare down the seemingly endless line the catwalks made.

“Well, yes, I’m-I’m made of solid metal and titanium bearings, of course i would be heavy. Not exactly meant to be carried. Or to do the carrying– really, but i did, if you’ll remember–”

“We’ve got to go.” You decide, squinting. In the first place, you needed to find some way for Wheatley to fix himself up. His optic hanging that loosely out of the ‘socket’ couldn’t be good, neither were the tears and large cracks in the casing. Wires hanging out of the top of his head.

“You what?”

“We’re running on borrowed time.” you don't wait for him to get onto his feet, although you reasonably should’ve. Now that you’re not carrying a hunk of dead-weight metal with no-functional springs, you’re running on adrenaline. Not healthy, doesn’t feel good at all. You wonder how chell was going to fair was the slightly drug-induced testing tracks. 

You don’t actually like remembering the game, in this case. It’s bothering you immensely already, what’s to come.

Wheatley scrambles after you on wobbly legs as he stares around himself wildly “Look, I’m all for an escape plan. Clearly. Planned to escape her. Think it was a pretty good plan, if i do say for myself–which i am, really. It was a good one, if that main breaker had agreed with me. You know, all the bots down in the wiring department really should condemn a machine like that. Definitely wasn’t supposed to raise. I don’t think so, anyways. Broken as a heap–”

“But?”

“aha..Uhm. But this is ‘by the seat of our pants’, as it were, right?” Wheatley questions, shambling after you “i mean you certainly don’t know where we’re going, Scientists aren’t allowed behind the catwalks–and that's not to say that you wouldn’t be able to direct us, i’m sure you’d be great at it, but i have some idea of where we are and let me tell you, it is far too close to her.”

“I know. It isn’t a good plan.”

“So you agree, good, good.” You glance over your shoulder, just a touch offended. Wheatley’s iris contracts and sparks fly as he nervously backtracks “Like i said, like i said, i’m sure you’d be great at it if you knew where we were.”

“You’re welcome for carrying you.” you chided as you headed through a set of doors. Ultimately, he was right. You haven’t a clue where the hell you were right now. In the game, you would’ve been testing, there was no need to really know where the catwalks lead

“Right–yes, thank you. Greatly appreciated. Wouldn’t much care for being left to uh..die.”

“Who gave you and Her the concept of death?” you question while you walk. Filling the silence now. The chatterbox surely could fill it.

“Well- you would know, wouldn’t you? I don’t. They don’t exactly apply a ‘made by’ sticker.”

“Right. I haven’t been here in awhile. Excuse any lapses.” 

“Totally excused!” Wheatley chirps “Actually, now that I think of it, this is a great plan. Get away from her, and then we can come up with something else.” and he claps his hands together with a metal thud “Oh! Great idea. We go get Her, the brain damaged one? Seems perfectly capable, that one.” he pauses, and you’re certain he’s staring at the back of your head, expecting some sort of back-talk “Obviously not to say that you and I aren’t perfectly capable, but apparently she killed Her before?” he stumbles right into his own plan a little “Oh! Hold on, really, that’s good. We get her to shut Her off, and then the three of us escape! The musketeers, our little trio’ll be, right?”

“Maybe shutting her off isn’t the best of ideas–”

“Think about it! I mean really think about it. Chances are, you die twice, you’re not coming back a third time, right? Just need to make sure the death sticks this time, like J– actually..shouldn’t say that.” the core grunts as you both pass through another set of open doors.

“Maybe.” You haphazardly agree. You really don’t like knowing what’s to come. “First things first, though, have to get you fixed up.”

“Right. Definitely, priorities in order. Put myself in working order, retrieve her, defeat Her, escape! One issue though, No spare parts. Another issue, no spare optics on hand. Third issue–”

The sound of other voices stunt you both in your tracks. The sound of yelling, arguing and monotony bothers you a great deal. What? They weren’t supposed to be anywhere near here.

“Fact, Adventure core is a Crass excuse for Indiana Jones.”

“What!? Have you got an oil leak in your main chambers? Indy is a crass excuse for Me.”

“I think…Indiana Jones should’ve gone to Space!”

Despite your apprehension, Wheatley goes jogging ahead of you with a tone of delight “Others! Isn’t that great?”

“Hold on–”

Now you’re shambling to keep up with a broken robot. 

[sarafangirlart]

Hardly restraining her tears, she said What way out is there left, for me, possessed by the pain of a strange and monstrous love, that no one ever knew before? If the gods wanted to spare me they should have spared me, but if they wanted to destroy me, they might at least have visited on me a natural, and normal, misfortune. Mares do not burn with love for mares, or heifers for heifers: the ram inflames the ewe: its hind follows the stag. So, birds mate, and among all animals, not one female is attacked by lust for a female. I wish I were not one! Yet that Crete might not fail to bear every monstrosity, Pasiphae, Sol's daughter, loved a bull, though still that was a female and a male. My love, truth be told, is more extreme than that. She at least chased after the hope of fulfilment, though the bull had her because of her deceit, and in the likeness of a cow, and the one who was deceived was a male adulterer. Though all of the world's cleverness were concentrated here, though Daedalus were to return on waxen wings, what use would it be? Surely even his cunning arts could not make a boy out of a girl? Surely even he could not transform you, lanthe?

Ovid’s metamorphosis’ iphis and ianthe

Isis/Hera:

[buwheal]

(ignore this if the other anon sends their story I suppose)  I am new, not the same storyteller, but I can still give you the end you look for.

CONT.

And the stars said to the boy as his body in the dream became charred under their gaze yet, "We see all things the world upturns, and know how nothing ever returns. Your grief and despair have swayed us. We have seen you turn your head towards our domain since before you even knew what we were. We have watched you grieve and watched you yearn, for things that never were, and thus can never return. And so, we will offer you one boon, little one who mourns."

And to the stars the boy said, "I cannot bear being trapped on the ground. Please, can't you make me like you? I wish to be untethered from the cold mud and colder oceans in which I feel drowned. Let me shine and sing, hung up in the heavens with the stars and moons that dance like angels. That will be my wish, to be freed from this indifferent and sodden mound that pulls me down. If you could make me bright and gleaming like you, I could find what I grieve and what I mourn."

The sky accepted his wish to be cut away from his home and strung up, woven into the sky, but not without a warning.

"You should know: that to be a star is to be a fire that eternally burns. There are so many things that a star can never be, places that can never be visited and thus never returned to. Nor are the void of our skies Heaven, nor are they Hell. Such places exist, but both are empty. Our home however is so, so full and so, so loud. What you grieve and what you yearn are not things that your wish will earn. Though determined as you are, we will help you search and help you learn how to find a way to return to a home never built. And when you burn, we will be there, beside you in the sky."

The boy heard the stars, but did not listen to their words because the sight of his dreams blinded him. Blithely he pleaded to the heavens for instruction on becoming divine.

The stars answered in turn, "Travel to the tallest mountains where the air is thin and the rocky peaks are so sharp they could pierce the hearts of giants. Then, look for the darkest cave upon the mountain and crawl into its narrowest passage. Once you are there, gouge a small groove into the wall until from the stone gushes sticky ink that shines so brightly it hurts to look. For one year you must drink nothing but the sanguine ichor that bleeds from the carving. Through this you will be transformed, and become like us."

The boy asked the stars why the mountains bleed light.

"Long ago, a god abandoned its body and hurled the hollow vessel upon the mountains so that it may become mortal. The gilt and rotting tallow that melted from the carcass made the mountains last eternal, and now within the stone burns the same molten power that we in the sky radiate," the stars sung to him.

When he awoke, the boy obeyed the stars' orders and it twisted him, but not into a star, nor into a moon. His parents grieved his absence, and yearned for his return which would never come. The mountain blood scalded his tongue and throat and sat cold and heavy in his stomach. If from the pain he allowed rivulets to spill down his face, it melted and burnt his skin, searing lines down from the corners of his mouth to the bottom of his jaw. Still he persisted, unable to put to rest that which never was, and will never return. By year's end he felt heavy and strange, the ichor in his system like leaden weights upon his limbs and his voice, stretching and breaking his body into bizarre proportions. He did not care. He believed it would earn him everything that he grieved and everything he mourned. 

Waxen wings made of the soft and pure gold of the abandoned god's rendered tallow sit upon his back.

The stars gladly welcomed him into the sky, but upon finally meeting his heaven face to face, their light and their heat set his golden tallow wings ablaze like candles.

As his wings melted, the stars were saddened, but offered him another boon, in hopes he could be saved from such a nasty fall. The boy wished for another chance to sit in their sky. The stars thought quick, and wove ropes and cables from the tails of green comets. The boy was gifted the cables, and he gladly tied them into harnesses on his own body. The stars hung his cables from his world's moon as a pale reflection of their own light and every day they sung their songs to him as he swayed in step with the tides of the oceans he tried so hard to escape. He saw his parents, who grieved upon the muddy ground he ran from, but had no body of their child to bury. He saw all the presents and treats they left to rot at the headstone of an empty grave. He watched his parents tell the people who asked: We grieve. We yearn. For our child who could only bear to be turned towards the sky and now will never return.

- 🥩🕊

answered