#[ waxen wings ]

[pokimoko]

5, 10, 20, and 25 for fic in review ask thing!!!

5. What ships captured your heart?

I am a gen writer through and through, so it's a very rare thing to see me writing a ship-focused fic. That said, I really enjoyed the pairing of Karlach and Astarion this year, though I wouldn't say I shipped them necessarily in a romantic sense. The fic I wrote that had them together had their relationship tagged '(it's fairly ambigious; is it romantic? queerplatonic? platonic? yes), (the love and devotion is there regardless)' which I think basically sums up how I view them (and also how aromantic I am about shipping 😅).

I also liked Billford, but in a strictly 'oh yeah they're super divorced, they are never getting back together' kind of way. Not sure if that counts as shipping, but hey, it's definitely counts as something.

10. What fic was the most satisfying to write?

I would have to say either 'The Poetics of Space' (Gravity Falls) or 'On Waxen Wings We Soar, In Spite of Inevitable Ends' (Baldur's Gate 3). They were the two fics I was the most happiest with this year, not only regarding the quality of the writing itself and the themes they explored (the constance of change not only in the world but also ourselves, and finding joy in and making peace with the time you have left), but also how they tied everything together in their conclusions. Both of them equally made me feel a 'wow..I did that' feeling of accomplishment when I finished them, so yeah, they both were absolutely the most satisfying to write.

20. Share your funniest line.

Being more of angst-based writer kinda limits my collection of comedic lines (even my more comedic story this year was extremely angsty), but there was one line I wrote this year that got a couple comments about it making the reader laugh, so I'll go with that one (because if two people found it funny, surely it must be, right):

“You try fixing an interdimensional portal for thirty years without learning physics," (Stanley) said. "I know what quarks are now. Do you know how much I hate knowing what quarks are.”

25. How did you recharge between fics?

Usually I'd spend the first few days after finishing a fic trying to figure out the what the heck to do with the spare time I had previously allocated to writing said fic, and then once I figured that out (and had yet to be overcome with the urge to write something else), I'd probably watch a TV show, read a book, play video games, and do some art. I'm boring like that.

Send me a number!

[andiloveyoutooangel]

on realizing i do, in fact, have a type

[kabr0ztrousers]

heyy

how about a fem being knotted by a whole pack of dogs? exorbitant amounts of cum are appreciated

Kabr0z Writes episode 58: Pack Tactics

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: feral human; human X feral; group sex; giving fellatio; knotting; implied impregnation;

A/N: Well, I said requests for feral content would be case by case, so let's see how close I can fly to the sun before these waxen wings melt

Obviously, this is all fantasy. Nobody in sound mind condones running away with wolves and trying to seduce several wild animals. That should go without saying, but this is the internet, where nuance goes to die.

########################################

The pack ran. The pack hunted. You hunted with them. Leaves in your short hair, your naked body bearing scratches and scuffs from the undergrowth. Callouses on your feet, a sharpened spear in your hand. You'd joined the pack years ago, barely a teen when the world fell apart and you ran as the skies burned with azure fire. The forests reclaimed the land, your pack's territory grew, and you became a respected member of the family.

The wolves could smell better than you, but needed rest more often. You could trace the wounded beast you're tracking for longer, seeing where its limping broke branches, where it left fur on thorns and twigs, and when your family had caught their breath, they could follow you. It wasn't far now. Your prey was moving clumsily. This is the final push.

You broke the treeline. A wounded elk knelt at a brook, drinking the clear, cold water. A hazy memory crossed your mind. Before the war, nothing could drink from these streams without risking death or worse, now they run pure and clean. It doesn't matter. You threw your spear. The sharpened point struck true, sinking into the flank of the elk. It bolted.

The wounded beast made for the treeline. The barbed held as the shaft dragged, shaking the spear in its flank and letting your friends catch up easily. A wolf latched onto the beast's neck and brought it down, tearing flesh and dislocating bone. You pulled a knife from the sash wound around your calf. The last piece of civilization you carried: a folding blade, meticulously sharpened, the handle sporting the flag of a nation that doesn't exist. A quick cut. Its suffering ended in a sanguine spurt.

You set about dressing the meat. Your family let you work. They knew that once you were done the kill would last longer, go further. They gathered sticks for you, which you assembled into a basic rack, hanging strips of meat over the wood and lighting a smoky fire underneath. You'd learned how to smoke meat from a book, back when you still risked going into the ruins of towns. Now the black objects floated, ever vigilant, scooping up anything that came too close.

No. The forests are safer.

You cut one last portion from the carcass. This would be dinner while you waited for the rest. Skewered on the spear, you held it over the fire as the wolves feasted on the remains. The meat sizzled and spat as you turned it, roasting it through.

You ate. The juices running down your chin and wetting your cheeks. You threw the occasional morsel to your packmates, who snapped them up greedily.

Night was falling, the sky darkening to a dusty purple. The meat was smoking gently, It'll keep for a week or so though it'll probably only last for a couple of days. After that another week then another hunt. Now though, your belly was full. Your family lazed around you, some playing, some relaxing on the cool grass. One padded over to you. A young male who's had his intentions on you for the past few weeks. His muzzle still carried flecks of blood, but his head was low, ears drooping in submission to you.

You scratched behind his ears, rubbing the fur either side of his head. You lay back and let him lie on top of you, rubbing and scratching, hearing the thump-thump-thump of his tail on the grass as his tongue lolled out of his open mouth. He rolled over onto his back and you rubbed his belly, hand buried in the thick fur of his midriff.

Did you mean for your hand to stray so far down? Or had you seen the vivid red tip poking out from the tawny-furred sheath? Were you expecting what was to come? Anticipating it?

You held the base of his cock through the skin of his sheath as he humped against your hand. It was already long and thick, protruding as it was, even before the knot inflated. You'd seen your packmates mating before, even woke once or twice to clumsy excited humping on your leg or back, once one had even managed to push itself between your muscular thighs, coating your skin in sticky, strong-smelling fluid.

A thought crossed your mind. You stuck out your tongue and ran it up the length of the cock before you, hearing the panting get louder and faster as you did. It tasted like it smelled, musky and strong, maybe tangy? Either way, you felt yourself get wet, your sinuses opening to let the smell in as your pulse quickened.

You lay on your front, pushing your hips up and presenting yourself to the young wolf. A weight hit your rear, blunt claws grappling up your back until he got into position, thrusting madly against you. His cock kept slipping down, hitting your clit as it rubbed the outside of your pussy. Your legs and your belly were already slick, moistened by the precum leaking from his cock. You grabbed his cock and helped it in, your virgin cunt already tingling and ready for him.

He pushed in. You'd always expected your first time to hurt, to bleed, it didn't. Even as he forced himself into you, all you could do was whimper and whine. The rest of the pack was taking notice. A bitch getting bred would normally attract a few more interested males, but you weren't an ordinary bitch. Half the males in the pack were padding over to you, sniffing and barking, sensing your readiness.

The young male was pounding at you, his cock all the way in as his narrow hips pushed and his knot started to swell. One hand braced your body against the ground as the other held the knot in you, the wolf's jerking thrusts threatening to shake it out. You squeezed your pussy against him, feeling the wolf cum spill into you, the thin fluid leaking out around his knot, coating your hand. Your clit stood on end, aching for a touch. You gave up holding yourself. Both hands between your legs now, one holding onto the knot threatening to fall out, the other rubbing your clit in time to your strained whines and pants.

You bit back a scream. Your whole body was aflame, clenching and shaking. The knot slipped mid-orgasm, spraying your rear end with thin cum as even more leaked from you. Another wolf took the youngster's place. You couldn't see which, but you could feel its cock hammering into your cunt as the first started licking his cum from your clit. The tongue on your pussy as a new knot began to take root in you, squirting a fresh load of cum in.

Another wolf took the opportunity. He knelt over your head, humping at your face, the tip of his cock poking out, searching for a warm, wet hole to bury itself into. You opened your mouth to him, angling for the cock as it found its mark. Your newly freed hand, stinking of cum and musk, pulled back the sheath, allowing the shaft to push between the seal of your lips, spraying bittersweet salty liquid into your mouth. You held the back of his cock, behind the knot as he humped your face. The taste changed, becoming more bitter, saltier. Your mouth watered as it twitched, hosing your tonsils with the hot liquid as his balls dangled inches from your nose, filling your head with the mind-emptying sweat and musk.

You felt the knot in your pussy fall out as you lost your grip on it, more spunk squirting onto your ass and pussy, lubricating you for the next cock. It didn't feel like either of the others, there weren't that many males in the pack. Were they all taking a turn?

The knot in front of your face started to deflate as the pumps dried out. You let the wolf go and he padded away, interest waning now his balls had been drained down your throat.

You rubbed your clit and held the cock in your pussy, feeling ever more wolf seed flowing in your slick, soaking pussy until another orgasm greeted you. The ground muffled your moans as your face ground into the dirt. Your body was exhausted, your arms dropping as the last wolf fell out. You felt your cunt tensing lazily, cum dripping out of you as you stayed propped up on your knees, unwilling to move.

Nobody else took a turn on your soaking, gaped pussy, you felt the cum inside you leaking out, except for what filled your womb.

Can a human have puppies? You're going to find out.

#######################################

Again, I don't condone running away with wolves, regressing to a feral state and fucking four or five of them. But if you're going to write about that happening, this felt like the way where the POV wasn't Humbert Humbert-ing a bunch of wild dogs.

Bonus points if you get the Easter eggs I scattered in the runup to the sex scene tonight!

As a final note: if you have a request, tell me! It's a long road to December and while there's enough to see me through to mid-April (seriously) I'm always grateful for new ideas and concepts!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 10

Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

A/N: Well, buckle up I guess

Warnings: Plot™️, I know clocks are canon but it still feels weird to do this, starting heavy 💪

Word Count: 6,012

-Part 9- -Part 11-

He sighs.

It’s not like she can help the way she is. Not like she can help the fact that whenever she tries to make things better it simply creates more work for him to do. By receding into her room, he has to pay more attention to when she appears, becoming extra vigilant in the moments she steps outside.

He shouldn’t be so harsh. Sometimes fatigue clouds his judgement, enough so it becomes apparent to even himself sleep is a necessary luxury. Still, they’re harmless behaviours really. Small habits that with the right guidance will enable her to flourish again.

A broken bone that needs to be left to set, to be good as new.

6:57 p.m.

Azriel massages his temples, the beginning aches of a headache making themselves apparent. Eases in a breath, counts, and releases. It seems a night of rest is unavoidable, but there’s so much to be done. He could perhaps rearrange breakfast…but that would collide nastily with training. Maybe moving lunch to three instead? But then that would impact the start time of going though the towering stack of reports, which would in turn result in him working later anyway.

Thick brows narrow as he prowls silently down the hallway of the River House, deciding to leave for some peace and quiet. It’s not an idea he’s keen on, but if he dips out of practice with Cassian atop the House of Wind tomorrow…that would work. Frustration simmers in his knuckles, tightening the trapezius. He doesn’t like the idea of skipping over valuable training time with the priestesses. They’re forcing themselves out of their comfort zone. The least he can do is respect their resolve by attending.

He’s so caught up in thoughts of schedule and routine he only realises she’s in the River House, on the same floor, when she’s a single corridor away. Another thing he needs to keep an eye on. Swiftly reorganises his thoughts, rotating and recalling the information his shadows have provided over the recent days and hours. The scraps of speculations Mor had offered from a single outing. If he remembers correctly, she will have just gotten back from her trip with Mor now. So why is she here? She should be back up at the House by now, retreating to her room away from everyone else.

Still, he rounds the corner in time to see her click a door closed—her sister’s. His curiosity piques, shadows already recollecting the news they’ve catalogued for the female with soft, cocoa eyes. Gloves still adorn her hands, but it does nothing to conceal their tremor.

Attention narrows in on her, darkness skittering back into the corners of the hallway, hiding between his wings as he approaches. Her lips are chapped and tight, features strained as her gloved hand rests for a moment atop the handle. Appearing in her own world—eyes glazed and vacant. Her jaw is wound tighter than usual, tight enough he can hear the grinding of enamel, like bone and porcelain powdered against rock. Brows draw together at the notice of her waxen complexion, skin gleaming faintly with peaky dew.

Blank eyes flick up to meet his own, and he steps forward. Her hand stiffens on the handle, posture turning rigid. Scent taking on a tang he’s far too familiar with from nights spent with his blade. He comes to a stop, keeping his distance from her taut form.

Azriel’s first thoughts are she must be pushing too hard with her magic. Honestly, he hadn’t anticipated her to be so resolved in mastering her power independently. Neither had he anticipated her making a lick of progress. At least not through measures that a sensible mentor would allow.

He should never have yielded to her look of despair. She’d be safer if he had simply insisted on doing things correctly. A foolish mistake on his part, and now she might be going down the wrong path. “Are you okay?” He asks, splitting his weight equally between each foot, resting in his place. Watches the roll of her throat, shifting in place, away from Elain’s door. Had there been an argument?

She nods her head, trying to straighten her spine as she sometimes does when pulling herself together. The effect is nullified by the was she hangs her head, never quite succeeding in meeting his eye for extended periods. He shouldn’t have ignored it for so long. Leaving something like that unchecked… Well, he should have known better.

“I’m—” She clears her throat, and tries again. “Good. I’m fine.” Nods to herself, eyeing the floorboards with bland eyes. He waits quietly, allowing the silence to coax her into unravelling. She shifts again, stepping away from Elain’s door, her gaze flitting about the corridor. Flicks to the stairs behind him, leading down to the exit—likely wanting to return to her haven up in the House by now.

Eyes regain a little focus, pupils contracting as a nervous smile quirks her mouth, nodding to the door as she makes for the stairs. “We were just speaking,” she elaborates, moving away hastily. “Catching up.”

Azriel watches, noting the briskness of her steps. It’s unusual for her to be so keen to leave his presence. What had happened?

“Wait,” he says, turning as she makes to move past him, peering at the floor, marking her steps. She pauses, gloved hand resting on the carved and polished banister. He steps forward, morbidly intrigued by the glaze in her eyes, as if made of glass. “You aren’t well,” he states. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” you repeat blandly, “just tired.”

Something bad then, if she’s not willing to even discuss whatever exchange happened with Elain.

Shadows loiter at the threshold, waiting to hear for any sounds that might offer hints, like the soft breath of cries, or the gentle splash of muffled tears. Nothing.

She turns again, descending the stairs, sweeping down the case quietly as she makes a bee-line for the door, vanishing out into the dark, leaving him perplexed and curious. A dangerous combination for the Spymaster.

She’d looked shaken up, so he should make sure things are okay.

It’s been a long while since he last had a one-on-one conversation with the soft-eyed female.

Azriel turns in the hallway, moving back the way she’d come.

8:36 a.m.

“We should talk.”

His words pull you from the world of bliss that had been graciously clouding your mind. Peer down at him from where you’re straddling his lap, pale sheets crumpled, clothes strewn about from being swiftly discarded. “About what?”

Thick, dark brows narrow over piercing golden eyes, full lips twisting down in the corners. Your own features shift to match his, “now, Bas?”

He sighs, large, warm hands splaying across the bruised skin of your hips. “I know, I know, I suck at timing. No need to tell me.” Almost immediately the edges of your lips lift up, a smile tugging at your mouth, vanquishing the momentary surge of annoyance. Fingers lightly press into the softness of his chest, spine losing its rigidity, relaxing your weight back onto him. Feeling slightly dizzy as pleasure sinks into your bones.

“Fine,” you mutter, playfully, “what is it?”

Bas shifts beneath you, thumbs soothing your skin, your back arching as you attempt to still the swirl of your hips. “Two things, actually,” he clarifies reaching higher, a reassuring pressure over your ribcage, rubbing to your waist. Peek down at him, raising a brow, “I wondered why you weren’t giving me a hard time tonight,” —shake your head, smiling slightly— “I should have known.”

He offers a tight smile and your own slips away. “Now you’re worrying me,” you murmur quietly, fingers curling. “What is it?” Golden eyes meet your own, concern shining in their depths, “you’ve been off recently. And I’m worried. So, it’s fine to be emotionally intimate too… Yeah?”

You blink, lips parting in surprise. “I’ve been…off?” Brow furrows in confusion, “what do you mean by that? Am I doing something wrong?” It’s an earnest question, yet it resonates a little deeper than you had expected. Thankfully he doesn’t pick up on the inner conflict. “It’s not that,” he reassures, hands stroking slowly, lightly. “But you’ve worn the same dress the last three times I’ve seen you.”

Internally, you cringe, making to pull away. “Do I smell?” You ask, wincing, bringing your arms to your chest. A slight smile tugs at his lips then, “no.” Relax a little, hands twining as he brings them back to his torso. “But…you taking care of yourself up there?” Sigh, shoulders losing their tension, lips resting into a quirked position.

“I’m fine, Bas. I like it up there, where it’s quiet, and—”

“No.” He interjects gently, hand slipping from yours, pushing a strand of hair from your cheek. Lightly cups your jaw, thumb skimming across the skin. “I mean up there.”

Spine stiffens, fingers freezing. Breath pauses. “Everything’s fine,” you murmur, watching him. He gives a look that urges you to stop lying, squeezing your hands. “Talk to me,” he says in response. “Something’s up. I can tell.”

“Bas—”

“Don’t even try,” he murmurs, golden eyes shimmering as he peers up at you. “I know what that feels like,” he whispers, hand raising to skim your breast, thumb brushing atop your heart. “I know change is difficult.”

“Bas, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eyes lock, staring at one another.

His hand falls away.

Muscle loosens.

Licks his lips, gaze flitting elsewhere. “I was lonely too, when the attack happened.” Spine softens, brows tightening. Wait silently for him to continue. Licks his lips again, returning to watch you. “Ma… It was hard on both of us, losing pa. Y’know one day he was there, then the next it’s just us.” His throat rolls, eyes glazing as he looks into the middle distance. “We had our own ways of dealing with it—the loss. Mother knows I can’t talk about healthy coping mechanisms, I practically fucked anything that would let me. Probably drank more than I should have, too.”

The attack.

You and your sisters hadn’t yet come here, still mortally human and wonderfully unaware. Well, you and Elain, anyway. Even now, there were still signs of the aftermath. Traces of grief that had yet to be healed.

He shakes his head slowly, limbs turning stiff. “It got… I know what it’s like.” Golden eyes latch to your own. “So talk to me. Don’t keep that—…stuff, to yourself.” Shake your head, breaking the connection, pulling away. “There’s nothing to talk about. Stop prying.” Shake off the heaviness, easing a breath. “What else did you want to talk about?”

His expression is indiscernible, brows dipped, lips tugged down, eyes swirling with molten gold. Shifts beneath you, your hands pressing to his chest to steady yourself as he raises into a sitting position. Moving to be eye-to-eye, hands spanning your waist, gently keeping you still. Fingers brush the concealed muscle of his shoulders, linking at his back, hips winding in gentle encouragement.

A rough-skinned palm settles on the nape of your neck, sliding and gripping your hair lightly. Thumb oscillates over your waist. Calling up loneliness from the pit of your chest. Lips brush your mouth, the slightest caress of hot skin that feels like heated silk and tastes like spices and thyme. He looks like he’s about to try again, but decides against it, instead pulling you forward.

Only you’re taken to the crook of his shoulder, palm cupping the back of your head. His free arm snakes up your back, cradling you to his chest. Keeping you close by. At first you’re stiff, unsure how to react, muscle locks as his skin presses hot to your own, smooth and soft. Warm hands soothe along your spine, gently skimming across the expanse, tracing the knuckles of bone. Fingers draw light patterns atop, oscillating and sketching with reassuring steadiness.

He makes no move to kiss you, just holding you still, the thick locs of his hair scratching softly against the nape of your neck. His arm spans across the back of your waist, hand flattening against your side, thumbing over the skin, soothing you to melt.

Your bones begin to feel heavy in your body, sinking low as you hesitantly raise your arms to lock over his sturdy shoulders, tentatively shuffling to rest your cheek against him. Inhale slowly, deeply, taking in his scent—like rosemary and myrrh. He settles across your skin, and you sink deeper, emotion thawing as you melt into his arms, so tender and soft. Healing and welcoming.

Wet drops splash atop his shoulders, dripping onto dark skin as arms pull a little tighter, squeezing as lips tremble. Spine shudders, soft breaths stuttering as tears trickle down your cheeks, wetting strands of hair as fingers grip closer. Full lips graze your temple, and you feel those small cracks that had emerged during your argument with Feyre begin to spiderweb out, restraint fracturing just a little more.

Lower lip wobbles, and you curl around him tighter, body shuddering with quiet sobs as he holds you. Dry hands wrap into fists, nails biting the flesh of your arms as you fall into him, wanting to be washed away.

To peacefully melt to a place far from memory.

Slowly fade into absence.

2:43 p.m.

The iron-cast ring weighs on your palm, the glittering blue jewel of its swollen abdomen gazing up at you like silver moonlight dripping to dark, gleaming midnight. Polished and sharp like armour and blade.

“Do you like it?” Mor asks from your side, peering over your shoulder. You’d heard her footsteps that time, but shake your head absently, putting the ring back where it belongs. “It’s a lovely piece of jewellery,” you hedge, not wanting to talk badly when the shopkeepers are around. Spiders are still a little too close to home—insects at all, really.

She hums quietly, attention skimming to a piece beside it: a silver band fashioned to the stalk of a flower, the petals looking like stretched out droplets of warm citrine. Mor examines it for a moment, then holds it out for you to look at, which you do. “What about this one?” Fingers mindlessly come up to fumble with the glass pendant at your neck, steadily becoming a habit. “It’s very pretty,” you answer, hoping it suffices. Mor hums again, seemingly getting the hint, returning it to sit on the counter.

“You liked the dress, didn’t you?” She asks, quietly. Brows dip together as you turn in her direction, cascading golden hair loosely tied back. “I mean you wanted it. Not just because I was pushing you to get something.” A beat of quiet passes, and you examine her expression: the edges of plush and pillowy lips lengthened by slight worry lines, brow marginally dipped in the centre. Minute shifts in features that would have gone undetected by human eyes.

Throat rolls as you look away, but nod. “I did like it,” you mumble, fumbling your words, “do like it. Thank you.”

“Have you worn it yet?” She asks. Dread ices your skin, eyes flitting to honey warm irises. “I— No…” you manage honestly. Look away, scanning the jewels, that blue spider again catching your attention. “It’s a special dress,” you murmur, “I was waiting for a special occasion.”

More quiet beats between you, background chatter buzzing through your mind. But then she nods, accepting your answer. “It looks nice on you,” she replies, picking up a necklace this time—a thin chain of gold that shimmers beneath the daylight streaming in from the windows. Dip your head in silent thanks.

Peer out into the streets, watching fae pass by, enjoying their lives. Spots of colour splashing along as they go about their day. Eyes mark a small shop across the road, stools holding little trinkets like cups and pottery spilling out onto the cobbles, ceramics gleaming beneath the lowering sun. Plants sway in the crisp breeze outside, the nippy winds of early autumn already setting in.

Ease in a steady breath—there’s less than a week left until you’re due to complete your side of the agreement, and only small bits and pieces of progress to show. Not enough to avoid bringing it up to the rest of them.

Glance at Mor from the corner of your eye, watching through your peripherals as she holds up a necklace to herself, peering into a mirror. How would she react if you told her right now? She’d probably smile and tell you that’s great. Maybe ask you to show her or give a demonstration. The breath releases, knowing that question will crop up eventually. Seeking results when you have none to provide.

“Are you coming to dinner tonight?” She asks breaking you out of your wondering. Blink, pulling yourself back down, having forgotten about the extra supper they’d decided to fit in. Shake your head, turning your attention back to the jewellery stand, then flitting out to the shop. “I’m feeling pretty tired,” you reply quietly, “so I don’t think so.”

“Sure?” She says absently, already having moved onto the next stand. “The food’s really great—pork that practically comes part on your tongue. And the jam that goes with it is absolutely mouth-watering,” she dreams, smiling faintly as her fingers scrunch with anticipation. Your nose wrinkles for a split-second before you shut off the reaction, offering a bland smile, “how lovely.”

“You must try it at some point,” she gushes, turning to you now, accessories forgotten. “It’s one of my favourite places in Velaris. All the dishes they serve are,” —her hand flexes, as if trying to grasp onto something, eyes briefly shutting in bliss— “amazing.”

You smile again. “I’m sure.”

Warm-honey eyes narrow on you, examining the set of your expression. “You liked the soup,” she says, “what else do you like?” Throat rolls and you shift on your feet, fumbling. “Mash?” Mor nods slowly, remaining silent; in doing so forcing you to speak, too awkward to allow it to continue. “With thyme… Beans are nice, too?” She continues her bout of silence, quietly watching you. “The rice and…sauce. That’s been nice. Very nice.”

Her brows squish together, tension coiling in your stomach and shoulders. Lick your lips. “The—…” You pause, not knowing the name of the food. “The doughy balls? With…mushroom? in the middle? With—”

Eyes pop open. “You don’t eat meat.”

“I eat meat,” you say, hurriedly, but she’s in her own world.

“That’s why Az—” Her hand smacks up onto her forehead and you internally cringe—was the coddling that noticeable? To everyone but you?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She asks, a mix of shock and exasperation lining her tone as she stares at you. Throat rolls and you turn away from her, picking up the silver band with the citrine-coloured flower. “I can eat meat just fine,” you mutter quietly, “it’s not as though there was anything else.”

“There was the soup,” she argues, still facing you, “you could have asked me to pass it to you—I even had some for myself.”

“No, I mean—” —eyes lock, her brows risen in confusion, not accusation. You sigh, shaking your head. “Sorry. Forget I said anything…” Her neatly groomed brows dip, head tilting ever so slightly. “No, what were you going to say?” She asks, voice quietening. Glance at her sidelong, fiddling with the ring in your hand, sliding it on and off your gloved little finger—far too large for it to possibly get stuck on. Lick your lips, spinning the band as you fidget. “I just mean, it’s basically all we ate back then,” you mumble, peering at your feet with forced interest. “Just brings back some bad memories, is all. Nothing I can’t deal with.”

She sighs softly, and guilt tightens your stomach, putting the now-warm ring down, listening to it clink on the glass. “You don’t like meat,” she states. It’s not a question.

“I can eat it,” you counter quietly, not wanting to be a bother. You’ve seen how much the others enjoy it. “But you wouldn’t choose it,” she returns, keeping her body open as she faces you. Shift on your feet, “I… No.”

Mor nods, hair glinting like freshly spun straw beneath a summer day. “Then we can eat somewhere else. Or order different dishes,” she reasons smoothly, “I’ll just mention it to the others since none of us even knew. Well, I suppose Az—”

“Please don’t,” you interrupt, cringing internally. “It’s fine. Meat’s good for you and I shouldn’t be so picky anyway. It’s annoying.”

“To who?” She asks, making you glance at her. “Who does it annoy?” She repeats, seemingly earnestly. “It’s silly to switch restaurants just because of…because of something so small. I can eat when I get back, anyway. It’s fine.”

She looks appalled.

“Mor, please don’t say anything,” you repeat quietly, meeting her eyes, a pained look unknowingly on your features. “I’m fine with how things are. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” Her brow narrows, eyes flicking around the shop, taking in the other customers. “None of us would mind,” she says quietly. “You wouldn’t be causing a problem. We’ll just order more dishes without meat. We don’t have to change places if nobody wants to.”

But you shake your head adamantly. “I can eat when I get home. Please don’t change what you order just because—”

“Why don’t you deserve to eat food you like?” She asks sharply, voice remaining quiet but harsh. Blink at the tone, stiffening briefly before tension uncoils from your muscles. “It’s not like that,” you reply, turning from the display, slowly stepping toward the door. Mor follows beside you, appearing to have lost interest in the surrounding trinkets.

“No?” She asks, glancing at you through her peripherals. “What’s it like, then?”

You pause in the street, feet halting their movement as the question registers. She halts at your side, slowing to a stop, attention turned to you. “Mor, I don’t know how I could possibly put into words…” A heavy sigh escapes from you, shoulders sloping, exhaustion lining your eyes. “Never mind. Forget it.” Spine straightens, continuing heavily across the street to the shop with the little carvings and pieces of glazed pottery.

She follows quietly as you wander toward the stalls, inspecting the bits and bobs on display. Watches you quietly, taking in the ankle-length dress, clunky boots, thick cardigan and scarf. The vomit-yellow gloves. She should at least find another pair with a lighter colour for you. “You know,” she begins softly, a hint of a smile in her tone, “for someone so reserved, I didn’t expect you to be so stubborn.”

Fingers freeze for a moment, reaching out toward a small carving of a woman holding some drooping daisies. Breath catches, before you manage to resume motion, picking up the small figurine. “Sorry,” you mumble, “I don’t mean to be.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” she murmurs. “You’re strong willed. It’ll serve you well.”

But you shake your head in denial. “Feyre’s strong willed. So is Nesta.”

“Do you think Elain is?” Mor asks, holding up a glazed mug she clearly has no interest in. Your brow dips, peering at her, not having anticipated the change of direction. “Why are you asking?”

“She’s been quiet, no?”

Turn your attention back to the woman in your hand, flipping her over to peer at the lines of her dress—swaying in a breeze. I wonder why… You think sardonically. Instead a hum lulls from your mouth, non-committal and vague. Mor nods her head, again picking up those minute hints you’re unaware you’re even capable of dropping.

“That’s a nice carving,” she says brightly, redirecting the conversation without a hitch, smooth fluidity long ago mastered. “Your father was a carpenter, wasn’t he?” She asks softly. “Would you like it?”

Gloved fingers rub the concealed skin of your other hand, knuckles itching for reprieve. Under ordinary circumstances, you would have declined the offer— it looks well carved. Not that you have an eye for such things. This time, however, you can make an exception. “That would be nice,” you answer quietly, “thank you.”

Swallow down the apology that had been slowly making it’s way up from your stomach.

She smiles then, and you look away.

She’s far too bright.

6:49 p.m.

You excuse yourself as soon as you step inside, heading up the stairs and along the hallway before returning to the House of Wind. Walk quietly along the floorboards, hoping to avoid any unnecessary confrontations. Reach the door you’re looking for, landing a series of knocks to the hardwood. “Elain?” You call, listening for a reply. She answers, letting you to come in, voice soft but terse.

The door swings open on oiled hinges, and you step inside, hearing it snick shut at your back. Eyes instantly locate your sister, sat in a large armchair facing the lit fireplace. Curtains are drawn, blocking out what little light remained in the sky, room set aglow with the golden-orange of flame. Cocoa melts to something soft and spicy as she peers into it, and you wonder if she’s perhaps missing Lucien.

“Hey,” you mumble quietly, noting how she seems kind of distant. You can’t help but be reminded of those initial months, the transitional stages of your lives where the world was turned upside down. How she’d shut down almost entirely, rarely speaking. Rarer still to get anything coherent, like she was trapped in a dream state. “I just…I wanted to see you,” you murmur, moving toward her.

Haunted eyes flick up to meet you, blank as they take you in with ghostly smoothness. She blinks and it’s gone, gesturing to a seat opposite from her, closer to the fire but angled for prime conversation. A smile lifts the edges of her mouth, etched with strain, chest stretching as you take in her fatigue.

Sigh heavily, settling into the plush armchair, remaining straight-backed as you put the paper bag at your feet, careful with the little carving. Wait for a beat to pass before looking to her, cocoa already reattached to the fire. “Elain,” you call quietly, gaining her attention. In the light of the flame the circles beneath her eyes are more pronounced, shadow flickering across the heavy crescents. Worry takes root in your gut—it seems to be taking more of a tole on her than you’d thought.

“You went out with Mor today didn’t you?” Elain asks, voice soft and faint, as if coming out of a daze. A shy smile curves your lips, nodding. “How was it?” She asks distantly, gently curled hair hanging in rich ringlets, tight and silky as they spill down the lilac night gown she likes. Throat rolls, turning your attention to the fire. Will this ever be an easy subject between the two of you? Between any of you?

Eyes flit down to the bag, pulling it up into your lap for comfort. “It was good,” you manage softly, nodding. “It was…nice. To be outside. Around someone, for a little.” Elain nods, a bland smile on her face, though you don’t doubt its sincerity. “I—…Mor’s nice,” you add, fumbling your words as you try to direct the flow of the conversation toward what you’re trying to get at. But you’ve never been good at reading the room, and it’s showing.

“You should…I mean, it would be nice for you to come along sometime…” you suggest, trailing off as fingers wring together in your lap, playing with the paper handle of the bag. “We could…I don’t know…” Shift in the chair as you try to think of something. “I’m sure there are some shops for gardening, or somewhere to sample pastries? You’re trying out pastries at the moment, aren’t you?” Eyes flit to your sister, the smile gone from her lips, lids heavy as she soaks in the heat of the fire. Letting it drink her in.

She’s quiet, and it’s obvious something’s off. Or is she just tired? She’d told you she’d been sleeping badly recently, has it not yet gotten better? Run your attention over her supple form, smooth skin over tight knuckles, the lilac of the fabric complimenting her drained complexion, dark circles beneath her eyes making the rich coca of her irises deeper, swirling with thought. They flick to you suddenly, shadow being cast across her delicate features as she turns, as if about to speak.

You look down into your lap abruptly, staring at the little carving. “I miss dad,” you blurt out quietly, the words being hauled up your throat, spat out into the air.

Elain stiffens in your peripherals, and your lips press together tight. Heart heavies, shoulders no longer being held taut as you begin to drown into the cushion. “I know…” you begin quietly, thoughts eddying away once you try to grasp for them. Just stare at the maiden holding the drooping daisies. “I was thinking about him,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice somewhat even. “Earlier, when I was out with Mor,” you clarify, reaching into the bag.

Push the paper apart, reaching for the female figurine. Fingers brush the smooth wood of the carved figure, the pads able to sense the very grain with heightened nerve endings. She’s hewn from a darker material, deep brown and riddled with smooth and polished knots, creating a labyrinthine twist of swirling lines and wrinkles. It was probably once a beautiful piece of trunk, carried from a forest to a carpenters shop, whittled away until the figure emerged.

“I want to speak with you.”

You look up, hand stilling, fingers grasping the carving. Maybe…you’ve learned in the past it’s better to let someone else lead the conversation. Yours don’t seem to go anywhere unless the other is interested in a continuation.

“Okay,” you murmur, releasing the statue, pulling free as you return the bag to your feet, set aside so you can deliver her your full attention. “What is it?”

Elain blinks slowly, and hairs rise on the back of your neck.

“Elain?” You encourage, no more than a whisper.

For a long moment she won’t speak, just watching intently, as if she can see through you and is examining the sub-atomic structure of your soul, down to the bits and bobs between. Stiffen as cocoa bores into you, looking far older than should be possible as the flame flickers dully in muted brown. Throat rolls, trying to maintain the connection, letting her know you’re there. She’s been around for you; it’s the least you can do.

The contact breaks, her lids closing briefly, gaze returning to quietly observe the fire. Taking in its motion—how the heat wells, practically rolling from the hearth to the rugged floorboards. “There’s been something…” Elegant brows dip almost imperceptibly, the edges of her delicate mouth quivering, lips parted on a syllable. Close again, as if the words won’t suffice for what she’s trying to say. The fire almost seems to match her, growing more intense as she stares into it, shadows darkening as they writhe across the walls, like the wings of a great creature.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she murmurs absently.

Worry sparks across your chest but you say nothing, allowing her to articulate her thoughts at the pace she wishes.

Cocoa returns to you, the colour of conkers—you can picture them sitting cozily among the branches of a dense forest, perfectly in place. “I need you to be calm,” she says firmly. “Can you do that for me?” Brow narrows in confusion, attention fading form your body as it’s directed to your older sister, posture lithe but firm. Sitting with the preternatural stillness of the fae, and something more… Something beyond what even…

You nod—as if your voice might break whatever she’s fallen into. Might cause a change in mind, your chance to comfort her lost. She stares for a moment longer, quiet and observing. An unwelcome itch builds beneath your knuckles, but you push it away, attention solely on your older sister. Her pupils seem to be the wrong size, as if you’re something far off in the distance that she’s struggling to focus on. Her posture relaxes, silently settling into the depth of her armchair, as if it might hold her together.

“Sleep has been difficult as of late,” she murmurs, eyes locked to yours and you find yourself unable to look away. She keeps herself still; poised; refined. Even in the undress of her lilac night robe, she’s collected, but there’s something off tonight. You nod in understanding—sleeping can be difficult. Especially after the war.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” The question pulls from your lips before it’s fully formed in your mind. A faint smile sharpens her mouth—hairs prickling at the nape of your neck. Cocoa blinks, and the sharpness has faded, settling into the familiar gentle curve that makes Elain herself. “I’m perfectly fine,” she replies quietly, though her voice is strained. Eyes again run over you, weighing. Again you keep still, enduring the assessment.

Tongue peeks out to wet her lips, shadows flickering across her face as she shifts in her seat. “I’ve been trying some different tonics,” she admits quietly. “Chamomile, root ginger, valerian…they work fine, and I end up falling asleep swiftly.”

A dull wave of relief washes through your system, like a cool balm to desiccated skin. “I’m glad, ‘Lain,” you say softly, happy she’s found a remedy. But Elain shakes her head solemnly, shadows growing darker, weighing beneath her eyes. “It’s not…I’m not struggling with sleep,” she whispers, as if the walls are sitting in on the conversation. Eyes flit about, and your brows narrow. She’s being shifty. “Maybe we should have this conversation in your room,” she murmurs to herself, fingers massaging her temples.

“Elain…” you interject quietly, worry lacing your tone, “are you okay?” Eyes flick to you, heavy with gravity. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” You press gently. Could she have been sold another kind of herb? “You don’t seem fine…” She waves her hand dismissively, as if physically able to bat the thought away. She exhales heavily, staring again into the fire. Deep into the flames, like she can see to the other side.

“Chamomile, valerian, send me to sleep fine. It’s just not—” She cuts off, searching for the word. “They don’t send me deep enough,” she murmurs, a slight tremor in her voice. “What do you mean?” You ask, shifting toward her in your seat. Eyes snap to you with the movement, brows curving in a look of…

Fear.

You pull back, comprehending. Lean forward, on the verge of standing to cross the room to be at her side again. Like you were for those initial months. “Elain, what’s wrong?” You repeat, anxious to assuage her anxiety however you can.

“They’re back,” she whispers hoarsely. Fingers tremble in her lap, lightly gripping the lilac of her skirts to calm herself. “It’s the same thing again and again,” she manages, staring at you from across the hearth. “I see you at the edge of a forest with the wolves, traveling with the fox, ending with the…” She shakes her head. Steadying her breathing. Calming her nerves.

“There’s a flash of light—light like starfall, except it itches. Itches and burns. And then he’s down, and bleeding, and—”

“Elain, slow down,” you interrupt, standing from your seat as you hurry to her side, fingers linking with her own to soothe the trembles. Crouch before her, clasping her hands in you own gloved ones. “I don’t understand,” you say, staring up at her. “What are you talking about?”

Cocoa drains, dark and haunted.

“They’re back,” she whispers. “The visions.”

General taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

Az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

cbmthy taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd @horneybeach1 @jeannineee @harrystylesfan2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @abysshaven @starlight-hope @stupidwingboy @nastynesta @luvmoo @furiousbooklover @kuraikei @kemillyfreitas @chasing-autumns-chill @marvelpotter @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @nightcourt-daydreaming @vanderlinde @fall-myriad @historygeekqueen @erin-m-harmon

[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

[transhanniday]

Trans Male Will Fic List - 2025

Not Rated/General/Teen/Mature

All the fics tagged as Trans Male Will Graham between 8 April 2024 to 7 April 2025, please let us know if we missed any that you would like added to this list. 

As this list is quite sizeable, we've organised it by rating, but otherwise they are in no particular older.

Note: This is not a rec list, we have not read all of them and so present them just as the links for your perusal. Some of these fics may be incomplete and/or abandoned. Please mind the tags on each fic when you land.

Not Rated

To Be Born Anew by Low_on_fuel

You Waxen Wing, You Foolish Thing by Eileensdress

Conversations with god by Tha_shipper

This Is Home by MooshiShoomi

blood sports are usually for the rich by Imadoctornotawriter

but please, you know youre just like me by nightmareeyyeesss

getting through still has its cost by ewproductivity

Hold Me by thefictionnerd

Art of Love by Raven_Stag_in_a_teacup

Let Me Press My Lips to Something by That_Goblin_Boi

Gen Audiences

Something Like This by Full Length Stories (VioletLeigh2008)

Snowed In by keys_and_bees

Me and My Husband, We’re Sticking Together by llostgr33ncxt

Oleander by Snickerbarz

Their Adorable Girl by KingoftheArchive

Teen & Up

To Her the Hunted, Not the Hunter by The_KickIt_Domain

Newton’s Law by dancedanceinferno

Carrol of the Bells by boybetweenpages

Send A Message! by gooberhopper25

Design of the Hearth by tobiatch

now how tf do u know that by Mikamkii

hell on earth by orphan_account

A fact by What_An_Enigma

Your Need Grows Teeth by The_Witching_Hour

Mature

Appreciate the Company by Jigglysaw_13

The Humiliation of Flesh by watch3rscr0wn (jacabella)

it can't be unlearned (i've known the warmth of your doorways) by Pretty_Boy_Blue

(Feels like) Romcom Hell by bloodstainedeyes (MicksNightmare)

The World Is Ugly by nerdytwat

Cacciatore by TheCannibalCowboy

Moth To Flame by xcherrygirlx

A Different Kind of Treatment by Lafeve

The Lamb by collapseofjune

“If I could I'd be your little spoon and kiss your fingers forevermore”- Hannigram lemon fanfic by Anonymous

Ignite the Past Flames by ErrorNana306

Echoes of Reflection by Frantic_Monster2

The Shabby Hotel by SpaceyRaccoons

Our World by scaryfangirl2001

Lips full with blood by Frantic_Monster2

For Better or For Worse (Probably For Worse) by transcendentcreature

Living Statues by orphan_account

I Smell You From Over Here (You Fucking Reek Of Fear) by slimylegs

Hannibal Plot Bunnies by willgraham123

Metamorphose by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe)

Served On a Silver Platter by pura_angelica

Black By Moonlight by ValeriesRose

Bad ideas by someonesaveme_777

[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:

[luanna801]

Extremely tempted to do an Untamed Characters + Christopher Marlowe quotes edit, if I can find good match-ups for enough of the characters.

Wei Wuxian's, naturally, is:

His waxen wings did mount above his reach And melting, heavens conspired his overthrow! For falling to a devilish exercise And glutted now with learning’s golden gifts He surfeits upon cursèd necromancy

And Jin Guanyao's is definitely:

 You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute,   And now and then stab, as occasion serves.

[literallys-illiteracy]

Thoracalgia He EGO Faust (Asthma Faust) and Liu Association Yi Sang 000 ID

Asthma Faust:

So, unlike what I predicted, this is a two coin piercing EGO.

Similar to Thoracalgia Ryoshu, this EGO benefits in its effects when in pride resonance, being able to apply (seemingly) 6 Poise and 6+ poise count to all allies, as well as the converse effect to Thoracalgia Ryoshu's "Deep Breath" effect, named "Shallow Exhale", when at high enough pride resonance.

Shallow Exhale makes it so you gain +(presumed 1) poise count when gaining potency, at least when above a certain potency, which allows for much easier Poise count sustaining, as most ID aren't able to sustain count 1:1 with their coin numbers, meaning that they are prone to running out.

The Corrosion EGO is not a "Kill allies" type as Ryoshu's was. The skill consumes HP in order to gain Poise potency (if below a threshold, most likely 15 as was the threshold for Ryoshu's EGO) The corrosion also is able to apply poise and +poise count depending on the resonance, as with the awakening.

It seems that the other effects of the corrosion are the same as the awakening, with the extra note that this skill is able to apply Pride damage up (the following turn), which if planned for can be very useful, especially in a Blade Lineage team.

There is also her unique effect of Nebuliser Alpha, applying Poise and +Poise count to all allies, increasing by one stack (to a max of 5) every turn, not requiring any Pride A-Res. as Ryo's does.

At every round end, this effect (nebuliser A) also heals a number of allies for % of their max HP, increased if above a certain threshold of Poise potency (once again, likely 15 potency). we don't know if there is a base healing, nor do we know what the healing is increased by in the threshold, but the image seems to imply that without this threshold the healing will be 5% of their max HP. (Note that Fluid Sack (F) healing is 15% of max HP, Pursuance (M) is for 30% of max HP, being the other two main healing EGO found in the BL team)

Yi Sang Liu Association:

So before I go over the skills and stuff, neat note, skills 2 and 3 have names taken from Library of Ruina.

So: as was predicted this ID is a support ID for burn teams with SP, healing SP to one (other) ally, increasing the SP healed based on wrath resonance, increasing the SP healed if they are a Burn ID, and increasing the number of healed allies at X+ Wrath resonance.

On this ID's skill 3, Flow of the Sword, he is also able to heal SP after attack, seemingly by a flat SP amount, with the number of allies healed being increased if he killed, or if the target has a certain amount of burn.

The skills 1 and two are fairly standard, and by the looks of it this ID is almost entirely focused (other than SP support) on the application of Burn potency, only having 1 source of Burn count in the entire kit, applying on skill 2 if the target has enough burn potency.

That being said, this is the first 000 Liu ID to have access to a sloth skill, meaning that Meursault or Gregor can take a backseat in burn teams right now (However, Gregor is useful due to his access to Garden of Thorns EGO, able to apply a good amount of Wrath damage/power up for turns with Blazing Strike/A.B.S Corrosion/Ardor Blossom (i)/Capote (M)/4MF (R) etc.).

The fact that he is an SP support however makes him incredibly valuable to burn teams containing Philip Sinclair however as he is able to maintain his Waxing Pinion

Also small tangent, it's interesting how many things Philip references in all his appearances: The three wise monkeys (hear/see/speak no evil), Macbeth:

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more.

(from the same quote-block as "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow").

and, with his appearance in Limbus, the myth of Icarus, his EGO named "Waxen Pinion", Pinion being the second joint on a bird wing (if you imitate the shape of a wing it would be your wrist)

and his design(s) as the Crying Children being in reference to biblical angels (common depiction of Cherubim as children), as well as seemingly Paradise Lost (wherein Satan is addressed as a "Fall'n Cherub" in his sadness) (The quote is from the 17th century version because that's just the one I'm used to) .

Ok tangent over.

If we go back to Liu Yi Sang's kit, we can see that we actually have another non-clashable counter, gaining shield based on the enemies burn before he is hit, meaning that this is a not-useless defence skill compared to other counters as it actually is able to... you know, defend him.

Uh numbers and final opinions on Thursday when they get released and I don't get either from the banner. See y'all then.

[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.

[torchickentacos]

we should give Icarus a giant rock and Sisyphus some waxen wings just to see what would happen

[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!

[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. 

[inventors-fair]

Hallowed Halls: Myth ReRealized Runners Up!

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Our runners up this week are @hypexion, @melancholia-ennui, and @reaperfromtheabyss!

@hypexion — Persephia, Bride of Erebos

First off, I'm immediately interested in the idea of off-color Theros gods. That's a fun evolution of the concept and ends up creating a way different dynamic in both deckbuilding and how it actually plays. Being able to cast it theoretically forever is certainly strong, but it requires you to have a board presence to actually do it. And I like how the devotion is shifted away from being the condition for it being a creature as an additional twist. Having an additional land play exclusively from the graveyard is a great twist on the Crucible of Worlds effect too. Really, there's only one problem I see, although it is a bit of a major one. Namely, the recursion is all well and good, but...how often is an indestructible creature ending up in the graveyard? It works fine with self-mill, which the first effect suggests you want to be doing anyway, and you could even potentially finagle some sacrifice plays, but if it leaves the field on your opponent's initiative it's probably headed irrevocably for exile.

@melancholia-ennui — Karos, with Waxen Wings

For some reason I've been calling this card "on Waxen Wings" in my head the whole time, maybe just because it sounds better to my silly, silly brain. Anyway, this is a pretty extreme card. It grows comically fast, but the whole "fly-too-close-to-the-sun" aspect means you only get to hit once, and thus you better make it count. But maybe you'd rather not, because mana on a magecraft trigger is pretty nutty and definitely worth keeping around. I do like the foible of having to get him of the ground before he can really start soaring. Plus, there's room for some creativity here. His likely massive power isn't going to be wading into combat that much, but there's plenty of ways to take advantage of it. Something like Soul's Fire to hurl his power at an unsuspecting face at no threat to him seems particularly nasty. The one thing I can think of to complain about is that the haste seems a bit superfluous to the design. I can recognize its origins in the myth, but the fact of the matter is that I can't see you getting him up to a level where you're comfortable losing him the same turn you play him all that much. But it's not entirely unrealistic in a dedicated storm deck...hm.

@reaperfromtheabyss — Wichovika, Medicine Weaver

Love me the elusive white spider. Finding excuses to use new color combinations for types is always fun, especially one as entrenched in its primary color as spider. Silly stuff out of the way, though, I want to get into the fine details here. Right out of the gate, wielding green to shave the typical once per turn restriction off of the draw instantly makes it quite a lot stronger, although the one or more rider is useful for ensuring that something like Secure the Wastes doesn't draw you a gazillion cards. The swiss army knife of counters on the second ability doesn't have a whole lot to do with that first ability, but it's similarly quite useful. The abilities by themselves aren't anything spectacular, but together they really help sell the helpful, caring spirit of the character that you described to me. Although, if it's supposed to be generous, then being able to put counters on itself feels a bit against the spirit of the card. Plus...I just like spiders, to be honest.

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And that brings our tale to a close. Sadly, I'm not liable to be available for the rest of the day to take requests for additional commentary. Sorry about that. If you really must hear what I have to say, feel free to leave a request on the Discord and I'll try to get around to it when I have time. —@spooky-bard