#feather falling ; phil

[blubellsys]

This is a post of all Bluebeller's tags, will be updated as needed!

[poltergeist-coffee]

don't think about Phil's bad days where the fog in his head becomes blinding and he can barely remember anything

don't think about how on those days everything feels wrong

don't think about how he barely remembers anything on those days, all he knows is his love being his guiding light

don't think about how on those days forever stays with him the while time going through albums to try and help him remember

don't think about how on those days it's like philza falls in love with forever all over again

don't think about how he falls in love every single time

-🪶

IM GRABBING YOU LIKE THIS!!!! HOW ARE YIU COOKIGN SO MUCH!!!! THE KITCHEN!!! FEATHER ANON THINK OF THE KITCHEN!!

[pikmininaplane]

As Missa slips into bed, he is very careful not to touch Phil, not to disturb him in his sleep. He doesn’t deserve to share a bed with him, much less have physical contact with him. He stays as far away as he can without falling off.

When he wakes up the next morning, Phil is still sleeping on the other end of the bed.

But one of his long, black wings is stretched out, covering Missa under a blanket of feathers.

And Missa feels at home.

[paused-waterfall]

Obviously, Philza's main reason for falling into the Federation's trap was his desperation to save his children. But did you notice the subtler knife twist that's hiding below the lost eggs angst?

It's there in all the bird references, the mention of fledging, the instructions to pack light: Phil wasn't just being promised his kids back, he was being promised his wings back.

The server has a lot of bird hybrids on it. But I don't think it can be overstated just how essential Phil's wings are to his character. He's not just a guy with feathers, he's the Angel of Death, who even with his wings clipped is constantly itching to be up high, to have a good lookout perch, to figure out new ways to get a small taste of flight. He doesn't talk about it much, but he's dying to fly again. And maybe there was a little voice in his head that said that he's the parent on the island most ready to teach hatchlings to fly. He's the parent on the island most ready to follow the kids into the sky and leave everything else behind.

He ran headlong into danger for his kids, but he ran alone and without any of his things for the sky.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Sooo, have you heard of Call Ducks? Because I just learned about Call Ducks. They are very small ducks that were bred to have a loud call in order for hunters to draw in other ducks. They are little bitty bait. (Also, so fucking adorable)

Anyways, AU time! Where Technoblade is treated with less dignity than a Call Duck!

Technoblade is an avian. A very small avian, true, and his claws aren't nearly as impressive as the stuffed hands that His Hunters keep as trophies. His Hunters treat him so well. He has a roof over his head, unlike wild avians. He has his delicious pellet food, unlike wild avians. He has a single blanket all for himself! Truly, he is lucky to be among His Hunters.

If he is REALLY good, they even pat him on the head. One of the Hunter's neices even called him cute once! Sure, she had pulled at his feathers, but-

All he has to do is sit alone in the woods and cry.

It's really easy! Most of the time, anyway. He's gotten good at crying on command. At first, he preferred to be quiet. There was already so much noise and he didn't want to be seen by Predators. But the Hunters were nice enough to teach him how to cry! Even if the pinching and slapping had hurt at the time. Now he's got it down! They only occasionally have to twist his wing to bring on the waterworks.

Then, it stops working.

He didn't do anything different. It had always worked before! But suddenly, no other Avians are falling for it! Even when they move to a different area, no luck! It has been a while since the hunters have seen so much as a FEATHER of other avians.

And Technoblade, well, he notices that things feel OFF. The hunters look at him with less patience. There is something disapproving in their gaze. Their words are harsher. They twist his arm harder and make his cries turn into screams. His throat feels raw from his desperate yells.

It doesn't work.

Technoblade feels like he is always only a moment from crying, but His Hunters don't want to hear it when he isn't working. So he curls up in his coop with his blanket and tries to sob quietly. It's hard to muffle the sound in the hay, but he lets himself indulge in his misery, if only a little while.

There is shouting happening in His Hunters' house, anyway. Arguing. Blaming. Pointed fingers and getting into each other's faces. It might even come to blows again.

Technoblade doesn't want to be anywhere near that. He doesn't want them to turn their anger on him. Again.

The angry shouts turn to fearful shrieks. Guns start to fire. Technoblade huddles in the back of the coop. Confused. Hidden. Scared.

Then it's silent. So quiet. Then, a heavy thud outside the coop. He hears the lock break, and the door slowly opens while Techno watches wide-eyed.

The BIGGEST avian that Technoblade has ever seen is standing in the door, blocking out the sunset.

Phil coos over the TINIEST avian he had ever seen. Kristin was right. He was so SMALL. Phil tries to convince him to come closer, but Technoblade doesn't move. He just yells for help, crying for help legitimately this time. Phil flinches, before just reaching closer and picking him up. He is so small that it is EASY. He's a child, yes, but also TINY. Phil hold him close and tries to calm him down as he flies back to the Nest and leaves the corpses of hunters for the worms.

Anyways, Call Ducks are cool. I want one.

AIUIOSUIOQSSQHJSQ LENN IM ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED WITH THIS ONE

I need Techno to be so small that he fits in Phil's hands cupped together. Just like, huge ass avian. I'm talking 9 feet monstrosity. And Techno who is tiny tiny. As he becomes an adult, he grows a little but not much and Phil can still lift him by the back of his shirt one-handed.

[antimony-medusa]

the pressure and the panic you push your body through

When the Ender King’s guards hauled him back down the basement steps, the Crowfather’s left eye was swollen nearly closed, and his nose was so visibly broken it moved when he breathed. The villain tried and failed to keep his feet underneath him as the guards dragged him across the floor, and when they dumped him into his cell he collapsed in a heap of bloodstained feathers and black fabric. On the other side of this half-lit basement, Techno shifted to try and check on the other man without falling himself. He’d dragged his body across the cement to prop himself against the back wall of his cell, and he was a bit concerned that if he leaned too far he was going to tip over. With his ribs as they were, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to shove himself back upright with any speed if he fell. The angle was bad, but he could see that the prisoner in the other cell was still breathing. “Crow?” he ventured, trying to scan the older man for visible broken bones. “You doin’ okay?” Or: Hero and Villain captured by a worse villain, but it's emduo. Day Seven: Hero | Villain

Status: 1/1 chapters, updated 22 March, 2,951 words

Fandom: Origins SMP

Rating: Teen

Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson | Philza

Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson | Philza

Tags: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Hero Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Phil Watson | Philza, Captivity, Implied/Referenced Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Hurt Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Phil Watson | Philza, Hero and Villain Captured By A Worse Villain, I was going for father figure + son figure but I appear to not be capable of that, So this is a bit more mentor + mentee, Or nemesis + nemesis, But you do you

__

Hello folks I am SO feeling the "staggers over the finish line covered in blood" emotion but it is day seven of @techzaweek and I made it! Seven fics! I can finally stop titling a fic every day at midnight, because THAT was well planned and well executed on my part. If you've noticed that whole situation getting increasingly incoherent, yeah, that was happening. But we made it! Let's go emduo in every universe YesYes.

[nomsfaultau]

Hybrid AU in exile week where avian instincts can take over to a degree that is almost horrific, erasing someone’s personality and rationality when they’re panicking. First part here.

Philza flinches. He doesn’t understand why Tommy is suddenly shouting at him for supposedly exploiting his instincts. But he does understand the way Tommy’s wings puff up, bracing to be hit, and it makes Philza freeze as he watches his hatchling throw open the door and storm out of his life. 

“Would it make you more comfortable if I remove your feathers?” 

Tommy stumbles slightly at the threshold, then scoffs, throwing a glare over his shoulder. “As if you would. It’s too convenient to force my instincts to feel safe around you.” That would explain why Tommy isn’t looking at him. Philza can’t breathe. His chick doesn’t feel safe?

Tommy is confused and wary when Philza removes the hatchling’s feathers and hands them back. It only grows as Philza asks if he wants the ones woven into the nest removed as well. The fact he’s at a loss as to why someone would respect his boundaries hurts almost as much as ripping out where Tommy’s feathers mark him as part of the flock. 

But he does it, since that’s what Tommy needs to feel safe, even if Tommy is suspicious of his attempts. Horrifically, he discovers almost every act of affection was interpreted as manipulation, especially the parental ones. Philza winces as Tommy declares he wants to self-preen from now on, decrying the bonding experience as nothing more than manipulation. 

But- hadn’t Tommy liked it? Philza isn’t stupid, he’s figured it would hit close to memories of his abuser. That’s why he’d been so careful to frequently ask if he wanted to stop. But Tommy had coo’d back every time, asking him to keep petting his wings long past the point they were tidy. Like he wanted to stay in Philza’s arms forever. That’s why Philza asked to make their flock official, he’d thought… Tommy had seemed so happy…

Philza feels confused, and awful, and worried. “You know you can let me know when I’m making you uncomfortable, right mate? You can always tell me to stop and I will.”

Tommy doesn’t believe him then. 

But slowly he starts to, tentatively testing the waters over the weeks and waiting with bated breath to be punished for it. As if it’s such an overreach to demand the basic bodily autonomy of people asking permission before showing physical affection. As time passes, he rejects it more and more, growing comfortable asserting his own wants. Philza aches with the desire to tuck his chick under wing, but swallows the increasing distance. It’s good that Tommy feels safe refusing what Philza wants. He’s healing. Philza’s empty arms must be a good thing. 

And naturally, he becomes a little turd with it once he feels safe enough, but Philza can’t exactly resend the promise and so ends up being forced to just stand there while a zombie attacks him since “swinging that sword around makes me uncomfortable Phil, I thought you said this was a safe place.” But Tommy’s delighted laughter makes up for it, even if Philza forces him to replace the golden apples he wasted to survive. He doesn’t mind the little pranks.

But something in Philza panics when Tommy finally abandons the nest to sleep in a bed. He can’t sleep at night, tormented by the keen awareness his nest is empty. Instincts howl to find his chick, because no matter how he fights it that doesn’t change the imprinting. Verging on falling prey to parental instincts and dragging the boy to the safety of the nest, Philza sneaks out the front door and slumps against it. He can’t break that trust, he just can’t. But neither can he sleep with an empty nest. 

His movement sends a few dogs barking, and it isn’t long before Techno looms over him in the cloak of midnight. Philza holds himself a little tighter. “My nest is empty,” he says hoarsely. Techno lurches to action, till assured Tommy is perfectly safe. “He doesn’t want to be my hatchling. It hurt him too deeply last time.” And yet his instincts care not, crying in panic. Philza buries his face in the knees drawn to his chest. 

“Would you be able to sleep if something else filled the nest? Like, could the instincts tell the difference?” Philza has no idea, but as exhausted as he is he’s willing to try. Or, till Techno volunteers himself, because Philza really doesn’t want to make his instincts Techno’s problem. Techno shrugs. “Probably a lot less awkward for me than it is Tommy, given how long we’ve known each other. Might as well try.” Not that Techno cares to be viewed as a piglet, but his feelings were bruised when the broody Philza categorized him as a threat. “We’re a flock, aren’t we?” 

“Always.” So Techno burrows into the nest, rooting it up till Philza’s feathers ruffle disapprovingly. They’re different, and Techno likes it that way, but the dozens of little instances where their instincts misalign get under his fur sometimes, like a wedge between them. But they both refuse to let it stop them. The hesitance is drowned in a yawn, and Philza nestles over him. It’s a reassuring pressure, reminding Techno of the sounder he long aged out of. Soft feathers wrap around him, and after a few sleepy coos, Philza drifts off, finally assured that his nest is barren no more. Techno smiles, glad he could help his friend. He wraps an arm around Philza’s feathered back, and likewise accepts the embrace of slumber. 

Next>

[lookinghalfacorpse]

Any scenarios you'd think unicorn!Dream would tease Phil by touching his wings? bro getting wrecked by the end of the day lmao

Since Phil didn't have a beak, he used wooden tools to preen his wings.

Dream held the wooden brush in his hand. It was unlike any other brush he's seen around the farm; the bristles were thick as pencils and made entirely of wood. He remembered how Techno explained preening to him. Take oil from the glands, spread it throughout the length of the feathers, and straighten them as you go.

He didn't feel like he was doing it right, but Phil was reacting positively. Dream watched his shoulders relax, his head drop slightly forward, his golden hair falling into his face.

With Phil's lightly-freckled shoulders sitting so bare, he couldn't resist the temptation to press his lips against them. He mouthed along the back of Phil's neck while his hands kept threading through his feathers with the brush, the combination of sensations making Phil sigh.

"Mm," Phil said, "Don't start what you can't finish, mate."

There was a joke to be made about 'finishing,' but Dream opted instead to keep up his playful teasing, knowing well that there'd be vengeance for this.

[isa-ghost]

this one is pretty specific, but do you have any ideas on what phil did during the week in the birdcage?

OHOHOHOHOHOHHO GOOD SHIT GOOD SHIT

Phil headcanons masterlist

He had no way to tell time. He tried at first, it wasn't working unless he was counting constantly, and that was driving him insane faster than being trapped was, so he quickly gave up. Eventually he'd just try to bet whether it was day or night based off nearby mob sounds, but that proved to be unreliable. He searched every last inch of the Birdhouse for some kind of crack to see the outside, but to no avail.

He spent a lot of his time cradling Chayanne and Lullah's items to his chest and just... laying there, helpless. Desolate. Defeated. He hadn't felt that useless and weak in a very, very long time and it brought up BAD memories.

Whenever sleeping wasn't cutting it, he'd find what he could to lock-pick and free the caged birds. Then he'd spend the time to earn their trust and preen their feathers. It hurts too much to move his own, so he rarely preens himself nowadays. He was relieved to discover his fingers still have the gentle finesse needed to preen wings.

To no one's surprise, any time he wasn't miraculously passing out due to boredom or stress-fueled exhaustion, he was up and pacing, thinking, frantically trying to plan a way to escape.

It'd be a lie to say he wasn't worrying himself sick thinking about what if Missa finally had time to visit and he was missing it due to being trapped.

One of his least favorite parts of being trapped was jumping at any little noise from outside, getting those awful chest flutters and anxiously trying to track it or work out what the source was in the hopes that it was someone who'd come to free him. The footsteps of mobs at night were pure torture.

Obligatory food rationing mention. He regretted bringing gapples. :) He was majorly gambling with risking reviving his old addiction.

He was angry at himself for quite a while, he would've finally sorted all his backpacks thoroughly if he had them with.

Of course he sifted through the boxes and whatnot that were in there. He found nothing of value. A few actually had some borderline sadistic things in them, like feathers. He stopped searching after that, it was making him feel like he was waiting to be butchered.

To try and keep himself sane, he'd converse with the hummingbirds. He had no idea at the time that they were basically messengers/vessels of Rose. He wasn't so alone after all.

A few times, he made the mistake of trying to stretch his wings, test out their healing. Very bad idea, every time. Just resulted in more pain.

Eventually he just gave up on everything and wouldn't move from the rafters. It felt safer. Perching always makes him feel safer. He knew instinctively not to fall while sleeping up there.

He spent more time than he'd ever admit obsessively looking over his map. It wasn't going to do him any good, but he couldn't stop frantically looking at it.

Semi-related, his communicator was jammed the entire time he was trapped, the Federation no-doubt blocked his signal. He tried whispering Fit and Tubbo countless times. It seemed like the messages were never delivered.

Well, at least Birdhouse taught him how to ground himself from panic attacks well. It's too bad that Ender King's arrival shortly thereafter would scare him so bad that said grounding techniques wouldn't work.

He can't remember any of this btw, as far as he knows, he passed out and dreamed of Hardcore the entire time. :) It's unclear if it's due to the meddling of the federation or something else.

[chaoslovesmisery]

Chapter 15. Into the Grasslands

Previously

****************************************************************

I feel a blanket placed over my shoulders suddenly reminding me that I'm not the only one here.

"Thank you," I say quietly as the boy hands me a bowl of watery lumpy substance which I assume is soup? I anxiously glance around the room, old wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, draped with cobwebs, and the walls bore the marks of scratches of what appears to have been from an animal and patches of peeling mud.

"By the way, what's in that bag you were carrying?" The boy says and I turn, staring at the satchel on the floor. I grab it and when I open it there is a piece of paper and a dagger with a ruby like gem-encrusted hilt. The dagger feels heavy. I open the note and there is only one word on it written in a red script.

Survive.

****************************************************************

It feels like I'm traveling through a tunnel, surrounded by memories that race past me—mere blurs of light swirling in an incomprehensible frenzy. The feeling is deeply unsettling, as if an unseen force is mercilessly propelling me toward an unbearable brightness.

"In the bin, in the bin!" a voice shouts, cutting through the chaos of my mind. A cold metal bin collides painfully with my chest and I double over, heaving into it. My stomach convulses, but only a bitter bile rises, leaving my throat raw. My eyes prick with tears, blurring my vision as a high-pitched ringing fills my ears.

"Shit! That sucked!" I groan, letting my head fall back with a heavy thud against the wall behind me. The metal bin is yanked away and in its place now a cup of warm liquid, cradled in my trembling hands. Its soothing temperature is a stark contrast to the chill that keeps running through my body.

"What do you remember?" Philip asks while sliding onto a stool beside me, his expression a blend of concern and curiosity.

"I was a child, I-, it was a place in a field of black/purplish flowers. There was a town, well if I could even call it tha -" Before I could finish my Hunter's watch rings.

"Oh shit, sorry Phil I gotta go, sorry Phil! Next time!" I hand him the cup and throw the blanket off me. In the corner of my eye I see a shiny pair of scissors which I grab before running out through the back in a dark alley.

"Nice of you to pick up," a voice says as soon as I answer.

"Hello to you too, Xavier," I reply, sighing and putting my back against the wall. I realized once more how exposed I was in my shorts, oversized sweater, and Sylus' indoor slippers. Oh... he's gonna kill me.

"Your comms and signal were turned off. Where are you right now?" He asks and I bite my lip. Should I lie?

"I'm out. What's it to you?" I say a little harsher than intended. He's silent for a moment before sighing.

"I thought you were dead, after getting split up last night and your injuries... Are you alright?" He asks. A twinge of guilt creeps into my heart.

"I'm fine, you did most of the legwork anyway," I grumble. There's an awkward silence in the air almost as if he's waiting for me to ask how he is as well but I can't bring myself to ask it. Especially knowing it's him, after all he's also Lumiere who has defeated even the harshest of Wanderers during the Chrono Disaster.

"Check in with Jenna," he says before disconnecting the call. I send her a quick message through my watch before a noise indicates an upcoming assignment.

There has been a Metaflux detection located in your current area, a highly dangerous Protocore fragment has been detected in your area. Proceed with caution and extract for further analysis.

"It's actually really close to me," I mumble to myself. I use the scissors and grab my hair. Is there a point to cutting it short right now? I guess I'll just cut it to where it's not in the way until I make it home. I cut my hair this time to where it stops halfway down my back. The hair falls to the floor, dispersing into feathers.

I look up to the sky and it appears the sun will be rising soon. I need to hurry up and change but to go all the way home just to come back to check out the source of the Metaflux seems so tedious. I could stop by the room I have a Sylus' place which says is no better than a closet, but I'm too embarrassed to see him so soon after leaving dramatically earlier.

"Hey there, little lady, trying to have some fun tonight?" A man leans casually against the alley wall, his confidence radiating like he owns the place. There is another man more stockier, grinning like a wolf that slinks in behind me closing off my escape route.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing out at this hour?" the first man croons, his tone teetering on the edge of mockery.

"You both must have a death wish it seems." I sneer, crossing my arms.

"Don't you know you're in the presence of greatness right now?" The stockier guy scoffs, laughing. I grip the scissors that's hidden in my sleeve from earlier.

"Is that so? And who exactly are you supposed to be? Sylus? Because that's comedic at best." I reply, my voice laced with sarcasm.

Their confidence deflates for a moment but they quickly recover before trying to close the distance. Just as I prepare to show them that I can handle myself, I sense a shift in the air, a palpable energy that sends a chill down my spine. The two men freeze almost sensing the same thing as I.

Steps echo from the alley as a Sylus steps into view. His eyes glance at the men first before landing on me, his gaze lowering to my bare legs before his eyes narrow slightly. I push down the hem of the sweater, which fits more like a dress, trying to cover more of my legs.

"Trouble?" he asks but the sharpness of his tone makes me freeze, holding back my comment that I could handle this without him. Well, these guys are definitely dead.

"Did you really think impersonating me would end well for you?" He advances with an effortless grace, the soft glow of dawn framing his silhouette. This time his eyes lock onto mine his gaze softens a bit. Before they have a chance to react Sylus extends his arm, lifting them off the ground as if they weighed nothing more than feathers, their limbs dangling helplessly in the air.

"Now you'll see the folly of your actions," he says casually, as if discussing the weather rather than the imminent fate of two would-be predators. With a flick of his wrist, the mist transforms into a storm around them causing them to scream in agony before silence replaces them and flecks of mist fall to the ground in their place..

"I figured you would have gone to change first, not go stroll around like this. As well as steal my slippers." He says teasingly, handing me a change of clothes and shoes. His gaze seems to linger at my exposed shoulder and I grab his arms trying to make him turn around which he does. I put pants over my shorts before something comes to mind.

"Don't turn around. But I'm actually curious, who changed me in these?" I asked as I quickly put a bra on under the sweater.

"Well you needed medical care so I only did what was necessary." He says smoothly and I almost fall to the floor trying to put on a sock.

"What?" I say, horrified.

"Did you change me?!" I ask mortified. What underwear was I wearing? Did the bra and undies match? No, please tell me I wasn't wearing my comfortable granny panties.

"No, you woke up at a certain point during the night taking off your clothes before rummaging through my closet and dressing yourself to your liking." He says chuckling and my stomach finally stops somersaulting. I crouch on the floor covering my face. Ah, fuck!

"Are you done yet?" He asks, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently. I grab his shoulder for balance to put my shoes on and he easily slides his arm around my waist helping me stay steady.

"I am now." I say and he looks at me amused. Dawn's light spills across the alley, illuminating us both.

"Also I'm looking for a Protocore fragment. I think it's nearby. Come with me?" I ask pulling away slowly from his arm. He stares at his hand for a moment before closing it and meeting my gaze.

"Lead the way." He says. I resonate with my watch to help with locating a bit more accurately where the Metaflux is coming from and it leads to a cellar door in front of the bar Elysium.

"Hmm, an interesting choice." He says before typing in some numbers and unlocking sounds indicates the now open door.

"What do you mean? " I ask, watching as lights flicker before turning on automatically. Sylus walks in front of me, stepping down before offering his hand for assistance.

"This is one of my underground armories." He explains. After helping me down he doesn't let go of my hand and I don't make an effort to shake him off this time. His hand is warm, what would it be like if he wasn't one of the love interests of this game? The cold air pulls me back into reality. Sylus leads me through the labyrinthine corridors.

"Are you absolutely sure the Protocore fragment is here?" he asks, glancing back at me.

"The Metaflux led me here," I reply, my focus steady trying to ignore the warmth of his hands.

"Guess I should thank it. It's been a while since I've been able to have one and one time with someone as busy as yourself," he says with a smirk.

"Didn't you say you would take me to Cloud Island?" I shoot back, a playful smile creeping onto my lips.

"Oh, I didn't know you were so eager to go on a trip with me. Wasn't it you who decided to go back to Linkon City?" he teases. I frown, he wasn't wrong.

"Well, yeah I need to be your inside source to be useful to you. Keep an eye on her for you and what not." I state.

"What's interesting is not once have I asked you to do any of those things and how you seem to think your intel is the only thing I place value in." He says and I flinch at his words. Everything has been for him so why is he responding like this? As if he never said before to keep monitoring her, or was I mistaken?

"If you weren't working today what would you be doing instead?" He asks in a lighter tone breaking the awkward silence.

"Well, if it weren't for my job, I might be out getting intel for you? Or maybe hanging out with the twins if they aren't working." I say and he crosses his arms.

"The twins are scheduled to work today and you're not on my payroll right now." He says and I can't help but chuckle to myself.

"Well then, I'd probably be in the park right now," I say, mentally picturing myself appreciating the autumn leaves or buying some roasted chestnuts from a food stand.

"And to think that these Protocore weapons might keep you from enjoying autumn's beauty. Shame." He admits. As we chat, a classic-patterned dagger in a display case catches my eye. A faint Metaflux emanates from the ruby on its hilt.

"You found what you were looking for already? The Association's mission system knows how to pick its hunters," Sylus remarks, eyebrows raised.

"Where did you get this from?" I ask. Something about it seems familiar. I swear I had just seen this recently. He carefully takes out the dagger and hands it to me.

"It's part of my antique collection, sweetie. A treasure from the grasslands." He replies. I clench the red gemstone at its hilt, but I don't feel that familiar surge of energy flow in.

"I can't resonate with it. But this is definitely exhibiting traces of Metaflux... it looks like this might be the Protocore they are looking for. I need to bring this dagger to the Association for further analysis," I state and he leans in close to my face.

"It's my most prized possession. Even if it's only temporary—" he starts but I cut him off while making my way to the door.

"If you're worried, why not come back to Linkon with me to—" I push open the armory's heavy door, and a gentle breeze washes over me. The air is refreshing, carrying the scent of grass—a stark contrast to the stale air of the N109 Zone.

As the white light dissipates, it reveals a breathtaking landscape. The endless grassland is bathed in daylight, wisps of clouds drift across the sky, and waves of green grass ripple in the breeze. I spot grazing sheep and cows in the distance. What the f-

I spin around and see Sylus next to me, his expression a mixture of confusion and awe. The armory has vanished without a trace. Only the endless expanse of grassland remains.

"What is this place? An illusion?" I wonder aloud.

"I can't even get a bad signal. Where are we?" he replies, pulling out his phone in an attempt to check our location. I shake my head in disbelief. And then—

"Baa Baa—"

"A lamb?" I say, surprised as a fluffy lamb trots up to us. Sylus lowers his phone, the click of a picture echoing in the air as he captures this curious creature.

"So, got any clues?" he asks, glancing at me. Suddenly, a cacophony of noises erupts in the distance. A massive flock of sheep descends upon us like an avalanche of wool, and the thunderous drumming of hooves feels like it could trample us at any moment.

Before I know it, a shepherdess wearing a vibrant red robe and beaded headdress whisk us away to her people.

Inside a cozy yurt, we change into garments the locals usually wear. After straightening out my clothes, I quietly picked up a small cup of juice a little boy had given us earlier.

"Despite the language barrier The little boy's gestures indicate that—" I began.

"He wanted us to draw patterns on our faces with the juice, just like the locals do." Sylus says. I look at Sylus' clean face. If something has to be drawn on it ...

"You wish, little dove. Don't forget. I also have my own weapon." Sylus replies, picking up his cup as well. Oh, right. The little boy also brought a cup for Sylus.

"You can't tell which one of us will be drawing on the other's face." He says. Leaning against a basket while sitting, Sylus had been observing me for quite some time. I dip my finger in the cup. Meanwhile, reviewing the steps to launch up a surprise attack on his face. But he grabs my arm and quickly takes the cup out of my hand and flips me on the floor gently.

"Ugh, why are you laughing?" I pout.

"Could it be due to your poor attempt at a sneak attack or could it be from this unique look you've had since changing. Is tucking leaves in your hair a trend with the locals?" he teases.

"What?" I ask, raising my hands to my hair trying to brush it out.

"If you had noticed it earlier, why didn't you say something? Honestly—" but before I can complete my sentence, Sylus' finger brushes against my left cheek. Juice is smeared on my skin. He got me.

"Playing dirty, huh?" I smirked.

"I warned you ahead of time. You just underestimate your opponent." He says. I launch a determined strike toward Sylus' face, but he gracefully avoids my strike with ease.

"I'm so scared," He taunts playfully.

"Stop dodging!" I yell, missing him again.

"Come here and sit down," I commanded, stomping my foot while pouting.

"You're not even going to hide the fact you're about to cheat?" He says laughing.

"Luke and Kieran know I'm like this," I grumble and there's a glint in his eye. He approaches me and I take a hesitant step back slowly as though I'm in front of a predator.

"Sylus?" I ask just before tripping. Before the juice could spill on me, his arms had already steadied my hand and his other arm was wrapped around my waist.

"What if I want to be the one who sees it the most?" He asks and there's an emotion I can't seem to pinpoint in his eyes. He leans his face closer to me so much so that his breath tickles my face and I catch sight of a faint scar on the inner corner of his eye.

"Here, little dove. Feel free to use it today." He says, closing his eyes, his long lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks.

"Be gentle," He says almost alluringly, making my cheeks flush.

"Hmmm, that will depend on my mood." I reply lightly as he lets go of my hand but instead wraps both arms around my waist. Dipping my fingers into the juice, I decide to draw on the spot where I know the Heroine would have scratched him when they first met. The drawing doesn't take long to complete. His eyes light up, as if he has just realized what I've drawn.

"What did you draw?" He asks, bringing his face even closer to my face.

"I'm not saying." I say pushing his chest away while blushing. I try to turn around to run but he brings me in close and I can feel his chest pressed into his back. His body feels like it's enveloping me into a blanket. The feeling makes my heart race.

"Where do you think you're going after putting a heart on my face?" He whispers in my ear, making me shiver.

"I won't let you go that easily, so prepare yourself," he says, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. He inches closer, but suddenly there's a gasp from behind me. I turn away, covering my face in embarrassment. The little boy who had given us juice earlier stands there, mouth agape.

"It's impolite to enter a yurt without permission," Sylus says to the boy, but it takes me a moment to realize he isn't speaking our language.

"You can speak Talanian?" I ask, surprised.

"How do you— hmmm," is his only response before he releases my waist. Before I can ask anything further, a shout erupts at the entrance.

"Hello travelers! I am entering!" The shepherdess, who introduced herself as Tarna, steps in, a hint of confusion on her face as she takes in the three of us.

"Jochi, don't be shy. Go ahead and hand them their drinks," she instructs in their language. Wait, how can I understand them? The little boy approaches me shyly, looking away as he hands me a cup and then offers one to Sylus.

"It's pear-leaf milk," he says, and I smile..

"Thank you," I reply, and he beams before leaving. We sit down, and Tarna sets plates of roasted lamb in front of us.

"I picked up some of your language from the grassland traders. I never thought I'd actually get to use it!" she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"You've come a long way. Are you also heading to Tala for the Grassland Festival? The wrestling match will be legendary. You made the right choice in coming here," she continues enthusiastically.

"A wrestling match?" I ask, slightly taken aback.

"The khan has called for warriors from all the tribes. The champion will receive a sacred stone from him," Tarna explains, her voice brimming with passion.

"It's a red gem. 'Daybreak' is its name. They say it's capable of transporting you to a paradise." Transport to a paradise... That sounds just like the Protocore fragment. Sylus and I share a knowing glance, and without thinking, I grab his arm and pull him forward.

"Can we participate in the wrestling match?" I ask.

"Yes, but you'll be up against the bravest warriors from the grassland. Aren't you scared?" Tarna replies, raising an eyebrow. I look at Sylus and wink. He meets my gaze with a playful grin.

"Participation is what matters in the end," he responds.

"Great! I'll go tell the elder then!" Tarna beams.

"Ah. Since we're headed to the same place, why don't you join us? It's always nice to have company," she adds before leaving us. The moment she's gone, Sylus quickly reverts to his usual nonchalant demeanor. He sits in front of the food while I grab the dagger I had hidden in my regular clothes I had changed out of earlier. I touch the hilt where the ruby is missing.

"The Protocore fragment is gone, and it's probably why we're even here," I say, frustration bubbling up inside me as I grapple with the deja vu of this dagger. Sylus lifts his copper bowl filled with milk tea and nods.

"These patterns resemble those on the dagger. It's possible they're from the same tribe," I state, lifting part of my top garment to conceal the dagger in my skirt pants. Where did he get this from?

"You sure that sacred stone is the Protocore fragment?" he questions, his brow furrowing slightly.

"It's our only option right now. We might as well take it." I take a deep breath. The lamb is so delicious and tender that I virtually inhale my food. Sylus chuckles lightly before standing up and I follow suit.

"Winning that wrestling match and getting the gem could be our ticket home. I believe in you, Sylus." Hoping to solidify our resolve, I extend my fist for a fist bump but Sylus grabs my hand instead

"Let's not think about the competition for now, darling. We have more important things to do," he states while pulling me toward the yurt's entrance.

"...Such as?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Admiring the scenery," he replies, gesturing for me to step outside.

We join the procession moving toward Tala for the festivities. Tarna has generously provided us with horses, and we find ourselves at the back of the group. A few young women dressed in riding gear suddenly stop their horses in front of us, their eyes darting between me and Sylus, curiosity lighting up their features.

"Do you think they're together?" one of them whispers in their native language, unaware that I can understand them though I may not know how to speak it. They chat with Tarna, discussing how handsome Sylus is and how he looks like a natural on the horse. The conversation flows to the wrestling match, and they glance at Sylus with amusement. With a sudden whip of their reins, the women send their horses into a gallop, swiftly disappearing into the distance.

"They were complimenting Sylus. He doesn't look like a foreigner while riding a horse," Tarna calls back to us.

"I told them he'd be participating in the wrestling match too. They'll cheer for him," she adds, and I can't help but smirk at Sylus.

"...They just met you, Sylus. You really are popular wherever you go," I tease, feeling a light pang in my chest.

"Once he enters the competition, a few girls might hand over their pouches to him," Tarna reveals, her voice filled with amusement.

"Pouches?" I ask, puzzled.

"It's a custom here. If a girl fancies a warrior, she gives him a pouch she made at the celebration," she explains, reaching into her bag to pull out a beautifully embroidered pouch.

"Sairt is my beloved, and he's a warrior from the Sud tribe. I made this for him," she says proudly. I glance at the pouch, realizing how natural and straightforward affection is for them. The people here don't beat around the bush...

I sneak a glance at Sylus. Our eyes meet for a moment before I quickly look away, my gaze dropping to the blank pouch in my hand that Tarna had given me earlier when she provided us clothes to wear. A soft chuckle from Sylus reaches my ears.

"Miss Tarna, what's the word you use around here to refer to your beloved?" he asks, a playful spark in his eyes. Tarna responds with a string of familiar syllables.

"Did you get that?" he inquires, smiling and arching an eyebrow. I blush and turn away.

"It's too long. There's no way I can remember it," I lie, shaking my head.

"Well, I did. Maybe I'll repeat it a few more times so it sticks in your head," he replies with a wink.

"Here on the grassland, when someone catches your eye, you confess to them," Tarna continues, her tone earnest. "You can't hold back. What if someone else claims them first? Whoever takes them keeps them."

"I agree. How would anyone know otherwise?" Sylus chimes in, narrowing his eyes with a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"But saying what's on your mind is important too," I add, feeling my heart race a little.

"As long as your feelings are genuine, they'll always be clear," I state.

"I believe sincerity means not having to beat around the bush or play any games," Sylus says, his tone sincere. A strange sense of anxiety forms in my stomach as I sulk, glancing at him and imagining how he and the Heroine would look together if she were here instead of me.

"This place might actually suit you better than the N109 Zone," I remark, a hint of envy creeping into my voice.

"You're not wrong. The air here is refreshing, and the people are honest," he responds, giving me a once-over. "And you look good in those clothes. Very cute."

My breath catches and my cheeks flush at his compliment, I'm lost for words.

"What? Isn't saying what's on your mind important when it comes to sincerity?" he teases, a sly grin spreading across his face. Ugh, this man. I tug at the reins and leave Sylus behind, a smile forming despite myself.

"You can say what you like. I'm heading on ahead!" I shout before moving toward the center of the group while hearing his laughter carry in the wind behind me. I can't help but smile to myself.

****************************************************************

A/N:

Chapter heavily based off/follows/influenced of Memoria: Grassland Romance chapters 1-2, Limited Event: Mountain Journey Chapter 2, Face-Painting Battle, and Mountain Journey Chapter 5, Crown of Flowers and a Heart of Nectar.

Read/Played in order:

1. 5-Star Sylus Memoria: Grassland Romance - Chapter 1

2.  Limited Event Sylus's story: Mountain Journey Chapter 2: Face-Painting Battle

3. Limited Event Sylus's story: Mountain Journey Chapter 5: Crown of Flowers and a Heart of Nectar.

4. 5-Star Sylus Memoria: Grassland Romance - Chapter 2

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A/N pt 2:

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I actually wrote a LOT more than this, there is about 40 pages worth so far I've written so far, so each week on my day off I'll just be editing the chapter and adding things here and there before posting. This almost feels like a break! I'm excited to be connecting the dots while we make our way through these memories. I really didn't expect this story to be such a slow burn but my patience also has it's limits lets see whose runs out first, Sylus or myself lol 

As always, thank you as always for supporting my story! 

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A/N pt 3:

Not that anyone asked I did SO crappy on Caleb's latest banner hard pity for EACH FREAKING ONE. They got me with the okie-doke and gave me a regular Caleb Card AT HARD PITY before giving me one Myth Card then pairing with the crate. After seeing Caleb's cakes I paid the price to R1 and I've always maintained holding 100+ tickets during each banner and BOOM all gone without even R1-ing. So OF COURSE I spent money getting him to R1... 241 wishes total. ONLY TO R1. I am a dolphin but Caleb had me jumping like a whale this time. I'm really hoping I'm not going to like the 6th love interest because this game has become my most expense hobby ever, though I can actually afford it for once. 

Just remember ya'll, Gacha is a form of gambling lets try not to be addicted to it. *queues circus music as I apply my clown makeup*

fin.

[thanotaphobia]

alas

i'm brainrotted over these two and their dumb little relationship

crossposted to ao3

⋆

Missa doesn’t even know Phil has wings until eight days in.

Yesterday, they received a son. Missa is kind of choosing to think of it as “received” rather than “had” or “adopted,” because honestly the circumstances were and are kind of weird. That said, he loves his son, because Chayanne is the cutest little thing on this planet earth and Missa would move mountains for him.

He’d also move mountains for Phil, but Phil would probably get there first and move them first. The man works hard. Missa watches him stay awake for nearly thirty hours before he finally crashes, descending into the house they’re supposedly sharing now with a yawn and a wave. Missa lets him be, for a while– takes care of Chayanne, puts Chayanne to bed. Works on some farm stuff, collects resources, nearly dies by a skeleton once but doesn’t. Dies to a creeper. Oops. At least he can harvest the skeleton’s face for another skull mask, because his was kind of getting dinged up.

Before he knows it, almost a full day has passed since he’d last seen Philza. 

He’s not concerned, he’s just– well, he’s worried. He has no idea when Phil last ate, and food at least is something Missa can provide instead of something like physical protection. He cooks for himself and Chayanne and then makes up a plate of steaming hot potatoes with cheese and sliced pork and goes to find Phil. He thinks he knows where his bed is, so after opening and closing a couple doors, Missa opens one and finds Phil, in bed, asleep–

–shirtless. He nearly drops the plate. Sure, they’re raising a child together and yes, Missa isn’t going to deny the fact that Phil is handsome, in a weird, kind of DILF-y way, so sue him for being surprised. He stands in the doorway for a moment, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he pretends his cheeks aren’t on fire. 

He also takes a closer look, because Phil is… very much still sleeping. One arm thrown wide, the other tucked under the pillow, mouth half-open and eyes shut tight. He might be snoring.

(Missa is smitten.)

He lets himself look, taking a few near-silent steps into the room and glancing down at the plate of food. Maybe he’ll just… leave it. Phil looks so peaceful. And he deserves the rest, after everything he’s done for Missa and for Chayanne so far. He moves to put the plate on the nightstand, eyes dragging from Phil’s face to his chest to his arms to the place where his skin meets the hastily-stitched bed sheets, back to his arms– when he stops.

There, just above his shoulders is a puff of inky darkness. Rising from the awkward slab of his shoulder blade, sitting fluffy and light on his (admirably strong) deltoids and spread out over the covers behind him are wings.

They’re not big. That’s what surprises Missa. It feels like they should be big, somehow. Phil sleeps as though there should be something grand and sprawling behind him, leaving enough room on the rest of the bed that he’s nearly falling off the side of it. But instead of huge wings, they’re small, small enough to easily be tucked under a jacket or a backpack. Where Missa expects feathers, he finds a smooth edge of cut quills, and some bare skin where it’s been plucked raw.

He stands there for a long, long time, looking at Phil. Tracing the edges of his wings with his eyes and wishing he could do it with his hands instead. Would the feathers feel soft? Could he soothe some of the aching that surely comes with the plucking? He imagines it– imagines a Phil who lets him, who wants him to. 

That idea is the one that sends him spiraling. His hands put the plate of food down before his brain catches up, still stuck skipping like a broken record over that thought; that image of Phil smiling at him over a bare shoulder, hair unbraided and loose in his eyes. Telling Missa it’s okay, he wants him to touch. How warm Phil would be in the morning sun, streaming in and making the bedroom golden. Hearing the sound of his breathing up close. 

Missa already has the privilege of seeing this, though. Phil allowing him unguarded access to his bedroom, and not so much as making a peep at his entry. Missa might be a coward, but he’s no fool– he’s not going to risk losing that over something so small as a mouthwatering want to touch Phil’s mysterious, clipped wings.

He puts the plate of food down on the bedside table, and he makes his strategic retreat into the kitchen, where it takes one cup of hastily-brewed coffee and forty minutes of staring at nothing to calm his racing heart. He’s almost calmed down completely when the door leading in the direction of the bedroom opens again and he jumps halfway out of his seat in surprise.

It’s Phil– awake, and dressed, and looking at Missa.

For a second, Missa imagines Phil accusing him of peeking. Of seeing. But instead, Phil just shuffles past with a yawn and a smile. Then Missa realizes he’s holding an empty plate, scraped clean.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Phil says from behind him. Missa does not dare to turn around. There’s the sound of running water and cutlery clinking, then Phil comes around his other side and stops. “You alright, mate?” Phil asks, leaning on the counter. Missa is… impressed by how well he hides it, honestly. There’s not even a bump on the back of his jacket, and for a second Missa thinks maybe he imagined it all. Maybe Phil doesn’t have wings, and it was just a weird hallucination. Wouldn’t be the first time something had gone whacky on this island.

“Good,” Missa says, forcing a smile. He’s probably just going crazy. “Just tired.”

“Why don’t I take this,” Phil says with a grin and a little laugh, reaching out to slide Missa’ half-empty mug away from him and hitch a thumb over his shoulder at the bedroom door, “and you go take a nap, yeah?”

It takes a minute for his words to process, and Missa wonders about the phrase lost in translation. Could there be a way to say I need you without actually saying it? It might be the coward’s way out, but he’s fine with that.

“Okay,” he says, a second too late. Phil is already herding him towards the door he’d just come out of. “Okay, okay, I will go to bed, okay! Tell– tell Chayanne I love him when he wakes up.”

“I will,” Phil says warmly. Missa wants to crumple onto the floor and die, but instead he just smiles at Phil again and then turns away before he does something stupid, like kiss him. Instead he heads back into the bedroom where Phil had gestured, closing the door behind him with a sigh. He’s just tired, and definitely going crazy, he’s decided, shedding his outerwear and tugging off his boots. He sits on the edge of the bed, sheets crisply made and tucked in at the corners, and digs his hand underneath them. Missa’s tired and a little loopy and, when he pulls back the covers to crawl in– frozen in quiet shock.

There, lying so perfectly in the center of the bed it might have well been planted there, is a single dark feather.

[lessiasya]

I'd bottle the feelin' you give me

Phil loves attation. He's touch starved, but he will never admit it.

Sometimes all he want is just a simple hug. Yes, he gets them from kids, but it's different... Usually it was him who offers hugs. When Chayanne was a little bit clingy or Tallulah felling sad, he always hugs them.

But now, there's something else. Something that unpleasantly sent goosebumps all over his body and made him fluff his feathers.

He didn't know what it was... Until Missa came back...

Every time Phil saw Missa he wanted to touch him. Slight wing punch, pat on the shoulder or just touch Missa's hand.

It felt weird, but so relaxing??? Just the feeling of Missa standing next to him gives him comfort. Something about Missa's laugh, the way he talks and acts feels so natural. If Phil was meant to be right by Missa side.

"Philza, you look tired. Is everything alright?" kids were in beds, it was only two of them in the kitchen (that slowly became their bedroom). Missa tilts his head, his mask was on the counter and that gave Phil opportunity to look at Missa's face without it.

"It's alright, mate. I'm just tired." Avian stretches his wings and couple black feathers falling on the floor.

They sitting on the big round bed and when Phil starts moving all the pillows, he hears soft voice next to him:

"Do you a hug? It might help." Missa blushes, he is smiling, but looking right in Phil's eyes.

Phil didn't answered, he just fell right in Missa's hands, which catching him with no fail. He hides face in his husband's chest, slowly turning into the chirping and fluffy mess.

Missa chuckles, while playing with Phil's hair, slowly brushing them with fingers. He thinks, that it is home.

[theflippinvoid]

When birds learn to fly, they instinctively spread their wings every time they fall. It started from a short fall, like the nest to the branch it settles. And then to a slightly lower branch. It helps smooth the fall and stop them from immediately die from face planting to the ground so hard. And then they will try to flap their wings, further slowing down their fall. And then, as the wings gain more strength, they will stop falling and start flying. Wings finally strong enough to push the air around and lift them up

Phil is a grown bird, he had flown before. He already knows how it feels when his wings successfully catch the winds and allows him to glide down to the ground. He knows how it feels when his muscles are strong enough to do a big swoop, strong enough to flap and lift his body up in the air.

I wonder what crossed Phil's mind when he fell down that wall. I wonder if he tried to flap the wings, but then he felt how his wings still weren't able to catch any wind, the air slipping through the broken feathers. That the muscles aren't as strong as before, they haven't gained the full strength after weeks of disuse. That even spreading the wings mid-fall took extra effort, and that it didn't even slow his descent

I wonder what he was thinking right before he fell into the lake. What he felt right before losing consciousness

[megastrangeskeleton]

Headcanon: When chayanne was younger and learning to walk, he kept wandering off and subsequently giving poor old Q!Phil cardiac arrest. Can you blame him? Raising a child on top of a wall was not the greatest idea, especially one that loves to leave your sight when attending to your potato farm.

So Phil comes up with the next best idea to keep his egg from suffering an untimely death.

He calls it a mermaids purse.

It’s more comfortable to fit around his wings, since he doesn’t want to wear his backpack whilst he’s at home and needs to let his feathers breathe, all the while preventing chayanne from falling off the edge of the wall.

[genevawrenn]

I keep thinking about the situation tonight with Cellbit and how much that must remind Philza of his past friendships, drawing ancient memories to the surface.

Of maybe as the night grew longer Cellbit began to grow more tired, after many hours of talking long past their own kids falling asleep when the scarred brunette does too.

Philza recognised the signs of finally relaxing your guard, allowing himself to appreciate the fact Cellbit trusted him so much.

Perhaps he even fell asleep tucked into Phil's shoulder, half-healed crow-feather wing holding the poor man close as the fire in a circle of stones crackled away in front of them.

Phil peers down at his face, eyes running across rough new scars and heavy bags beneath his eyes. The poor boy was exhausted, and some of those wounds were far too new since the last time the crow laid eyes on this treasured member of his flock from Purgatory.

He wondered just what bullshit the Watcher had put both Cellbit and Baghera through, recognising the fact Cellbit was trying to brush off his feelings surrounding his extended stay.

But Phil's heart ached watching yet another person he loved shoulder the burden of not putting themself first and only hoping they could force horrifying choices they made into a box to never think of again. The crow could relate, not that it was a healthy practice.

This old crow had cradled far too many youth as they made the same mistake he prepared to watch Cellbit put himself through, only hoping he'd be there to pick up the pieces when he eventually crumbled.

One cannot shove back torment, for it returns tenfold and often harms those you hold dear through harsh actions and worse words exchanged as it shatters your soul.

History is forever doomed to repeat, the immortal crow thought, pulling the fleece blanket up around them to settle in for the night after checking their three chicks were still asleep. Cuddled together nearby, Phil arranges his wings into a more comfortable position gently as to not awaken the unconscious being beside him.

Mentally preparing himself for what is to come, Phil refreshes his resolve on the joy he once saw upon Cellbit's handsome face. Vowing to be at his side no matter what as he heals from whatever the fuck the Watcher put them through, Phil plots said bastard's demise if he ever chose to step foot upon this Island.

This blonde was deadly protective of those he deemed his, ecstatic to have the ones he thought lost to him back he allows the rage to fester remembering the words Cellbit spoke to him earlier.

One day, he would have his revenge. Until then, Phil promised the slumbering soul beside him to always support him, praying to his beloved to protect them both as he allowed slumber to steal him away too.

[found-wings]

Etoiles can feel the way his body aches as it meets the ground, choking out a breath as he attempts to push himself back up. A swirl of greens and blacks clouds his vision and with one simple strike, everything goes dark.

There‘s nothing.

Wherever he was now, it was completely dark. It felt oddly comforting in a way.

There was no extreme temperature, no noise, nothing to worry - he felt floaty. His body felt light and with no ache at all, it was a feeling he wasn‘t tell familiar with anymore.

"You did well," a voice hums. It doesn‘t come from any specific direction and it’s more so as if the voice is everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

As if it‘s part of his own mind, and he’s hesitant on responding this time but chooses to do so anyway. "..I failed."

A chuckle echoes into the void and Etoiles can’t help the small smile that forms because of its comforting familiarity.

"You‘re always so set on winning, on beating everyone." As the voice speaks, there‘s something carefully and ever so slowly brushing through Etoiles hair. He recognises the pattern that the voice follows and just for now, he lets himself relax back into the almost ghost like touch.

Etoiles can almost imagine himself laying on the floor, his own body tainted with blood and potions that were cracked open spilling out. He can almost hear the voices of the others calling out for him, seeing him fail. Fail at winning, at protecting them. "I have to protect them."

"And who protects you?" Comes almost immediately back and Etoiles falls silent.

The second chuckle of the voice makes the grin it wears obvious, Etoiles huffing. Phil was quick and confident, and with being knocked down after so many wins, Etoiles couldn‘t help but admire that.

He‘s won against Phil in their sparring sessions multiple times, he‘s beaten the other Islanders more than he can count and he‘s never lost against the code until now. And yet, Phils confidence never faltered.

He can‘t help but admire the way Phil didn‘t let failure stop him.

"God I suck at pvp," Etoiles finally whispers back with a chuckle of his own, the motions of the fingers brushing through his hair stopping only to give him a playful push.

He can almost hear the roll of Phils eyes. "No you don‘t. You simply found your match today."

Etoiles hums as Phil returns to playing with his hair, still keeping his eyes closed during all of this.

"Finding my match resulted in my death. Me dying means I lost. So I suck at pvp if I die. That‘s the basics, Phil." He was being rather playful - or as playful as he can be while laying within deaths arms - and Phil knew that. They didn‘t find each other often like this.

"You don‘t run away from fights, so it was either you live to see it or you die trying." And Phil was right. Etoiles knew he was right and yet he couldn‘t help the feeling of.. guilt.

He was guilty.

His death would mean the loss of an important line of protection for the others and if - when - the Eggs return, them too.

He promised to protect everyone, he was tasked to protect everyone and yet he failed.

He failed the one thing he was the best at.

"How about we continue our chat next time when we‘re face to face? I prefer talking to your alive self," Phil suggests and the presence of him seems to lift higher.

Etoiles attempts to respond, question after question lingering about what next time meant, but nothing came out.

"It‘s time to wake up, my hero, before you forget how to."

And with those ever so softly spoken words, Etoiles gasps as his back presses against something cold and hard, heart rapidly beating and a high pitched noise ringing through his ears.

For a brief moment he can feel the brushing of feathers on his body, before their presence fades entirely.

All except for the one black feather in his blood stained hand.