I Said I Would Write For Phil And I DID - Tumblr Posts

The Wraith x Reader

heaven found us tw’s: none rly. maybe a little bit of dissociation on philip’s end ? he’s just baby idk 🥹

Philip was wandering again.

Outside of trials, he seldom kept still; like a phantom he would float amidst the fog, having no clear direction nor goal to accomplish as the steamy white clouds strung him passively along.

Philip didn’t mind, though—quite literally. Almost as if he was in a haze, he would allow the fog to carry him, like a fish down a stream. Each time, Philip ended up somewhere different; sometimes a familiar scene, sometimes a completely new setting. And, sometimes, if he was lucky—the fog would deliver him something, too.

The cat in front of him stares through Philip with piercing golden eyes, her charcoal fur glinting in the moonlight. She tilts her head ever so slightly, and Philip copies the motion. As if pleased, she mrrrows politely and rises to her paws, padding over to him inquisitively with her tail held high in the air. With his free hand, he stretches out to pet her, which she happily accepts. She erupts into purrs beneath his touch, and Philip is reminded of the goodness that even the entity cannot erase.

Upon running his fingers behind her ear and down her neck, Philip finds a makeshift string collar that he failed to notice before. He traces the material down to the bell that dangles over her throat, the ornament jingling faintly as it is fondled. The cat meets his ivory eyes sweetly as if to answer his wordless question, so you belong to someone? She meows again, rubbing against his legs before sauntering off in the direction she previously came from. Philip stands straight to watch her leave, curiously finding himself being compelled to follow—so he does.

Unwavering gaze fixated on her, Philip trails behind the unnamed cat as she tinkers forward, being careful not to frighten her by the ringing of his own bell. As the fog swallows her small form for only a moment, the atmosphere shifting and exploding into chilly air, Philip finds himself in front of a roughed-up cabin decorated with various plants (native only to the fog) and odd trinkets alike; the paint stretching up and down the wood fresh, yet somehow chipping.

Most interesting of all, the cat Philip had followed was heading towards the only other person sitting in front of the cabin—someone Philip did not recognize.

You sat on a log with a paintbrush clutched delicately between your fingers, a rickety easel holding up an unshapely piece of material that had strokes of oranges and blacks strewn about the canvas. Your clothes weren’t torn or in tatters like other survivors—though they were a bit dull, and covered in paint—and your expression was one of serenity and focus; a stark contrast to the usual haunted, drained look the others usually wore. And, as you are approached by the cat that seems very familiar with your person, you dazzle her with a smile that makes Philip long for something he can’t quite place.

The sound of Philip’s bell startles even himself as he moves to get a closer look, causing your head to lift sharply until you’re pinning him to the spot with beautiful, alarmed eyes that quickly soften into something akin to understanding.

No, you weren’t one of the survivors—you couldn’t have been with the way you were looking at him. So, then… who were you?

“Look, Heavenly,” You say to your furry companion, just loud enough for him to hear, “it seems we’ve attracted another stray.”

Another stray? Philip was not a wraith of many words, but that did not mean he didn’t understand them.

Somehow, though, the way you said it was less offensive and more alluring.

You giggle—charming and angelic—and set your paintbrush down, shifting to fully face Philip. You cock your head, still smiling, and gesture to your current work in progress.

“What do you think?” You ask him earnestly, welcomingly. Philip feels himself tingle and burn with what feels like embarrassment at being put on the spot by someone so unlike him, simultaneously feeling angry at himself for not being more wraith-like. The wailing bell he held was meant for damaging and destroying, not to look like something he clung to for comfort, as he was doing now.

Still, Philip obliges you; inching forward to get a better perspective of your artwork, quickly finding himself at a loss for what to think.

Before Philip’s eyes was a painting of himself, depicted as much more docile than most others probably found him. He was standing tall amongst the throng of needle-like trees, signature wailing bell hanging by his side. The sky was a deep orange, dipping between branches and coming to rest on his shoulders in a gentle glow. Oddly enough, he was missing a face entirely; the shape of his head was there, but no eyes were to be found.

Philip tilts his head as if searching for his face, not realizing he had drawn even closer until he was hovering by your side. You watch him patiently, stroking Heavenly as you wait for a response.

“…Is… that supposed to be me?” Philip finally asks, voice gentle and hollow-sounding, pointing a finger to the painting. He sees you nod and lowers his hand, confusion settling in.

“You’ve been here before,” You explain slowly, earning Philip’s surprised gaze that you don’t meet. “I’ve seen you many times, but this is the first time you’ve come this close. It’s okay if you don’t remember.”

That’s the thing—he doesn’t remember. Why would he come here? He didn’t even know where here was. And, yet…

“…I followed your cat,” Philip says after a moment, and finally the two of you make eye contact. You look in astonishment up at him before looking down at Heavenly, then back up at him again. Then, you let out a bark of laughter.

“Heavenly got you to come here?” You chortle. “She barely listens to me when I ask her to come inside.”

Philip looks down at Heavenly, who simply blinks back up at him. He blinks back.

“…Why did you paint me?” He questions, sounding and feeling suspicious. You merely shrug.

“Ever since you first visited me, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. And when you kept coming back, I just…” You motion randomly with your hands. “Needed an outlet. You were a mystery to me.”

Philip cocks his head. “You’re really not from the trials, are you?” You give him a quizzical look.

“Trial? What trial?”

“…Nothing,” He murmurs, reaching out to pet Heavenly, who bumps her head against his hand. His lips twitch in a half-formed smile.

“Will you stay this time?” You ask, stilling Philip.

“…Probably not,” He answers, drawing away. You frown, then sigh, casting your gaze downwards. Philip feels himself being pulled back by an invisible force; the fog calling him to ‘come, come back home.’ He puts space between he and you, standing at the edge of the ivory mist that laps at his clothes in wispy tendrils. You look up at him one last time, giving Philip a sad smile.

“I guess I’ll see you again,” You say, solemn.

“…You will,” He promises, not knowing why, but knowing that he most certainly would be back. You seem to brighten at that.

“Bye, Philip,” You call as he’s sucked into the fog, into confusion, and into darkness.