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arcane-abomination · 1 year

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I want to start off by saying that void magick is something that can be very difficult to find information on. That’s why I sought to compile all that I know here so others can find and enjoy it. Further more I would like to note that because of the nature of the void most of how it’s used and how it works with us as individuals comes from unique and personal experiences. Like lots of varying magick the void spins a web around the UPG crowd. So you’re bound to get a whole variety of experiences and beliefs that manifest within its concepts. This blog is an attempt to identify some of the common ground and basics to give people a good place to start.

What is the Void?

Also called the Abyss, the Aether, the Empty, and the Great Nothing, the void is a place outside of existence. It’s the place all energy begins and takes form. To some believers, it is also the ultimate end. The place we will eventually return to. It is a space of nothingness and yet everything. A paradox that transcends our mortal concepts and perplexes our senses. The best way I can explain this and simplify it to a sense of understanding we can comprehend is by offering this analogy:

Let’s say you’re given a bucket of water and you set it out in the sun so all the water evaporates. Would you then be able to call it empty? Well at first glance yes, but remember, that when water evaporates it doesn’t simply vanish. It becomes a gas that floats around in the air. That air is still there it never left and thus so is the water but in a different form unseeable to our physical eyes. This is what the void is. A collective of what is and what has been only in a different form.

The Mindset

Anyone can work with the void regardless of who you are and what you believe. However there is a certain mindset often adopted by void magick practitioners. This mindset can help to focus and make greater use of the magick as a whole and invites a much more pleasurable experience through and through. It’s the mindset of openness and willingness to accept that anything is possible. This means that we have limited restrictions on what we allow in to our hearts and minds spiritually. However this is not an excuse to be a bad person. Rules and laws still exist and so does morality and common sense. Never use the void as an excuse to be a jerk.

What does it look like?

The void overall has been described by most people as a black empty space. Some say the air around you feels almost fluid like while others say it feels more like a large room where even your deepest thoughts will echo in its vastness. Yet, curiously enough some have even described their experiences with the void as the opposite. Bright, white and full of energy. It can almost feel suffocating at times.

So why such varying depictions? There are often 3 main theories to answer this. First off, some practitioners theorize that it can be because we each have a different mindset and belief, and when we visit the void it draws on those beliefs and manifests something from them. We each in a sense have our own personal reality. It’s the reality that is tied to our perspectives and emotions. This reflects our magick in the most general of senses so it makes sense to assume that a place as intuitive as the void would reflect this in some way. Secondly, the theory goes that it could be tied to a persons true nature as some say that their visit to the void was peaceful and calm while others say it was far too intense and downright frightening. Lastly, some that believe the void can be separated into varying realms within itself. This is how I personally believe as well as the 1st theory. A nice blend of both males the most sense to me.

Meditation & Astral

Meditation and Astral travel are two very different things but people often get them confused. When you meditate on void you are pulling energy from it to connect to your conscious and subconscious minds and then in turn use it to effect your body. While with astral travel you are literally sending your conscious into the void space. This is where people see the void for what it is. This is a far more intense experience that can easily get overwhelming to those who aren’t prepared.

As for the processes of achieving both of these activities it’s as simple as whatever meditative or astral process you do now. Just focus your intention on the void itself. It may take a few tries for some people but once you get the hang of things it should go more smoothly.

Now before we continue I must offer a disclaimer. Some individuals who do astral travel do so with the help of hallucinogens. This is a TERRIBLE idea. Even if they are perfectly legal where you come from, using something that can force your mind to see things that aren’t there is a recipe for disaster when working with the void.I’ve read stories online and watched videos on YouTube about individuals that used drugs to induce void astral projection and felt trapped and afraid like they had no control and couldn’t pull themselves out. So please practice safety above all else.

Void as an Element

Another way to bring void magick into your practice is through the calling of the elements. Some individuals use the void as the sixth element after earth, air, fire, water, & spirit. These practitioners place the void element in the center of the pentacle/pentagram because it’s in the center of everything. However there are those that utilize void as an element by combining it with spirit and just referring to the combination as the Aether.

To work this sort of magick is very simple. Just call it as you would any other element. Symbolism in this case is often done using a black candle or black crystal. Sigils are often associated as a spiral (clockwise for invoking and counterclockwise for banishing), or a solid black circle. I have an obsidian sphere on my altar to represent the void and its works marvelous for me. You can also use a a black feather or any dark trinket you wish. Or, if you’re someone who’s seen the void as white you may use that instead. One thing is certain though, black and white are the absence of color and with that i I n mind reflect void much better then actual colors tend to do.

What can magic do?

So now that we’ve covered how to summon void magick let’s move onto what that magick itself can be used for. This might surprise you but the answer is simple. Anything you want. Void magick is new and raw, unattached to anything and far more potent than the magick drawn from our physical world. Even more so than that which is taken from spirit world, or so most void practitioners believe. This means it can be worked and formed into anything your crafty heart desires. There are no limits to what you can do. No tools needed. Simple intuition and intension is all that is required, but tools can defiantly be beneficial. I would say to bless them specifically for working with void energy though. This allows their physical energy to draw on the void more easily and thus becomes a much more efficient tool.

Spirit Beings & Void

Spirit beings like guides and deity are also often associated with the void and its magick. Although, just like every form of spirit work in paganism, this two is unique to the individual. Some believe that spirits visit the void but don’t live there while others believe the opposite. They see their respective god as a dweller of the void and as such when they call upon them, they also call upon the potency of the magick as well.

Another lesser known practice, even within the void magick community is the use of void spirit guides. These are spirits that are said to take the form of an animal of some sort most often. Usually a real world animal but there are those that have claimed theirs have taken the form of a fantasy creature, or even something far more eldritch in design. Whatever form they are often said to be black in color. Those who have them say they aid them by bringing void energy to their craft or even guiding them when they astral travel. Essentially they offer all the same perks as any other spirit guide would they just use void energy. To obtain such a guide is like any other method. Meditation, and intention of reaching out are the key. Most recommend connecting to the void in you meditative gnosis as you call out to one. Making offerings can also help in this bonding process.

Misconceptions

Like all things in life people are bound to have some misunderstandings about the void. We must remember that void magick is a concept often used in games and dark fantasy. So there are quite a bit of misconceptions that are derived from the impressionable and mystified minds that long to explore paganism. Please be aware that there is a line between fantasy and reality. So many new witches want the fantasy aspects to be more real and as cool as some of them may sound they just aren’t naturally found in our world. Void magick is subject to quite a plethora of these sorts of things but I’ve tried to condense them down into only a few categories for reader convenience.

• Prerequisites •

You do not need anything to begin working with void. You don’t have to master some ancient ritual, you don’t have to be marked by a specific god, you don’t have to be blessed in anyway, and you don’t need to partake of any specially selected prerequisites before hand. Anyone can work with void regardless of race, gender, orientation, background, etc. You simply need only your intention.

• Special Powers •

I’m sorry to say this somewhat harshly but, you’re not a special snowflake with extraordinary gifts that surpass everyone else. You’re just as much a witch as any other. Working with the void is drawing a different kind of energy from a different kind of place and while that energy can give a nice magical boost to spell work it doesn’t grant you anything super human. Everything you can do with void so can everyone else. Furthermore, witches draw their energy from whatever place feel right for them. Just because you draw yours from the void doesn’t meant you’re anymore powerful then anyone else. Don’t let yourself get a swelled head.

• Evil Elements •

Void is as a part of our world as anything else found in nature. It is a neural force if anything, and like all magick becomes positive or negative based on the witch that is using it. Standing alone it isn’t evil or dangerous. It doesn’t exist to create cataclysm or destruction. It exists because nature exists that is all.

Further Reading

Remember, void magick is an experience unique to the individual. One persons experience won’t always reflect another’s. Different people have different beliefs and thus varying perceptions to utilize what the void has to offer. Below are some links to further reading for those interested.

• Thomas Chaote (Void in Chaos Magick)

• Contemplations of the Void

• The 6 Elements

• The Void by Nathalie

• The Void Explained

• How to Master the Void

#paganism #pagans of tumblr #witchcraft #eldritch magic #chaos magick #chaos magician #void magic #void #witches of tumblr

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eventide-triptych · 23 days

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The Repository.

A place outside of space and time, outside of and in-between every Multiverse. The Repository is an infinite library of worlds, with each and every shelf containing every world of a given multiverse within its books. Using these books, one can learn about anything they desire, or even travel to the worlds spoken of within their pages. The halls of the Repository are infinite, and neither space nor time have meaning in this place.

However, even in a place where the laws of physics and reality hold no bearing, there are still rules. Specifically, those set down by Spectragon, the Coyote, the creator and sole authority of the Repository. The abilities of most powerful beings are heavily limited, and other creators are prohibited from entering, with very few exceptions. In addition to this, certain books are restricted to most visitors, and attempting to access these tomes without express permission will result in…severe punishment, to say the least.

Leaving the Repository will deposit you either in the universe where you to it from (if you're kicked out by the Coyote or if they open a portal for you) or out into your native Multiverse's version of the In-Between, the area, well, in-between the various worlds of your Multiverse (if you leave through one of the many black doors scattered around the infinitely large building).

While most people in the Repository are simply visitors, come to read and learn, some of the beings within are residents of the infinite library, one of such beings being @eventide-eigengrau. While violence within the Repository is already prohibited, and punishable by banishment, raising a hand against one of the beings that live within the Repository's infinite halls is an affront punishable not by death, but by complete and total erasure of one's existence.

In order to be granted entry to the Repository, all one needs to do is know of its existence. From there, a visitor simply needs to open a book, a file, a video, a piece of media or information of any kind, and focus on entering the Repository. However, if you are prohibited from coming to the Repository for any reason, not only will you not be allowed entry, you will lose your memories of the Repository entirely, and in some cases, your knowledge of the Omniverse itself. Do not try to sneak into the Repository. No matter what you try, or how powerful you are, the Coyote will know of your presence...and they will not be pleased.

#red talks #lore writing #oc lore #kinda

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krawlernyannyan · 8 months

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VERSION 2.0 STREAM MEGAPOST

They packed a lot of information into only an hour, so I'm warning you now, this is gonna be a mile long beneath the readmore. That said, I've put together all the gameplay-relevant information here for your casual review and convenience.

Story

Various factions from throughout the universe have been invited by The Family (Xipe's followers) to Penacony, the Land of Dreams for the first time to partake in their Charmony Festival. That description, as it turns out, is extremely literal - Penacony itself mostly consists of just a massive hotel, The Reverie, where guests fall asleep and enter a shared collective dreamscape where the "real" Penacony exists.

The first Dreamscape we're visiting as part of the v2.0 story is "the Golden Hour" (the big nighttime cityscape we've seen in so many teasers up to this point). The core idea of the place is "the time just before midnight", and the wish for "today to never end" and for tomorrow to never come.

The story for the Penacony arc, in contrast to the previous storylines we've played through, is described as "chill, carefree, [and] upbeat" where there's no imminent crisis to solve and your primary goal is enjoying your vacation to the fullest.

The Penacony story will be playing out over versions 2.0, 2.1, and 2.2, with an epilogue in v2.3, and was described as "Star Rail's biggest story ever".

Environment

There's a statue of Clockie in the Golden Hour that we can upgrade and change as we progress through Penacony.

Time and gravity are frequently warped in Penacony, and moving in multi-dimensional space is a recurring mechanic. This includes walking on walls, achieved through the "Dreamwalker" mechanic. Dreamwalker utilizes charges to change gravity that can be refilled.

Two specially mentioned settings are Dream's Edge (the outer limits of Penacony and a construction site for the dream) and A Child's Dream (an area where the Dreamwalker ability is used to explore the largest wallwalking room on Penacony).

While exploring Dream's Edge, players will need to complete walkways using perspective puzzles in order to navigate and explore.

Dream jigsaw puzzles are spread all over Penacony, and hide walkways, treasure chests, NPCs, etc.

Characters

Black Swan (Wind/Nihility) is a diviner and Memokeeper for the Garden of Recollection (Fuli's faction) who can turn people's stories and memories into cards. She uses Tarot cards as her main source of attack, though the Tarot system has been simplified for the benefit of players. When she uses her Basic Attack or Skill it inflicts enemies with the "Arcana" card, which acts as a DoT that grows in strength as more stacks are added and the cards upgrade. She's described as working especially well with damage-over-time compositions but being versatile and able to work with other teams as long as you can keep stacking up Arcana.

Sparkle (Quantum/Harmony) is a member of the Masked Fools, and a classic Fool who is always in pursuit of "elation". She mechanics seek to break the rules of the game itself; while she's in the team the party's maximum Skill Points increase beyond 5 (even restoring SP via her Ultimate). She allows the team to deal more when using SP, and her Skill allows her teammates to break the restrictions of turn order by advancing their actions (to a certain degree).

Misha (Ice/Destruction) is a doorman for the Reverie, full of interest for the world outside Penacony but who has to settle for overhearing conversations from guests to satisfy that curiosity. Misha's main weapons are a mop and a luggage trolley, which can cause chaos and get water over enemies. His primary mechanic is that the more SP the team uses, the more motivated Misha gets, resulting in greater damage (including from his Ultimate). This Technique can create a time-stop area that fully pauses any enemies caught in it.

Warps

Black Swan is the main five-star of the first half of v2.0, along with her Light Cone Reforged Remembrance. Misha will be appearing as a four-star in this half of the update.

Dan Heng - Imbibitor Lunae and his Light Cone Brighter Than the Sun will be rerun during the first half of the update.

Sparkle is the main five-star of the second half of v2.0, along with her Light Cone Earthly Escapade.

Jing Yuan and his Light Cone Before Dawn will be rerun during the second half of the update.

Events

Sparkle and Black Swan have a shared Companion Mission, "Masquerade Duet", where players will get to learn more about their respective stories.

In "Hanu's Prison Break", the Trailblazers are brought into a dreamscape where SoulGlad has been outlawed and they must lead a rebellion and take over a prison. A lot of individual mechanics in this one, including a "human pinball" section, a mirror maze that Clockie has to be guided through, and a segment where you turn into Hanu to break through prison security.

After completing Prison Break, Trailblazer will get to choose one free four-star character (between Guinaifen, Sampo, Asta, and Yukong) as their reward.

The ability to alter people's emotions will be a mechanic that is introduced as a way to interact with NPCs.

The Dreamscape Pass is a feature that will allow players to track and remember their adventures in Penacony vis-a-vis collectible stickers you obtain through the story and missions.

The Dreamchaser Bulletin is a feature designed to quickly acclimate players to the new metropolis by giving them set challenges and battles to solve on a daily basis.

In Dreamjolt TV, a local television station has been hijacked and the Trailblazers have to fight special battles in order to restore the airwaves and regain lost viewers.

In the Penacony Food Fest, you bring raw materials to the Clock Diner so they can create delicious food (and get you rewards).

The Gift of Odyssey event is returning for another free ten pulls, but the Starchaser's Gift check-in event will give another free ten pulls.

Enemies/Bosses

"For certain reasons", Sam of the Stellaron Hunters will be fought during this update. Sam can consume his HP to greatly increase his combat abilities, while also igniting the battlefield in a scorching blaze.

A new enemy, the Lordly Trashcan, can be encountered in each area of Penacony. Their gimmick is that they begin battle with no Weaknesses and take little to no damage, but take on the Weaknesses of any attacks they've been hit by.

As a result of negative emotions surfacing in the dreamscapes of Penacony, enemies can appear on Penacony. These can be divided into distinct factions, namely the Dreamjolt Troupe and the Memory Zone Meme.

The Dreamjolt Troupe are based on the local delicacy of Penacony, SoulGlad, and are warped distributors and transporters of the beverage. The only specific member described was the Sweet Gorilla, which can spray soda over your party.

Mr. Domescreen was originally a television performer, and its primary mechanic is swapping between various faces (switching between supporting your party and attacking them based on which face is active).

The Memory Zone Meme have more abstract forms as they're based on deeper subconscious thought. Mentioned members are the Allseer (based on "vision"/"sight") and the Heartbreaker (indicative of the idea of fragile hearts underneath sturdy bodies).

A specific Memory Zone Meme discussed in detail is the "Something Unto Death", which has a potent ability to instantly kill party members and ensnare their souls within Sombrous Sepulchurs and will remain dead until they are broken. This ability triggers after receiving a number of attacks, indicated by eyes along its body lighting up red.

Relics & Materials

The Pioneer Diver of Dead Water set allows equipped characters to deal more damage to enemies afflicted with debuffs.

The Watchmaker, Master of Dream Machinations set increases Break Effect for the whole team. This and the Pioneer Diver set will be obtainable in a new Cavern of Corrosion on Penacony.

A new Quantum Ascension material, Dream Flamer. This is the material needed to ascend Sparkle.

A new Ice Ascension material, Dream Fridge. This is the material needed to ascend Misha.

New Trace materials for the Paths of Destruction, Nihility, and Harmony will be introduced. All of the characters introduced in v2.0 will use these materials.

New Light Cones will be added to the Light Cone Manifest Store (the one operated by the Memory of Chaos Memokeeper and Youci). These are in addition to the Light Cones already in the store, not replacing them.

System Improvements

The new Fate's Atlas system will gives players the ability to look at a strict timeline of events in the story and gain a proper understanding of when certain missions happened in relation to each other. This includes main story missions, compansion missions, and plot-critical side missions.

Players will be able to designate 3 support characters instead of just 1. The related Starfaring Companions section is also being bumped up from 3 to 5.

When levelling Relics, you can now allocate materials to reach specific level thresholds automatically.

The Relic Recommendations feature on characters has been improved to give greater understanding for users and make it easier to swap between sets. Relic filtering has also been improved.

Penacony and Version 2.0 release on February 6th.

#Honkai Star Rail #HSR #HSR Penacony #this took me an hour to get everything down JSYK

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wafflebloggies · 2 years

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4. a place that remains unchanged

back - next They said you could never go home again.

Whoever had first said so, Antonio guessed their home probably hadn’t been the HR Department. On a site big enough to have two official zip codes, in a building big enough to require its own proprietary SatNav, in a zone within a zone within two smeary tempered-glass doors and past a number of warning symbols which most humans never got to see (certainly in combination) in the course of a normal and safe lifetime, Antonio’s first home was a tricky place to visit if you didn’t belong. Humans, with their dependence on things like light and a reliable source of breathable air and geometry that made logical sense, tended to struggle if they were left to wander around in it for too long. For which reason, and a whole host of others, they weren’t.

Humans had to keep records, and check biometrics, and make sure the people who were allowed in to the HR Department were people who really should be there. Antonio, who wasn’t a person, didn’t pay much attention to them. The few he met on his way to the Entry saw him coming, a big husky guy with a big friendly smile on his big friendly face, his neat-and-tidy black clothes and his serene ambling walk, as easy to stop as continental drift, and got out of his way about as fast as Mrs. Hernandez’s cat, with maybe a little less scrabbling on the squeaky tiled floors.

The eyes of the Entry raked over him, pinged green and let out a happy double-beep. The Entry hissed open, slow and sticky, both doors juddering crankily, and Antonio headed inside, nearly bumping into a couple of late personnel who were heading for decon, gas-masked and goggled and crinkling along in their grubby bluesuits. He smiled at them as he passed and left them behind, disappearing into the dingy clutter that filled the rooms beyond.

“Creepy fucker.”

“Shh!”

Most of the outer layers of the HR Department existed in a state of permanent nomadic flux. The humans who had work to do here did it anywhere they could, camping in odd corners and places they felt relatively safe, the equipment they brought with them hastily unpacked and shoved wherever there was space. Antonio passed benches scattered with discarded racks of tubes and petri dishes, overturned chairs, mini-fridges leaking melted goop, X-rays pinned crookedly to the walls with peeling tape, and multiple empty boardrooms where meetings seemed to have broken up in an emergency, or never ended up starting at all.

Inner, deeper. Through the screaming halls, the hair room, half an acre of blackened paisley carpet, through a minor plumbing problem which turned the tiled floor into an endless greenish lake, Antonio splashed on, humming a peppy little tune in his light, pleasant tenor. Certain things, hungry in the dark, heard him coming- cracked doors- twitched ceiling tiles- saw him and thought better of it. Other things sensed him coming a long way off and cleared the path in a hurry, shrinking from his shadow.

Antonio still remembered being new, and how amazed he’d been that there was anything else in the world besides Mother's light. He remembered how dull and ashen dark the world had seemed at first, beyond its reach. He remembered having to grow used to the world outside, to slowly learn the contrast of nights and days, slowly begin to see the subtleties of sunlight and shade and colour the way humans did, with their five narrow senses.

He could, with some effort, see the HR Department the way humans saw it, too. He knew that to them it was mostly cold and damp, ghastly humid in strange thermal hotspots where the heat and wet had rotted wood and melted plaster and taken the paint right off the sweating black walls. He knew the air smelled and tasted generally like an old carpet that had been rolled up without being dried properly and then put in a garden shed for several years. He heard the weird noises in the darkness, and with a little imagination he recognized how worrying they might sound if you didn’t know whether they were cries of fear… or hunger.

And even though Antonio might have admitted that a small struggling part of him felt less settled than it usually did, and that the gloomy halls and noisome voids felt less comforting than, say, the last time he’d made the trip… well, it had been a while, and he believed- he wanted to believe- that a visit back here would put him right. In his heart, his bones, or whatever he had instead, he knew that he belonged. Here, so close to Mother that if he were to look fully with his true senses he would have been struck blind in an instant, if he needed the reassurance he could still open his real eyes just a very, very little tiny smidge of a fraction and see by the blazing glimmer all around him that he was home, walking in glory, in the heart of her light.

Inner, deeper still. Humans did not work here. They came here, when they had to, very carefully, very quickly. If they were lucky, and stuck to the many stringent safety protocols, most of them also managed to leave.

Down a long, lonely hallway, where some of the discoloured metal panels had shorn off of the wall and a lot of the rest were buckled outwards in wild hooping arcs as if the whole corridor had been subject to explosive decompression, Antonio and his cheery humming bopped along, a little echoey, his wet black lace-ups leaving grey prints on the gritty floor. Overhead, so many of the tiles were missing that the ceiling looked like a maniac’s chess set, a crazy checkerboard barely hiding the steel skeleton above.

Antonio turned a corner and passed by yet another heavy, nameless steel sealer door, this one standing half-open on a lightless void. Not so many paces past, he slowed as an indefinable sensation of being seen squirrelled up his back with chilly fingers and crawled right to the top of his head. He turned, carefully, squinting into the dark.

As he stood still on the threshold of the heavy door, a single sharp point of red light appeared, flickering, much closer than he expected. As he backed up an instinctive step, the light stuttered, steadied, and circled into a ring- another- a third. Like an eerie triple sunrise, the trio of glowing red circles brightened and lifted together in a rough pyramid stack, until they loomed high over Antonio, bathing his upturned face with an eerie scarlet glow.

“Sup.”

“Oh… hey, Jared,” said Antonio, unenthusiastically. “How’s it going?”

“Eh, yunno.” It was a smooth lazy breeze of a voice, supremely unbothered, underscored by a faint metallic twang. The lights of Jared’s three segmented eye-rings slid away into the shadows as he spoke, vanished entirely, then whipped back into view like a pendulum, upside-down and swinging gently back and forth, right in front of Antonio's face.

“Haaaaanging in there.”

Antonio forced a laugh. “Man… good one. Well, anyways, I gotta be-”

“Antonio, right? How’s it been, jellybean?”

“Oh, great! You know, just tickin’ along, only I gotta-”

“Working hard? Or-” Clink-clink-clink-clink swishhhhhh, and the eyes reopened in quite another direction entirely, down near Antonio’s ankles in the mottled dark. “-Hardly working?”

You didn’t talk to Jared. It was a Rule. You didn’t talk to Jared, just like you didn’t keep secrets. Antonio looked desperately towards the far end of the corridor, seeking a polite escape, but the problem with the Rule about not talking to Jared was, it didn’t say anything about what to do if Jared tried to talk to you.

“Y’know, I’d love to stick around and chat, but I’ve actually got a thing-”

“Hey, shot in the dark- you don’t happen to have any jerky on you, do ya?”

“No, I-” Antonio paused, blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, not our brand, though. Between you and me...” the lights spiralled quickly up Antonio’s body, stopping by his ear, “...our stuff kinda tastes like old tennis shoes. Literally any other kind, like, Trader Joes, Red Truck... oh man, I saw Tillamook County’s doing these teriyaki-style wagyu strips now? I would literally kill to try that stuff. K-I-L-L. Though if you wanna be picky, it’s not technically a jerky, it’s more of a biltong. No? Oh, well, you don’t ask, you don’t get.”

“Sorry, man,” said Antonio, taking a couple of not-too-subtle steps backwards. “Uh, look, any other time I’d totally be down for a catch-up sesh, but I’ve really gotta jet.”

“Aw... well, okay.” Jared’s eyes drew back into the recess of the doorway, tilting in a mildly disappointed way. “Great job on the commercial, bee-tee-dubs. Little preachy, maybe... but I get it, I get it, you gotta stick to the pitch, right? Anyhoo, props, that was some solid work.”

“Hey, thanks,” said Antonio, and despite his pressing itch to be gone he was unable to keep the note of surprised gratitude out of his voice. Whether purely out of the discomfort of the situation, or the weird way he’d been feeling lately, or just because a simple, ordinary compliment was the last thing he’d expected and kind of a rare thing in itself, he was genuinely caught off guard. “Seriously, dude... thank you. That means a lot.”

“Anytime, Antoni-oni,” said Jared, now somewhere almost entirely out of sight that gave his voice a hollow, distant echo, like he was talking directly into a steel bucket. “Say hi to your little buddy for me.”

A final flicker, and the lights blipped into darkness.

“I’ll see you around…”

Antonio waited until he was pretty sure Jared was really gone, then turned and headed again down the long, pressure-scarred metal hall. It wasn’t really too long a trip from this point, and he padded along in silence.

He didn’t feel much like humming anymore.

–

After a few more corners, the hallway started to change and taper down through a narrow twist-and-turn, the walls crowding with grubby white ceramic pipes, like pale veins lining a long dry throat. As Antonio ducked under the last cracked angle of the ceiling, he found himself stepping out at last onto the debris-littered floor of a long, low, dim room, seemingly endless, full of slanting beams.

In this muffled, colourless space, heaped as it was with drifts and piles of grey dust, even the usual noises seemed far-off and stifled. Antonio picked his way carefully past bare recesses and empty hollows, under the watery grey light, over strange shapes buried beneath the thick dust, half-familiar, half-formless.

A door, one of many, sealed from the outside with a thick, crash-bar handle. Latched, in the same way you'd put a child-lock on a trashcan- not really for any reason of security, more so to stop any of the hungry and inquisitive things roaming these halls from getting in and making a mess with the contents. Some of the other doors here looked as if they could have been sealed tight-shut for a hundred years. Others hung open on tall little cells, like wax pockets in a comb; vacant nodes, nothing inside but bare concrete walls, indistinct shadows, eddies of dry grey dust.

A peeling bit of Dymotape that didn’t look too old clung to the smeary plate above this latch, carelessly applied, already coiling itself into a little spiral. Antonio reached out, smoothed it down flat with a thumb.

[G0008]

Antonio shot the latch, took a good deep breath, and pulled the heavy door wide open, already smiling his biggest, widest, friendliest smile.

“Hi, Mark.”

#muse arg #dftm #don't feed the muse #mark mayhew #antonio geist #alex bale #the cynical critic #jared the IT guy #my writing

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muraenide · 2 years

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main verse post

More lore about Jade’s modern Chamber of Dreams verse.

There’s a certain study behind his technic. In this verse, Jade in essence invented the idea of projecting oneself into someone else’s subconscious using magic after years of exploring what his UM is capable or incapable of doing, inducing dreams unto others the way he wants. He can’t harm dreamers physically while he’s inside their subconscious, but it doesn’t mean that’s not dangerous. Depending on how guarded the person is (and this is different for everyone), Jade can absolutely extract memories which happen to be traumas or sometimes extremely uncomfortable situations in their life if their Eva offers that bit of memory to him and reenact/play them again in the dreamer’s dream. A memory doesn’t have to be something the dreamer already knows; they can be things that had happened and was suppressed, forgotten by force, but with a simple flick of his fingers, Jade can make them remember their darkest moments in life again.

Floyd and Eva (Note: this Floyd and Floyd the twin are not the same person. This Floyd is, to some extent, fictitious. He does not exist in real life, and is a mere manifestation of Jade’s pre-conscious.) Dream engineering is a complicated process. Many things cannot be described by words or even with the imagination of the mind. A subconscious space is an infinite black void filled with nothing and yet had everything that the dreamer knows, even memories that they consciously don’t remember remembering. It’s not easy to manipulate intangible objects, and to combat this obstruction Jade had created manifestations to help ease his comprehension of what is going on under the lid.

When Jade slips into a person’s mind (or occasionally his own), he is often accompanied by Floyd, an entity Jade created that represents his pre-conscious.

“You’ve seen ‘em fumbling with that coin before, Jade. Don’cha think that’s prolly the key to why he’s behavin’ like dat?”

Floyd would be summoned the moment Jade triggers the right state of mind. He reminds Jade what he’s seen before that could have been potentially helpful information. When Jade projects himself into someone’s mind, “Jade” in the void is, most of the time, only his conscious state of mind - what he essentially sees and thinks in that moment - and so Floyd is often there to assist him in moving forward whenever he runs into a blocker.

Meanwhile, Eva is the gatekeeper to all the subconscious memories of the dreamer Jade visits. Their mind’s defense system. She takes the form of a little devil-like pixie with red hair, eyes, a pointed tail, a small set of horn, black dress and bare feet. Eva is omnipresent and exists in everyone (according to Jade). She is often found hovering in front of a black-gate, the entrance to The Dossier of the dreamer - a library or archive of sorts where all their subconscious memories are kept. Those memories, in most cases, are often meant to be kept and never resurface in the person’s mind, unless they experience extreme situations in real life that prompts them to remember, or there are external interferences like Jade to extract them and then reconstruct the memory once again in the form of a dream to remind them of it.

Eva decides what memories Jade can or cannot access to. Jade would never take a memory by force, after having experienced what that leads to (major verse spoiler). Unless Jade is a frequent visitor to someone’s mind, Eva is often unwelcoming of him and the only thing keeping them on good terms is Jade’s politeness. At the beginning of his career, Eva would not even allow Floyd to company Jade into the Dossier, until after being convinced that Floyd is not an ‘outsider’, but part of Jade’s own mind.

Everyone’s Eva is different. People who are generally unguarded and naive would have more laid back Evas who would allow Jade to take anything he wants, while someone who has trust issues would often have aggressive Evas. The trade of information often depends on how Jade make his deals with Eva.

“Your host is in agony, is she not? She cries to sleep every night. Allow me to have the memories from 9 years ago and I can teach her how to relief her of all her pain.”

Evas, however, are extremely inviting of their own hosts. If approached by the dreamer itself from their subconscious, Evas would open the gates without questions.

#:: verse :: inside the chamber of dreams #𖦹 ⋆꙳ ⁄ lore.

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antonia-gergely · 8 months

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advice from writers to become a writer

translated to visual art

On his podcast, Benjamin McEvoy discusses how to start writing literature (Hardcore Literature a Episode 68) and on top of deciding to begin a daily writing practice, it has taught me a lot about my visual art practice.

Many writers recommend writing every day

Alice Munro wrote at any time she could find between housekeeping and child rearing. She collected short stories and didn't publish a collection until the age of 37. She worked steadily and quietly. Her success did not come overnight by any means.

nor does that of a great artist.

consider the importance of the work you're doing

consider it to be work

set aside space and time when you are not distracted to engage in deep work.

cal newport's book Deep Work - importance of blocks of uninterrupted time. task switching leaves attention residue. if your flow state is ruined or compromised it is much harder to get back into it.

many writers resorted to being either very early risers or very late sleepers. the world is still sleeping, you do not need to focus on anything else.

shallow work is emails, media, phone calls - unfortunately as an artist this is slightly more influential than it is for a writer. it has to be done but it can be minimised and set aside until deep work is done. neal stephenson left a notice on his website apologising for his poor correspondence - he was too busy writing to focus on shallow work.

ernest hemingway wrote while it was still cool, would finish up when the sun rose.

haruki murakami rises at 4 a.m. writing for 5-6 hours straight. then goes about his day and sleeps early.

output-focused workflow

it's good to allot a certain amount of time each day for working, but some writers prefer(red) to adhere to a certain daily quota of work. this is where i drew the most parallels with visual art.

stephen king and anthony trollop are successful examples.

trollop would put a wristwatch on the table in front of him and aim to write 250 words per 15 minutes. he worked for two hours, writing 2000 words each day. some of it wasn't great, but if you do that often enough, there has to be something good within

the same can be said for visual art. artists mention daily practice and daily sketching, but never regimentally like this. i think i'll find it much easier to stick to a schedule that's just challenging enough.

one blind drawing, one black and white detailed sketch, one coloured sketch a day (or something similar) our minds do a curious thing when faced with a simple task. we think it's too easy or small to make a difference, but the consistency of work changes your brain over time, until it becomes automatic

this free sketching coupled with more laboured painting is a sure formula to make SOMETHING decent. to be a great writer you need to be a prolific writer, and the same can be said - i believe - for artists.

writer's block

it does exist. different areas of life, anxiety, stress, doubt can all affect creative output.

ernest hemingway told people to write 'one true sentence'. once you've written that, focusing only on truth and not on the language, the structure of the sentence or anything like that, write another true sentence, and another, and so on.

this gets the mind moving and the physical flow going.

similarly for artists, yes we can get stuck. some days we want to do nothing

but we CANNOT indulge a creative block, because we are then defining ourselves by what we are not doing. aristotle said 'you are what you repeatedly do'. if you paint once a month you are not a painter.

paint an egg. paint your hand. paint the sky outside. but focus on it. really paint it. paint what is truly there.

i've made the mistake of trying to force myself out of a block, but allowing the internal narrative of frustration and futility to control the work. this leads to a piece of work that you are not satisfied with, and which enforces your belief that your work is bad, or declining, or uncreative.

its not enough to write thoughtless words, nor is it enough to paint thoughtless images. creative endeavours such as writing and painting have a massive production overlaps in this way.

serial writers often wrote on the fly. they wouldn't know where the next instalment would go. they would look at what readers expected and subvert it. creating and creating and creating.

you can write fast and write well. same with painting or drawing. large quantity doesn't have to mean low quality.

it's crucial to keep creating, but it hasn't been enough to tell myself that - achievable daily goals make the difference.

#art research #art practice #writing #productivity

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im-not-internet-famous · 10 months

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Straight Outta Chevy Chase

https://radiolab.org/podcast/straight-outta-chevy-chase

Very interesting podcast episode about how to define a music genre, keeping its history in mind while allowing it to grow and stay alive, plus questions of identity and who belongs in certain spaces. It's also interesting to discuss the issue of being a white man in predominantly black spaces when everything is usually about people of color in predominantly white spaces. My first thought when listening to this was "oh look a white man goes through the POC experience, cute!". I do appreciate that he actually knows the history of hip hop and understands the racial and economic contexts of the music, while still acknowledging that he is white and not appropriating black culture (I think). Most white people don't think much about their race; they have the privilege of being able to exist as a person outside their race that many POC are not afforded. The same goes for men not thinking about how their gender affects their place in the world compared to women. Peter Rosenberg definitely is more aware of his race, but I dont think that he's as aware of his male privilege, as is evident in his criticism of Nicki Minaj's song, where he seems to associate his disdain for Starships with its mainly female fanbase. I don't care how much he knows about hip hop, it rubs me the wrong way how he, as a white man, is hating on a black woman for putting out a successful song, and trying to tell her what music she should or shouldn't make. "I'm hard on you becuase I know you can be the best" yeah even if that wasn't a copout and a total lie, it's still unfair to be treating her differently, especially since she's already had to go through so much more bullshit compared to her male peers. I understand wanting to maintain the integry of hip hop, but the inherent nature of music genres is that they grow and evolve. People will make the music they want to make, influenced by the attitudes and technology of the times. The podcast also disses EDM, a genre I personally enjoy so I'm definitely biased, but I feel like you can't generalize such a broad genre and say it's all meaningless and meant to appeal to the widest audience possible. It's just a genre that arose with technology, and I like how accessible it is, since anyone with a computer can start making it, no access to expensive instruments or recording equipment necessary. It feels like Rosenberg worked really hard to get into this exclusive club of hip hop connoisseurs and is now working hard to keep it exclusive and maintain his higher status.

#why would you make me listen to a podcast i hate podcasts

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squid--inc · 11 months

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a rant about tags and shit under cut; i do discuss/mention scars, arachnids, rape, and other triggers. specifically about triggers and tagging.

i really do think tagging things as what they are, and not as a triggerwarning would help in a lot of ways. for 1 it makes it easier to just block a few tags, instead of blocking every variation you can think of, and still having shit slip through (I'm aware of blavklisting words as a whole, but I have rape black listed which means grape, and other words I can't recall right now get blocked, as well as when a username has the word in it {i also have milf blacklisted, and there are soooooo many blogs with milf in the name} it blocks every single post by them, so I have no idea if the post itself contains the actual topics)

for 2 it means people who want to find x y or z will have an easier time finding things (sometimes people want scat positivity, sometimes people want to find arachnid posts, etc.)

and for 3 it means not being a dick about certain things. no one should feel shame about having scars, or discussing their gendet dys/euphoria, but sometimes those set people off in a bad way, so if they're having an extra bad night, and scrolling for cheering up means they want to avood a topic they could normally deal, or would have to deal with in a public space.

(yes, I used scars as an example in 1 and 2 because the concept of people needing to be able to handle seeing things that are inherently neutral, and should be neutral in public places {not tolerated, you don't get to pull shit about tolerating ways people exist when it comes to body parts and how they physically are} but it's fair to want to avoid things in the safety of your own home. I'm going to make a wildly disproportionate comparison here; if you get scared of spiders, it's not fair to kill them in public spaces, or act like a bitch when someone owns a pet spider, but you are allowed to not want them in your home, and either take them outside or {no matter how much I find it upsetting} squish them in your own home to feel safe. in a similar way, you are allowed to be triggered by scars or other visible marks/conditions of the body, and you are allowed to avoid those topics/pics online, you just don't get to be an asshole to those people, or ban them from real life.)

is there more nuance to be had here? yes. however it's late at night, i barely slept last night, and I just don't feel like it, so no this isn't going to be rebloggable, but if you want to discuss in the notes, feel free.

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allyrunshermouth · 1 year

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let black women exist outside of your perception: part three

hi everyone! welcome to the third and final post in my “let black women exist outside of your standard” series. we are still on the topic of music, but we are going to branch away from rock and transition into the indie genre.

indie music, in general, is a predominately white genre. and because of this, it makes it more difficult for people of other races to break into the genre and avoid being either tokenized or erased from the genre. for instance, when beyonce began working with more indie artists after attending a concert in 2009, people were desperately hoping that she would come out with an indie song. i understand the excitement, i love seeing popular artists break away from their usual genre. but there is still something concerning about the way in which people, mainly white people, always jump the gun to be like, “oh my god, they are going to come out with an indie song!” just to turn around and make microaggressive comments or partake in cultural appropriation. there are times when white indie artists will take elements from r&b and other cultural music genres, and they will get tons of recognition and praise, but what about the artists they were influenced by to create that song in the first place? where are their stars? there is a level of privilege that white artists, in general, have that allows them to avoid receiving any of the negative comments that these black artists receive on a constant basis.

it is also important to discuss the way in which black artists that create indie music are, in a way, cast aside within the genre. for example, english singer rachel chinouriri has been producing alternative indie music since she was 18 and gained a bigger audience due to songs like “so my darling” and “all i ever asked” gaining popularity on TikTok. however, a problem soon arose, and it was the way her music was being categorized. when she was just starting out, she used to put herself on the cover of her work, but it got to the point where she had to stop doing that. why is that? it was due to unconscious bias, where people took one look at the color of her skin, and immediately threw her into genres like r&b, soul, alternative r&b, neo-soul, or jazz. they also made comments about her music, saying it was white people music or that she sounded like a white girl when she should actually be able to make whatever kind of music she wants. chinouriri ended up releasing a statement pertaining to this issue, stating “black artists exist in every genre, just let us in,” and i couldn't agree more.

the constraints black artists have to deal with in the music industry is enough as is, but to also have their work discredited is something that they should not have to go through. just because a genre is predominately white does not mean that people from other races can not exist within the same genre. i mean, just look at the amount of success hemlocke springs received just from posting the bridge to her song “girlfriend.” on one tiktok alone, she received 5.7 million views before the song was even released. it was the song me and other black girls needed and were practically begging for. it has their weird silliness to it that speaks to the awkwardness some of us have that we are unable to express due to societal pressures to conduct ourselves a certain way. as of right now, the song has almost 24 million streams on spotify alone, and i feel that this speaks volume to how music genres do not have to be categorized by the race of people who listen to it. because when we allow artists of color to get the recognition they deserve for the music they create, regardless of what genre it is, it allows for its listeners to feel represented and safe within that space.

this concludes my ranting on allowing black women to free themselves from the mold society tries to place us in. thanks for reading!

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jangofctts · 4 years

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Mirrored Heart (captain rex x fem!reader)

rated: 18+ explicit

word count: 5.6k

warnings: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, blow jobs, clone space racism?

a/n: ANYWAY HERE IT IS. ive had this draft saved since like a year ago and just now finished it. anyway kwjrkejh here YALL GO. also thank you @jango-fettish FOR LETTING ME BORROW SYRENA

It's curious.

Well, you, as a whole are curious—completely outside the realm of what Rex considers normal. As far as senators go, that is.

You're grumpy for one—worse than Skywalker and far more snide than Kenobi—a near gargantuan task bordering impossible. Wit and cleverness come to you easier than breathing, but it's your unwavering kindness towards himself and his brothers that sticks out like a blaster burn against alabaster white walls.

He passed it off as a joke—some sort of mockery. Rex’s existence has been full of them. The past year it’s been made glaringly clear as to what the clones are to the people of the republic—tools. Mindless war machines dressed with flesh and bone, heart and sinew instead of durasteel and a circuitboard. Humanity has been skimmed over with excuses and debates over the hollow argument that clones were created for the sole purpose of war—nothing more. Ignorance is bliss when you are not the one fighting tooth and nail for petty skirmishes and the survival of your family.

Ithyea, your home monarchal planet, is a newer member of the Galatic Republic—one of the firsts to advocate for clone rights—cutting through each argument with the steel headed javelin of hope and determination. Controversial in the eyes of the galaxy but no less than true. Yet with controversy, comes chaos.

Wedged between Takodana and the Cerean Reach hyperspace lane—it’s an essential key to accessing more neutral space sectors without stepping on any toes. While the planet does mirror the size of a larger than average moon, there’s nothing but grandeur with the cutting edge advances in space travel and military innovations. An arts district too, one that’s presented multiple times for the Senate apparently. Rex has yet to see it. It’s an easy guess as to why Ithyea has gone under pointed attacks from the Separatists—it’d be foolish not to try.

And of course comes the intergalactic mess of politics. You are not Ithyea’s first senator. Or second…or third. Just in the last six months, three of your predecessors have been picked off—two disappearances and a suspicious poisoning sandwiched between them. Which sides these assassinations stem from is anybody’s guess—a mix of both perhaps—all to silence and stamp the voice of your people out.

Heavy are the shoulders that wear those abhorrent senatorial robes, and Maker did it take some convincing for another Ithyean to step to the chopping block. It’s just…no one thought it’d be you. The infamous captain of King Arrian Felian’s elite guard—trained in combat levels high enough to contend some of those within the ranks of the Jedi Order. When your name comes up in conversation, it certainly doesn’t scream diplomacy.

Rex is not surprised that you hold the current record of Ithyean senators for surviving the longest. Evading an astonishing two attempts on your life by the skin of your teeth. You were just downright lucky the third assassin missed their mark. Sure, the blade of Syrena Aster skimmed the right side of your cheek and left behind a nasty scar to remember her by, but kriff—even with your background and low levels of public presence, you’re a high priced target. Whoever placed an order with the Heretics, really wants to see you six feet under.

Rex hasn’t been given the full report on exactly who the Heretics are—a rag tag bunch of untrained Force users and skilled assassins from what he’s gathered—but regardless, this attack is just the beginning. Until the Senate and the Jedi are able to retract the price on your head, you’re stuck under protective custody. Usually ushered away into the Jedi Temple or tagging along with General Kenobi and Skywalker. Despondently, no matter the circumstances of your protection, it can’t shield you from the dreadful invitations to senatorial luncheons.

And yes, you tried to slip by for this one.

You don't brush elbows with other senator’s like many of the members in the Jedi Order and your own cohort do. In fact, you actively avoid even speaking to them unless necessary, let alone stand in the same room with seven of them. Odd for an elected official of diplomacy such as yourself to be so cold shouldered—Rex would think senators wanted to mingle.

It's curious because you're standing in plain sight and yet no one pays you any passing thought. General Kenobi and Skywalker hold the majority of their attentions, shoulders already taught with exasperation at keeping everyone from tearing out each other's throats for, kriffing five minutes. Yet you...you are completely at ease, leaning up against a stone pillar, observing the unfolding chaos from afar with a keen eye.

Before Rex realizes he's stepping towards your position, you glance over and dip your chin in greeting. The ghost of a smirk pulls at your normally grim facade—his heart skips. "Captain."

"Senator," he mimics, posting himself to your right. There’s still a thin, healing scab from the assassin’s blade that extends from the swell of your cheek to your ear. Ouch. “Enjoying the evening?"

You snort. "Hardly enjoying it, Rex."

Stars—you shouldn't be allowed to say his name. Your words are razor-sharp like a jagged vibroblade, meant to jab and pierce through armor—tear a person to pieces without having to lift a finger. Everything about you is rough, gritty, brutal, unbecoming of what a senator should be, but—

You mouth his name, purring out the singular syllable with such tenderness that it's like a punch to the gut.

It's hard to swallow and he needs to clear his throat—an embarrassing act on his part, but your attention has already returned back towards the meandering senators. "How d'you mean?"

"Well," you sigh, "let's just say smalltalk isn’t my strong suit."

"Aren't you senators s'pposed to like diplomacy n' such?"

Your thumb smoothes over your bottom lip in thought as you shrug. "Diplomacy? Sure. Politicians? Can’t say I like them. I just—"

You wave your hand around, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. "I just don't understand why they can't say what they mean. Telling someone to have a nice day shouldn't entail certain death, y'know?"

"Speaking from experience?" He teases, gently prying into that harder than beskar wall you've created for yourself. There's fissions in your foundation and he means to tear it down all for just a mere scrap of information.

Your eyes flick over, your lips curling into a vulpine grin. “Perhaps...Though, it was partially my fault, I have to admit.”

“You’ll have to tell me the story sometime, Senator.”

You nod. “Yes, one day—when there aren’t so many political ears jumping at the chance of gossip.”

A swell of laughter interrupts your chat, your attention gravitating to Obi-Wan—ever the charmer with the crowds. The end of your mouth pulls into a frown as you sigh and carefully scratch at your brow with the back of your thumb. Rex might be pulling at straws, but what he mistook as you being standoffish may just be your nerves. Socially awkward and flustered when speaking in such an intimate setting.

Rex’s first instinct is to reach out and place a hand over your shoulder in comfort, but he’s not sure how you’ll respond to the touch. Flip him over your shoulder probably—

Instead he forces himself to jumpstart the conversation—something to distract from your anxieties. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“ His heart beat kicks up into a flurry of wild beats as you turn you head. “What uh..wh—did you want to become a senator?”

He likes it when you smile—like you’re letting him on some sort of coy secret. You shift your weight and shrug. “The king asked me personally. I’m flattered he thinks I’m clever enough—insulted he sends me to these abysmal gatherings like some sort of show pony.”

Rex chuckles. “Yeah, can’t say I like ‘em either.”

“Although…” Your thumb runs over your lip again, a sparkle of mischief igniting behind your eyes. “As a senator, I do get the occasional tidbit of gossip. Here, I’ll catch you up—“

The captain startles when you snatch his elbow and yank him closer. Maker he’s glad for his helmet because your lips brush against his earpiece as he leans down to reach your height.

“Look." You whisper, nodding casually in the direction of a particularly young senator with a shock of white hair. She's swathed in a pool of royal blue silk, much too large for her tiny frame, and all but hanging off Skywalker's arm with glittered nails filed into points. "That is Senator Ceci Paare of Corellia. She looks innocent, no?"

She does. Wide, crystalline green eyes stare up at the Jedi Knight as a pretty giggle escapes past her ruby painted lips. Skywalker grimaces.

"I quite like her," you continue with a sly grin. "Even if she does try to influence public opinion by an invitation to bed."

There's no time to process as you focus in on an older man. His hazy blue skin, ash white lips and vermillion green eyes cut an almost nightmarish profile, accentuated by mountains of black robes. Rex can’t recall what planet the senator represents. The senator holds his head stiffer than rebar to keep the ornate golden circlet from slipping off, his white lips curling in distaste as Orn Free Taa of Ryloth places a meaty hand over his slender shoulder.

"He is Lord Tal’en Sol Ra'ah. Cunning, but sympathetic to the pleasures of gambling."

It's a game to you—of perceptions and nuances only a trained eye can roll over. Rex expects nothing less. This sort of thing has been hammered into the very essence of your being since you were little—reading an enemy before they can strike. It works on politicians marvelously well.

Truth be told Rex should be paying more attention—but the closeness of your face to his helmet is maddening. His heart twists and coils as your bare hand skims along his gloved one—kriff. He’s not gonna make it before he bursts into a thousand little pieces.

Rex’s spell of lovesick yearning recedes as you swear under your breath. It was only a matter of time before someone approached your little corner.

"Oh, Maker save me," you hiss under your breath as a young Mirialan saunters over, the swatches of rich red and brilliant gold accentuate his violet skin like a bloody bruise. "Pretend you're speaking with me."

"I am speaking with you," Rex snorts.

Your hand waves in dismissal as your brows stitch together, hands balling into fists. Your jaw clenches as the senator in question puts on a dazzling smile. You look downright panicked. Rex has witnessed you face down numerous senators older than dirt and close to blowing away in the wind with plucky fervor, assassination attempts, being held captive, and you're frightened…by this?

This is too good.

Rex has half a mind to help you, wheel you away from your little predicament, but his intrigue with seeing your oh-so-solid resolve crumble is much too valuable and entertaining to pass up. He's going to remember this for years.

"Rex."

"Senator," he mimics, not at all frightened by your poisonous glare. "Some diplomacy might do you good."

You begin to snarl out a threat but are decidedly cut off by your object of horror planting himself before your hiding spot. You cower into the corner like a boxed in loth-cat. "Ah, my favorite Ithyean! I had begun to worry you would not make it, my dear friend."

"Senator Lin," you sigh. The smile you offer is tight and thin; a nervous one much in the same way one would be if presented with a box of toenails for a birthday gift. “How pleasant to see you."

Senator Lin’s deep violet lips part with an easy smile. He waves a hand in dismissal, his silver rings glinting in the warm lighting. "Please—call me Toluka. No need to bother with such formalities between companions."

Rex suddenly understands your trepidation with the Mirialan—he’s slimy. And, not to mention, not at all ashamed with the lecherous looks as his eyes sweep down your body. Rex clenches his teeth and folds his arms behind his back. He’s regretting not heeding your warning now…

Try as you might through brutal small talk and chilly answers, Senator Lin refuses to take the hint. A dark plume of venom green lashes through Rex’s chest as the Mirialan places a friendly hand over your shoulder. You grimace as Rex bristles and glares through the visor of his helmet.

Senator Lin’s lips pull into a gaudy smile as he glances at Rex and then at you.“My dear, don’t you know? It’s not worth wasting your time with a clone. After all, they’re all the same person. How boorish—come join us at the table.”

Your teeth bite into your cheek as your temper, like the silver of blade through the darkness, cuts through your steely irises. With poised nonchalance, you lift your hand and pinch Senator’s Lin’s fingers between your own and pry them off your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Your campaign, valuable as it may be,” Lin continues, “is a useless endeavor. They are not our equals and never will be--you must know that."

Rex forces himself to remain calm—collected and certainly not imaging a thousand and one ways he’d like to see his fist breaking the fragile bones of the senator’s face.

"Fine buttons stitched upon your shoulders do not compel your worth, Senator,” the harshness of your words is a blow straight to Lin’s ego. His well-groomed brows furrow drastically as his tongue struggles to play catch up and find words to repair his shattered pride.

There’s no chance for Senator Lin to regain his footing as your snatch Rex’s wrist and sweep him out into the hall. Rex can feel your anger roll off of you in waves, frighting and holding the same caliber of roaring waves thundering against black, craggy rocks. It’s a miracle the night didn’t end with your hands wrapped around the senator’s throat or a blaster shot through the chest.

When you reach the lower halls of the cruise ship is when you release Rex’s wrist. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and release a long, dramatic sigh.

"You are worth far more than that pompous ass," you say with enough edge to slice through a droideka's shields. "He has no right to say those things to you."

“It’s alright,” Rex soothes, placing a hand over your bristling shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.”

Your features scrunch up into a wince. “That...that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through more of it, Rex.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and loosen the heavy outer robes strung around your shoulders. You shrug out of them and fold the thick swaths of fabric over you arm—revealing the under layers of your uniform. You toss the bundle of fabric to the floor with a disgusted grimace and sit on the cargo crate closest to your left.

“Really—it’s ok.” Rex assures again. “I—“

You hold up a hand and shake your head. His mouth snaps shut. “I won’t hear it. To me you are nothing short of perfect and I refuse to argue about it. Maker knows I already do that for a kriffing living.”

There’s a fragile lull in the hollow space—the distant chatter of voices and strange music collecting in the corners. You stand once again, toe to toe with the Captain and there it is again, that elated pitter patter of his heart thrumming through his veins. The nerves of being so close to you—you sweet face and not being able to touch you.

“Let me see your face.”

His hands come up to the edges of his helmet without hesitation, a hiss of hair escaping the seal once he pries it off. You smile and take a step closer until the only thing separating you and him is his helmet.

Rex’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into your hand you gingerly place over his jaw. “I wish the entire galaxy could see you through my eyes,” you whisper, the warmth of your soft palm radiating out and warming his entire body.

It’s a matchstick to kerosene—his helmet clatters to the ground and there’s only a second to spare as both hands move to cup his cheeks, dragging him into a mouthwatering kiss.

He hasn’t kissed many people—save for those rare times at 79’s, head swimming under the haze of one too many shots of Corellian fire whiskeys where he could barely distinguish his ass from his hand. Those drunken make-outs were nothing like this.

No—this…this is what a kiss should be like.

He dreams about you all the time—so constantly ravenous that all he can feel some days is pure ache. Every and all words that spin around his head starts with you and finishes with his pounding heart close to bursting free from his ribcage. Not in the same way a flood rips through an unsuspecting village—more like the brilliance of a thousand doves, marble white plumage thrashing free from their gilded cage. Your lips taste like the core of a newborn star—scorching and yet still so sweet upon the tongue the same way caramelized sugar sticks to the roof your mouth. You are his first and last everything.

There’s a certain kind of tragedy hidden beneath your tongue, fragile promises and the eggshell thin shards of hope stapled to the roof of your mouth. Rex will take it—seize any threadbare strand and run with it—spool it into the palm of his hand until you’re wound so tightly together it’ll be impossible to untangle.

Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, you part and leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up his jaw. Rex groans and hugs you closer, you humid breath blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

The words on his tongue crumble to ash once he nods in agreement. Your kisses dip lower, not even stopping when the reach the edge of his chest plate. Stars, you’re…he never entertained the idea that your lips could look so divine in contrast to the battered plastoid. When you fold onto your knees his heart leaps to his mouth, a flare of arousal flashing through his groin.

You rest your chin over his codpiece and smile. “Do you like seeing me on my knees, sir?”

Rex huffs and studies at the opposing wall—

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your fingers find the claps over his codpiece. “Can I take this off?”

Rex jerks his head in a yes but grabs your wrist. Not a rough hold—a tentative one as hesitation swirls in his eyes. “Don’t—don’t have t’ do this for me—“

You quirk a brow. “I want to because I like you, Rexy.”

A rosy blush blooms over his sharp cheekbones. The captain nods again.

The codpiece clatters to the ground and immediately you move your hand to palm him through his blacks. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. There we go.

Biting your lip, you pull down his blacks as far as the plastoid plating allows, greeted with the hard length of his cock, beautiful and flushed a rosy brown. Fuck—he’s thicker than you thought. You wrap your fingers around the base, delighted by Rex’s airy gasp as he throbs in your palm. A bead of liquid shines at the tip and just the sight of it makes your mouth water.

Moons—you should’ve done this sooner.

With a stuttering inhale, Rex trails his forefinger along your cheek and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingertips skim lower and lightly pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes lift to meet his. “You—you sure?”

You answer with a kiss over the dip of his navel, the skin searing hot under your lips. Rex curses and rolls his head back onto his shoulders when your palm slides up the length of his cock and then back down. Your grip is firm and tight as Rex slumps onto the crate, goosebumps rushing up his exposed flesh. Stars, when’s the last time he’s gotten release like this?

You lean forward and lick a languid line from the velvety skin of his balls all the way up to the tip. Rex’s hips jolt. You purse your lips and suckle at the head, dipping your tongue over the slit then down to trace the ridge of his frenulum all the while your hand rolls up and down his shaft. Rex tangles his fingers into your hair with a hiss. You open your jaw a bit wider and take him down a few inches into the wet heat of your mouth, feeling your lips stretch around his cock. You you drag the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft to make the thickness easier to swallow down, but he's still only halfway into your mouth when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck—" Rex moans as his hips strain to remain still. “S’good—such a good girl.”

You glance up, eyes devouring the attractive length of his clean shaven throat and the underside of his chin. Rex swallows and let’s out another little sound. You whine softly in return and slip a hand into your pants, pressing your fingertips against your throbbing clit as you start to carefully bob your head up and down. Yeah—your jaw already aches just from holding his cock in in your mouth but fuck it—it’s worth it.

Rex's chest heaves with exertion as he mindfully rocks his hips up, pushing and rolling his cock deeper into your mouth until his shaft is nearly seated all the way in. Ditching your own pleasure entirely, you swallow around him, forcing down the urge to gag and simply hold him here. Allowing him a moment to just enjoy the soft warmth of your mouth before launching into the main event.

Rex murmurs your name and strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re beautiful—so pretty like—like this..ah—”

You pointedly hollow your cheeks and suck, his flattery warming your chest with pride. You swallow around him another time, squeeze his shaft, your fist following your mouth as you lift up then back down to the base. You grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you pull halfway up and let Rex rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans of your name.

Soon enough he’s twitching in your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as his head tips back onto his shoulders. The gloved hand sweetly cradling your cheek slips to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers into you hair to anchor himself. He’s close—quiet gasps and broken curses tumbling out, hips unconsciously rocking into your mouth in search of release.

Rex whimpers your name, his leg jolting as you work your jaw wider and swallow him down, the dark curls tickling your nose once it brushes his groin. “Oh, fuck.”

You hum around him, delighting in the mumbled praises. Almost there…That’s it.

He’s dangling on the precipice—on tiny shove away from euphoria—

“Wait—“ Saliva dribbles down your chin when his cock pops out from your swollen lips, throbbing from the unintentional tease. “Maker—shit.”

If not for the gloves covering his hands, you’re sure they’d be turning white from how tightly he grips the edge of the crate. His eyes are squeezed shut, slightly bent forward as he falls away from the edge of his release. Rex sucks in a steadying breath, amber eyes meeting your confused ones.

“I don’t—can we—“ Rex’s eyes flit and focus on anything but you as he stutters and works up the courage to ask for what he wants. “Do we have time—“

You rolls your eyes and rest your cheek on his thigh. Silly man. “You wanna fuck me, Rexy?”

“Kriff, yes.”

You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I don’t think they’ll miss us."

Rex doesn’t complain when you take his hands and yank him onto the grubby floor and over your senatorial robes. He props his back against the crate as you shuck off everything below the waste and clamber into his lap. His hands, warm even through the leather, land over the swell of your hips and wrench you closer until your front presses up against his chest plate.

The rough prickle of his stubble is, in all sense of the word, addictive. He tilts his head to kiss you, the slick touch of his tongue on your bottom lip adding jet fuel to the fire low in your belly. Rex groans and cups your jaw, holding your mouth open to dance his tongue along the length of yours. You whine and shudder as he purses his lips and lightly sucks on your tongue before you both part.

Rex drags his teeth over your bottom lip as you both pant for precious air. His dark lashes sweep up his cheeks when he looks at you. This close you bare witness to the dazzling color of his eyes—crystalized pearls of amber over the crackled bark of pine tree in the midmorning sun. Muted gold threaded through the brown like fine lace and the slow shimmer of the sun dappled through water. To think such a man like him is dredged through the bloodied mud of war is despicable.

You blink away the swell of tears prickling at your eyes and kiss him once more. Sighing, you whisper down, mouthing soft nibbles and teasing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Rex squirms and rock his hips up, your cunt clenching around nothing. You need him.

“Rex,” you groan. You slide your hand between your bodies and grab at his thick length. Rex gasps into your mouth, long fingers clamping onto your waist in a death grip. “I want you.”

“I’m yours.”

Your nibble at his earlobe as you grind your hips against his length, the folds of your cunt teasingly out of reach. “Touch me, Captain.”

Rex tears off his vambraces and gloves, hand wedging between your thighs, touching the very tips of his fingers to your throbbing clit. You whine and clench your jaw—the pleasure is raw—sizzling electricity that crackles with the deadly promises of your pleasure. It’s as if you’ve had the breath knocked out of your lungs the second he bears down a bit more on your clit, drawing tentative circles, each completion sending a shockwave of tightly spooled ecstasy through each and every nerve. You nearly sob as his fingers slip away.

“So wet already,” Rex moans as you tip your head back when two of his fingers begin circle your dripping cunt. They’re thick and long and perfect. Your hips stutter as your cunt easily accepts his fingers, the heel of his palm slotting perfectly against your pussy to stimulate your clit.

Maker you’re seeing stars as Rex rocks his hand into you—the bend of his fingers the perfect angle to catch all the right places that make you tremble. He kisses your cheek and moans your name into your ear, all low and gravelly—

Your body seizes up tight as you soar, plummeting off the edge only to tumble so fast and so hard that tears prick the corner of your eyes. Rex peppers kisses over your cheeks and runs his free hand through your hair, purring praise and adoration as you shudder—your mouth parted in a silent cry as you cum and dissolve into his hands.

When you suck in a steadying breath and open your eyes, Rex is gazing upon you with starstruck eyes—pure adoration that makes your cheeks flare hotter than the surface of two mini suns. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re not sure you deserve to be looked at like this…

However, you’re impatient and running on stolen seconds. As much as you’d like to just simply stare at him—there’s not enough time. Rex wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slides the tip of himself through your soaking folds. Each stroke against your still throbbing clit makes you buckle into yourself, but the angle that your knees are propped over his hips means you're stuck here.

Rex pauses and cups your cheek. His thumb scrapes over your cheekbone. “You want this?”

You place your hand over his and turn your head to mouth a kiss over the lines of his palm. Oh, fuck yeah. Kind of him to ask as if hadn’t just cum over his fingers but—no. “I need you to fuck me, Rex. That’s an order.”

Rex huffs out a low chuckle and bumps the crown of his forehead against yours. “As you wish, Senator.”

Rex runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds again, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the hard plastoid as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s in no small. You’ll feel him for days, you’re sure of it as your cunt swallows inch after inch.

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw his clenched tight as sweat beads at his blonde hairline—Stars above, he’s a sight, struggling not to loose control the second he’s buried inside of you. Desire tickles up your spine, tugging at the fabrics of your being until all you can focus on his how Rex isn’t moving. You shift your hips in tiny, almost imperceptible motions, and squeeze around him.

“Damn—“ A ragged moans slices through his words as your gentle rocking morphs into needy jolts. It’s easy to fuck yourself onto his cock like this, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. “Fuck, cyare, you’re tight.”

You smirk and grab at his sculpted shoulders—it’s the push he needs. Rex snarls your name, cups his hands under the globes of your ass and pulls you off his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust before Rex sets a pace, fevered and rabid All pent up energy collecting over the weeks you’ve known each other. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what feels like ages.

You squeal in surprise as Rex pushes you onto your back and hoists your legs around his hips. Rex buries his nose into the crook of your neck and moans your name like a sweet prayer wrapped in honeycomb. Rex shifts his weight, widening his knees to sink deeper into your cunt—his stubble tickling your throat as his staggered exhales burn hot over your skin.

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, scorching through each and every veins with the catastrophic brilliance of an imploding star. Shit—

“So good t’me—so perfect,” he huffs into your ear. Rex turns his head and steals a kiss. “Feel fuckin’ good stretched around my cock."

You clench around him hard as Rex’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s barely any build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that sweeps through your body, from your aching center down to your toes. It steals away all the air left in your lungs and leaves your clutching his arm and shuddering for a hold in your own reality—the steady warmth of his body that’s unburdened by armor a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.

His gentle, and pliant kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth over your neck and collar bone as his hips struggle to keep a definitive pattern. Rex’s curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star.

“Where can—can I?”

You grab at his head and whine his name. “Anywhere—in me—you can cum in me.”

With a loving caress over back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, he reaches release. Rex’s moan is airy as his eyes slam shut and captures your mouth in a sizzling kiss. He’s twitching in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over your robes you lay over. Whatever.

Rex nips at your skin as the last dregs of pleasure jolt up your spine. Neither of you say a word as Rex’s hips come to a slow. Time trickles through your fingers like sand through an hourglass half empty but instead of rushing to dress, you choose to lie on the ground—two halves of a mess someone’s been meaning to clean up for the better part of a long while. You feel at home here—content as your fingers run up and down the back of his head, a bit irked by the armor still covering his back. You’re terrified of the months to come—but at least you have each other. After all, gardens will bloom and flourish with fresh blooded love and wild mistakes sculpted from passion forever if you believe hard enough…wont they?

#we out here #yeehaw #my writing #captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #ct-7567 #captai rex #clone x reader #clone trooper x reader #the clone wars #tcw #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #star wars #sw

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alicee1 · 3 years

Text

One more

Platonic! Phil x Teenager! Winged! GN! Reader

Warnings: injuries, mentions of being hunted, preening

Word count: 2.6K

Synopsis: After living outside on your own for two years without any proper knowledge on survival you set up camp in a forest beside a tundra. Crows find you when you’re hiding away from mobs in a tree and alert Phil that there is an injured winged child abandoned in the forest. After meeting you he takes you back to his cabin to teach you how to properly care for your wings and nurse you back to health. He may have promised himself no more children, but what was one more?

A/n: This was mostly written in a sleep deprived 4 AM haze of creativity but i’ve proofread it in a more consious state of mind and all so it should be fine now. Despite that i still believe that sleep deprived nights where half of the words that get written down are incomprehensible are the best nights to write creativity wise. By the way, I told y’all i write for other people except Techno, this is the proof.

Rules, Masterlist

The running water was cold but fresh against your skin, it gave you the opportunity to refill your water supply and the area allowed for a temporary camp.

You had been wandering the lands for a year or two now, but without any proper teaching on how to defend yourself and survive, you had to figure things out yourself.

It had been the hardest in the beginning, you struggled to provide food for yourself and without the knowledge on how to start a fire you were often too cold as well.

Since then things had gotten better, you survived mostly on berries, not being able to stay in one place long enough to start a proper farm and not skilled enough to hunt proper animals.

The reason why you hadn't settled down permanently was directly tied to your fear of people, you had been chased out of your home by hunters. Besides that, your stubborn nature insisted you would be fine on your own like you had been for the past two years.

Reality however differed despite your unwillingness to believe it.

The wings that sprouted from your back were coated in a layer of dirt, the feathers ruffled and out of place. Loose feathers still weaved through the others, some blocking the way for new feathers to appear creating a constant itching feeling between the feathers.

You had never been properly taught how to take care of your wings, two messy cuts in the back of your clothing spared barely enough space for them to sprout out. For over two years they had stayed unintentionally neglected, pressed against your back as you were unable to fly with them in their current state.

Besides that your diet of berries had left you starving, bones portruding from your skin as your unhealthy diet was unable to provide the nutrition you needed as a teenager.

Messy scars littered your body after countless of nights of close calls with various mobs. Lack of proper care for the wounds made them form into messy scars. Bruises and small cuts coated your skin although you had grown numb from the constant ache it resulted in.

The sun was setting now, forcing you to hurry as you cupped your hands in the small stream and splashed the cool water into your face.

It grew darker quickly in the forest as you looked around, trying to find some place, any place, high up where you could avoid the arrows of skeletons and the reach of zombies and other mobs.

A tall tree caught your eye as you hurried over. You climbed it expertly, many nights trees had been your safe haven to hide out in which had given you the necessary experience.

Finding a strong and sturdy branch to sit on, you watched the night sky. Dark bat like creatures circled in the air as their glowing eyes scanned the surroundings.

It made you press yourself further to the stem of the tree, hoping to stay out of view of the creatures as you sat hidden behind the leaves.

Your eyes met the beady black eyes of what you thought was a raven, or maybe it was a crow, you couldn't tell them apart. It sat on the branch to your side, another similar bird by its side.

It watched you curiously, cocking it's head as a loud screech left it's beak. More of its kind seemed to approach at the noise, joining the first on the branch as they looked curiously at you.

If you weren't stuck in the tree to avoid the mobs that crawled on the ground, you would've ran from the black birds. They were starting to freak you out a little in the way they all silently watched your every move.

The loud twang of an arrow breaching wood could be heard as your eyes widened, temporarily forgetting the birds as you glanced down.

An arrow pierced the wood barely besides the branch you sat on, making you scramble up higher as you climbed to the thinner branches.

With your movement the crows flew off, loudly screeching as they reached the close by tundra, pecking against the window of the cabin loudly.

Phil's eyes narrowed as he watched the creatures gather in large quantities, they screeched towards one another, filling them in on what they had seen in the forest.

Some flew off to check out the sight for themselves, others asked questions loudly to the ones that had seen it for themselves. It was a flock of birds that continued growing and therefore continued growing wilder with the second.

"Quiet" Phil spoke, silencing the horde as he continued, "what is going on?"

Immediately the birds started squeaking over one another once more, forcing him to silence them again before picking out one of the calmer birds of the flock and asked them to explain.

"So there is a child in the forest?" He asked as the bird ruffled it's feathers, fluffing up in defiance as it squeaked, "an injured child."

"An injured winged child!" Another from the flock squawked up, a silencing gaze from Phil quickly shutting them up once more.

He looked at the one crow he that sat perched on his windowsill, "is this true?"

"Yes."

It has been decades since he had seen another person with wings. Often they were chased down and hunted for their wings, using the wings for artificial gliders. He wondered if that was why you were alone out in a forest at night.

"I'll finish this first, then I'll check it out." Phil looked to the brewing stand that stood perched upon his desk, different ingredients strewn around and a book with his findings laid on the side.

"Keep an eye on them in the meantime." He side eyed Chat as he closed his windows against the chilling tundra winds once more, returning to his desk to continue his brewing activities.

Minutes turned into hours as the man got caught up in his work, brewing up enough potions to restock his chests as the morning rays of sun started to peek through the windows.

You had made it out of the night relatively alright, an arrow had found itself scratching your arm somewhere through the night. Although despite that you had stayed unseen by the phantoms that circled the night sky, which you considered a win.

Climbing down the tree once the ground had been cleared, you bid goodbye to the black birds that had stayed by your side throughout the night.

They however, followed your every step, making you grow more conscious of them as you sped up, hoping to shake them off subtly.

Their wings however proved more than capable to keep up with you, forcing you to break out in a sprint.

You had reached a small clearing, stopping in your tracks as a male stood in the middle of it. Crows similar to the ones that followed you crowded around him, some pulling at his green robe to pull him into a certain direction before getting swatted away by his hands.

His eyes found yours as you stepped back, instinctively retreating from the stranger cautiously.

The black wings that grew from his back put you at ease, knowing he was one of your kind. Despite that however he was still a stranger to you and you had never once met another winged person.

Your family hadn't been winged either, although they had kept you hidden from the world for the most of your childhood knowing the target your wings would make you.

When people had learned of your existence your house wasn't safe anymore and you had ran. On your travels you had heard of a place called L'manburg where hybrids of any kind were accepted amongst the normal people. It had been the reason you travelled in this direction in the first place.

He could easily see the fear in your eyes, as well as the mess of feathers that involuntarily fluffed up behind you. It only made the itching of the misplaced feathers worse, making you unconsciously swat at the limbs with your hand.

"Who are you?" Your voice was raspy, dark circles evident under your eyes as Phil seemed to realize the state you were in.

He offered you a small reassuring smile, cautious of his every movement so he wouldn't send you running. Lord knows you wouldn't be able to fly with the state your wings were currently in.

"I am Phil, it's been a long time since I've seen anyone with wings such as myself." He spoke, calmly spreading what was left of his black wings out behind him to show you what he meant.

Even to your untrained eyes it was obvious something had happened to his wings, although you didn't dare ask. The parts of his wings that had stayed untouched by the damage of the explosion however was well taken care off.

Carefully preened to a smooth and soft blanket of feathers that coated the muscled limbs.

They were everything your wings weren't, and immediately the idea of fixing your wings sparked a hope inside you. You hadn't flown often before but you had missed the feeling of the wind under them over the years.

You had known something was wrong with your wings but your lack of basic knowledge of the limbs hindered any proper care you could've given them.

"Are they yours?" You asked the older male, nodding to the birds that littered the small clearing of trees. His presence was comforting in a unfamiliar way, but it was nice nonetheless. It allowed him to take a careful step towards you as he turned to the small army of crows that had gathered around him.

"You could say that," he side glanced at the animals as their beady eyes watched the interaction carefully, "they showed me to you."

His words made your eyes narrow as you took a step back, "why were you looking for me?" The distrust in your voice was obvious as Phil tried to gain your trust once more.

"I wasn't looking for you specifically," one of the crows that had watched the ordeal from your side carefully hopped in front of you towards Phil, turning around to watch you as if asking you to follow them.

"they spoke of an injured winged child in the forest." Your hand found your upper arm where the skeletons arrow had pierced your skin unconsciously, the sting of the injury still present in the back of your head.

The male pulled a bottled red solution from his cloak, stepping closer to hand it to you as you allowed him.

Phil offered you a small smile, considering it a victory as he uncorked the bottle, swirling the deep red liquid inside for a moment before handing it to you, "it's a potion of health, it will help with your wounds."

"What do you want for it?" You asked questioningly as you held the bottle in your hands, looking at the older male now that he was closer to you.

A comforting smile formed on his features, "nothing mate, I'd hope to take you to the cabin where I and a closer friend of mine live. He's a hybrid as well, and I wish to help you."

Your eyes narrowed as you took a careful sip of the potion. The sweet flavorful taste was unlike anything you had tasted in years. A satisfied sigh left your lips involuntarily as the taste invaded your mouth and brought immediate relief to the ache you had forgotten existed and the pain from your recent arm injury.

It didn't take long for you to finish the potion, some of the color returning to your cheeks as Phil turned away from you, extending his hand in invitation to join him.

When you did he wrapped his sky blue cape around your shoulders, protecting you against the cold tundra as he guided you over the lands, back to his cabin.

The warmth of a fireplace hit your skin as you stepped inside the cabin, the comforting feeling of warmth had grown unfamiliar over the two years you had spent alone but was a welcome change.

Phil guided you to the couch, taking the cape from you before hanging it besides the door. He knew the health potion would be enough to help against the cut on your arm, what he was more concerned about were your wings.

"How long as it been since you preened them, kid?" The nickname rolled of his tongue without him noticing.

The clueless look you gave him should've said enough, yet you still chose to answer as you cocked your head, "what is preening?"

Instantly Phil realized what was the problem. You hadn't been unable to care for your wings, you just didn't know how to.

He sat down beside you, stretching out his right wing which had been relatively spared from the blasts of TnT. He showed the smooth feathers to you as you carefully traced your hand along it. He could barely feel your gentle touch as he explained what preening was.

He could see the light of curiosity in your eyes shine in your eyes as you had officially chosen to put your trust in him.

Moving to his small kitchen, he prepared a cup of hot chocolate milk. It would give you something to focus on if the preening felt uncomfortable, besides that, the warmth and nutrition would be good for you.

You carefully sipped the sweet liquid as Phil sat behind you, his touches feather light on your wings as he gently stretched them out to observe their state more appropriately.

A small shudder shut up your spine at the foreign contact, but it was a nice type of contact, something you could get used to.

His fingers started to rearrange the feathers, pulling the loose ones out and creating space for new ones to pop out. He found some childhood fluffy feathers amongst their larger and smoother counterparts. It made him question how long they had been there as he combed his fingers through the different layers of feathers, wondering if you had ever been properly preened before.

Where your back met your wings he could see the small fluffier childhood feathers that puffed up from underneath the slits in your shirt. They probably would never get replaced by the adult feathers and mark the transition between skin and feathers.

His touch was comforting, combined with the sweet liquid in the mug and the warmth that hung in the cabin, you closed your eyes in bliss as you settled into the soft couch. You sunk in between the mess of pillows, your eyelids softly dropping closed as you sipped the remainder of your drink from the mug.

Phil could see the way your body seemed to slack in the soft material of the couch, his hands continuing their work as he gently pulled the now empty cup from your hands and put it on the small table.

He knew that last night, especially in combination with Chat, must have been exhausting for you. You looked blissfully and comfortable in your sleep.

Phil only took a quick break from preening your feathers to drape a blanket over the rest of your form.

He had promised himself no more. After everything that had happened with Wilbur, Tommy and Techno he had promised himself that Tommy was his last.

But the way you laid so peaceful in your sleep on his couch, he knew he couldn't just send you away after nursing you back to health. It was obvious you had no one to return to and you were still a child. Whether teenager or not, a child is a child.

Maybe one more wouldn't be so bad?

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