THE SKULL 💀💀 @cringefailskeledad - Tumblr Blog

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]

Missa's never been the bravest of people. There's a reason why he's always the one being saved and not the other way around. It's not hard to scare him or freak him out. But for the past who-knows-how long, this is the most anxious she's been in her whole entire life and subsequent afterlife.

If it's not about the kids, it's about Phil. If it's not about Phil, it's about his boss being here. If it's not about his boss, it's about how there's a million billion monsters and murder robots and assassins on their way to their exact location to kill its entire family in front of it and make it watch.

Right now it's about Phil. He knows where the kids are. The shock of his boss being here has worn off somewhat. But, right now he has no idea where Phil is. Which is bad.

Unrealistic scenarios of Phil getting hurt or straight up dying again haunt his mind and suffocate any rational thought. He could've fallen off the wall. He could've been attacked and torn apart by mobs. Cucurucho could've gotten him. She could've tripped and fallen on a spike or a rake or a sword and it could've gone straight through all of her internal organs like a kebab. They could be bleeding out right now and Missa wouldn't even know. They could be hurt right now and Missa can't do anything to stop it.

He wanders Phil's base frantically, calling out his name in every room he enters. Until, finally, he arrives at the seemingly endless field of potatoes. A combined effort of his dear son Chayanne and the man he was looking for. She sighs a faux-breath of relief at the sight of the familiar green.

"PHILZ—OOHH, thank god." He quickly jogs over to them. "I was worried." a nervous laugh escapes him. It circles Phil for a moment, looking out for any injuries that weren't already there. "Are you ok? Are you hurt? Do—Do you need any help? You shouldn't be doing work alone," ze frets.

Phil looks up, ear-wing-appendage flapping at the call of their name before looking up, far before Missa even spots them. They just wait, leaning against the crutch as Missa approaches, giving a sort of owl-like blink as he circles.

They just sigh, after a moment. "Missa, I'm alright. I'm good, even." They assure in a sort of tired tone; more so just trying to defuse it's worry without any sort of irritation on their part. "I've been pretty fine, actually, I thought I would be good for me to get back to working on something."

A feathered forearm reaches out, stopping the other man's circling. "Seriously, mate. I'm fine."

You'd never guess he was a bear hybrid the way his face and general body language scream sad malnourished cat on the side of the road in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"You sure? Sorry." he steps back a bit. "That's um, that's fair i just—is there—I still want to um, help y'know? Make sure you're okay." Keep you safe for once. A selfish request. Phil is fine. He's the strongest man she knows. There's nothing it could do that Phil couldn't, even in this state. This only makes Missa feel better. It's the thought that counts right?

It's the least he could do, and the most that he can.

Phil takes a breath, the soft breeze starting back up. It freezes at the back of his neck and worms it's way into raised, damaged feathers on his exposed arms. He's almost consistently cold, now, so it makes him shiver. Maybe because his wings had helped so much with the regulation of his body temperature. Without them-

She smiles softly, then shifts, settling against the crutch. It kind of hurts. She really needed to look into someone on the island who could help her with a different kind of aid. A prosthetic, maybe. Or a better crutch.

Fit comes to mind. The thought gets shut down fairly fast.

"It's okay." She sighs softly, then hums and pats it's arm. "Promise. If you wanna help, you absolutely can. There's lots of farm to tend to."

And, as a sort of olive branch, her grin widens as she continues. "Plus, I've been wanting to chat anyways once the kids weren't around."

It's embarrassing how something small can send him wailing running away, and equally as embarrassing how happy Phil wanting to talk to just her can make her. The buzzing and the burning in his bones simmer down a little, something warmer flooding in in its stead. He smiles back, content.

"Okay, thank you." another giggle, a little less nervous this time. Almost immediately, it grabs a hoe from its backpack. Matching, the thought makes him giddy.

The theatrics they're known for resurface as they completely straighten up and salute. A cartoon 'twang!' sound effect would be appropriate right about now. "At the—uh, at your command sir!" he grins, full and playful.

He knows how to farm, it's what he tends to default to to contribute, but this is Phil's farm. He'd rather ask what to do instead of misstep on accident.

Missa seemed- less nervous. Less frantic, at least, and now less like a kicked puppy, which was Phil's intention. There's some success in there when his husband didn't look like a cat someone dunked in a lake. Though, all of this considered, it took Phil a minute, in which the quiet is filled with a laugh, to articulate what Missa was waiting for.

She hums softly, then directs Missa on what to do. Which is all just the basic farming, the gist of it all is simple. She knows she doesn't really have to demonstrate, instead picking back up on working as well.

"So," She starts, easy, simple. "How were things while I was gone? I see you've had everything handled so I gotta say I'm curious."

'How were things while I was gone?' she makes it sound so casual, so inconsequential. As if only he went out for a couple days to get something, or to visit an old friend. This isn't Missa's death. If Phil's normal about it so should Missa. He doesn't need to worry about what Phil will never get back. He doesn't need to worry about everything she's lost. But he will.

"Uhm, it was a little scary!" she starts, "Me and the kids played games and stuff. To like, keep things like—uhh, lighthearted!" a third giggle, "I taught Chayanne a few new recipes too. Y'know, the usual." He waves his hand around dismissively.

"It was a little hard to keep things together sometimes but it was ok. I handled it." She keeps her tone upbeat and flashes Phil a reassuring grin.

They leave out the worst of it. It leaves out the catastrophizing about the kids having to grow up without Phil. It leaves out all of it. It leaves out the days of coaxing Tallulah to come out of her bed after hours and hours of laying there just to eat something. Hearing pacing around in the middle of the night and going to Chayanne's room to ask him to please go to sleep just to hear pots and pans clinging at way too early in the morning.

He leaves all of that out because Phil doesn't need to hear that right now. The conversation is calm, soft, relaxed. Missa doesn't want to bring the mood down, so he wont.

"We missed you." Ze decides to add, softer. Keeping his eyes on the soil under him as he runs his hoe through it. An ice cube hinting at the iceberg below.

"I'm glad." Phil hums, swallowing to prevent any emotion to rise and clog her throat. "That you guys were okay, like- nevermind. I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

There's the thing; she knew it was a lie. Maybe not direct deceit, but lies of omission count. She knew her kids. She knew how they dealt when bad things happened, and this was a bad thing. A very, very bad occurrence; losing someone in a violent, horrible manner. Losing your father who was just in the very same room you were ans not knowing when he'd be back. She knew what it looked like from the other side.

"I know it probably wasn't easy. But I'm proud of you for being there- yknow. Thank you. You really stepped up. I mean, I knew you would. I know you love those kids. I just- I wanna- say it."

Is that mean? Phil hobbled a little and lowered himself down to collect some potatoes ready for harvest. When she looks up, Missa isn't looking back; so Phil looks away.

"Thank you for being there."

She grips her hoe tight and takes a deep breath. The sting he would've felt in his throat and behind his eyes when he was alive is dulled, only a light tingle now. Its effect is the same, a notice for the tears he was already rapidly blinking to get rid of. If only death would dull his brain too.

"You don't—You keep saying that. You don't have to thank me. You never have to thank me—I. Of course, always. As long as I can." He loosens his grip on the hoe and keeps working. "It's what you guys deserve. The LEAST you guys deserve."

He grabs a potato from his backpack, squatting down to plant it in the newly made rift in the dirt. Phil thanking him feels, wrong. He appreciates it—of course he does! It'd appreciate anything Phil gave it. It's just, they all deserve the best. And Missa's not it. Not yet at least.

Being there is the least she could do and she can't even do it consistently. It's nothing to be thanked for. Ze covers the potato in dirt and stands back up.

Phil heaves a sigh. "I guess. I still feel like it's- worth it, though. You know?"

Their hoe scrapes the ground. Up comes dirt, soon to be watered by the sprinklers as soon as the death husband's finished their work. Phil's ear-wing raises, gently held out as wind brushes and pulls at the feathers and the hat on their head.

"I don't know. Chayanne and Tallulah are- they're really good, well-rounded kids. But it was still exhausting doing it alone. I guess I'm just glad you're here, mate. You're right. I definitely deserve it." Phil adds a new meaning too it, chuckling after it like it was clever. And then the conversation changes.

"Speaking of you being here." The tool makes a noise as Phil shoves it into the ground, then leans against the rod of it, looking over at Missa. "I uh, wanted to ask you if you wanted to keep hanging out later tonight. Kristin and me wanted to watch a movie or two. Do you wanna- yknow, join us?"

He chuckles with them. "And you always will." he mutters as genuine as his voice can convey.

The ache in her bone marrow fades for the second time this conversation. In its place a stronger ache settles in his chest, he doesn't mind this one as much.

They turn to Phil. Its entire body language immediately brightens at the idea. He radiates excitement as he nods enthusiastically a couple times. "Yeah!—That would be—That sounds fun! I can like melt some sugar and make caramel popcorn too!"

He doesn't stop facing Phil as he shifts his grip on the hoe and lets the diamond blade drop down, knocking into a sprinkler. The sprinkler immediatly starts doing its job, spraying water all over the crops and unfortunately, Missa. She sputters, dropping her hoe completely. She waves her hand around frantically as if she could stop the water with sheer force of will. In his panic he backs up and knocks into a basket of potatoes behind him. He, of course, trips, falling straight on his ass on the now un-farmed dirt.

He heaves a heavy sigh, exasperated. The sprinkler stops. There's a few moments of silence, then giggling. The laughter evolves until he's downright cackling.

Phil stares in surprise for a moment, giving a squawk as some stray sprays of water catch her , shuffling up and forward towards Missa, reaching before pausing and watching the series of events go down in almost slow-motion. The frantic, quick waving, the stumble, and the fall. Potatoes scatter, then the sprinkler stops, and Phil is fighting demons not to laugh.

But then Missa does. And isn't that perfect? It's been- it's good. It's good to hear that. Phil wanted Missa to be laughing all the time. Face burning, the noise becomes infectious, until Phil is chuckling too. Then that chuckle bubbles into a louder laugh, adjusting the crutches and head over, tail feathers giving a small shake.

"Oh, mate, I wish you could've seen that from my perspective," the British man wheezes. He stops just in front of Missa, leaning alot of hard weight onto his good foot and a crutch opposite to it, then, once firmly balanced and braced, extends a hand. Its an odd thing to notice but- even soaking wet Missa seems perfect. Phil shakes that thought as fast as possible.

He snickers. "Let's go get you a towel." His eyes move to the patch of wet dirt Missa was planted in, then snorts. "And maybe new pants."

He tries not to linger on the image of Phil in front of him. The way the light behind her illuminates her curls isn't captivating at all. Missa would never feel a spark of electricity run up its arm taking Phil's hand. She tries to put most of the pressure of getting up on her legs, lessening the weight on Phil's hand as he pulls. He'd never soak in the brief moment of warmth between their palms before he lets go. That would be embarrassing.

He tries to recover from the high of mirth, laughter dying down. "Glad you're having fun off my MISERY Philza." they say, trying their best to put on a faux-sorrowful tone. Little gasps and giggles betray his delivery.

"Ok." A risqué retort pops into his mind. In a spurt of impulsivity he playfully says, "If you wanted to get my pants off all you have to do is ask."

She flushes. Then, she smirks. The voice that comes out is controlled and smooth, the smile obvious. It sticks and lingers in every part of her tone. "Yeah?" It absolutely oozes with a teasing tone, and for a moment she leans in, raising an eyebrow. "All I have to do is ask? Aw mate, that's too easy."

Missa gets hurled up easily, between him supporting his own weight and Phil doing her best to do the same, and then they're back on level ground together. She looks him up and down, teeth showing from the grin. "Please?"

Phil hums, adjusts her crutches, and heads past him. Always the one to aim for the last word, heading towards the house once more, the smile growing more and more. She Laughs at her own antics, even. "I'm just fucking with you, don't worry," she says like a defense, happily motioning with a tiny wing. "Now let's go get you that towel!"

He knew that was a bad idea. The moment it came out of his mouth he knew it was over. A sense of dread came over him, but only for a moment, before flushing right out of him as soon as Phil replied. She was mortified. The consequences of her own actions she guesses.

Phil's face, inches away from his own, was illuminated a slight blue from how bright his white hot face must be. A few, agonizing seconds, pass. Then they walk away, and it's over. Ze begins a futile effort to get a word in, stuttering for far too long, before giving up. It nods even though Phil's back is already turned.

Missa takes a moment to recover from the event before following suit. Eyes glued to the groud. They step into the house, and Missa shakes away fantasies of what could've been.

Making it back to the house is a breeze. Or, rather, it's pleasant. Phil leans heavily on the crutches, wincing at times as they push and press into spots that are growing sore from the constant use, but the trip itself isn't difficult. He mostly chats lightly about plans for the house or the farm, expanding it further down and such.

Inside they go. The door clicks closed. Phil presses onwards, eager to help and happy to gather a towel for his sprinkler-drenched platonic partner. All the while simply riding the high of Missa's eager agreement to the invitation. It's a nice change, something nice to add to the sort of routine Phil was trying so hard to get back to.

"Here," She hands it off with a hum. "I'll let you go change since- mate, your ass is covered in mud." She laughs, the force shaking her shoulders. "But I'll be in the living room if you wanna join me when you're done."

He nods and gingerly takes the towel, stepping over to the guest room he's claimed.

Like someone suddenly blowing air into your ear a mist of guilt sprays over her mind for just a moment. He never properly settled into this room, the guilt of taking up space never letting him get too comfortable but subsiding just long enough for him to forget. It waves it off as quickly as it comes. Clothes, bathroom, decide what to do from there.

He picks out some old loose-fitting clothes that he wears as pyjamas most nights. Might as well get comfortable. They outgrew the shirt ages ago, just a tad too short to reach their belly button, but it carried a sort of sentimentality with it. He can't just get rid of it now! It's like a brother to him.

Onto the bathroom.

He awkwardly shucks off his clothes, wanting to separate himself from the gunk as much as possible while also failing to get a good grip without brushing against the mud. A difficult balancing act.

During the painstaking process her mind wanders. To squawking laughter and crinkling crows feet. To sunlit locks of wavy hair and piercing blue eyes. And then to wings wrenching off flesh. To legs slicing clean off. To whatever horrific hypothesis his mind decides to throw at him next. He should ask. He will ask. He has to.

She eyes the sink and decides to briefly run the soiled fabric under the water. Just so they don't stain. He hangs the clothes over the shower curtain, letting them dry a little before he throws them in the wash later. Much more efficiently than he did taking them off, he slips his new not-muddy-clothes on.

He hesitates before turning the knob to leave. Oh god, what's he even gonna say. How do you even bring this up. Should he even bring this up? Maybe it's better to just leave it. To just forget it ever happened. Like they seem to. Before she can mull it over any further, suddenly, shes shuffling up to the living room like a toddler who just threw up.

"How did you die?" he blurts out.

Phil's mouth goes dry. It feels like his heart drops to his stomach, eroding in acid as the silent that follow that echoes around their shared home. A pillow stays half-grabbed, hand lingering on the fabric like his entire body went into pause. The quiet is deafening. He doesn't look over his shoulder at her.

"Oh, it's-" not important. Not important? The words die on his tongue and curl with the most sour taste. He almost rephrases to; does it matter? But something about that makes his heart sink harder, a rock in the pit of his organs, heavy.

Phil sighs and slowly moves to sit down. He had tried to clean up a little for Missa- but the half-done job does unfinished. "Fit's party- exploded. Literally. I was right above the blast and I- like a fuckin' idiot, I tried to protect the first person I saw." His hand lowers and grabs onto the leg stump. "I was awake for a bit afterwards but- yeah. I guess whatever Fit set up was either- really strong, or I was dead fuckin' center, mate."

He doesn't look up or really make any eye contact at all- but he laughs. It's light and airy and so very, very forced.

"Oh."

He swallows, bile singes his throat. He wonders if anything would come out if he threw up or if his body would mock him with pointless gagging and retching. Feeling with no purpose. They're granted the closest thing they can get to the respite of a stomach empty of sick with Phil's answer. Though the taste of vomit lingers. He got what he wanted, but he's still nauseous.

Did it hurt? Who did it? Why didn't you come back sooner? Did it hurt? Do you care? Was it so horrible you couldn't stomach the thought of reconnecting nerve to soul? Did it hurt?

She doesn't move. Doesn't dare to step towards him. Childish dread of a kid caught with a broken vase claws up his spine.

"Im sorry." it offers uselessly.

I'm sorry for bringing it up. I'm sorry for ruining the atmosphere. I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything. I'm sorry I can't do anything.

Phil didn't want to hear that from Missa. They didn't do anything wrong. In fact- Missa did everything for him. Watched the kids in Phil's absence- cared. Cared when he came back and how long he was gone and...

And there's someone else Phil wanted regret from, but that felt cruel to think about sitting in front of his husband who looked- a little too guilty for something that had nothing to do with him.

So he laughs. He laughs easy, waving his hand dismissively.

"It doesn't matter," He breathes, finally, "I'm back, aren't I? Nothing I can do to change it. Maybe I'll give Fit a peice of my mine, but," He extends a hand as an offer to join him on the couch, eyes warm and a touch sad. "What's done is done. Nobody knew that this would happen. So don't worry about it."

And it sucks and his stomach sinks. But it's-

Not important.

A spark of something ugly pangs in the back of his mind. Anger.

Half of her limbs are gone. Forever. It hasn't even been a month since it happened. He'll never roll out of bed the same. Look at a set of stairs the same. The sky. A shower. Cooking. Doesn't he mourn himself? The explosion probably lasted less than a minute. In just a minute everything about who he was and how he lives his life is gone.

She takes a deep breath. An attempt at dismissing their anger in the same way Phil dismisses everything with an insincere chuckle. A couple months ago she'd be able to focus on the skin of her lungs stretching out to accomodate the air. Now he can only rely on the memory to calm himself.

He's probably been standing here for too long. The silence turning sour.

"Ok." he sighs. His shoulders dropping in resignation. He takes the kind offer, in spite of everything he feels. Because it would be rude not to, and stupid to pass up an opportunity like this.

She's exhausted. Then that flash of expression occurs, partially obscured by the skeletal structure, a weight sinks into Phil's stomach. She didn't want to fight about this. Not about this. It's infinitely easier to shove the loss to the pit of her stomach and pretend the grief isn't consuming her like a black hole.

So there's relief when Missa accepts it. She doesnt mention how they stand there. She doesn't mention it's deathly silence. When Phil's denial and deprication and thin-vieled curtain over what he's feeling doesn't get pulled, it settles like a blanket instead, letting them both switch and pull back to the norm, weighing her comfortably back into her usual.

Well. Not quite. Missa was here. Better than normal. She just had to ignore the elephant in the room.

He settles into the couch, grateful for the cushions sinking under his weight and encircling his legs.

The silence this time is bittersweet. Missa's already given up, so theres nothing else to talk about. Something unspoken hangs in the air regardless. He sneaks a glance towards Phil, unsurprisingly, emotions well up in his skull again. A nice warm soup in his brain bowl.

Silently, it takes off its mask, resting it on its lap, his stark blank eyes standing out against thick dark eyelashes. He turns towards Phil, left hand resting on the space between them, and softly reminds him of the most obvious thing in the world, "I care about you. Too much. Please remember that." Countless feelings behind the simple statement.

It's hard to tell if he's making eye contact, but whatever this is is close enough.

#boning #querido <3 #fin !!

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.

(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?)

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]

Right now it's about Phil. He knows where the kids are. The shock of his boss being here has worn off somewhat. But, right now he has no idea where Phil is. Which is bad.

A feathered forearm reaches out, stopping the other man's circling. "Seriously, mate. I'm fine."

You'd never guess he was a bear hybrid the way his face and general body language scream sad malnourished cat on the side of the road in the middle of a thunderstorm.

It's the least he could do, and the most that he can.

Fit comes to mind. The thought gets shut down fairly fast.

"It's okay." She sighs softly, then hums and pats it's arm. "Promise. If you wanna help, you absolutely can. There's lots of farm to tend to."

And, as a sort of olive branch, her grin widens as she continues. "Plus, I've been wanting to chat anyways once the kids weren't around."

"Okay, thank you." another giggle, a little less nervous this time. Almost immediately, it grabs a hoe from its backpack. Matching, the thought makes him giddy.

He knows how to farm, it's what he tends to default to to contribute, but this is Phil's farm. He'd rather ask what to do instead of misstep on accident.

"So," She starts, easy, simple. "How were things while I was gone? I see you've had everything handled so I gotta say I'm curious."

"It was a little hard to keep things together sometimes but it was ok. I handled it." She keeps her tone upbeat and flashes Phil a reassuring grin.

He leaves all of that out because Phil doesn't need to hear that right now. The conversation is calm, soft, relaxed. Missa doesn't want to bring the mood down, so he wont.

"We missed you." Ze decides to add, softer. Keeping his eyes on the soil under him as he runs his hoe through it. An ice cube hinting at the iceberg below.

"I'm glad." Phil hums, swallowing to prevent any emotion to rise and clog her throat. "That you guys were okay, like- nevermind. I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

"I know it probably wasn't easy. But I'm proud of you for being there- yknow. Thank you. You really stepped up. I mean, I knew you would. I know you love those kids. I just- I wanna- say it."

Is that mean? Phil hobbled a little and lowered himself down to collect some potatoes ready for harvest. When she looks up, Missa isn't looking back; so Phil looks away.

"Thank you for being there."

Being there is the least she could do and she can't even do it consistently. It's nothing to be thanked for. Ze covers the potato in dirt and stands back up.

Phil heaves a sigh. "I guess. I still feel like it's- worth it, though. You know?"

He chuckles with them. "And you always will." he mutters as genuine as his voice can convey.

The ache in her bone marrow fades for the second time this conversation. In its place a stronger ache settles in his chest, he doesn't mind this one as much.

He heaves a heavy sigh, exasperated. The sprinkler stops. There's a few moments of silence, then giggling. The laughter evolves until he's downright cackling.

He snickers. "Let's go get you a towel." His eyes move to the patch of wet dirt Missa was planted in, then snorts. "And maybe new pants."

"Ok." A risqué retort pops into his mind. In a spurt of impulsivity he playfully says, "If you wanted to get my pants off all you have to do is ask."

Missa takes a moment to recover from the event before following suit. Eyes glued to the groud. They step into the house, and Missa shakes away fantasies of what could've been.

He nods and gingerly takes the towel, stepping over to the guest room he's claimed.

Onto the bathroom.

He awkwardly shucks off his clothes, wanting to separate himself from the gunk as much as possible while also failing to get a good grip without brushing against the mud. A difficult balancing act.

"How did you die?" he blurts out.

He doesn't look up or really make any eye contact at all- but he laughs. It's light and airy and so very, very forced.

"Oh."

Did it hurt? Who did it? Why didn't you come back sooner? Did it hurt? Do you care? Was it so horrible you couldn't stomach the thought of reconnecting nerve to soul? Did it hurt?

She doesn't move. Doesn't dare to step towards him. Childish dread of a kid caught with a broken vase claws up his spine.

"Im sorry." it offers uselessly.

I'm sorry for bringing it up. I'm sorry for ruining the atmosphere. I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything. I'm sorry I can't do anything.

And there's someone else Phil wanted regret from, but that felt cruel to think about sitting in front of his husband who looked- a little too guilty for something that had nothing to do with him.

So he laughs. He laughs easy, waving his hand dismissively.

And it sucks and his stomach sinks. But it's-

Not important.

A spark of something ugly pangs in the back of his mind. Anger.

He's probably been standing here for too long. The silence turning sour.

"Ok." he sighs. His shoulders dropping in resignation. He takes the kind offer, in spite of everything he feels. Because it would be rude not to, and stupid to pass up an opportunity like this.

Well. Not quite. Missa was here. Better than normal. She just had to ignore the elephant in the room.

He settles into the couch, grateful for the cushions sinking under his weight and encircling his legs.

It's hard to tell if he's making eye contact, but whatever this is is close enough.

Phil, quite frankly, was going to go insane.

(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?)

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]

Right now it's about Phil. He knows where the kids are. The shock of his boss being here has worn off somewhat. But, right now he has no idea where Phil is. Which is bad.

A feathered forearm reaches out, stopping the other man's circling. "Seriously, mate. I'm fine."

You'd never guess he was a bear hybrid the way his face and general body language scream sad malnourished cat on the side of the road in the middle of a thunderstorm.

It's the least he could do, and the most that he can.

Fit comes to mind. The thought gets shut down fairly fast.

"It's okay." She sighs softly, then hums and pats it's arm. "Promise. If you wanna help, you absolutely can. There's lots of farm to tend to."

And, as a sort of olive branch, her grin widens as she continues. "Plus, I've been wanting to chat anyways once the kids weren't around."

"Okay, thank you." another giggle, a little less nervous this time. Almost immediately, it grabs a hoe from its backpack. Matching, the thought makes him giddy.

He knows how to farm, it's what he tends to default to to contribute, but this is Phil's farm. He'd rather ask what to do instead of misstep on accident.

"So," She starts, easy, simple. "How were things while I was gone? I see you've had everything handled so I gotta say I'm curious."

"It was a little hard to keep things together sometimes but it was ok. I handled it." She keeps her tone upbeat and flashes Phil a reassuring grin.

He leaves all of that out because Phil doesn't need to hear that right now. The conversation is calm, soft, relaxed. Missa doesn't want to bring the mood down, so he wont.

"We missed you." Ze decides to add, softer. Keeping his eyes on the soil under him as he runs his hoe through it. An ice cube hinting at the iceberg below.

"I'm glad." Phil hums, swallowing to prevent any emotion to rise and clog her throat. "That you guys were okay, like- nevermind. I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

"I know it probably wasn't easy. But I'm proud of you for being there- yknow. Thank you. You really stepped up. I mean, I knew you would. I know you love those kids. I just- I wanna- say it."

Is that mean? Phil hobbled a little and lowered himself down to collect some potatoes ready for harvest. When she looks up, Missa isn't looking back; so Phil looks away.

"Thank you for being there."

Being there is the least she could do and she can't even do it consistently. It's nothing to be thanked for. Ze covers the potato in dirt and stands back up.

Phil heaves a sigh. "I guess. I still feel like it's- worth it, though. You know?"

He chuckles with them. "And you always will." he mutters as genuine as his voice can convey.

The ache in her bone marrow fades for the second time this conversation. In its place a stronger ache settles in his chest, he doesn't mind this one as much.

He heaves a heavy sigh, exasperated. The sprinkler stops. There's a few moments of silence, then giggling. The laughter evolves until he's downright cackling.

He snickers. "Let's go get you a towel." His eyes move to the patch of wet dirt Missa was planted in, then snorts. "And maybe new pants."

"Ok." A risqué retort pops into his mind. In a spurt of impulsivity he playfully says, "If you wanted to get my pants off all you have to do is ask."

Missa takes a moment to recover from the event before following suit. Eyes glued to the groud. They step into the house, and Missa shakes away fantasies of what could've been.

He nods and gingerly takes the towel, stepping over to the guest room he's claimed.

Onto the bathroom.

He awkwardly shucks off his clothes, wanting to separate himself from the gunk as much as possible while also failing to get a good grip without brushing against the mud. A difficult balancing act.

"How did you die?" he blurts out.

He doesn't look up or really make any eye contact at all- but he laughs. It's light and airy and so very, very forced.

"Oh."

Did it hurt? Who did it? Why didn't you come back sooner? Did it hurt? Do you care? Was it so horrible you couldn't stomach the thought of reconnecting nerve to soul? Did it hurt?

She doesn't move. Doesn't dare to step towards him. Childish dread of a kid caught with a broken vase claws up his spine.

"Im sorry." it offers uselessly.

I'm sorry for bringing it up. I'm sorry for ruining the atmosphere. I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything. I'm sorry I can't do anything.

And there's someone else Phil wanted regret from, but that felt cruel to think about sitting in front of his husband who looked- a little too guilty for something that had nothing to do with him.

So he laughs. He laughs easy, waving his hand dismissively.

And it sucks and his stomach sinks. But it's-

Not important.

A spark of something ugly pangs in the back of his mind. Anger.

He's probably been standing here for too long. The silence turning sour.

"Ok." he sighs. His shoulders dropping in resignation. He takes the kind offer, in spite of everything he feels. Because it would be rude not to, and stupid to pass up an opportunity like this.

Phil, quite frankly, was going to go insane.

(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?)

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]

Right now it's about Phil. He knows where the kids are. The shock of his boss being here has worn off somewhat. But, right now he has no idea where Phil is. Which is bad.

A feathered forearm reaches out, stopping the other man's circling. "Seriously, mate. I'm fine."

You'd never guess he was a bear hybrid the way his face and general body language scream sad malnourished cat on the side of the road in the middle of a thunderstorm.

It's the least he could do, and the most that he can.

Fit comes to mind. The thought gets shut down fairly fast.

"It's okay." She sighs softly, then hums and pats it's arm. "Promise. If you wanna help, you absolutely can. There's lots of farm to tend to."

And, as a sort of olive branch, her grin widens as she continues. "Plus, I've been wanting to chat anyways once the kids weren't around."

"Okay, thank you." another giggle, a little less nervous this time. Almost immediately, it grabs a hoe from its backpack. Matching, the thought makes him giddy.

He knows how to farm, it's what he tends to default to to contribute, but this is Phil's farm. He'd rather ask what to do instead of misstep on accident.

"So," She starts, easy, simple. "How were things while I was gone? I see you've had everything handled so I gotta say I'm curious."

"It was a little hard to keep things together sometimes but it was ok. I handled it." She keeps her tone upbeat and flashes Phil a reassuring grin.

He leaves all of that out because Phil doesn't need to hear that right now. The conversation is calm, soft, relaxed. Missa doesn't want to bring the mood down, so he wont.

"We missed you." Ze decides to add, softer. Keeping his eyes on the soil under him as he runs his hoe through it. An ice cube hinting at the iceberg below.

"I'm glad." Phil hums, swallowing to prevent any emotion to rise and clog her throat. "That you guys were okay, like- nevermind. I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

"I know it probably wasn't easy. But I'm proud of you for being there- yknow. Thank you. You really stepped up. I mean, I knew you would. I know you love those kids. I just- I wanna- say it."

Is that mean? Phil hobbled a little and lowered himself down to collect some potatoes ready for harvest. When she looks up, Missa isn't looking back; so Phil looks away.

"Thank you for being there."

Being there is the least she could do and she can't even do it consistently. It's nothing to be thanked for. Ze covers the potato in dirt and stands back up.

Phil heaves a sigh. "I guess. I still feel like it's- worth it, though. You know?"

He chuckles with them. "And you always will." he mutters as genuine as his voice can convey.

The ache in her bone marrow fades for the second time this conversation. In its place a stronger ache settles in his chest, he doesn't mind this one as much.

He heaves a heavy sigh, exasperated. The sprinkler stops. There's a few moments of silence, then giggling. The laughter evolves until he's downright cackling.

He snickers. "Let's go get you a towel." His eyes move to the patch of wet dirt Missa was planted in, then snorts. "And maybe new pants."

"Ok." A risqué retort pops into his mind. In a spurt of impulsivity he playfully says, "If you wanted to get my pants off all you have to do is ask."

Missa takes a moment to recover from the event before following suit. Eyes glued to the groud. They step into the house, and Missa shakes away fantasies of what could've been.

He nods and gingerly takes the towel, stepping over to the guest room he's claimed.

Onto the bathroom.

He awkwardly shucks off his clothes, wanting to separate himself from the gunk as much as possible while also failing to get a good grip without brushing against the mud. A difficult balancing act.

"How did you die?" he blurts out.

He doesn't look up or really make any eye contact at all- but he laughs. It's light and airy and so very, very forced.

"Oh."

Did it hurt? Who did it? Why didn't you come back sooner? Did it hurt? Do you care? Was it so horrible you couldn't stomach the thought of reconnecting nerve to soul? Did it hurt?

She doesn't move. Doesn't dare to step towards him. Childish dread of a kid caught with a broken vase claws up his spine.

"Im sorry." it offers uselessly.

I'm sorry for bringing it up. I'm sorry for ruining the atmosphere. I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything. I'm sorry I can't do anything.

Phil, quite frankly, was going to go insane.

(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?)

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]

Right now it's about Phil. He knows where the kids are. The shock of his boss being here has worn off somewhat. But, right now he has no idea where Phil is. Which is bad.

A feathered forearm reaches out, stopping the other man's circling. "Seriously, mate. I'm fine."

You'd never guess he was a bear hybrid the way his face and general body language scream sad malnourished cat on the side of the road in the middle of a thunderstorm.

It's the least he could do, and the most that he can.

Fit comes to mind. The thought gets shut down fairly fast.

"It's okay." She sighs softly, then hums and pats it's arm. "Promise. If you wanna help, you absolutely can. There's lots of farm to tend to."

And, as a sort of olive branch, her grin widens as she continues. "Plus, I've been wanting to chat anyways once the kids weren't around."

"Okay, thank you." another giggle, a little less nervous this time. Almost immediately, it grabs a hoe from its backpack. Matching, the thought makes him giddy.

He knows how to farm, it's what he tends to default to to contribute, but this is Phil's farm. He'd rather ask what to do instead of misstep on accident.

"So," She starts, easy, simple. "How were things while I was gone? I see you've had everything handled so I gotta say I'm curious."

"It was a little hard to keep things together sometimes but it was ok. I handled it." She keeps her tone upbeat and flashes Phil a reassuring grin.

He leaves all of that out because Phil doesn't need to hear that right now. The conversation is calm, soft, relaxed. Missa doesn't want to bring the mood down, so he wont.

"We missed you." Ze decides to add, softer. Keeping his eyes on the soil under him as he runs his hoe through it. An ice cube hinting at the iceberg below.

"I'm glad." Phil hums, swallowing to prevent any emotion to rise and clog her throat. "That you guys were okay, like- nevermind. I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

"I know it probably wasn't easy. But I'm proud of you for being there- yknow. Thank you. You really stepped up. I mean, I knew you would. I know you love those kids. I just- I wanna- say it."

Is that mean? Phil hobbled a little and lowered himself down to collect some potatoes ready for harvest. When she looks up, Missa isn't looking back; so Phil looks away.

"Thank you for being there."

Being there is the least she could do and she can't even do it consistently. It's nothing to be thanked for. Ze covers the potato in dirt and stands back up.

Phil heaves a sigh. "I guess. I still feel like it's- worth it, though. You know?"

He chuckles with them. "And you always will." he mutters as genuine as his voice can convey.

The ache in her bone marrow fades for the second time this conversation. In its place a stronger ache settles in his chest, he doesn't mind this one as much.

He heaves a heavy sigh, exasperated. The sprinkler stops. There's a few moments of silence, then giggling. The laughter evolves until he's downright cackling.

He snickers. "Let's go get you a towel." His eyes move to the patch of wet dirt Missa was planted in, then snorts. "And maybe new pants."

"Ok." A risqué retort pops into his mind. In a spurt of impulsivity he playfully says, "If you wanted to get my pants off all you have to do is ask."

Missa takes a moment to recover from the event before following suit. Eyes glued to the groud. They step into the house, and Missa shakes away fantasies of what could've been.

He nods and gingerly takes the towel, stepping over to the guest room he's claimed.

Onto the bathroom.

He awkwardly shucks off his clothes, wanting to separate himself from the gunk as much as possible while also failing to get a good grip without brushing against the mud. A difficult balancing act.

"How did you die?" he blurts out.

mysticmuse0

Phil, quite frankly, was going to go insane.

(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?)

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]

Right now it's about Phil. He knows where the kids are. The shock of his boss being here has worn off somewhat. But, right now he has no idea where Phil is. Which is bad.

A feathered forearm reaches out, stopping the other man's circling. "Seriously, mate. I'm fine."

You'd never guess he was a bear hybrid the way his face and general body language scream sad malnourished cat on the side of the road in the middle of a thunderstorm.

It's the least he could do, and the most that he can.

Fit comes to mind. The thought gets shut down fairly fast.

"It's okay." She sighs softly, then hums and pats it's arm. "Promise. If you wanna help, you absolutely can. There's lots of farm to tend to."

And, as a sort of olive branch, her grin widens as she continues. "Plus, I've been wanting to chat anyways once the kids weren't around."

"Okay, thank you." another giggle, a little less nervous this time. Almost immediately, it grabs a hoe from its backpack. Matching, the thought makes him giddy.

He knows how to farm, it's what he tends to default to to contribute, but this is Phil's farm. He'd rather ask what to do instead of misstep on accident.

"So," She starts, easy, simple. "How were things while I was gone? I see you've had everything handled so I gotta say I'm curious."

"It was a little hard to keep things together sometimes but it was ok. I handled it." She keeps her tone upbeat and flashes Phil a reassuring grin.

He leaves all of that out because Phil doesn't need to hear that right now. The conversation is calm, soft, relaxed. Missa doesn't want to bring the mood down, so he wont.

"We missed you." Ze decides to add, softer. Keeping his eyes on the soil under him as he runs his hoe through it. An ice cube hinting at the iceberg below.

"I'm glad." Phil hums, swallowing to prevent any emotion to rise and clog her throat. "That you guys were okay, like- nevermind. I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

"I know it probably wasn't easy. But I'm proud of you for being there- yknow. Thank you. You really stepped up. I mean, I knew you would. I know you love those kids. I just- I wanna- say it."

Is that mean? Phil hobbled a little and lowered himself down to collect some potatoes ready for harvest. When she looks up, Missa isn't looking back; so Phil looks away.

"Thank you for being there."

Being there is the least she could do and she can't even do it consistently. It's nothing to be thanked for. Ze covers the potato in dirt and stands back up.

Phil heaves a sigh. "I guess. I still feel like it's- worth it, though. You know?"

He chuckles with them. "And you always will." he mutters as genuine as his voice can convey.

The ache in her bone marrow fades for the second time this conversation. In its place a stronger ache settles in his chest, he doesn't mind this one as much.

He heaves a heavy sigh, exasperated. The sprinkler stops. There's a few moments of silence, then giggling. The laughter evolves until he's downright cackling.

He snickers. "Let's go get you a towel." His eyes move to the patch of wet dirt Missa was planted in, then snorts. "And maybe new pants."

"Ok." A risqué retort pops into his mind. In a spurt of impulsivity he playfully says, "If you wanted to get my pants off all you have to do is ask."

Missa takes a moment to recover from the event before following suit. Eyes glued to the groud. They step into the house, and Missa shakes away fantasies of what could've been.

ex0skeletal-undead

Giant Skeletons by Jocelin Carmes

This artist on Instagram

#glow in the dark

unusualstimboards

BADASS AWESOME SKELETON STIMBOARD

#glow in the dark

Phil, quite frankly, was going to go insane.

(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?)

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]

Right now it's about Phil. He knows where the kids are. The shock of his boss being here has worn off somewhat. But, right now he has no idea where Phil is. Which is bad.

A feathered forearm reaches out, stopping the other man's circling. "Seriously, mate. I'm fine."

You'd never guess he was a bear hybrid the way his face and general body language scream sad malnourished cat on the side of the road in the middle of a thunderstorm.

It's the least he could do, and the most that he can.

Fit comes to mind. The thought gets shut down fairly fast.

"It's okay." She sighs softly, then hums and pats it's arm. "Promise. If you wanna help, you absolutely can. There's lots of farm to tend to."

And, as a sort of olive branch, her grin widens as she continues. "Plus, I've been wanting to chat anyways once the kids weren't around."

"Okay, thank you." another giggle, a little less nervous this time. Almost immediately, it grabs a hoe from its backpack. Matching, the thought makes him giddy.

He knows how to farm, it's what he tends to default to to contribute, but this is Phil's farm. He'd rather ask what to do instead of misstep on accident.

"So," She starts, easy, simple. "How were things while I was gone? I see you've had everything handled so I gotta say I'm curious."

"It was a little hard to keep things together sometimes but it was ok. I handled it." She keeps her tone upbeat and flashes Phil a reassuring grin.

He leaves all of that out because Phil doesn't need to hear that right now. The conversation is calm, soft, relaxed. Missa doesn't want to bring the mood down, so he wont.

"We missed you." Ze decides to add, softer. Keeping his eyes on the soil under him as he runs his hoe through it. An ice cube hinting at the iceberg below.

"I'm glad." Phil hums, swallowing to prevent any emotion to rise and clog her throat. "That you guys were okay, like- nevermind. I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

"I know it probably wasn't easy. But I'm proud of you for being there- yknow. Thank you. You really stepped up. I mean, I knew you would. I know you love those kids. I just- I wanna- say it."

Is that mean? Phil hobbled a little and lowered himself down to collect some potatoes ready for harvest. When she looks up, Missa isn't looking back; so Phil looks away.

"Thank you for being there."

Being there is the least she could do and she can't even do it consistently. It's nothing to be thanked for. Ze covers the potato in dirt and stands back up.

Phil heaves a sigh. "I guess. I still feel like it's- worth it, though. You know?"

He chuckles with them. "And you always will." he mutters as genuine as his voice can convey.

The ache in her bone marrow fades for the second time this conversation. In its place a stronger ache settles in his chest, he doesn't mind this one as much.

He heaves a heavy sigh, exasperated. The sprinkler stops. There's a few moments of silence, then giggling. The laughter evolves until he's downright cackling.

He snickers. "Let's go get you a towel." His eyes move to the patch of wet dirt Missa was planted in, then snorts. "And maybe new pants."

"Ok." A risqué retort pops into his mind. In a spurt of impulsivity he playfully says, "If you wanted to get my pants off all you have to do is ask."

Phil, quite frankly, was going to go insane.

(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?)

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]

Right now it's about Phil. He knows where the kids are. The shock of his boss being here has worn off somewhat. But, right now he has no idea where Phil is. Which is bad.

A feathered forearm reaches out, stopping the other man's circling. "Seriously, mate. I'm fine."

You'd never guess he was a bear hybrid the way his face and general body language scream sad malnourished cat on the side of the road in the middle of a thunderstorm.

It's the least he could do, and the most that he can.

Fit comes to mind. The thought gets shut down fairly fast.

"It's okay." She sighs softly, then hums and pats it's arm. "Promise. If you wanna help, you absolutely can. There's lots of farm to tend to."

And, as a sort of olive branch, her grin widens as she continues. "Plus, I've been wanting to chat anyways once the kids weren't around."

"Okay, thank you." another giggle, a little less nervous this time. Almost immediately, it grabs a hoe from its backpack. Matching, the thought makes him giddy.

He knows how to farm, it's what he tends to default to to contribute, but this is Phil's farm. He'd rather ask what to do instead of misstep on accident.

"So," She starts, easy, simple. "How were things while I was gone? I see you've had everything handled so I gotta say I'm curious."

"It was a little hard to keep things together sometimes but it was ok. I handled it." She keeps her tone upbeat and flashes Phil a reassuring grin.

He leaves all of that out because Phil doesn't need to hear that right now. The conversation is calm, soft, relaxed. Missa doesn't want to bring the mood down, so he wont.

"We missed you." Ze decides to add, softer. Keeping his eyes on the soil under him as he runs his hoe through it. An ice cube hinting at the iceberg below.

"I'm glad." Phil hums, swallowing to prevent any emotion to rise and clog her throat. "That you guys were okay, like- nevermind. I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

"I know it probably wasn't easy. But I'm proud of you for being there- yknow. Thank you. You really stepped up. I mean, I knew you would. I know you love those kids. I just- I wanna- say it."

Is that mean? Phil hobbled a little and lowered himself down to collect some potatoes ready for harvest. When she looks up, Missa isn't looking back; so Phil looks away.

"Thank you for being there."

Being there is the least she could do and she can't even do it consistently. It's nothing to be thanked for. Ze covers the potato in dirt and stands back up.

Phil heaves a sigh. "I guess. I still feel like it's- worth it, though. You know?"

He chuckles with them. "And you always will." he mutters as genuine as his voice can convey.

The ache in her bone marrow fades for the second time this conversation. In its place a stronger ache settles in his chest, he doesn't mind this one as much.

He heaves a heavy sigh, exasperated. The sprinkler stops. There's a few moments of silence, then giggling. The laughter evolves until he's downright cackling.