#And the crows bid goodnight... (finished thread)

[crows-father]

[ Final part, last written part here ]

The world is cold and quiet and still. Every tap of talons against the floor echoes like a booming drum despite the reality of the quiet tick, every breath and whir from mechanical leg came from a silent house. Phil says goodbye in his note, places it with care upon the kitchen table. It's laid with a feather before Phil turns tail.

He leaves his sword at the door. He almost turns around, goes to tell Missa exactly what he was doing, almost messages Fit. He does none of it. He doesn't answer Mike's message about their next appointment for a potential upgrade. He takes his scythe and shield anyways. He couldn't help it. He brings more, the basics, what he needs to truly protect himself in the end. He's never been one for rules. He has enough golden apples. He still says nothing.

He exits the home in silence and leaves them all in the dark. No lights shine, nothing to bathe him in the last warmth of his home as the door clicks shut softly behind him. Nothing exists but him and Peg and the cold reality of danger.

His wings, scarred, aching, but free, spread as he takes hold of the crystal in his hand and stares over the QSMP from the top of the wall. And then, with a breath, he warps away.

It's quiet.

The wind whips and pulls at feathers as Phil finally spreads his wings. Damaged from the explosion, they do just enough to ease him as he moves away from his way-point and towards the coordinates. It's a fast endeavor. There was no sign of a federation building. Nothing white and sterile and awful in sight. There was something hopeful blooming there. His son. He was going to get his son. He had to.

When the house comes into view, the noise hits Phil fully. The wind and leaves, Peg's wings, the chirping and jittering of birds of several sorts. He hears talons against metal, the creaking of wood, and then his feet meet the floor. His palm meets the door. He feels himself talking. "I'm here. Chayanne, I'm here, I came to get you. You're safe now, kid, you're..."

It opens with a rush of wind. The air inside is warm and stagnant. Dust tickles his nose. Birds flap their wings against the metal cages. There's a familiar floaty besides a chest. Phil approaches it. Claws softly tick against the latch, opens it. A mirror image of the one at home, he pulls a leather-bound book from it.

CAGE FOR A CAGE.

"No." Metal whirrs from behind him. There's laughter he can hear before he even turns all the way, eyes widening at the sight of the island's white-clad monster. The Bureau laughs. Phil feels rage bubble and blur, eyes flooding. He throws himself forward, scythe coming to hand, mouth opening to shriek and scream. "My son! Give me my son!"

It motions. Bedrock crawls over the door as it disappears behind it, laughter muffling from the world outside. He slashes and claws at the indestructible layer. There's no give, nothing to ease the horror and rage, nothing at all but the empty, hopeless feeling, the rage, the knowledge that he willingly walked into a trap and he knew it.

And the bear just laughs outside.

"I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE ISLAND."

[crows-father]

[ He breathes, ignoring the deity in front of him as if it wasn’t there. Anger cools and settles in a way that’s familiar and comforting, like an old cloak in the snow. The haze in his brain lifts with each measured exhale, until his muscles stop tightening at each new syllable. ]

[ He lets it slowly drain from his limbs, to seep from the muscles in his neck and shoulders. If it wanted his reaction, he wouldn’t give it unless he was forced to. If it wanted his participation, he could give it to the letter and no more. As he sorts through his options, he can only find one. ]

[ Survive until help arrives. ]

His Angel, his Angel. Finally wandering around and awake at last. The End found a familiar fondness in watching him stumble about, fret, and worry. To be so isolated for such a social creature, how cruel but then again, those mortals were cruel first. It's only fair he takes back the gift he help give the world.

The End's hand drops from Death's face, and xe slums back against the wall. It's bothersome, somewhat, to regularly check to make sure Death was still in his palm. The purple cracks in xer skin pleased him, marking, claiming, owning.

Though, it's about time he works with the Angel instead. Blacked out eyes thin, peering through the window of the birdhouse to see the Angel.

"Poor thing," It couldn't help but tut, "Worry so much about things that don't even matter."

Its pupil rolls back to the ground, slitted and purple at it peers right at the Angel. "Whatever shall you do when someone cares so much that it's harmful, I wonder?"

It decides that its Angel been left to fret on its own long enough, purple smoke cover the floor of the birdhouse as The End forms within its walls.

The smile rips across his face. "Hello Angel."

{ @crows-father }

[mascaracoffee]

Survive ~Chibs Telford Imagine~

Summary: Chibs has a lot to deal with in stepping up as SAMCRO’s new president when he realizes he needs her. 

Warning: Season 7 finale spoilers., mention of character death

‘I need you’

My eyes scanned the message over and over from the painfully familiar number, my mind forming a thousand possibilities for its meaning and each possibility adding more anxiety and dread to the pit of my stomach. Without a second thought, I quickly gathered my things along with my two year old daughter.  Within half an hour my car was parked, I gathered the small auburn haired little girl from her car seat, positioned her on my hip and ran inside Red Woody. The normally energetic, bustling environment was quiet. Too quiet. Lyla wasn’t shooting today so the club’s crew were the warehouses only occupants. Most were sitting around solemn expressions across their faces as they nursed their drink of choice. I felt the anxiety rise in my chest at the site. So much could have happened in the months I had kept away from SAMCRO, the possibilities made my stomach churn uncomfortably and my throat clench.

Tig noticed my presence and approached me, his electric blue eyes glassy with unshed tears. He opened his arms wide as he stepped closer, pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek.

“Hey baby doll” his voice cracked slightly and he cleared his throat to try and disguise it, reaching to pet Scottie Lynn’s curls.

“Tig what the hell is going on?” I asked trying to hide the quiver of fear in my voice. “Is he ok?”

Tig opened his mouth to respond but he couldn’t form words, he kept his eyes focused on my daughter.

“He needs you Kay.” Tig said connecting his eyes with mine a lone tear slipping down his cheek. “We all do.”

Realizing Tig wasn’t going to offer up anymore information at the moment I sighed readjusting Scottie Lynn.

“Will you take her for me?” I asked. Tig nodded before taking the giggling toddler from me, Ratboy approaching to relieve me of her bag and stuffed animal.  Once I was sure she was settled, the men seeming to enjoy the distraction of the bubbly little girl, I looked at Tig once more.

“Where is he?” I asked pulling my long black curls up into a bun, a nervous habit I had formed over the years.

Tig pointed a finger in the direction behind me.

“Chapel.”

I readjusted my shirt and took a deep breath as I stood before the chapel door. Giving myself a peptalk and preparing myself for whatever I might see I opened the door.

Chibs sat at the head of the table. Staring intently at the reaper carved in the wood, he didn’t even acknowledge my presence. His chair was pushed all the way back to the wall creating space between himself and the reaper. His expression was stony; his dark eyes brimmed with emotion as they peered over his clasped hands that were propped up by his elbows on his knees. I scanned his body at least three times checking for signs of injury. Thankfully, there was none.

My mind began to hunt through my memories in search for the last time I had seen him. It had been months. We had been so good before. I had his crow tattooed on my lower back and my name was inked on his wrist. We had been so good, so strong. What we had built together had given me every hope that it would last. Until Tara died. With Tara’s death it seemed that the ominous chance of being target in retaliation become all too real for Chibs. Chibs ended our engagement. He said it was to protect Scottie Lynn and I by separating, distancing us from the club and therefor the threats. Yet, once he left I felt more alone and vulnerable than ever before. My left hand still felt cold without the ring he had given me.

“Chibs” my voice broke through the silence softly, looking for any sign of acknowledgement from him. My footsteps carried me to his side quickly. I kneeled before him and clasped my hands over his. His eyes were in a far off place.

“Filip look at me” I demanded my voice stern. His dark orbs snapped up to lock with my light ones. He studied my face seeming to only just realize I was here. I saw the unshed tears pooling in his eyes as his breathing become unsteady. His frame began to shake slightly as he attempted to hold back his sobs.

“Jackie boy..” he croaked dropping his head as he shuddered a few heartbreaking tears. My eyebrows drew together in confusion as to what this had to do with Jax. Chibs pulled our hands apart before opening his left hand. There, settled in his calloused palm, was the ‘President’ patch. My eyes darted to his chest taking in the bare space where his ‘V.President’ patch was once stitched.  My eyes locked with his as I felt my own orbs burn blurry with thick tears my hands covering my mouth in shock.

Jax was gone.

“Oh baby” I whispered caressing his face with a gentle touch. His arms wrapped around my waist pulling me into his lap, our bodies seeming to mold together as if the months of separation had never happened. His cries wracked his body as he buried his face in my neck clutching onto me as if I were his only lifeline. I held him to me, brushing my fingers through his greying hair and pressing kisses into his forehead my own tears spilling over.

“I’m here” I whispered “Let it go. Just let it all go”

Chibs was strong in every meaning of the word. But, everyone had their breaking point and needed to release all the pent up emotion. I continued to twirl the ends of his hair around my fingers, a gesture I knew calmed him as my other hand came to rest on the reaper on his back.

Chibs’ steady heartbeat echoed in my ears as he slept soundly beside me, our bare bodies still tangled together under the sheets. His face was clear of all the worry and stress that would plague his mind once he woke up. After providing the most intimate form of comfort I could, Chibs had fallen into a deep slumber the events of the day having weighed heavily on his heart and mind driving him to exhaustion. My fingers gently traced his rosary, flowing down the beads until they met the cold of the engagement ring that Chibs had threaded the rosary through. I smiled softly at the thought of him keeping it on him; my lips softly caressed the skin of his throat.

Soft knocks at the door jarred me from my thoughts and I quickly scrambled out of the bed to answer as to not wake up Chibs. I pulled on a ratty SAMCRO shirt over my bare body and yanked on a discarded pair of sleep pants before opening the door to reveal Happy holding Scottie Lynn.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to dump her on you guys” I said softly reaching for my daughter. Her chubby fingers were gently playing with her hair. She was sleepy.

“S’okay. We fed her too.” Happy’s gruff voice responded.

I thanked him and bid him goodnight easily slipping Scottie Lynn into the bed beside her father after removing her shoes. Chibs shuffled slightly before nuzzling into Scottie Lynn’s hair releasing a snore. I smiled at the sight and watched as she cuddled into her father’s embrace before her dark eyes closed.

My eyes came to land on Chibs’ cut that had been thrown onto his dresser. The pads of my fingers danced around the reaper delicately. I reached in the pocket and retrieved the patch, the word President staring back at me. Glancing back at the Chibs and Scottie in the bed I quietly walked out.

I sat at the SAMCRO table in the same spot Chibs had been hours ago.  My eyes glued to the patch and the awaiting leather cut.

If only this leather could speak. It had been part of miraculous events. It had adorned Chibs’ back when Scottie Lynn first opened her eyes and it had seen the end of life for both friends and foes.  This worn leather had endured the weather from the harsh, blistering Nevada sun to the overcast clouds of Ireland. It had taken part in gun trades and cartel deals, wiped clean of blood, oil and tears. This black leather cut made Chibs stand a little prouder each time the material touched his back. He loved his club but I was terrified to see him take the gavel as President.

What new dangers would he put him or even Scottie Lynn and me in? Every President of SAMCRO had been killed while holding their title or not long after they lost it. I don’t know what I would do if this became a never ending cycle that would claim Chibs’ life as well.  Unfortunately, the decision wasn’t mine to make and from the looks of things Chibs had already sealed his fate.

I finally drew the courage to pick up the needle and thread I had scraped up and began sewing the patch into place. I took my time saying a prayer for each stitch as a shield of protection. Once I had finished the sun was rising and the main room was buzzing with morning activity. I emerged and saw Chibs holding Scottie on his hip sipping coffee and talking with Tig and Happy.

“I believe this is yours”

Chibs looked at the cut before gently placing Scottie on the bar along with his coffee cup allowing me to slip the worn, black leather over his shoulders. I admired my work for a moment before patting him on the chest softly.

“You look good Prez” I smiled a watery smile at him before turning to reach for Scottie. “Come on little girl its time we head home.”

Chibs grabbed my wrist before I could pull away, leading me a few steps away for privacy before he  pulled me closer pressing his lips to mine. His hand released my wrist to move to my face, gently holding me by my cheeks in place. His goatee created a familiar tickling at my lips that I graciously welcomed. Scottie giggled hysterically clapping her hands. We pulled apart and Chibs’ deep orbs studied my face intently.

“Stay” his Scottish brogue asked softly. “I can’t do dis wit out ya. You’re my  Ole Lady.”

“Filip I-“

“I know I fucked up things before. But darlin’ “ he gently reached and petted my hair “I realized how much I need ya here all de time, every day. I already lost someone I cared about don’t make me lose ye too. Not my girls, not again.”

I sighed heavily my eyes watering as I lowered my gaze pressing my forehead to his. God, how I loved this man. I nodded.

“Ok”

Chibs released a sigh of relief before pecking my lips once more and pulling me to his chest pressing his lips to my hairline.

“I love ye.”

We would survive, we always survived.

[crows-father]

"If the world wants you gone, we will fight the world."

| Canon-Divergent Q!Phil RP blog, a part of the Yaoiverse group |

Notes:

At this point in the rp, Phil has made significant change from his canon variant, and this should be taken into account while overlooking the blog. He has also lost a leg. Whoops.

He/Any Pronouns are used, masculine terminology. He does identify as a Man. He is polyamorous.

Yaoiverse Phil is a monster, referred to as a Direcrow, and has the ability to shift into that form, similar to the dragonic kids on the island. Due to this genetic factor, Phil's backstory has unique changes and non-qsmp-canon aspects.

Yaoiverse Wilbur is NOT Phil's son. He is a father-figure at most and the son thing is a bit at the least. They co-parent Tallulah.

SMP Earth, Hardcore, and Tommyinnit's Mod Videos are all Yaoiverse Canon.

Blog has been handed over to a new admin - Old tags will remain without changes and new tags implimented for each.

Common Tags:

#Feathered Reflection - In-Character Posting Tag

#Treats and Trinkets - In-Character Reblogging Tag

#Yaoiverse - Roleplay Tag

#Straightverse - Angst Tag

#Crow Chatter - Asks

#OOC / Out Of Character - Self Explanatory

#And the crows bid goodnight... (finished thread) / Aaand scene !

"It's you vs the world, Chayanne. You'll always win. Even if it seems like you lost, you'll be a winner to me, kid."

[ Current Tagslist ]

@hardcore-deities

Ender King -> #greedy bastard

Archived Tags:

My Family

#"Close your eyes / Have no fear" (Chayanne) - @cha-cha-cha-chayanne

#"In search of all things beautiful" (Tallulah) - @music-among-the-amapolas

#“All of your good is mine.” (Wilbur) - @

#“Laughing her way through my feeble disguise.” (Kristin) - @in-the-arms-of-death

#“I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door.” (Missa) - @cringefailskeledad

#"Ours Never Knew Peace" (Fit) - @spawnradio

#"Can you still call it trying to get better?" (Charlie) - @

#"Such a proud creation" 🎗️ - @justabunchofcrows *

The Island

@thebetterbureau

@thecensusbureau

#"Somebody to blame" (The Federation) - @thefederation

#"Hung pictures of patron saints up on my wall" (Lil J) - @jesusyaoi

@theyaoidevil

Others

#“All of my goodness is going with you now.” (Bad) - @daddestboyhalo

#“Nothin' in her room but an empty crib.” (Mariana) - @elwifeguy

#"And washed it away down the kitchen sink" (Maxo) - @maximum-father

#“Swimming out beyond the breakers” (Foolish) - @builderfreak

#“When you move I can recall somethin' that's gone from me.” (Pac) - @packedtazer

#"When you move I'm put in awe of somethin so flawed and free." (Mike) - @tazeredmike

#“To Someone From A Warm Climate (Uiscefhuarithe)” (Dan) - @thediamondmodcart

The Kids!

#“It's just the beginning this isn't the end.” (Trumpet) - @yaaay-propellerhat

#"And those lessons that you learn will carry on." (Ramón) -@inventorswag

Narrator's Note: * this account is not strictly yaoiverse All of these tags are not in-character, they are all song lyrics that reflect how yPhil views the other characters. Admin is @bumblebee-error

Dividers: chayanne 1 - tallulah 1 - chayanne 2 - tallulah 2 - crows PFP: confused philzer

[crows-father]

He chuckles warmly, reaching up with a hand and gently curling it around the back of her neck. He pulls her down softly, just enough to press a gentle kiss to her lips before he hums. "I'll put it on the calender."

Phil leans back in the chair, softly shouting from the living room.

"Honey, tumblr wants me to blow up the next dating event. I'm thinking it's a good idea." He calls, voice filled with warmth. It's an obvious joke. "What do you think?"

- @crows-father

Kristin peers over his shoulder at the lengths of asks, amusement dancing across its features.

"A little revenge is good for the soul I think." She muses playfully.

[crows-father]

`"Human leg isn't gonna work."`

"Yeah," Phil tilts his head down to watch the leg work forwards. The machine whirrs as the ankle moves. It shifts, reaching, trying to mimic how birds walk- or, rather, how Phil remembers walking. He's going to have to rewire his brain. The difference between a metal leg and a flesh and feather one was simple and obvious. They simply don't quite match. "Human definitely won't work. It's too straight."

They turn. The leg obeys. The weight shifts- and it hurt his hip a little, but he continues, shivering slightly at the warmth burning through his clothes from his side. His eyes trail up, following the opposite path Mike's went. Up to the flushed cheeks and focused gaze, analyzing and watching. Looking for chances at improvement. It was like a blueprint was forming already, like he was already working. It was a nice look on him.

"I think straight is definitely not where we're trying to go with this."

[@crows-father]

Mike wasn’t usually one to handle looking after his and Pac’s - patients? Projects? What do you call the leg, not the person?

But then Phil came along, and Mike got to make a bird leg, with functioning talons and gripping features and wow.

“So, you will need to wear this sleeve over the stump - leg, whatever you prefer to call it. It helps to keep the prosthetic from rubbing across the skin and causing scraps or general soreness, then you’ll wear your prosthetic and… tada!” He held his hands out and wiggled his fingers for added affect, letting Pac offer Phil the silicone sleeve.

[crows-father]

Phil gives a weak smile in return. There's a moment where he's considering laying it out there- just... saying it. Even though it's just.. So much easier not to. There's a moment where he just considers it, let's everything out because Bad deserved to know. It just takes him to get his foot on the door to do it.

But the will to complete that task dissapears when the noise of tiny claws and scales come thudding from the back hallway.

"Papa! Papa look what I did!"

And, in front of Phil and Bad, Tallulah emerges with even shorter, freshly dyed black hair.

And so the conversation drops as she comes over to show them, and that's that. A bridge mended with so much left unsaid.

Another time, then.

Bad hasn't seen Phil since the explosion.

Okay, that's untrue. He saw him when Trumpet and Chayanne tried taking on the new Cucurucho on their own. But he hasn't talked to him. He hasn't even reached out, which is...un-Bad-like. Dimly, he wonders why.

They can't really put it off anymore, now that he's seen what's been lost. So he gathers a little gift basket and makes sure his cloak is clean and straightens his shoulders and warps to the Wall.

[@crows-father]

[crows-father]

"Of course." Comes the warm response. Phil closes his eyes and holds his son close with the warmest smile, basking in the evening light of their home. He swipes the rest of the tears away, keeping his little bird (dragon) close. "I love you too."

Chayanne bursts into his house and slams the door behind him.

His feathers are puffed up so much that he looks twice his size. His hands clench and unclench. There’s tears on his cheeks, but he’s not sobbing. If anything, his expression and raggedy breathing just make him seem fucking pissed.

He stands in the entryway to his own home like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

[@crows-father]

[crows-father]

There's shocked silence in the room for a long moment. Tallulah leans back out her mom's arms and hops up on her toes, peeking around Wilbur, and then beams. Meanwhile, Phil's expression drops into shock.

"ChayyyAAANNNNEEEEEEE-"

Tallulah stands, meekly, in the bathroom. Her hands clutch at the red of her skirt, clawed feet clicking against the hair-covered tile as she looks up at her parents. Her hair is cut close, bangs in her eyes, brushed straight and puffing around her horns. It's a little choppy, but not something that needed to be fixed.

She scrunches the skirt, sniffling. "Uhm. I- I'm sorry?" Tear tracks shine on her face from the rush of emotion that startled her at being found out. She didn't think this far.

[crows-father]

Phil nods along in agreement. The movement is common between the three of them. The winged ears move and raise and shift with the joy of the reunion just like the other two. His chest ached. It's good. A good ache. Content and joy and the affection.

"Yeah," And, for a moment, Phil almost forgets where they were. They're both so calm and happy and- it catches up with him. It pulls him into their bubble, and before he knows it he's agreeing to stay even longer. "Absolutely. Lead the way- I guess I should start with the kids. . .-"

And it's weird. Two literal prisoners and a metaphorical one walk through a building made for hiding the horrors inside.

But none of them stop smiling.

Tubbo was in a good mood. She was giggling to herself, snuggling with her boyfriend in bed as she went down from a mental high.

So imagine her surprise when she was forced to get up by her partner's boss. Or other partner. Roommate's partner. Workers' partner– Look doesn't matter, the fuck is knocking on her door. She gives Fred a kiss on the cheek as she pulls herself out of his embrace, stumbling over to the door and begrudingly unlocking it.

"Bureau, not here right now, what do you want?" Tubbo fumbled over his words, brushing his messy hair with his fingers. He looks over behind the bear, Philza was there crooning over as if they were mimicing each other. "Oh. Hey Phil."

... WAIT.

"PHIL?" She shoves the bear out of the way and goes agape.

[@crows-father]

[crows-father]

This was a trap. A few different neurons fire off rapidly. This was a trick. The Feds were gonna lock Phil up. Caging the bird. It sounds horrid. It sounds awful. Somehow, Phil suspected climbing those stairs was going to be worse.

He's a fucking idiot. He's gonna take the chance. It might be the only one he gets.

"By the way, Peg-" Phil raises a shoulder, where a crow with a ribbon rests, "-wanted to apologize for the window."

"Also I really hope you people have elevators."

Someone was in the building. Cucurucho heard the sound of clicking and movement upstairs. Someone broke in.

This was different to the deity, for one, it could not hear the deity's footsteps, for this it could hear light clicking and shuffling. It could hear their directions and when they would pause. They were on the floor where the break in happened.

Second, there was a nametag nearby. Osito could feel the presence of one on its communicator, but it rather find out on its own than checking the tab. It climbs up the stairs, it hadn't done so in a frantic manner in a long time. (Last time it lost someone, now it finds.)

So, it ran. Up the steps and slowing down near the top of the floor. It flicks its ears towards sounds of movement.

There. A resident.

< @crows-father >

[crows-father]

[There is a time where Phil just breathes. He just breathes, watches a crow fill a bag, and stands there like a haunted man. It's slow, but he agrees. After a time, he exhales. It's a horrible, shaking noise.] "Yeah. I tell everyone we'll be back."

[ Quiet footfalls follow him down the trapdoor, leaving the rest of Chat to put together half-baked plans. They can’t stomach it. At least the deep tug of survivalist paranoia has a clear direction. ]

[ His head tilts as Phil opens the book and reads it’s message. ]

That’s not shady at all, I bet. What’s it want? 🎗

[Phil, stuck in his head, doesn't respond for a long, long time. Then, softly, carefully, slowly, he unfolds the crinkled page and holds it up for the bird to read.]

[crows-father]

Phil looks at the hand, a sort of fleeting surprise before the words begin and register and slowly, their gaze rises, frozen half-way as the weight sets in.

Their eyes burn. There's a weight of emotion clogging up in their throat again, a dangerous one. Like a faucet starting to creak, threatening to start to break, to leak. Phil was starting to feel like the crumbling foundations of a dam.

But God. They needed to hear that. Their hand lies atop, a dangerous move, only emboldened as they twine their fingers around Missa's hand. Their gaze meets hers, wet and withholding the barely restrained feelings and overwhelming emotions- all kinds of the sort. And wasn't this so obvious? That Missa was here?

Phil's grip tightens ever so slightly. Because it wasn't and there's an ache being soothed at the thought of that being true. A sort of wet noise hums. Another attempt at a laugh- though far too weak to be much more than a choked noise.

"Thank you," He says, sort of hush. He doesn't let go. He's committing this to memory. "I will."

Phil, quite frankly, was going to go insane.

Of all the things he expected to return to, it really wasn't the one he ended up coming back to. It was like the world tilted sharply on it's axis, everything moving infinitely faster than his brain could comprehend, things changing and abruptly shifting out of place in the time he had lost. The world moved without him. And while, admittedly, he's fine with that; it's hard to say he was entirely comfortable.

There's his own changes, too. Kristin, by some god-altered reason he didn't know, had made her way onto the island. Into his arms, thank the gods, and- that was amazing. Missa is actually around- and not just around, active within their home, doing more than Phil could've ever really asked of him.

(Admittedly, with a little shame, he hadn't expected Missa to step up as much as he had. That's a bit startling to- returning home to having to do nothing. What was he supposed to do with his hands?)

The biggest change, however, was the altering to his own person. Even right now, actively trying to work, it was a hassle. Unbalanced, forced to even the scales with the skull-decorationed backpack, he picks at potatoes. A task he could normally do brainlessly, almost effortless, now felt a thousand times more difficult as he managed the lack of a leg and the lack of wings. All the things you take for granted, you know?

He's not mourning. He's not going to. If he does, it would feel worse; like he lost more. So he doesn't mourn.

He just tends to his crops. He goes right back to the before-death routine. He works. As long as his hands are moving, he won't go insane. Surely.

[@cringefailskeledad]

[crows-father]

He gives a breathy, huffy laugh that bubbles into the classic Phil laugh we all know and love. "Why not?" Why not? "Yeah. Cmon," His smile widens as he looks at Peg, then inclines his head the other way. "Let's do it."

[ A regeneration II potion is dropped by his feet from above. When he looks up, Peg is sat on a tree branch, watching him sooooo innocently. ] 🎗

Phil has, once again, been zoned out of his mind. Routine. He's almost home, still soaking in the joy of his mini-revolution when that routine breaks. He blinks at the drop, his good leg shifting out to collect the bottle in his talons, raising it to his hand, then he gives a scowl up at Peg as soon as he catches sight of the little nuisance he loved.

"Hey mate." He deadpans, holding it out. "Now is there a reason I need this?"

[crows-father]

Charlie wants to help, Chayanne wants to help- (Fit mentioned something,) and now Mike and Pac? This was getting ridiculous. Or maybe he'd focus harder on that thought later, when 'we've got you' wasn't spoken like a certainty directly beside him. When a thumb wasn't rubbing warm paths over his oddly jointed knee.

And it's- kind of weird. It's a weird thing to notice. Pac says it'll be okay. Its the first time Phil had anyone acknowledge the loss in the way it was- a loss. Phil lost something. Forever. Pac isn't the very first to offer aid, but she's the first to acknowledge how badly this hurts.

Phil swallows the emotion building in their throat and tries to smile. A hand places on top of hers for a moment. Squeezing. Thank you.

"Assuming Mike feels the same, since I'm pretty sure you two can read each other's minds," He jokes, and ignores the slightest crack in his voice; in his facade he's struggling to rebuild from the respawn, "that's a big offer. Thank you. Really."

He swallows, again. This is as vulnerable as he's gonna let himself get.

"It means more than you think it does."

This felt strikingly similar to another place, but Phil couldn't put a talon on why. There's machinery and a type of warmth he wasn't used to, hot like movement and sharp like metal. He's sitting on a counter-esc type platform- a work-bench maybe, though he's certainly made himself comfortably with his tail feathers splayed and his crutches off to the side.

Mike e Pac were already working, it seems. Asking questions. Asking about the design. If it was supposed to resemble this or what. How Phil planned to be using it.

He didn't talk much with Mike very often. Phil wished he did. The guy seemed pretty cool. Both of them were really too cool. He finds himself checking the time anyways. You'd be surprised on how long it took to even get here- he was sort of dreading his way back.

"Uh. Obviously the purpose is to help with walking but-" Phil makes a sort of non-committal noise. "I dunno if it's possible if we could make it shaped so I could land with it, too. When my wings heal."

[crows-father]

Phil's not this kids dad. But there's something he can do and right now it's to hold him. There's a wetness soaking into his shoulder, wet skin and scales, and so he does his best to be a momentary replacement. A momentarily replacement for 'a guy that just yelled at me a bunch', which created a sinking feeling that pushes a soft sigh from the adult.

He's the one who told Maxo this kid was alive, out there. Chayanne had opened that gate to tell. He's starting to get why the other felt so damn guilty.

He hoped things would get better.

"One day." He murmurs, again, rocking ever so slightly. "One day it'll get better."

Like dead coral. Phil closes his eyes. He still sees dead coral.

Maxo is- well, pretty much hasn't changed to much, from what Phil could see. Still not doing too well. He hadn't really expected her to, though there's a little note in his head ticking to check in more often now that he's finally... out. Off the wall.

This is something, at least. He's off the wall. He's back to trying to help.

He leaves a gift in her hands, awkwardly leant on the crutch. Foods and materials and some trinkets Phil had snuck in as suggestions from the crows. With that handed off, and their short, quiet conversation over, Dan's own gift left on a table, Phil sets off with some vague direction to look for the kid.