Platonic Philza X Reader - Tumblr Posts

My Sons - Philza

Request: philza angst ;;;;;

A/N: bestie why. who hurt you. also this is in an alternate sort of universe where the stasis chamber hadn’t worked and Wilbur never revived after Ghostburs death, and also Tommy never revived either.

Theme: very very angsty.

Warnings: content mainly contains talk of death and gore in detail. Also, some strong language. Be warned.

Characters: c!Philza, Y/N, c!Wilbur/Ghostbur mention, c!Tommy mention, c!Techno mention.

How could he have known?

How could he have possibly known all of his sons would just leave him?

How could he have known it was his fault..?

Philza sat with Y/N, his only remaining child. They were stringing flowers into a crown, oxeye daisies formed into half a circlet, as they were still working on it. He watched them carefully, his mind running through every scenario that could have - should have - happened instead. 

He’d lost Wilbur once, by his own hand, but once Ghostbur had been reported dead as well, the guilt felt even worse. Dream had said Wilbur would be revived once Ghostbur died, but here he was, with no son, and no ghost of son. Must the world be so cruel?

Then there was Tommy. Tommy, who was always very, very vocal about his opinion, who always nagged at his brothers, who simply was loud... but loved. Loved all the same. He made mistakes again and again, up until the point where his will was exhausted. His voice rang no more. He was reckless. He’s dead. He will never come back. 

Meanwhile, Techno had survived past Phil’s other two sons, yet... he was no longer here either. After getting his son’s will, Phil tried to make the stasis chamber work. He tried to make it work but it failed. It didn’t. Techno died that day to Quackity in the prison, because Phil had somehow messed it up. The Syndicate had been one hundred percent sure that the stasis chamber would work, but when Techno needed him the most, Philza Minecraft failed him. He’d failed them all. 

Now here was Y/N, who would most likely follow the trend without trying. They were already at two lives, and their family was always being threatened. Always the brunt of some sick joke they didn’t know about, until everyone was laughing but them. 

“Y/N,” Philza mumbled softly, “I’m sorry. In advance.” 

“For what?” Their head popped up to look at their father. Curious eyes peered at him.

Yet... he didn’t have the heart to continue his thought. “Nothing, sorry. You can go back to your crown thing.” 

Wing Care But Families Are Hard💛

They/Them Pronouns)

(1000+ words)

Description: You go visit home after a few weeks. Phil, your grandpa, greets you in the living room. Things don't settle well and it comes to a head while he preens your wings. (Platonic Philza x Reader)

[Read the rest under the cut]

{《☆》}

"Hey Phil," You said, pushing open the door of Techno's home. Just like you thought he'd be, Phil was reading a book as he curled up on the couch. You stretched your wings out a bit, shaking them out a bit.

"I'm still jealous you can do that," Phil complained as he stretched his arms. You laughed at him, flying in the rain was horrendous when you didn't have an oil gland. You never had to worry though. You could fly in the rain for a bit if you really wanted to.

You didn't often because having wet wings was more than mildly uncomfortable but you still could.

Phil walked over to you, settling a towel on your head. You grinned up at him, wrapping your arms around him quickly.

"Woah-!" Phil laughed. Gently, he ran a hand through your hair. You melted into the touch, relaxing until you were leaning heavily on Phil. "You're so cold, mate."

"Mhm," It's a distant answer, too busy focusing on the mini-preening to your head to answer. You click your tongue in contentment, feeling a low rumble build up in your throat. "I think your wings need to be preened, Y/N."

You groan, too relaxed to do it yourself. "Can you help?"

"Of course."

He gently pulls away, settling you down on the couch. You shuffled to curl away and spread out one of your wings. He gently ran a hand through them, looking for blood feathers.

Carefully, he made sure to avoid them when he pulled out feathers. Gently and carefully, soothing and relaxing. You crooned happily, melting back against the couch.

You closed your eyes, feeling nothing but gooey as he gently fixed up your wings. It'd been so long since your last preening, back when Tommy was still living under the basement in his makeshift home. It was cold but it was nice as Tommy preened them.

You missed him... You hadn't been allowed to see him after... everything. Your dad was too overprotective to let you see your thrice backstabbing uncle.

"You okay," Phil asked softly, carding a gentle hand through your fluffed up mahogany feathers.

Tommy was never like Phil when he preened. Tommy was quick and nimble but soft. Phil was slow and gentle and tough. Years of experience compared to Tommy's slight hesitation or fumbling. But your uncle was always hesitant recently...

You nodded weakly. "Yeah, just-... I-I miss him..."

"So do I," Phil admitted, the same rough edge from when he talked about Wilbur coming through. "But you know why you can't see him."

You bit your tongue. "Not even after his death?" You wanted to ask. Instead, you sighed.

"Because he's a liar and backstabber," You recited your father's words like they were your own. "He only ever treated Dad like a weapon."

"Family meant nothing to him," Phil stressed, plucking a father out with a sudden pinch. "We meant nothing to him."

You shook your head. They didn't know Tommy like you did, even if they thought they did. Admittedly, he hadn't told you everything, but you knew a majority of the twisted things Dream had done to your once headstrong and stubborn uncle.

And you knew exactly what family meant to him. It meant Wilbur and Techno and Phil. But it also meant Tubbo and Fundy and Niki and L'Manberg. Family was a sore subject but on the late nights where he was too broken to care about reputations, he cried to you about how much he still loved Tubbo and L'Manburg. They had hurt him, he had hurt them.

In the end, their blood-strengthened bond had been stronger than weak, years old ties.

And it did hurt.

You had thought that, maybe, he would actually become your uncle that you've been hearing stories about. The Tommy that waged wars with gods and won with only a ragtag group of kids. The Tommy who had been a conman long before he became family.

But things had changed and he had changed. In the end, you can only be glad he is still alive.

"How has Snowchester been?" Phil filled in the silence, plucking another feather. "I heard Ranboo and Tubbo adopted a kid."

"Yeah," You managed after a few seconds, thoughts and words dying on your tongue. "Micheal is a sweet kid. He's starting to talk, kinda."

Phil nods, running a hand through your feathers a final time and patting your shoulder. You leaned away, settling on the opposite side of the couch.

The rain seemed to pour harder, fighting against the windows like a beast. It didn't usually rain around your dad's house, but you supposed there's a first time for everything.

"Phil," It's hard to find the right words. It's like your mind is forgetting your entire vocabulary. A part of you is saying bail, but it's the cowardly part of you. The part that took after Phil.

"Did you ever love Tommy?"

It's an easier question than "do you love me?".

"I-," Phil tries, his brows furrowed. Their purple wings, already so pale, shift awkwardly. It's uncomfortable how long it's taking him to answer. "Of course I did-, do. Of course I do."

It's not the answer you were looking for. You craved something more honest, and something more caring. It was silly to dream when you had already known the answer.

"Yeah," You muster, staring out the window. "I should probably go soon."

"So soon-?" Phil says, a little more brokenly than earlier. "But-?"

"Tubbo'll need help with putting Micheal to bed." You offer weakly. "They're so hyper that it's a two-person job."

"I see." They sigh, giving you a tight smile nonetheless. "Visit again soon. Techno hasn't admitted it yet but he misses you. You're his kid."

"Wilbur being your kid didn't stop you from killing him."

You bite your tongue and nod. When you step out, the rain feels heavy as you fly away from your grandfather.

Tubbo wasn't expecting you back until Sunday and you didn't really have a house built anywhere else.

Tommy's hotel could use a customer, right?

{《☆》}

[lol this was written a while back but I'm finally getting around to posting it. Anyway happy pride month! I'm going to be posting double today in honour of da gay. ]

[L0v3, k1ng]

💛 DAY 5 OF MONSTER WEEK — ANGEL PHILZA

[1500+]

[gender-neutral]

Description: You're a priest for Lady Death when you kinda... accidentally... refuse to let the grim reaper claim a soul.

[Read the rest under the cut]

You were raised within a church worshipping Lady Death, who you have always cherished. You have always been told you should never fear death, as it is only natural, it is an unstoppable force. Or, that's what they told you when you had caughten the Withering Effect, a terminal disease with no known cure.

Of course, you had agreed. This has been written in Lady Death's plans far before you knew how to speak, this is your natural course, fear would stop nothing.

Now, facing off an angel, whose darkened black wings you've only seen in portraits, with golden hair and narrowed eyes like from the sculptures. Sir Philza, Lady Death's most beloved angel, has come to take a soul and you refuse to let it happen.

Behind you is a young boy, with similar golden hair and pure sky blue eyes, now watery as they cower and clutch at your robes. He is sickly pale, he is so young.

"Sir Philza," Your voice does not quiver, which surprises you because bravery has never been a title of yours. "I beg of you, do not take this young soul from us. I will offer you anything."

"Even your soul," His eyes, icy blue daggers, cling to your face, to your eyes. They see too much, you feel naked, you don't look away. "It is only natural for disturbing nature so."

"If that is the price, let it be so," You kneel, still keeping the young boy behind you. "I will pay any dues."

Sir Philza looks over you, dancing over every relaxed muscle with a fine-toothed comb, as if searching for any fear. You cannot show it, you will not let the young boy die having lived such an empty life. His eyes aren't icy anymore, there is something substantial in them when he looks at you, as if your choice was respectable instead of ruinous. "I shall accept no soul today. It is my boon to you."

"You are a generous lord, Sir," You stay on your knee, head dipped to your chest. "And what is it you wish instead?"

"I shall accompany you until you die. I wish to see why it is you live so…" Sir Philza's lips audibly pucker, "Interestingly. I can't imagine this is a common occurrence."

"As you wish, Sir," You try to take as stealthy of a deep breath as you can, disbelieving that you had succeded in your insane actions.

{《☆》}

You had arrived at the temple with Sir Philza and Tommy, who had insisted on joining you to protect you from Sir Philza, who has firmly cemented himself in the young boy's head as evil. Having brought Sir Philza along with you, your fellow priests had spoken only politely to you, with none of their usual casual speech, as if you were a Saint instead of their friend, It all felt so alienating.

Sir Philza has been shadowing you since and with Tommy's health rapidly getting better, he also followed you around. It was only after a week did Sir Philza seem inclined to inform you that Tommy had the magical attunement to become a Saint to Lady Death.

Of course, you had told Tommy, who insisted on doing morning and afternoon prayers with you to see if Lady Death could stop what he called "the dying of your light" which Sir Philza pleasantly translated as Tommy seeing your soul dying. Truly heartening.

"Sir Philza," You took the time to initiate a conversation with the angel at least once a day, both from obligation and curiosity, "How long have you been collecting souls for Lady Death, our records are unclear."

"I'm not quite sure," Sir Philza paused, "I was born very early, far before any other angel could recall. I must at least be half a million years old at this point."

"Oh," You can't say you expected a number that large.

"Wow, you're old," Tommy chimes in unhelpfully. "You're like a grandpa. Grandpa Phil."

Sir Philza smiles, every day he seems to become more endeared to Tommy, and now he positively beams, "I am a grandpa, so I suppose you're allowed to call me as such, young saint." He looks far more pleased than he pretends.

"I wasn't aware angels could have children," You say before Tommy can disrespect the powerful angel more. "Are you the exception or should I fix our records."

"A little of both," Sir Philza doesn't need to think for this one, "It's completely possible but since most of our children are born mortal, angels don't bother. So, I'm definitely an exception to something."

"And were they?" You blurt before you can stop yourself. You cough, "Mortals, Human I mean."

"Yes," Sir Philza looks down at Tommy, who looks considerably more bored as he starts stacking and breaking towers of books. His face is wound tightly in pain, "My son was born mortal, as was my grandchild. I--," his breath catches, "I killed him myself."

"Oh," You weren't sure what you were expecting. Then, your wounds flare and you grunt, "My apologies for asking such a thing."

"It's no bother," Sir Philza laughs it off. He is a very kind person, you've found out. He is polite even though he's of such a high status, cares for humanity, and adores children. He is more human than some people you've met, even as an angel. "How has your daily prayers going," His eyes curve as he smiles, "I imagine Tommy is a delight so early in the morning."

'You sigh heavily, "Do not get me started, Sir Philza. I'm beginning to think he is an imp not a saint."

He laughs, "Oh yes, I can imagine. Were it not for my aversion to mornings, I'd join you just for the sight."

"You don't need to see it to know," You gesture your hands as you talk, "Every priest in the temple is talking of the newest way Saint Tommy's disrupted morning prayers. Most find it endearing but Sir Marshall has written multiple strongly worded letters, none of which Tommy had bothered to read."

"I read some of them," Tommy protested, "But he uses too many long words and they get boring quickly."

"That's fair, young saint," Sir Philza ruffles Tommy's hair, "If I read every letter sent to me, I would also stop reading them all at some point."

"Sir Philza," You stay, scandalized. Then your stomach feels inclined to rearrange itself and your vision blacks out from the pain. Tommy is being kept preoccupied from noticing by Sir Philza, who can tell just by looking at you how little time is left.

{《☆》}

He finds you sitting outside one day, staring into the sky. Your soul is weak, dim and dying. There is so much melancholy in this painted picture; a dying priest sitting in a garden, surrounded by life, staring at stars which are simultaneous dying and being reborn every second.

"Why did you let me live that day," You trace lines at the stars, memorizing the constellations' unique shine. You don't look over when you hear Sir Philza sit. "What did you see in me."

There's a pause before Sir Philza breaks it hesitantly, "You protected that young boy. You wanted to protect his pure soul, even though he was a stranger. You were unwavering, unstoppable."

"You let me live because I don't fear Death," You surmise because it's the only thing you can fathom.

"I let you live becauseyou fear Death," Sir Philza corrects, tone ever so soft, "If you hadn't feared Death I would think you a fool but… You protected Tommy even when you were afraid. You didn't hesitate, you didn't back down. Your kindness is rare and your strength even rarer."

"You flatter me," Your eyes settle down to your lap, embarrassed to hear such a spin on that story. In your memories, it had been sudden and quick. You had been afraid, very afraid actually. But you have never once regretted it and you wouldn't've even if you had actually died. "I have a lot to thank you for, Sir Philza,"

"At that moment, you looked like an immovable object," Sir Philza said, voice quiet like the admission was a secret. It's almost like he hadn't heard you. "You reminded me of Lady Death."

"That's a high compliment, Sir, really but…" You faltered, finally looking over at him. He was looking at you too, as if he was seeing through you, cradling your soul with his warm smile, like a parent holding their child. "I will miss this after I die."

Sir Philza's smile loses its warmth and he looks as sad as you feel, "I will miss this too. You are a special soul, young priest, and it's an honour to know you."

"I should be the one saying that," You laugh sadly, gazing back up at the stars. They shine extra bright tonight as if to say We see you too, we burn for you. "I have a selfish request to make."

"Anything," Sir Philza says, with no pause this time.

"I would like for you to be the last thing I see," You whisper, "You and Saint Tommy."

"If that's what you wish," Sir Philza says, voice oh so warm, oh so mourning, "Then it shall be so. I'll ask someone to fetch Tommy. You won't die alone."

"Thank you," You smile, feeling nothing but relief. Maybe you're a fool right now because you're not the slightest bit afraid.

{《☆》}

[Okay, this was supposed to be longer but I'm already late and also have to be up in like 4 hours so just pretend the jump of strangers to friends makes sense PLEASE]

[Anyways, please don't be me. Get sleep, lots of it. Oh and check out the PROMPT LIST OoOOohhHhHWwWweEEeEeEee]

[L0v3, k1ng]

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