i’m finding it so difficult to detach myself and cut off a person who i am very much still in love with but who has repeatedly hurt me and strung me along only to dump me when reality hits and they remember im a real person with flaws and emotions and not some fantasy they created
i’m about to be really mean but this person doesn’t give nearly as much of a fuck about you as you do about them. you’re probably romanticizing them, playing a highlight reel of their best qualities in your head, rewinding all the good moments you might’ve shared w them. meanwhile they weighed your best qualities, replayed your best memories in their head, considered the value you add to their life as a person—and still decided it wasn’t enough and chose to dump you.
this was my biggest blind spot when i was going through things like friendship fallouts or my breakup w my ex. i was like but how can i live without them now!! as if they didn’t choose to severe our connection w their whole chest. you might be like “but they might’ve really struggled to do it” and it’s like okay, but they still chose to go through w it. their reasoning to them was more important than having you in their life, regardless of the tremendous energy and emotion that got expended into the decision. that or it took no energy at all, which just means that they were playacting their care for you and never actually gave a fuck. far more sinister.
from the way you described them, they’re still not mature enough to realize that love is hard work. that it’s not just convenience and feeling good all the time. why do you want someone like that in your life? someone who always goes into fight or flight whenever push comes to shove? not sustainable whatsoever. they literally did you a favor by walking out of your life. they saved you more wasted time and effort and pain that would have no doubt stemmed from their avoidant, erratic, wishywashy nature.
you have to get into the habit of not wanting people who don’t want you, whatever the context. i feel like a bit of narcissism is healthy when it comes to this bc i legit don’t care what a person’s attributes are; to me that’s such a fundamental difference in thinking between us bc i’m the dopest bitch i know. and they still don’t want me in their life ?? like ik what i bring to the table and that would be such flawed, ludicrous logic to me. it just gives me the ick and makes me lose interest in them as a person instantly, even if they were great listeners or had a good music taste or were funny or played the guitar really well. doesn’t matter, they still were shortsighted enough to think a life without me in it was a good choice. romantic and platonic breakups do bother me, simply bc i’m very honest w my love and i genuinely value the people in my life, but these days i’m not hung up on anyone for more than a day bc i will never want someone who doesn’t want me. never never never. i don’t have the compulsive urge to make people who don’t like me like me. i have such a don’t let the door slam you on your way out mentality about it. i’ll simply find someone who’s funny and a good listener and plays the guitar well and still cares enough about me not to dump me when it gets hard. doesn’t have to be one or the other.
also do yourself a favor and don’t fill the gaps for them or try to guess what’s going on in their minds. they dumped you? okay they don’t care about you. they cut you off? okay they don’t care about you. they’re not trying to send you subliminal messages on their ig story about how much they still care—and on the very small chance that they are, you shouldn’t want that. you shouldn’t want someone whose peak effort when it comes to you is posting a sad quote about how lonely they are without actually putting the effort into approaching you, apologizing, owning up to their mistakes. until they actually act on it, their feelings pretty much irrelevant & it’s best to assume they just don’t give a fuck. you don’t want someone in your life who always prioritizes their comfort over maintaining their connection w you. ruthlessly remind yourself of that and move on to someone who doesn’t just give you breadcrumbs, if anything at all.
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The eggs are asleep, and finally Philza and Missa can catch a moment to themselves. Unfortunately, catching that moment means admitting to the injuries they have been hiding from their children - fussing over scratches while having arrowheads lodged next to your spine is the duty of a parent on Quesadilla Island, but an exhausting one.
Missa's quick fingers manage to pull said arrowhead from Philza's back, the momentary flash of pain causing him to nearly drop the iodine solution. He doesn't, though, just a little stain on the floorboards, and so he continues applying it to the wound in Missa's leg.
He barely notices the scratch of a needle against his back, but Missa cannot help but whine as the gauze is pressed against his wound.
"I hate it here," Missa manages, thankfully in English as Philza is in no position to twist and see his translator. "Why is everything trying to kill us?"
"The island fucking hates us, is why," Philza grouches, reaching over for a bandage. He's managed to get Missa's leg to stop bleeding, but it should still be covered. "Enjoy the island my ass."
Missa giggles a bit, even as he tapes a dressing in place over the arrow wound. He says something in Spanish which is definitely too fast for Philza to parse; he tries to turn and look, only to be gently pressed back into position.
"It's nothing," Missa assures him. "But the skeletons! Why are they so bad?"
"The skeletons aren't even the worst of it," Philza groans back. "If you ever see glowing eyes and nothing else? Run."
There's a long pause, and Philza hopes that Missa understands the severity of his warning - a Nightmare Stalker is exactly that, and Philza knows Missa is not nearly equipped to handle one. If he struggles as he does, he doesn't want to think about how his partner would suffer in his stead.
"It's okay," Missa pats his shoulder a few times, leaning around his wings to do so. "I'm good at running. It's my special talent!"
"You're good at a lot of things," Philza promises.
Missa doesn't reply; this time when Philza turns, he is allowed to. His entire body aching he sits himself up and twists himself around, taking Missa's face him his hands.
"You are so good," he promises. "So, so good. There's nobody else I would want to raise my eggs with."
There's more on the tip of his tongue; Philza quashes it as Missa closes his eyes, rest of his expression hidden by his mask.
Philza can see Missa struggle with his words for a bit - he's always amazed how someone can make themselves understood in two languages - before eventually receiving, "you are the best egg father."
"We have the best egg child," he retorts.
"We do!" Missa's entire body language perks up. "Chayanne is the best egg child, and he is ours. We are so lucky."
"We really are."
Philza isn't sure when it happens, but eventually he realises that he has leant forward, his forehead resting against Missa's mask. He closes his eyes and savours it, feeling as Missa loosely places his arms across his bare back - Philza needs his for support, one either side of Missa's hips and taking his weight, but otherwise he would do much the same.
The two of them stay in silence for a while, savouring each other's presence. The pain is still there, from protecting their children, and yet... In a simple house of oak and glass, for a moment it is all peace.
"Run away with me."
This is not how Philza had ever meant to bring it up, but the words slip out of their own accord.
Missa startles, eyes wide and spine straight as he blinks himself out of the peaceful haze, "qué?!"
"Run away with me," he shifts so he can see all of Missa's face, taking both of his partner's hands in his own. "Take the children, and run away. Find a way off this island, and to another world - one where the skeletons are the /only/ thing to worry about. I'll build you another house and we'll make it a home. Any colour you like, with a fence and walls and real bedrooms and a kitchen for Chayanne and gardens for Tallulah... You can have your own music room and kick Wilbur out for trying to steal your guitar, and we can sit on the roof in the moonlight and you can sing and I'll dance with the children asleep beneath us and no risk of zombie horsemen on our tail."
"But how-" a small whine catches in Missa's throat. "How do we get away? They said we cannot leave."
"There's always a way to leave," Philza says. "We just have to find it."
There's hands in his wings, and Philza startles.
"Your wings are so big... If they healed, you could fly away," Missa says, something wishful in his tone. "Up and up and far, far away, so far they could never catch you."
"And leave you behind?" he asks.
"You'd come back for Chayanne. And I... I could follow you then?"
"Even if something happens to Chayanne, I'd come back for you," Philza promises. "I won't leave you here, not in this hell."
"You wouldn't leave anyone here, if you could help it."
"Probably," Philza admits. "But I wouldn't come back for them, not if I didn't know I could escape again - I'd come back for you."
"I'll wait for you," Missa seems almost to melt in Philza's touch, whimpering as he curls in on him. Philza isn't even sure what he said wrong, just that his egg partner is clinging to him, whimpering.
"We might not always be together," he tries to reassure. "But I will always come back for you - I'll always find you. There's no point in running away if we don't run away together; if some day I /can/ fly away, I'd only do it to come back with help."
The whimpering turns to sobbing, and Philza adjusts his position to hold Missa properly. The hands in his feathers dig deep - one finger catches on some tape holding one of the litany of dressings in place - but Philza just holds Missa and worries.
Why this reaction? Was it something he said?
He stops talking just in case; Missa clearly wants a hug, so he just holds him, understanding only odd words of the broken fragments of Spanish between the sobs.
Eventually the tears slow; Missa pulls away, still sniffling.
"And... Spreen can come?"
"He can live next door, if he wants," Philza promises; it'll be a little hard to negotiate with Fit, but interpersonal drama is just a part of life. "A whole new town for /everyone/ - all of the islanders, and all of our friends. Maybe if we let his ex in Forever will even stop hitting on me."
That earns a laugh, if a bit of a wet one.
"I want to dance with you," Missa says.
"With no zombie riders," Philza promises. "Maybe tomorrow we could dance a bit at the Favela? But, one day, we'll do it somewhere safe."
"On the roof, under the moon?"
"I'll make a roof specially designed for it."
The tears slow some more, and Missa drops to actually lie on the bed.
"Do you really think we'll escape?" Missa turns to Philza and asks. "We broke the Wall, and the Federation-"
Philza moves to lie beside him - on his front while Missa is on his back - and takes a hand. "We will. I promise."
"But-"
"Someone cleverer than us will work it out," he smiles to Missa. "We've just got to survive while they do."
"And if they don't?"
"Then I'll burn the Federation to the ground."
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