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dreamerstreamer · 3 years

Text

Friendly Figure

Pairing: Fundy x gn!reader (can be read as both romantic & platonic!)

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] While Fundy may have had more than his fair share of poor fatherly figures, he’s more than grateful to have you.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: this was requested by an anon who wanted a story surrounding fundy’s life story within the smp! this ended up being a fun combination of a character study with an actual story, and i loved it. i hope you enjoy, as well!

You waved your arm eagerly as you sank your teeth into another bite of delicious pumpkin pie. “Bye, Niki!” you called out between muffled chews. “Thanks for the pie!”

A few yards away, you saw her wave back, raising a hand to cup her mouth as she yelled back. “You’re welcome! I’ll see you two tomorrow!”

You sent her one last wide grin before turning on your heel, twirling your fork in your hands as you set off down the path once more. Niki really did make the best pie.

You hummed as you watched the sun dip below the horizon, the sky painted with fading streaks of salmon and lavender. Beside you, Fundy grumbled, his ears flicking atop his head in annoyance as he eyed the plate in your hands. “Why did you get an extra slice and I didn’t?”

You raised a brow at him, shooting him an unimpressed look. “Because you didn’t ask, nimrod.” Pointing your fork at him, you scoffed. “If you did, I bet Niki would have handed one over, no questions asked.”

He wrinkled his nose, at you a scowl stretching across his face. “‘Nimrod’?” he parroted. “You’ve been hanging out too much with Karl.”

You stabbed your fork into the pie in your hands, watching as the crust crumbled delectably onto your plate. “What can I say? He’s nice!”

Fundy looked appalled. “And I’m not?”

You stared at him, blinking for a moment, then shrugged, a teasing glint dancing across your eyes. “Eh. You’re alright, I guess.”

He glowered, raising his arms as you took a cautionary step back. “Why, you little—”

“Fundy!”

You and Fundy both stopped dead in your tracks, your fork dropping onto your plate with a clatter. Your eyes met, and a mutual look of discomfort passed between your gazes.

You would recognize that voice anywhere.

Slowly, the two of you turned, your gazes landing on a familiar worn yellow sweater, the cloth fraying at the edges after years of wear. In front of you, you could only stare as Ghostbur jogged up to Fundy, his dark, near-translucent eyes glimmering with hope.

Fundy coughed, trying and failing to hide the discomfort growing on his face as he offered a small wave. “Uh, hi, Ghostbur.”

Ghostbur’s pale lips curled into a frown, his brows furrowing. “Why the long face?” He leaned over, gently elbowing Fundy’s side, missing the way his son stiffened at his touch. “Aren’t you excited to see me?”

Fundy lurched back, clutching at where he had been touched. “Not really.”

Ghostbur let out a small whine, his shoulders drooping. “Aw, come on. Why don’t we have some father-son bonding time together?” He sent him a goofy grin, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia. “You know, just like the old days.”

You heart ached at the pain that flickered across Fundy’s face, his ears pressing flat against his head. There were no father-son bonding times when Wilbur was alive—at least not the kind that ended with actual bonding.

Fundy shuffled back a bit, and you instinctively took a step closer to his side. “No thanks,” he muttered softly, averting his eyes to the ground. “I’d rather not.”

Ghostbur’s smile faltered, and something sad flashed through his gaze. “Ah, um, w-well, maybe we could catch up?” A tinge of desperation seeped into his tone, and he lifted a shaky hand toward him. “I haven’t seen you in a whi—“

Fundy raised a hand, and Ghostbur fell silent. “I’m good, thanks.” He offered him a smile, but it was strained and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I actually think I’m gonna get going now. Bye.”

Before Ghostbur could even think to respond, he dropped his hand, whipping around and striding away. You blinked, your head still reeling with everything that had happened as you watched Fundy walk off. Tightening your grip on your plate, you took a step forward to follow after him when a quiet voice stopped you.

“[Y/N],” Ghostbur said, his voice coming out small.

You stiffened, then turned, swallowing as you sent him a wary glance over your shoulder. “Yes, Ghostbur?”

The moment his name left your lips, you froze, your jaw going slack. The light had left his eyes, and he only stared down at the ground with a vacant gaze, his hands limp at his sides.

You’d never seen Ghostbur look so... sad. So miserable. He looked defeated—broken. Then again, maybe he was.

Did Fundy really affect him so much?

“Please,” he said softly, so quietly that you could have mistaken it for a breeze. “Please tell me.”

He raised his head, and a pang of sorrow ran through your heart as he took a weary step toward you, his hand gripping at the fabric over his heart. “Where did I go wrong? What did I do to make him hate me so much?”

You blinked at him, pondering, then glanced down at the half-eaten slice of pie on your plate. A frown skittered across your face. You didn’t have much of an appetite, anymore. Sucking in a deep breath, you looked back at him.

“Ghostbur,” you said, “just like how there are some things we cannot change, there are some wounds we cannot mend, no matter how much we try. Your relationship with Fundy is one of them.”

He frowned, a sour gleam flashing in his ghostly eyes. “That’s not fair. I don’t want him to hate my like this forever.”

Something bitter rippled through you, and you snapped, “What you did to him wasn’t fair either, Ghostbur, but there’s no fixing that now.”

He flinched at your sudden shift in tone, and you almost wanted to apologize. Almost. Swallowing, he dropped his gaze to the ground, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Was I really so cruel?”

You stared at him for a few long moments. Then, you opened your mouth, and what came out was tasted like ice on your tongue.

“Yes. You were.”

Before you could feel even a grain of pity for him, you flipped around on your heel, striding off in the direction Fundy had left. How dare he be so upset that his son hated him when he was the one who made it so. You had seen it all, had seen every despicable choice he made as he chose to neglect his son, as he chose to abandon your best friend.

You couldn’t pity him—you would not allow yourself to.

Taking a shaky breath, you squeezed your fork a little tighter as you made your way down the walkway in search of Fundy. You already knew where he was—of course you knew. What kind of best friend would you be if you didn’t?

The sun had long set by now, and above you the stars twinkled like tiny, flickering candles. You trudged along the dark path, accompanied only by the moon’s soft light before you suddenly veered off the trail. Pushing past the low-hanging branches of the forest, you finally stepped up onto the cliffside, spotting Fundy sitting with his back leaning against yours and his favourite tree back from when you were little.

With a small twitch of your lips, you walked up to him, watching as his ears flicked in your direction. You could never surprise him, as much as you may try, so you simply settled into the space next to him, setting your pie down next to you. He was staring out over the forest below, his legs dangling freely off the edge. You tilted your head at him, then spoke.

“Hey, bud,” you said softly, your eyes scanning the somber look on his face. “You doing alright?”

His gaze flit to yours, then back over the cliff once more. “Sort of. Ish. I guess.”

You sent him an unconvinced look, and he paused, then let a loose sigh escape his lips. “No, not really.”

Leaning back, you offered him a weary smile. “Yeah, I figured. That chat with Ghostbur didn’t go over so well.”

Slowly, he pulled back his legs, curling them up to his chest and resting his head atop his knees. “I know he means well, but it just makes me feel sick, the way he talks to me. It’s not his fault, I know, but I...” He swallowed. “I—“

“It’s okay,” you murmured, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

He sent you a thankful grin, then his smile fell. Scooting back a bit further, he looked up at the stars, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he said suddenly, “my experiences with dads has been kind of awful.”

You blinked at him, stunned, then blurted, “You just realized?”

He laughed, his ivory grin glinting in the moonlight. “No, but I think talking to Ghostbur today really got me thinking about it more.” His tail flicked behind him. “Growing up, I always felt like I just had to please Wilbur—like I had to be the best for him.” An almost hopeful look overtook his features. “After all, I was his little champion, right?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “But he never paid any attention to me. He was always focused on fighting wars and becoming president and—“ He sucked in a deep breath. “—and then he died.”

He furrowed his brows, and you could practically hear his train of thought speeding forward. “Looking back, I can hardly remember a single good thing he did for me. I mean, he wasn’t so bad when I was a baby and stuff, but when I needed him most, he was just...” He paused. “...gone.”

Suddenly, he whipped his head up and turned to look at you. “And then don’t even get me started with Eret. You know, I trusted him.” He held up a hand, gesturing wildly as his tail stood up straight. “He was actually nice to me, [Y/N]. He listened to me and gave me good advice, just like a real dad would. Then the papers came and... and... nothing.”

He stopped, his voice dropping to a tiny whisper. “Again.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then, he let out a long, bitter laugh.

“Oh,” he said, his tone growing wistful, “nothing’s changed, has it?” He ran a hand through his messy hair, his eyes growing glossy in the moonlight, “I’m all alone, just like before.”

Just like that, your heart snapped into two, and you opened your mouth. “That’s not true, Fundy.”

The look he sent you was full of nothing but pure anguish. “It is, isn’t it? I’m just the forgotten son—“ He held up two fingers. “—twice over, now. No one wants me, no one at a—“

Before he could finish, he was cut off by you barreling straight into him, knocking him flat onto his back. Your arms caged him in as you panted over him, your eyes vividly scanning his as he stared at you in shock.

“Fundy,” you breathed, desperation soaking your words, “listen to me. You’ve changed. You’re stronger now, more resilient, and I see that.”

Slowly, you snaked a hand up to rest against his face, your palm pressed against this cheek. “I want you, Fundy. I’m here with you—I always have been, and I always will be.”

Your gaze hardened as it bore into his, steadfast and true. “And as long as I’m by your side, you will never be alone.”

He blinked up at you, his lips parted in awe. Then, ever so slowly, a smile, small but sincere, spread across his face. “Thank you, [Y/N],” he whispered.

Crawling back, you reached a hand out toward him, your smile widening as he grasped it in his. “Anytime, buddy.”

With a grunt, you pulled him forward until he was sitting upright once more. “You know what?” he said abruptly as you let go of his hand.

You cocked your head at him, your eyebrows knitting together. “Hm?”

Fundy flashed you a bright grin, lopsided and goofy in all the right ways. “Who needs a father figure when I have you?”

Your eyes widened as you sputtered, “W-What?”

His gaze suddenly grew serious. “You’re all I need. You’re like...” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “...my friendly figure.”

A few seconds passed in silence as you blinked at him. Then, you burst into laughter, not missing the way his tail bristled at the sound. “Fundy,” you wheezed, “that’s a horrible name.”

He shot you an irritable look. “Well, do you have a better one?”

Your laughter slowly came to a halt, and your eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes,” you said. “A best friend.”

He looked at you for a moment, then smiled back. “I like that one better.”

Suddenly, you turned, reaching out to your side. “You know what’s even better than that, though?”

His ears twitched. “What?”

When you turned, you held a familiar plate in your hands, a giggle threatening to bubble out of your throat as you took in his shocked expression. “Some pie.” You shoved a fork in his face—a new one. “Here, we can finish it together.”

He sent you a quizzical look, disbelief clouding his features. “Since when did you have a second fork?”

Without missing a beat, you stabbed the new fork into the soft, flaky dessert and held it up to his lips. “No questions. Only pie.”

He blinked at you for another moment, then grinned, opening his mouth wide for you to shovel some pie in.

You really were all he needed.

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poppunkporco · 3 years

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the one where you walked me home (porco x reader fic)

the one where you walked me home (porco x reader)

contents: porco x fem reader, mentions of marcel galliard, childhood friends, best friends to lovers, fluff, pining, alternate universe - college/university, modern au, bisexuality, smoking, porco galliard-centric

rating: teen and up audiences

summary: When he walks her home that night, Porco realizes he might have feelings for his childhood best friend. He has no idea in hell how to deal with it but he tries.

word count: 5079

notes: i just thought it'd be interesting to try writing a modern au porco/reader fic in a more porco-centric POV. what i try to do here is explore how he deals with the soft sappy feelings of slowly realizing he's in love since he's pretty bad at emotions and even more so when it's not a [strong, violent type of feeling]

*fic loosely based on this song:

*this is also cross-posted on ao3

***

2:40 AM at an empty parking lot behind a 7-Eleven. The nearest lamp post flickers weakly with its dimming orange light as Porco sets down his third empty beer can on the concrete with a yawn.

“Hey,” he says, lightly shrugging the shoulder against which she leaned her head on. She doesn’t budge from beside him. He rubs the lethargy off his eyes.

They’ve been sitting on this parking block for almost three hours now-- since they left the gig hours ago at the pub just across the university. They’d just spent the past few hours ranting about midterms and how fucked up alienated labor is along with the absence of ethical consumption under capitalism-- and how everyone is forced to participate in it, talking about trips they’d like to make in and outside the city, their ideal lovers, and anxieties about the future. This was a thing they did now and then, usually on Fridays and Saturdays-- seeking a kind of cathartic escape from their hectic academic life in each other’s company. A friendly rendezvous they’d jokingly call dates every now and then.

He leans forward just enough to get a peek at her face, partly obscured by the mess of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.

So she’s asleep.

His eyes dart towards their things lumped together beside her feet-- their backpacks sitting atop an A4-size sketchbook along with the last unopened beer can.

Porco idly clinks his finger against the top of the beer can he had just emptied as he breathes out a wistful sigh.

Somehow, she always reminded him of his long-gone brother. Not to say that she shared even a bit of Marcel's fairly easygoing yet charming demeanor. Because she was far from that. She was loud with a crude mouth-- more like Porco himself, really-- except that she at least was kinder, more pleasantly charismatic towards other people than himself. And in that way, yes, she did remind him of Marcel. But there were other things-- pastimes and memories that reminded him of his brother when she came to mind. They’d known each other even as kids. Back in middle school, Porco remembers how she’d visit their home on the weekends so the three of them could build a Lego city which Marcel himself had drafted on the back of one of his sketchbooks. Those two were always quite the artists even as kids-- Porco recalls fondly. His brother had been the one to introduce her to Porco during one of those weekends. He didn’t like it at first-- how Marcel would seem to pay more attention to her at times as they animatedly sketched parts of the city on paper in the middle of assembling the Lego blocks. He’d eventually learned to be tolerant of her presence at least as the weekends passed by and the city gradually came to life-- vast with skyscrapers, houses, trees, vehicles, and lamp posts. Porco distinctly remembers building a garden with her beside a house that resembled the Galliard residence. He had assembled the green pieces that resembled leaf blades onto the flat Lego board, while she topped them off with tiny colorful flower pieces. It was honestly quite fun and it became a thing he eventually looked forward to on the weekends with Marcel.

But all things come to an end and at times, at points where they feel like they’re not supposed to. Porco knows this well.

In Marcel’s old room, the city remains hidden away, unfinished.

It was on a rainy day when Marcel had met an accident on his way home with a schoolmate. Onlookers had witnessed him racing against the red light to push Reiner away from the path of an incoming vehicle.

Even if it was an accident, Porco despises Reiner after that. He'd decided to never talk to him after the incident but as fate would ridiculously have it, they’d meet again in high school-- as classmates, nonetheless, to his dismay.

It was after this same incident that Porco had grown closer to her-- the only other person who possibly knew Marcel almost nearly as he himself did. She knew about the city and she knew about his sketches, after all. In the first few days after his brother’s wake, they’d simply talk about Marcel as they walked home together after school and how they both missed him. Those walks home would eventually involve detours at the nearest Mcdonald’s where they’d get nuggets and buy a Happy Meal-- the ones that came in flimsy cardboard packaging printed with colorful cartoon mascots-- for the sake of getting the collectibles that came with them. It was a thing they never really grew out of. Even now, as college kids, whenever they’d find themselves eating out together at the nearest Mcdonald’s after their Philosophy classes scheduled on Tuesdays and Thursdays, they’d get themselves a Happy Meal, even if they sometimes earned puzzled looks from the cashier as they engaged in quick, petty quarrels as to which collectible they should get.

Soon, Porco feels her shuffle in her seat beside him, the weight of her head now off his shoulder. She rubs the sleep off her eyes with a yawn.

“...should go home,” she drawls, accidentally kicking one of the empty beer cans sprawled in front of them on the concrete. It lands right at the feet of a passer-by who in turn shoots her a cold glare before kicking the can back in her direction. "I-- hey, uh, sorry about that," she apologizes, louder than necessary. Said passer-by only clicks their tongue in annoyance as they raised a middle finger at her before walking away with a muffled swear under their breath.

She exchanges incredulous, befuddled looks with Porco for a few silent moments before eventually letting out a snort and bursting into a fit of stupidly drunken laughter with him.

“...is what I mean… fucking capitalism... makesnasshole out ofveryone,” she remarks, broken phrases drawn out in between chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. I got it for the tenth time,” Porco says, laughing with a roll of his eyes. He stands up and stretches out a hand in front of her. “Now can we go home? Can’t exactly start a revolution when the alcohol’s fucked you up that bad,” he says with an impatient sigh.

“Yeah? How do you know? Did Karl Marx write that?” She languidly takes his hand.

“No, but-- fucking… well, I don’t know. Maybe? Indirectly? I mean, we did just give in to consumerism,” Porco says with a sharp click of his tongue as he pulls her up to stand.

“Well… yeah. I guess so.”

“Anyway.” Porco places a palm at the top of her head and urges her to face him. “You seem more out of it than me. I’m walking you home this time, alright?

”She shrugs languidly. “Sure, whatever,” she says, her words muffled as she falls face first into his chest.

“Give me the fucking keys,” he says coarsely after her third failed attempt at unlocking the door to her own flat. In the dim light of the hall, Porco tries to make out the shape of what he recognizes as the right one among the five keys dangling from her keychain. He sighs, frustrated as he finally unlocks the door.

“How the hell did you--?” Confused, she eyes the keys still dangling from the door. “Why wouldn’t it open when it was me?”

“For the love of--” Porco runs a palm down across his face with an exasperated sigh. “You were forcing the wrong key.”

“Oh.” She snorts trying to stifle a chuckle. Porco pulls the keys from the door and hands them to her along with the sketchbook he’d been carrying.

“Thanks.” She gives the door a light push before finally taking a step into the flat. And then a sudden stop. She pockets her keys and lets the sketchbook fall on the carpeted floor of the foyer. She tilts her head pensively for a few moments, staring blankly at the darkness of her room. Porco raises an eyebrow in confusion. She turns on her heel to face him again.

“What is it?” he asks.

She stands on the tips of her toes, eyeing Porco with what felt to him like newfound curiosity. She rests a hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

Her other hand soon reaches up to cradle the side of his face. It comes as a surprise, but not the kind that made you flinch or visibly react in some way. This was simply… unexpected. Weird. And somehow new.

She’s looking at me. And she’s looking like she’s waiting.

And what is she waiting for, exactly? He feels a nervous lump in his throat, swallows it down. He has half the mind to lean his face closer as he, too, looks at her-- and he looks at her like he’s waiting.

Alas, whatever this is-- it ends where it feels like it’s not supposed to.

“‘Night, Porco,” she says with a feeble smile before falling back flatly on her feet.

“Yeah. You too. I’ll see you around,” he says, tentatively glancing at his side.She crouches down to lazily pick up the sketchbook before finally entering her flat again. Porco catches her giving him a tiny wave through the crack of the door moments before she completely pushes it closed. He bids her goodbye with a curt nod.

Once the door closes, he rolls up the sleeve of his jacket to check the time.

3:15 AM. Porco raises a palm to his cheek. The ghost of her touch lingers on his skin.

***

“Are you serious?” Porco scoffs. “Y/N, you’re not even watching the film.” He leans his head against his palm with his arm resting on the side of the couch.

“Sure I am,” she says, unpinning her hair before letting her head fall on his lap. As she types out a message on her phone, Porco manages to make out Pieck’s name at the top of the chat box.

“You keep checking your phone.”

“It’s fine. We’ve both seen this film before anyway. I told you-- I’m just rewatching it for my paper on Nietzsche.”

“So you dragged me into this for what?”

She gives a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know. Felt like it. Just wanted to bother you for a good film.” She finally sets aside her phone to look up at Porco with a shit-eating grin. He sighs and flicks a finger against her forehead. “Ow. What the fuck.”

“At least try to look like you’re actually watching,” Porco says, turning her head to face the TV screen.

"Fine, fine," she says with a grimace as she kneads the pain away on her forehead.

They’re now about an hour into Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. As lovers Joel and Clementine ran through the memories-- hand in hand mapping the history of their relationship-- the ups and downs-- scenes of the two playfully mocking the film at a drive-in theater, a stroll through the flea market leading into talks of having a child, lovemaking underneath the covers as Clementine told Joel about her insecurities rooting from childhood-- all these small intimacies that nonetheless revealed to each other their flawed, detestable selves along with reasons they probably shouldn’t be together, Porco realizes it.

He looks at her, notes the way the flicker of the TV screen daintily lit up her solemn face and how she’d break into a smile every now and then. She’d brush the back of her hand against his knee and point at the TV screen to tell him that this was among her favorite parts so he absolutely had to pay close attention. A bit funny considering she was the one who wasn’t paying much attention to the film during the first part, Porco thinks. At least she’s watching now, even as he can’t help but watch her instead.

As he absentmindedly brushes a hand against her hair, he wonders if they could be something more, wonders if they’d be anything like Joel and Clementine-- imperfect, but nonetheless worthwhile. They’d known each other since they were kids and he can definitely make a list of things he doesn’t like about her-- like the way she’s too loud and frisky and never seemed to take the right things seriously, how scatterbrained she was that she’d forget the schedule for a midterm exam and how her room always seemed to be in shambles, the way she was so stubborn she’d easily get upset at something as simple as choosing to eat at a fast food different from the one she insisted on, how she’d smoke in his dorm no matter how many times he’d told her that she could get him in trouble for it. But it's not like he's perfect either. She’d told him that he came on too headstrong at times and that’s why a lot of people felt intimidated by him-- a trait that had gotten him into fights and eventually, long afternoons of detention back in high school. She says she hates the way he thought himself too strong to cry in front of anyone and how he’d grown dismissive of opening up to her as they got older. Whenever they’d get into heated fights, she’d tell him that all you ever are is angry and how he was pretty shit at saying sorry like he meant it. And despite all of these, they had remained close friends over the years. They’d promised each other that they’d get better-- slowly, but surely-- even if that was something easier said than done. He could live with that. He would.

***

“Hey, uh--” Porco breathes out a puff of smoke as he hands her the cigarette. He gazes distantly at the parade of city lights before them-- from the headlamps of the vehicles passing below them on the bridge, the streetlights, and the buildings overhead. “--do you still like Pieck?”

She suddenly lets out a cough and a puff of smoke at that. She gapes at Porco incredulously.

“Pock, it’s been three years since we broke up. And that was high school.”

“Look, I know that, but--” he sighs. “I was just wondering.”

She laughs. “That’s not really what you wanted to ask, is it? There’s something else.” She raises an eyebrow at Porco. He rolls his eyes at that, irked at how easily she could read him. “So ask.” She passes him the cigarette and he takes a drag of it.

“Ok--” he says with a sigh. “--Have you liked any other girls after her?”

She raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

“No, not really. Nothing serious, at least. I mean, I did have a crush on this girl who sat beside me in English class during freshman year. But... that was freshman year, you know? Nothing ever really came of it. And you know I would have told you if something actually did, anyway."

“I see.”

“There’s more you want to ask,” she says with a cheeky smile.

“Ok. Fine.” Another drag of the cigarette. “How about-- boys? Have you liked any guy at all since then?” The city lights blur against the filter of smoke. Porco refuses to meet her eyes even as he feels her gaze on him-- heavy with something he could not exactly put his finger on. He knows she’s not smiling anymore and from his periphery, he thinks he senses a swallow in her throat. She turns to the city overhead.

“Yes, actually.” She takes the cigarette from him, smiling fondly upon the light brush of their fingers. “I-- you know, even though I’ve known for a long time that I liked both guys and girls, I still find myself doubting that sometimes. When I’m attracted to a girl, I sometimes think that maybe I was just gay all along. And now that I find myself actually liking a boy again, a part of me entertains the thought that maybe me liking girls was just a phase and maybe I was straight all along. But... I just know it’s not like that. And yet, what people say still gets to me-- they’ve got a way of making you think that being bi isn’t a real thing. Even though it is. I know because... I’m real, right?”

“Yeah. You are. You’re… you’re here.” The corner of his lips turn up as he says it. “I get it. I mean, I think I’m the same.”

“Really?” She turns to gape at him.

“I suppose I’ve never told you this either because it’s so fucking embarrassing, but…” He sighs defeatedly, kneading his temples with unease. “...I made out with Reiner in high school.”

She regards him with a scandalized look.

“Dude, what the fuck. I thought you hated the guy.”

“I do, alright? It’s just that… teenage hormones and shit. I was stupid and he’s stupid. I-- I don’t know what I was thinking that time. But… I do wonder sometimes--” He scratches his head tentatively. “--what my brother was thinking rushing in to save him from that accident. Like… just what did he see in that meathead that was worth saving?”

“And did you find your answer to that when you were making out?”

Porco eyes her with a deathly glare.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, so you did,” she says with an impish grin.

Porco flicks a finger against her forehead.

“Ow-- hey! Stop that,” she says with a grimace. “I mean, I don’t blame you. Reiner’s hot.”

He clicks his tongue at the remark before hastily seizing the cigarette from her grasp to take another drag. "Not like he's the only guy I ever found ho-- I mean liked."

She laughs.

"We should head back," he says coldly.

"Sure.” She nods. “Though… is there anything else you wanted to ask?"

As the filter of smoke hangs between them, Porco wonders about the boy she likes.

He shakes his head. "No. It's nothing."

***

“It was like deja vu,” Porco says, sighing into his phone as he shifts to lie near the edge of his bed. “Except in this dream… before she said goodnight, we, uh--”

“You kissed?” Pieck suggests from the other line.

“Well… yeah.” He puts a palm to cover his face, feeling the flush on his cheeks as he says it.

“So you like her,” Pieck says, almost breaking into a chuckle.

“I, uh…”

“I get it. She’s charming and reminds you of Marcel.”

“That’s…”

“I’ll be honest with you.” She sighs and Porco senses a smile from her tone. “Remember when I said I broke up with her because uni was getting too busy? The truth is that… I feel like you two always seemed to get along better than I ever could with her-- and it probably has to do with Marcel. When I realized that, I’ll admit I did start to feel jealous. I thought back then that you two might eventually get together. After all, you two were both still in high school, while I was already away in uni. It left me distraught for months so I just... decided to break it off. Don’t get me wrong, though. It’s been years and it’s not like I haven’t dated anyone else since then. And in hindsight, that just might have been for the best. I mean, you confiding in me about her right now-- I think-- is a testament to that. Because you realized it too, didn’t you?”

“Oh." He pauses. "I never thought that you-- Pieck, look, I--”

“Pock, if you feel guilty about it just because I used to date her, don’t. It’s not anyone’s fault. That… that she just loved you first. It’s circumstance. She met you and Marcel first before me.”

That she loved you first. As Porco echoes the words in his head, he becomes acutely aware of the beating in his chest and the warmth swarming his face. He buries his face in a pillow and screams into it.

“Hey, Pock? You ok there?” Pieck chuckles.

“How do I-- you think I should tell her?”

“Well, it’s the honest thing to do. And I genuinely think you don’t stand to lose much by doing so. Even if by the littlest chance of her not returning your feelings, I don’t think confessing would ruin your friendship. Might be a little awkward at first, but I don’t think she’ll end up hating or avoiding you at all.”

“You sure you’re not just sayi--”

“No, Pock. I’m not just saying this because we’re friends. I’m saying it because it’s what makes sense.”

“Ok, well… thanks,” he sighs. “And by the way… I’m sorry I called you this early. I know you’re probably busy especially since it’s your thesis year.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad you told me. Frankly, I do find satisfaction in knowing my speculations are correct. And you guys… you two are more predictable than you think-- if I’m being honest,” Pieck laughs.

“Well, I suppose being predictable isn’t so bad… if you’re right.”

Once they bid each other goodbye on the phone, Porco remains sprawled across the bed staring blankly at the ceiling. He rests a palm on his cheek, internally cursing Marcel as he feels the warmth streaming his face once again.

***

“Fuck,” Porco swears under his breath as they both ran towards the car, their feet splashing against the puddled ground as the rain cascades. A looming thunder rolls across the night sky as they make it to the safety of the vehicle.

“So… still not convinced that trying to get a Happy Meal on a rainy Friday at midnight was a bad idea?” Porco says, trying to catch his breath as he sets down the paper bag on the space between their seats.

“Well, I’ll admit it kinda sucked that you had to have your car still parked in school. And in my defense, I didn't expect the drizzle to cascade so soon on the way back. But you know what? It’s fine. We got what we needed and that’s all that matters. I’ll stand by this being a good idea.” She laughs as she peels off her drenched jacket. “Oh, by the way, where can I put this?”

“Just put it in the backseat,” Porco says as he peeled off his own jacket.

“Got it. Here, give me yours too,” she says before turning to place both of their drenched jackets in the backseat.

“Thanks.” Porco switches on the car’s dome light and the windshield wipers. The car’s interior now warmly lit, he rummages inside the paper bag, then hands her a box of chicken nuggets along with a plastic fork. “You want the fries now or later?”

“Later’s good. Thanks.” Porco acknowledges her with a nod, then leans back on the car seat with a languished sigh.

The rain patters incessantly against the windows over the rhythm of the windshield wipers. The faint yellow glow lulls from the ceiling of his car. He recalls a rainy evening spent staring out the window as he nervously waited for Marcel to come home. A distant memory weighs heavy on his eyelids.

“Porco. Are you ok?”

“What? Yeah.” Porco shifts lightly in his seat, slightly startled. “I just… remembered something.”

“What is it?”

“The rain. It just reminded me of Marcel.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, he was…” She puts down her food and lightly wipes the sides of her mouth with the back of her hand. “Back then, I considered him as something a little more than a best friend. I like that he liked my drawings and how he never made fun of them… even though he was ways better than me at it,” she recalls fondly.

He scoffs. “So… are you guilt-tripping me for something I said about your drawings when we were twelve?”

“You were an asshole, but you should be glad I’m past that.” She rolls her eyes with a sigh. “All I’m saying now is that Marcel was... really special to me.”

“What-- did you have a crush on Marcel or something?”

She snorts. “You could say... it was something like that. Yeah.”

Figures. He nonchalantly crosses his arms in front of his chest. The pattering rain fills in the lull in their conversation.

“I like your drawings too,” he finally says.

“That’s why I drag you along every time I go out to draw. You like watching me, right?” She teasingly raises an eyebrow as she says it.

“Well, sure.” He shrugs awkwardly in his seat.

“Tell me. What else do you like?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see…” he sighs, feigning annoyance with a roll of his eyes. “I like it when I’m in the middle of pulling an all-nighter at Tim Hortons… and you go on and disturb me just to get a Happy Meal on a rainy Friday midnight.”

“Yeah?” she chuckles. “What else?”

Porco turns to glance at her. As she meets him with a playful grin, his mind races with answers.

I like it when you steal my jacket and you leave me to freeze to death in the cold of the cafe’s AC. I like it when you go on a chaotic, semi-coherent drunken rant about how badly you want capitalism dismantled. I like it when you remember Marcel. I like your hair. I like how your hands unpin your hair before you rest your head on my lap.

He scoffs-- more in reaction to his own thoughts than at her teasing. Who knew he could be that embarrassingly sappy? “What are you… getting at?”

“Nevermind.” She shakes her head, still smiling. She laughs while timidly raising a palm to her cheek. “Can we share your fries now?”

***

“So I’m thinking of getting a tattoo,” Porco says, settling himself on the dormitory steps faintly lit by the porch lights hanging on both sides of the entrance.

“Cool. So where do you want it?” She sits beside him while setting down her things-- a shoulder bag and a sketchbook on the concrete step.

“I was just thinking on my arm,” he says, pointing a finger at a spot on his skin.

“What do you want it to look like?”

“Not sure yet.”

“I could draw you one.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. I could do it right now.”

“Really?”

She takes the ballpoint pen out of the spring of her sketchbook and begins to doodle something on his arm. Covering her drawing with a cupped palm, she chuckles while mischievously peering up at him.

“I swear to god, if you’re drawing something embarrassing-- Oh, fuck you.” Porco laughs, managing to take a peek at the ink drawing of a cartoon porcupine with the hair on its head stylishly pushed back. Below the drawing, it writes 'porcopine.' He pulls his arm away from her grasp.

"What? You don't like it?" She grimaces.

"Porcopine? Really?"

“What? It's cute,” she says with an offended click of her tongue, reaching for his arm once again.

Below the word 'porcopine,' she then writes the phrase 'i <3 you.'

Porco furrows his brows upon reading the phrase, then lets out a chuckle. “What does this--?” he asks, pointing out the inked words on his skin.

“What do you mean? It is what it is.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course I do.”

“How do you mean it?”

She tilts her head pensively and squints at Porco as she gathers how to describe exactly what she meant. She supposes that he’s right-- a clarification was indeed necessary. This kind of thing could get confusing, after all. When you’ve known each other for so long in a relationship such as this, lines tend to blur. One day, you could both feel like the bestest of friends, and then like lovers the next.

“I mean it in a way that I wouldn’t mind marrying you.”

“Oh.” Porco gapes at her for a moment. “Ok,” he says, letting out an awkward chuckle.

“What’s with that reaction? I’m serious, Pock.”

“I just… I mean, to be honest…” He furrows his brows, carefully pondering his words. “I wouldn’t mind marrying you either.” Porco scratches his head sheepishly.

“Ok then,” she chuckles, shifting in her seat to face him. “We could build something. Something bigger than a Lego house. Maybe one with a garden. A story with a perfect ending.”

“Yeah? And if it’s not perfect, what then?”

“Something worthwhile, then. An ending that feels like an ending.”

“Ok. I can live with that,” he laughs.

“Porco.”

As she cradles his face in between her palms, Porco becomes acutely aware of the flush in his cheeks.

Then, slowly, she leans closer to gingerly place a kiss at the tip of his nose.

They soon find themselves both chuckling at what was probably the most blatantly romantic gesture between them thus far.

“So, uh, what are we now, exactly?” he asks awkwardly as they soon pull away.

She shrugs. “Lovers? Best friends who would marry each other? Though the latter is kind of a mouthful if you ask me.”

“Yeah. Let’s go with that first one.”

“Say, Porco.” She tilts her head questioningly at him. “You want to tell me how this night ends?”

“How the hell should I--”

She puts a finger to his lips and shakes her head. “Hey. Lovers now, remember? I’m not the only one telling this story. So tell me.”

“Ok. Let’s see,” he sighs. And so he indulges her. “It ends with you beside me. We’re lying down on my bed.”

“Clothed or naked?”

He gapes. “Are you seriously even consi--”

She flicks a finger against his forehead as she regards him with a mischievous smile. “Just answer the question.”

“Ok, fine,” he resigns, lightly kneading his forehead. “Look, I want to say naked because my AC’s broken ri--”

“Naked it is, then.”

“Clothed.” He glares. “For tonight.”

“Fine, fine,” she says, scratching her head in resignation. “You sure you’re not having second thoughts about letting me stay tonight, though? Not worried you might wake up with a bunch of porcopines on your face? Or I don’t know-- dick drawings?”

“Fuck off,” he says with a chuckle.

“So… what is it, really? You want me to stay or you want me to go?”

Porco sighs before slowly leaning his face closer to hers.

“I want you to stay,” he says against her cheek, before placing a chaste kiss on her skin. “Whatever I wake up to in the morning, I’m sure it’s worth it.”

#porco x reader #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot fanfiction

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dreamsclock · 3 years

Note

this is possibly a very controversial take but i really dont like sapnap going "he's not my dream anymore" as someone who was abandoned by ex-friends. admittedly, it's understandable why he left but i probably unreasonably despise it cause dream stopped being his once they left dream without listening to him properly.

sighs,,, salt projection i suppose this is but i want a dream whose more willing to trust people who hurt him than his 'best friends' who he keeps at twice an arms' length from distrust and experience. a dream who will always choose to accompany tommy no matter how much karl and sapnap insistently ask to have some of his time blegh - 🐇

“Why would I spend any amount of time with you?” Dream asks, cocking his head. Karl falters.

“What?”

Dream steps back, eyes flitting between Karl and Sapnap like they’re going to attack him at the slightest provocation. “I said, why would I spend any time with you?” He repeats, brows pinching together. “After everything?”

“No, no, Dream, look, we forgive you for all of that,” Sapnap hurries to say, though it’s clear that it’s not entirely true, “you’ve changed. I can see that. Okay? We don’t mind you hanging out, and-”

“That’s not what I mean.” Karl winces at the flatness of Dream’s voice; it hasn’t sounded the same since he got out of prison, whether through constant exposure to a heated room and lava or through screaming, only Dream knows. “Because I haven’t forgiven you. I haven’t forgiven you two or George or anyone for turning against me like you did.”

Sapnap lets out a startled noise, frowning, stepping closer. Instantly, Dream steps back, wary and jumpy. “Obviously we had to turn against you,” Sapnap says, incredulously, “you cut us off and turned evil, Dream. You can’t have expected us to stay.”

Dream doesn’t look at him, eyes boring into Karl’s for a second, before he exhales, looking away entirely.

“I expected you to try,” he says softly, “I was hurting.”

“We all were,” Sapnap replies, anguished, irritated, “you tried to dethrone George to take back power. You didn’t care about us!”

And Karl wishes he could pinpoint the exact emotions on Dream’s face that send chills down his spine - the dark glint in his eyes, the old photograph of pain from months and months ago slipping over his expression - and then both are gone, leaving nothing but a sad sort of regret.

“If you really think that,” he tells Sapnap quietly, “then I can’t help but wonder if we were ever really friends.”

Tommy: TUBBO

Tommy: MEET ME AT THE COMMUNITY HOUSE RIGHT NOW

Dream swallows convulsively, stepping out of Sapnap’s impulsive reach forwards. “I need to go,” he blurts out, “goodbye, Sapnap, Karl.” And then he’s gone, scaling a nearby tree only slightly slower than he would have in the past and disappearing in the direction of the Community House. Sapnap stares after him, stricken, miserable.

And there’s nothing Karl can say to fix this, is there? A chasm stands between them and Dream, too wide to cross. Maybe, hopefully, in the future, they can begin building a bridge over, but Dream is too far away for the minute. Sighing, Karl lays a hand on his fiance’s shoulder, drawing some comfort in the way he leans into it.

“C’mon, Sap,” he says softly, “let’s head home.”

Sapnap doesn’t respond, but, with a last wistful look in Dream’s direction, he takes his hand, and begins to lead them home.

#> my asks !!#> my writing !!#this made me sad :')#-> white rabbit anon

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justcallmecappy · 2 years

Text

18 Days of Fenders: Favor

7. Favor

Fenris sat in the middle of his spacious mansion bedroom, a white sheet tied around his shoulders, Anders standing behind him with a pair of hair-trimming shears and a small comb in hand.

“How short do you want it?” Anders asked, running his hands through Fenris’ silver locks, which had now grown past his collar.

Fenris liked the sensation of Anders’ hands gently threading through his hair, and relaxed a little, leaning slightly into Anders’ palm.

“I’ll trim it ‘til it’s only slightly past your ears. How’s that?” Anders said, and Fenris could hear the warmth of a smile in the mage’s voice.

Fenris tilted his head back to look up at Anders, so he would be able to catch a glimpse of that smile. Anders looked down and his smile broadened, the edges of his eyes crinkling in amusement, and he cupped the side of Fenris’ cheek. “It will be a bit hard for me to reach your hair this way, love.”

Fenris looked forward again, clearing his throat self-consciously. “Just below the ears is fine,” he said. “I’m not particular.”

“I’ll do my best. It’s been a while since I had to cut someone’s hair,” Anders admitted with a chuckle. He ran the comb through Fenris’ hair, measured a lock between his fingers and began to snip away.

“Oh? When was the last time?” Fenris asked, relaxing as he listened to the steady snip, snip, snip of the shears.

There was a beat of silence, before Anders answered, quietly, “Back in the Circle. They would let the apprentices help give each other haircuts. Karl would say he didn’t trust anyone with his hair but me.” Anders’ voice wavered slightly towards the end.

“Ah,” Fenris replied, shifting awkwardly in his seat. He couldn’t turn around to see what expression Anders was making. Fenris silently cursed to himself – he hadn’t meant to cause Anders’ pain by recalling something sad – and was about to blurt out an apology, when Anders softly chuckled.

“What is it?” Fenris asked.

“No … it’s nothing. I’m just reminded of a silly thing we did, as apprentices. It was such a long time ago.”

“Tell me,” Fenris said. “I – I want to know.”

Anders sighed softly, and his voice sounded distant and wistful. “There was a time Karl let his hair grow so long it reached his shoulders. I offered to trim it – he liked to wear his hair short, usually – but then he would refuse and make up some excuse. I suspected he just wanted long hair to match mine. Then one day, he took me aside and asked me to help trim his hair. Once it was done, he picked a lock of his hair, and braided it into mine.”

Anders paused, and his hands stilled. Fenris risked a glance over his shoulder, and saw Anders absent-mindedly tuck a few stray wisps of hair behind his ear.

“Karl told me that if I wore something of his, he would always be with me. He had been planning it all along, and grew out his hair for months just for that.” Anders smiled as he said it. “Of course, the braid inevitably became undone, and I lost that bit of hair. I didn’t see it as a huge loss, then – I thought Karl and I would be together forever – why would I need to wear something of his, when he was right there by my side?” Anders chuckled again, and it sounded a little sad. “I was so young, and so, so foolish.”

Fenris sat in silence as Anders finished trimming his hair. He thought about the simple black feather, plucked from Anders’ coat, hanging by a leather cord around his wrist – he had been wearing Anders’ favour around his wrist for the past few weeks now. Every time he looked at it, he thought of his mage, and knowing it was there was a great comfort to him.

Perhaps the mage would like something of his, as well.

Anders made the last few snips, and fetched a pair of hand mirrors for Fenris to examine his handiwork.

“How did I do?” Anders asked, grinning broadly. “You’re still incredibly handsome, so you can thank the Maker I didn’t do anything to ruin your good looks.”

Fenris chuckled as he ran a hand through his shortened locks, looking at the reflection in the mirrors. “I would say that you’re only trying to flatter me. But your handiwork, as always, is perfect, Anders.”

“Now who’s the flatterer here,” Anders laughed back. He undid the sheet around Fenris’ shoulders, gathering the cut-off hair that had gathered in Fenris’ lap.

Fenris stood, and wordlessly took the bundled sheet from Anders’ hands. “Allow me,” he said.

As Fenris cleaned up, Anders turned to settle down at the table in Fenris’ bedroom, which he had converted into a makeshift desk after moving in. Stacks of paper lay strewn on the surface where he had left off his work. He decided to go back to editing the latest copy of his manifesto, dipping his quill pen into the inkpot to cross out a stray sentence, when he paused as he felt the sensation of fingers threading through his hair.

He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Fenris braiding a lock of hair just above his right ear.

“What –”

“You mentioned to me, once, that you wished you had a token of mine to wear, as I wear yours,” Fenris said in a solemn voice as his fingers deftly worked.

Fenris completed the braid and fastened it with a leather tie – Anders reached for the hand mirror to look at the silver-and-gold braid of Fenris’ hair entwined with his, tucked behind his ear.

Anders spun around to look at Fenris, who was smiling warmly back at him. “Now you wear something of mine as well.”

Anders silently touched the braid, surprised into speechlessness. He had not realized tears had sprung to his eyes, until Fenris was reaching forward to brush them from Anders’ cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

🖼️ ART CREDITS: The art that accompanies this fanfic is commissioned from the wonderful and talented Lightingale Art! 💖🥰 Thank you so much for the lovely artwork!

This fanfic is posted in response to the “18 Days of Fenders” prompts and writing challenge, running from March - April 2022. 😊

This has also been cross-posted to AO3.

Follow @18daysoffenders

#18 days of fenders #fenders #fenris dragon age #anders dragon age #anders #fenris #my writing #my fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age 2

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the-incapable-hero · 3 years

Text

Wistful thinking was a habit by now. He really couldn’t help it. Or maybe he could. He knew that Ranboo said it was possible to let the habit die, but he was young. He hasn’t seen the things Phil had seen. Tommy was adamant as well. Same with Tubbo and Ghostbur and Techno. Fundy even. Almost everyone had been able to tell him some blunt and deceivingly simple answer to his bad habit.

It’s not like he was trying to do it. In fact, he made an active effort most of the time to not go down that rabbit hole. It was like all he could think of were the things he lost over the many years he’s lived and talked and traveled. What did it matter though. So what if his mind was suffocating, and so what if his thoughts would constrict him? What real significance would it even have? Nothing that would affect the whole of reality at least. If anything at all, it would only affect his own, little world.

“Hello?” A voice called out to him and he turned around, unsure exactly who was talking to him. He saw a familiar face, though admittedly it was one he wasn’t very well acquainted with. They'd definitely talked several times, and Phil knew that they'd been introduced several times. If he placed the name correctly…

“Karl?”

“Uh, yeah.” He seemed hesitant, as if he had to think about it for a moment.

“You look kinda down. Are you okay?” Karl asked him. Phil let out a solemn laugh.

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is just a bad habit of mine.”

“You… wanna talk about it?”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to bother you.”

“Well I asked if you wanted to, not if you thought I was willing.” Karl chuckled lightly.

“...Yeah. Sure.” Phil wasn’t actually sure himself, but hey, one more blunt answer of encouragement to add to the collection, right? Karl carefully watched his step so that he wouldn’t trip over any of Phil’s singed feathers or trample on his fingers as the winged man himself was leaning back while his arms supported him against the grass. Karl shifted to a more natural position that was slightly closer to but still a comfortable distance away from Phil. They both just looked into the horizon for a moment, legs dangling from the small cliff they were perched on. Phil took it upon himself to start talking.

“I have a habit. Sometimes I just find myself thinking about all the things I’ve lost. I’ve told a few people this. Do you think I can think any other way, now that I’ve been alive for this long?” He didn’t want the conversation to linger too long. He considered it repetitive at this point and he stopped seeing the point of conversations like that many decades ago. And so, his question saw that the conversation went right to the point. Karl thought for a moment and Phil kept staring at the horizon. After witnessing such a conversation several times over, Phil didn’t think it was worth putting in the effort.

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“Why?” Phil wasn’t expecting an answer to the small question other than “well everyone can learn to think differently.” And to them, silently, he’d ask if everyone had lived for centuries and lost more things than the number of years they'd been alive.

“You’re good at adapting to things.” Okay, that was a new one.

“Oh but uh, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think you can just straight up stop thinking like that. I’m pretty sure everyone thinks like that at some point. But I think you can definitely think about it less often. Maybe even start thinking about it differently. Like in a different light? It’s not easy, sure, but I think it’s possible.” Karl sounded like he wasn’t sure if he’d offended Phil in some way. It was strange. Normally, at least from what Phil had heard about Karl, he wasn’t normally like this.

“For everyone?” Phil found himself asking before he could stop himself. He internally sighed, thinking that this conversation would be much longer than he would’ve liked. He'd probably give the generic answer and Phil would pretend like he was satisfied.

“I mean, there’s a few exceptions, but I don’t think you’re one of them.”

“And what makes you think you know anything about how I work?” His own words surprised him. Perhaps it was just because he was growing tired of this same conversation just using different words. He’d never snapped before though. Karl hesitated. But to Phil’s surprise yet again, he spoke after a moment.

“Well, don’t get me wrong, I don’t know for sure. This is just what I think. I think you’re similar to the rest of us.”

“Oh really?” Phil didn’t know why he was angry at that statement. He’d heard it said before, so it was a mystery why it set him off this time. He tensed up ever so slightly and his voice hardened as he spoke.

“So what makes me the same, huh? I’ve lived for thousands of years, Karl. I’ve seen too much to be the same as anyone here. I’m older than everyone else by a long shot. Even Foolish. Even Dream. I’ve seen things you can’t even imagine. Eras and wars. Murders and betrayals. Birth, destruction, bonds, alliances. I’ve seen kingdoms rise and fall. Entire civilizations that age quicker than I do. So tell me, Karl. How could I share any similarities with any of you here?” Phil knew that later he’d apologize, but right now, he found himself too frustrated to contain his emotions. Forlornness had turned into anger at Karl for thinking that his experiences had any merit compared to his own, especially due to the sheer number of things that Phil had seen. It was definitely more than Karl, so how could he possibly even think he had the right to say what he just did? He was practically a child.

“...Okay. I know. You’ve… seen a lot. It’s hard on you. I… know that I haven’t seen nearly as much as you have, and I’m not you. So I don’t know what you’ve been through. Not exactly.” Karl spoke before Phil could finish seething. It was quiet and distant, and each word was said like it had to keep below a certain tempo or risk Phil snapping again. But Karl still continued.

“But… you’ve got to understand. You’re not me either. Just like I can’t know exactly what you’ve experienced, you can’t know exactly what I’ve experienced. It’s… not right to say that one person’s problems have more meaning than another’s. I’m not trying to say that you can’t be sad or angry, but I don’t think it’s right for you to think that your friends don’t know anything whatsoever about you or what you’re going through. Cuz… if you push people away… and hold them at a distance… and you refuse to learn anything from them… then you’re taking their effort for granted. Both their effort… and their stories.” Karl was speaking at a mumble at that point. Phil was speechless. He’d never been told that before. It was a bold thing to say. Very, very bold. Phil turned to face Karl, sitting up and fixing his posture. Karl noticed and tilted his gaze towards Phil but remained slouched and his head stayed tilted down. When Karl turned around to face him, the two locked eyes and for a heartbeat, Phil could have sworn he was looking in a mirror. The two looked nothing alike, but the look on Karl’s face was eerily familiar. Karl knew what he said. He’d meant every word of it in the most earnest way possible.

“Karl.” Phil mumbled. He was just as tense as before, but his tone had lost all of its harshness.

“Yeah?” Karl’s tone still carried the same weight and the look in his eyes were barely focused on Phil himself. As if he was lost in a memory but still in conversation. He looked… tired. Much too tired for someone like himself. He looked so young, but after seeing those same eyes in the mirror for a majority of his life, Phil knew that those eyes had seen a lot more than Karl’s age revealed. Phil was suddenly curious. A question floated in his mind and he wondered if the answer was yes.

“Tell me your story.”

He’d find out the answer. He had to.

“What part of it?”

Could he have been wrong this time?

“The part of it that made you say that to me.”

Maybe. Just maybe, he'd had the wrong impression about those younger than him.

"That's a long one. And probably one that I shouldn't tell you either."

If he was wrong, then what did that mean? Had he really been so condescending all this time? Viewing grown adults like children?

"I won't tell if you don't want me to. But I want to know."

When had he stopped paying attention? All those stories… had he unknowingly written them off as lesser than his own?

"... Okay. But I need you to promise me something."

Had he somehow convinced himself he had nothing more to learn?

"What?"

Then what of the people who loved him? Did they already know this about him?

"Promise me you'll remember it. If I ever disappear, then tell everyone. All the good and all the bad. If I ever come back and can't tell you my name, then tell me my story."

Had he failed them by being stagnant while everyone else was changing?

"I promise."

Was it this thinking that led him to become a self-fulfilling prophecy? One that would say he was to always remain the same while everyone around him aged on?

"Good. I'll be right back. I have to get my books. My mind is… let's say it's getting a bit winded. I'm getting closer and closer to a point where everything but those books will be gone. I can tell."

Had he lost even more than he thought by downplaying the stories of those he loved?

"How can you tell?"

Karl let out a humorless laugh and looked away. There was a sad expression on his face that barely passed for a smile. He suddenly looked older to Phil. Karl got up and brushed himself off before answering.

"I… don't know your name anymore." Phil quietly told Karl his name and he watched as the man thanked him and walked off, soon to return to that spot. But Phil could barely pay attention to that brief exchange of giving Karl his name, because for the first time in a very long time, he thought himself more fortunate than someone close who was still surrounded by a life of new discoveries.

#dream smp #philza #ph1lza #karl jacobs #dream smp fanfiction #yo should i continue this?#i actually had some other ideas for it but I'm tired and i wasn't sure if anyone would want a continuation of this #so if you want more then do let me know

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sighmurderbot · 3 years

Text

Irish Coffee Chapter One

Title: Mocha, Extra Sugar

Chapter Rating/Warnings: T for profanity, no other warnings

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: They meet over coffee and Kierkegaard. There was a spark in his honey-brown eyes that drew her to him. There was a sadness behind her bright smile that drew him to her. Spencer Reid/Original Female Character. Slow burn coffee shop meet. Strangers to friends to lovers. This fic is also available on AO3, it’s ahead of tumblr currently!

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“A 'first meeting' is, by definition, a one-time opportunity, and there's no going back.”

Cup, counter, look up, smile, call out drink, next customer.

“One cafe latte!”

I looked up with a bright smile even though my feet were aching in my non-slip shoes. Thankfully it was near the end of the afternoon rush, and I should be able to go on break after finishing with the last customer in line.

The businessman in front of me hadn’t stopped talking on his bluetooth the entire time he was here, which made it annoyingly difficult to take his order. Without looking, he grabbed at his coffee. His hand glanced off the cup and I watched it topple in slow motion. The lid flew off and hot coffee sprayed over the whole counter.

Both the businessman and I jumped back, avoiding the scalding liquid.

“Ah, shit — one second Dave,” the man scowled. “What the hell?”

I fixed a smile on my face.

“I’m so sorry about that, sir, let me make you another.”

“No, no,” he looked at his watch and his scowl deepened. “Forget about it. I won’t be coming back!”

Oh no, whatever will we do without your business, I thought sarcastically, maintaining a perfectly happy expression.

With that he turned and hurried out the door, jostling the man waiting behind him. I crouched to grab a towel and somewhere above me he said something, but the words blended with the music floating through the shop.

“What did you say?” I asked as I looked up, hoping I’d be able to discern what he said. I couldn’t help but smile as my breath caught in my throat. The man standing at my counter must not have been too much older than me. His hair was long enough to brush past the nape of his neck but he had the soft brown curls tucked neatly behind his ears. He flicked his tongue over his bottom lip and gave me a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He wore a cardigan over a dress shirt and tie, and a brown crossbody bag gave his hands something to fiddle with.

“Ah, I just said he wasn’t having a very good day,” he said, blinking a few times as his eyes slipped over the counter. He seemed to notice everything at once, and I hoped he didn’t think anything of the way my gaze flicked to his lips as he spoke before I met his eyes again. He had a cute cupid’s bow, and as someone who sees a lot of lips I feel qualified in saying they were nice lips.

I used the counter to help me to my feet and began to mop up the coffee.

“Apparently not,” I said, taking care to not accidentally push any coffee towards the customer. “Sorry about that, what can I get you, sir?”

I paused and looked up while he spoke, leaning on my lip reading as the music muddied his voice. “A large mocha please,” he said, shifting a little as if he were nervous. “And could you stir some extra sugar into it while it’s hot? The, uh, the extra heat helps the sugar dissolve so there’s no little granules at the bottom.”

Huh, I didn’t know that.

“Sure thing, sugar,” I replied with a bright smile, happy to learn something new and relieved to have a pleasant customer after an hour of government drones rushing in and out as fast as possible. I turned and began the drink, glancing back as I waited for the milk to heat. The man had ducked his head, reading a slim book while he waited. His free finger ran down the page and he muttered to himself as he flipped page after page.

He probably read a whole chapter in the time it took me to make his drink!

I couldn’t help but let my admiration show a little as I set said drink in front of him.

“One mocha, extra sugar,” I said as he looked up. I leaned my elbows on the counter.

“Whatchya reading?”

He blinked a few times, glancing down at the book as if he had forgotten he was holding it.

“Oh, uh, it’s Sygdommen til Døden, it’s a book of Christian existentialism by Søren Kierkegaard. It presents the question that death isn’t the end, and true death is spiritual, not physical,” he rattled off in an instant. I stumbled over a few of the foreign words, but I was able to put the sentence together with context.

The man stopped speaking just as quickly, a light pink spreading over his cheeks as he ducked his head. Leaning over the counter, I stole a peek at the pages he had been tearing through.

“Kierkegaard, in the original Danish too! Impressive,” I said, returning to my side of the counter. “Are you a philosophy student?”

He nodded, almost unsurely. “Yeah, I’m working on my BA now.”

I grinned at him. A fellow academic, I could appreciate a kindred spirit.

“I haven’t made it to Kierkegaard yet,” I admitted, shrugging one shoulder. “Still working through Plato and Hegel.”

He seemed to perk up a little, eyes sparkling. “They’re good!” he exclaimed. “Hegel’s theory of dialectics strongly influenced the work of Karl Marx. Because Hegel claimed that reality should be examined by a series of logical and rational arguments, Marx created the theory we now know as historical materialism,” he caught himself and the pink on his cheeks deepend to red. “...sorry, I ramble sometimes. Are you a philosophy student as well...” he glanced at the nametag pinned to my apron, “Katie?”

I pursed my lips in what I hoped passed for a smile and not a pained grimace, avoiding his eyes to wipe a few stray drops of coffee away. This man’s gaze made me feel like he could see everything about me with just a glance, but it helped that his soft brown eyes held no malice that I could see. That and the fact that he seemed more nervous around me than anything.

“Nope!” I forced some cheerfulness into my voice. “Not yet, at least.”

He opened his mouth a little, as if he was about to reply, when his attention was suddenly drawn away. Shifting his book he pulled a phone out of his pocket, flipped it up, and answered.

“Reid,” he said. I turned the name around in my mind. I wondered how he spelled it, ei or ee.

He pinned the phone between his shoulder and ear, stuffing Sygdommen til Døden into his bag and picking up his coffee.

Sorry he mouthed to me, and he did look apologetic. Hoping he knew not to worry about it I gave him a big smile and watched as he hurried out the door, returning the phone to his hand and striding off down the sidewalk. I let out a wistful sigh and grabbed a cleaning spray and paper towels to go over the counter again. If only everyone who came through this coffee shop’s doors was as interesting and pleasant as that Reid.

And as easy on the eyes, I thought, biting my lip to hold back a girlish giggle.

I glanced up at the clock on the wall opposite the counter. Just a few more hours until closing, then a quick bus ride to the diner. Everyone in the cafe was taken care of, so I gave myself a few minutes to get off my feet.

Pulling my phone out of my apron pocket I opened my bank account.

Starting to pull ahead, I thought with a tired relief. I wouldn’t be quitting any time soon, but my savings account was finally starting to look a little healthier. I closed out of the app and stared at my background.

It was a picture of my mother and I. I couldn’t have been older than 6 or 7, and I was wearing the biggest smile a little kid could manage. My mother was holding my hand, her smile matching mine. Behind us rose the stairs and columns of the National Gallery in London. I traced my mother’s face for a moment, then shut my phone off and slipped it back into my pocket.

The hands of the clock moved slowly for the rest of my shift. People drifted in and out, none staying longer than a few moments. The sun fell behind DC’s towering skyline, and as the sunlight disappeared it felt like my energy went with it. By the time the last customer waved goodbye and I wiped the last table down the room was swaying around me. I glanced at my watch.

Ten hours since breakfast, medication is beginning to wear off.

I slid out a seat and took a few deep breaths. My stomach wasn’t pleased but it settled after a minute off my feet. Once the room was steady again I stood and finished closing the shop. As the lock clicked into place behind me I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. It felt like being battered by ocean waves.

My feet carried me to the street corner and I slumped against the sign indicating the bus stop.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this, I thought, stifling a yawn.

The bus pulled up and stopped with a screech of brakes that instantly had me clinging to the signpost in pain. The cold, dirty metal cutting into my hand had nothing on the high-pitched scream that bounced around my head, multiplying and hitting the inside of my skull harder and harder. Biting my tongue to stop from crying out, I pushed off the sign and stumbled onto the bus. Over the ringing in my ears I heard a muffled voice saying something. It was as if the voice was speaking to me underwater.

“I-I’m sorry…” I stuttered, forcing myself to breathe. Hands shaking, I fumbled through my bag and pulled out my wallet, finding my bus card. I shoved it in the direction of the driver, who only gave it a cursory glance and waved it away.

“--- --- --kay?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a few more deep breaths, the painful ringing dying down to an aching headache, and looked up at the driver. Somehow I had ended up slumped on the floor by the door. The old bus driver was leaning over me, concern etched in the deep wrinkles across his face.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, Connie,” I said, tripping over myself to apologize and get up off the filthy floor.

“Hey, that’s alright Katie,” he replied kindly, offering me a hand which I gratefully accepted. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” I sighed deeply, brushing my hands off on my jeans. “It was-”

“The breaks, right?”

“Yup.” I popped my ‘p’, shaking my head sadly as I returned my bus card to my wallet. “Still figuring out how to manage it all.”

“You’ll get there,” he replied, setting a comforting hand on my shoulder. I gave him a weak smile and moved to a seat while he closed the door and released the breaks, pulling out into the road. There weren’t many people on the bus, all the commuters had gone home already in an attempt to beat the very traffic they created. The only people left in DC as stars began to blink to life in the sky were those who called the city home.

As the bus rumbled away around me I let myself slump into the seat, chin dropping to my chest and eyelids closing. Before I knew it I had slipped into a shallow sleep.

—

A gentle hand pushing my shoulder roused me and I started awake to see Connie’s face once again.

“Hey kiddo, you fell asleep,” he said. I stretched out my cramped muscles.

“Thanks for waking me up,” I replied. “I owe you.”

He shook his head with a smile.

“Just get me one of those coffees you make and we’ll be even.”

I nodded.

“You got it.”

Connie slid back into his seat and gave me a two-fingered salute, which I returned as I disembarked. Then the bus pulled away and left nothing but the crisp fall breeze, scented with exhaust and that peculiar smell every big city has. Adjusting the strap of my purse on my shoulder, I walked the half-block to a neon-rimmed 24/7 diner.

A few moments later I stepped into the syrup-steeped diner.

“Katie! Boy am I glad to see you.” A woman a bit older than me bustled out of the kitchen, arms loaded down with plates piled with pancakes.

“Right back atchya Liz!” I grinned, my exhaustion temporarily lessened at the appearance of a friend.

“Busy night?” I asked when we had both made it to the back room.

“Very,” Liz exhaled, pushing a few strands of silky black hair away from her face. “It’s started to calm down a little now, mostly just regulars and some college students from the U.”

“That shouldn’t be too bad then,” I replied, slowly standing and stretching my arms above my head. “I’d better get out there.”

Liz shook her head with a smirk. “Girl, you work too hard.”

I gave her a tired grin. “Without labor, nothing prospers.”

She rolled her eyes goodnaturedly.

“This another one of your old philosophy dudes?”

“Nah, this one’s an old playwright dude.”

“You and your old dudes, when are you gonna take interest in a guy from this century?”

My thoughts flickered to the cute guy from the coffee shop, with his beautiful curls and Danish Kierkegaard book, but it was my turn to shake my head.

“Why bother?” I joked. “Who’d take interest in me anyways? Not like I have time for anyone.”

“Without labor, nothing prospers,” Liz repeated back to me.

I touched my nose and pointed to her.

“Damn right.”

“Alright, alright,” she conceded. “Let’s get our labor on.”

With Liz by my side the first hour of my shift passed quickly, but then ten o’clock came and she bid me goodbye, filtering out with the rest of the regulars. Before long it was just the college kids gathered at two tables in the back corner, heads bent over textbooks and notes. As long as I kept the coffee and snacks coming they were happy and quiet, which was fine by me.

Around 2 am one of the students came up to the counter, asking for more fruit.

“What’re you guys studying?” I asked as I handed over the pre-prepared fruit cup and accepted her cash.

“Architecture,” she replied, and her attempt at a smile looked almost as tired as I felt.

“Keep at it,” I said, slipping another fruit cup to her with a wink. She nodded gratefully and returned to the tables, passing the extra fruit to the boy next to her.

Finally the clock ticked over to 3 am and my replacement arrived. There was little more I could do than give him a tired wave as I gathered my things and wrapped up in an old coat, preparing myself for the cold night.

Thank goodness my apartment is only a few blocks away, I thought, taking a bracing lungful of air. It was a path I was familiar with after two years of walking it almost every night, and a good thing too, because I was half asleep on my feet. I don’t even remember most of the walk, dozing as I was, and by the time I got to my blue apartment door it was all I could do to get my key in the lock and inside. Locking the door behind me I let my purse slip to the floor and took the five steps to my bed, collapsing on top of the blankets. With my last ounce of energy I fished my hearing aid out of my ear, setting it carefully on my bedside table.

“I did it, mom,” I mumbled into my pillow, fingertips brushing the silver photo frame beside my hearing aid.

“Another day done.”

And with that, I slipped into a deep sleep.

Hours later my alarm rang. I woke up, never feeling rested enough but determined to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I felt grimy after falling asleep in my work clothes, so I treated myself to a long shower, luxuriating in the steam billowing up around me. After I scrubbed myself clean I spent a few extra minutes soaking in the hot water. My aching muscles relaxed a little and I felt a bit better when I stepped out and wrapped myself in a towel. After drying and dressing I slipped my hearing aid in and squared my shoulder, ready to face the day.

And so time went on. It was three days before I saw Reid again.

#Irish Coffee #my writing #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer #reid #dr reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x oc

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timesorceror · 7 years

Text

Fenhanders Week 2017 #6

Saturday, April 8th - Let’s Grow Old Together

What does the end look like? Where did the trio end up? This is a time for some angst and goodbyes. Tissues suggested.

Question of the Day: Did they have/adopt children? If so, what did they leave behind?

The trio spent their early years after Kirkwall in the isolation of the Amaranthine Forest, merely a few days’ ride from either Vigil’s Keep or Amaranthine itself. All were content in that isolation until it was disrupted by news from Varric about the Inquisition and the Wardens’ false Calling, and that was when they left that isolation for the first time.

Surviving Adamant and the Fade had been like going to the Void and back; with Anders and Fenris having to drag Hayden behind them as Stroud remained behind to hold off the Nightmare. But afterwards, seeing all of the devastation wrought by the Venatori and the Wardens still under their control, they could not bear to leave it. Alistair and Rashia elected to head to Wiesshaupt instead to seek answers from their higher ups, and of course Anders and Fenris remained with Hayden, helping the Inquisition where they could.

Fenris mostly helped on missions, though he rarely left without either of his healers. When not out with Fenris, Anders and Hayden tended to patients and refugees still displaced from the explosion at the Conclave, adult and child alike. Sometimes these children had parents, sometimes they did not.

Hayden’s heart went out to all of the children without, because they knew the pain of losing a parent in their youth. However, it wasn’t until Fenris brought back a pair of nearly infant twins from an excursion to a dragon-ravaged home that Hayden was struck with a desire to do more than keep them warm and healthy until a place could be found for them.

So, after many long discussions and several battles fraught with danger, the trio returned home when Corypheus was defeated… with two small children in tow.

Anders breathed deeply of the still winter air, and then exhaled slowly, watching as his breath misted and danced before him, mesmerizing. His gaze wandered across the line of trees several yards away from the porch where he sat, seemingly fixed on a point in the distance through the gentle evening snowfall. The wooden chair beneath him creaked slightly as he rocked, but the sound was muffled by the great white expanse that surrounded the area.

“Papa?” A voice called from inside the cabin, making him turn to cock his head in the direction of the sound.

“Yes darling?” He answered, and coughed once, twice. Wetness rattled in his chest, and he sighed, leaning back in the chair. Distant footsteps grew louder until the visage of an elven woman with dark hair and amber eyes came into view, brows pinched in concern. She held two steaming cups in her hands, offering one to him.

“You’ve been out here for awhile,” she said as he gingerly took one of the cups, and relishing the taste of warm liquid chocolate on his tongue. He hummed noncommittally. “Yes, I know,” he replied in a chiding tone, smirking softly. “Can’t an old man enjoy the peace and quiet of a winter’s evening once in awhile?” He flashed her a slight grin, but was interrupted when a series of small coughs escaped him, threatening to develop into a full fit.

“We’d let you be,” said a man’s voice from the doorway, equal parts teasing and stern, “if not for you being so quiet. Your cough’s getting worse, and when we hadn’t heard anything from you in awhile we feared that you’d just… well.” The man was elven, like the woman, and it was obvious they were related. His hair was dark, like hers, but his eyes were a bright jewel green instead of amber.

Anders smiled sadly at the man. “I’m sorry I can’t put your fears to rest, son. An illness like this can’t be cured with magic or potions, and I’m… not as young as I used to be.”

“We know, papa,” said the woman as she reached out to take his free hand into her own from her place in one of the other two rocking chairs. “People don’t live forever. We’re not meant to. I just… I want to be there for you.” There were tears swimming in the woman’s eyes, and Anders set his drink aside to reach up and brush a few from here cheeks.

“You are here for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, “and I’m grateful, I am. Both of you came all this way to be with your old man, and you didn’t have to.”

“Course we did,” the man grunted. “I mean, we know you’re never really alone, but with Hayden gone and Father having passed last Harvestmere… Liesel and I figured someone should be here, to keep you comfortable at the very least.”

Liesel snorted. “Faron’s being too humble, as usual. He said to me while we were on our way here actually, “Sister, it’s more than a duty to care for a parent in their last days; it’s an honor.” I mean, really. He spends too much time with Uncle Varric, I think.”

Anders chuckled. “Varric’s still kicking? Huh. What’s he got you doing, that he’s keeping you around for so long, Faron?”

“Dictating a memoir,” Faron grumbled. “The pain in his joints’d made it hard for him to write for years, so I’ve been transcribing everything for him.” He shrugged. “He wasn’t nearly so poetic when we were working on the last installment of Hard in Hightown. I think that thinking about the past has made him wistful. He even said he might tell me the story of Bianca if I ask him at the right time.”

“Bianca? As in the crossbow?”

“Nah, the woman. I mean, I’m pretty sure the crossbow’s involved, but he meant the woman. I’m sure of it.”

“I still say he’s gonna leave you hanging,” Liesel teased. Faron huffed, shurgging as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “Never said he wouldn’t. Anyway, his way of speaking gets stuck in my head sometimes and I say stuff weird.” Liesel grinned.

“You meant what you said though. I could tell.”

Anders smiled, picking up his cup and sipping it as he watched his adult children bicker with one another like they were small again. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the memories of raising them with Hayden and Fenris in this very cabin. He was glad to have them here with him during what could potentially be his last days. Hayden had been sick like this a few times before they’d eventually passed. Losing Hayden had hurt deeply, but at least he’d still had Fenris for several more years after that.

This past year on his own had been harder still, and he’d leaned heavily on Justice to keep him motivated to get out of bed each morning. He’d been so caught up in grief that he hadn’t noticed the onset of illness until nearly too late. He couldn’t bear to leave the home he’d built with his lovers, so he’d written to their children in Kirkwall instead, asking them to come if they could spare the time away from their own spouses and children to keep him company.

“Alright you two,” he chided them gently. “You know your father absolutely detested when you bickered without purpose. Why don’t you tell me how my grandchildren are doing? Liesel, isn’t your eldest getting married soon?”

“She is,” Liesel grumbled. “I feel so old, papa.”

Anders chuffed. “But she’s marrying a good man, yes? Or lady?”

Liesel nodded, her features softening. “A fine young man. I was surprised to learn he has an apprenticeship with the Hightown surgeon, with him being elven like us. I hadn’t thought it possible.”

“Varric’s done some good in that city, it seems,” Anders sighed, contentedly. “I mean, I doubt he’s erased elven prejudice entirely, but I know things are better there now, for a lot of people. Having all of those terrible Tevinter ruins cleansed of blood magic traces seemed to help a lot too, as I recall.”

“The Circle’s not in the Gallows anymore either,” Faron added. “And it’s not called a Circle. My two boys go there, and they tell me that their classes are quite pleasant. Just last month, Tamaris was showing me this thing he could do with these things he called fairy lights. It looked like the night sky was plastered all around us, without needing to go outside.”

“I used to do that, when I was young,” Anders remembered with fondness. “My first love, Karl, once charmed some to appear in the shapes of red carnations and crystal grace on my bed when I threw back the covers. I used to make some for your father when he would wake in the dark from his nightmares. They helped ground him.”

Anders chucked, and added, “Hayden liked them too, but they were more like Karl. They’d take your father and I out into the forest during autumn in evenings and we’d watch a magic light show while sharing a picnic by the water.”

“I remember those,” Faron mumbled, lost in thought. Liesel sighed contentedly. “I do too. They were lovely. I had no idea they were Hayden’s way of being romantic.” Anders nodded, laughing. “Well, with small children in the house, the three of us had to get creative with how we flirted. There was a lot of suggestive eyebrows waggling and slightly not so innocent dancing and hugging that went on when you were young.”

“And then it all went out the window that one time I walked in on you and Father having sex,” Faron snorted, and Liesel burst in a fit of giggles. “Hayden was mortified, but they set you and I down while Father and Papa were… finishing up, and we had the sex talk right then and there.”

A few more snickers escaped her as she held a hand to her mouth and wrapped the other around her side, clutching at her clothes while she tried to laugh silently.

Anders was laughing too, but he had to be careful not to laugh too hard in case he started to descend into a coughing fit instead. Everything ached these days, but the laughter his children brought him made him feel lighter than he had in months, and the ache was easier to ignore.

Eventually the twins coaxed him to come back inside to sit by the fire, and later that evening the three of them shared a hearty meal of steaming noodle broth with fresh vegetables and chunks of butter soft chicken. Shortly before Anders retired for bed, Liesel dug around in her packs, presenting him something wrapped in cheap brown parchment and tied with string.

“I’d almost forgotten this,” she muttered as he began meticulously opening the package. “We found this for you in the estate library before we left–Varric told Faron that it was one of your favorite trashy romance novels and that it was quite important to you.”

Anders gasped when he finished opening the package, pulling the parchment away to find a copy of Fang of the Dragonlord sitting inside. This was the same one that Hayden and Fenris had purchased for him when they’d still lived in Kirkwall, and several of the pages had been dog-eared in honor of the parts that had been Karl’s favorites from the copy he’d kept in the Circle.

“Thank you for being so thoughtful, dear,” he murmured as he pulled Liesel close and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “This will be such lovely bedtime reading, for certain.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be,” Faron snickered, and Anders just fixed his son with a dead-eyed stare.

“Boy, I’m a widower well into my twilight years. I am more interested in keeping my plants pruned and my cat fed than getting it up. Besides, the story in this one’s actually good.”

“Compared to Swords and Shields?”

“Anything’s better than that. The position he describes in the second installment on page 69 is physically impossible, unless you’re a contortionist, and even then it still sounds vastly uncomfortable.” Faron snorted. “True. Still, you know, it couldn’t hurt. Don’t orgasms help… something when you’re sick?”

“That’s headaches, son,” Anders chortled, “and that doesn’t always work.”

“Whatever. Go get some rest, ok? And call for us, if… if you need us.”

“I will. I love you.” “We love you too, Papa.”

Anders leaned over and pressed a kiss to Faron’s forehead and slowly made his way to the bedroom he’d once shared with Hayden and Fenris.

It no longer smelled like them, but the room itself was full of several books and trinkets that they’d collected, gifts from their children and their friends. A drawer in the desk by the window was ajar, and inside it Anders knew was a box full of letters from their friends and each other, detailing much of their lives together from their time in Kirkwall onward. Some of Hayden’s old robes still hung in the closet, and in the dresser, tucked behind a sachet of elfroot and rosemary were a few pairs of worn black leggings.

Anders lit a candle and set it on one of the nightstands, laying the book on the bed. He moved to dress for sleep, but was struck with the sudden desire to wear one of the silk robes Hayden had gifted him, along with a pair of woolen socks that Fenris had knitted for him a long, long time ago.

He paused in front of the small mirror that had been hung on a nearby wall, reaching back to pull out his hair tie. His hair had gone full white in the last year, and a pang of sadness beat deep in his chest at the thought Fenris hadn’t been around to see it.

“We match now,” he whispered, sighing.

He would’ve laughed, Justice muttered quietly over their shared connection.

Anders chuffed as he brushed his hair and got into bed, skipping straight to the bits that he preferred, instead of the steamy scenes. “He would have, yes. He had teased me about it when we first found those early white strands. I wish… I, I wish…” He sniffed, tears forming in his eyes.

Hush now, Justice soothed. It’ll be alright.

Anders felt the spirit’s comfort in the core of him, and it helped as he breathed deeply, for once uninhibited by his illness. As his reading came to a close and exhaustion began creeping in, Anders found himself pausing at the last page, unwilling to turn it and close the book.

“Justice, I’m… I’m scared. Are you scared?”

Of what?

“Dying.”

Anders could practically feel the wheels of Justice’s mind turn as he thought, but the spirit’s answer surprised him when it finally came.

Strangely, I am not. In the Fade, there is no life and death. Spirits and demons simply… are. And while I know you hope that your death will return me to that state of existence, I have long hoped that it would not. Should I return as I am now, I would want. I would desire. These are dangerous things for a spirit.

But, in death, in whatever it means to fade from this existence into the next, I would not be a danger. In death, I could keep you company until we are separate beings once more. Our memories combined span more than your lifetime, a life that is well-lived at that. I would be content to retire my existence with you, knowing that good came from our being in this world.

So… no. I am not afraid. But do not feel shame that you are. It is normal, as I understand. Our children understand it.

Anders felt his breath leave him in a rush as a kind of peace stole over him.

“Thank you, Justice.”

The response that filled him was not words, per se, but Anders knew it to be a gesture of gratitude nonetheless. He shifted in bed, glancing out the window to see a glimpse of the clear, starry sky. It filled him with nostalgia as he thought on the many nights he’d spent staring at those stars with his lovers, and he wondered if, wherever they were, they missed him as much as he missed them.

After a few more moments, he closed the book and set it aside. He blew out the candle and settled under the covers, feeling the aches and pains from earlier return. Strangely, he welcomed the deep weariness in his bones, one of the signs of that life well lived.

The call of the Fade swelled, and he noted with some amusement that it was different tonight. He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.

When next he opened them, it was to a familiar voice, saying, “So, mage. We did get to match after all,” while a peal of long forgotten laughter filled the air around them.

A distance away, a shimmering knight smiled, still unafraid as they winked out of existence.

#anders #fenris #hawke #non binary hawke #hayden hawke #fenhanders #papa!anders #papa!fenris #cw: death #justice #timesorcerorwrites #fenhanders week 2017

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magicmalcolm · 7 years

Text

Angel On My Shoulder - A SamiFinn Ficlet

A little thing I wrote for @dahdeemohn, who needed something a bit cute. Hope things are going better.

In which Finn deals with the aftermath of wrestling Sami for the first time, and Sami fails to get used to travelling again after returning from injury in the best possible way.

Part of the Dating For Demons Universe, takes place between “Who Do You Think Of? (When You’re Lonely)” and “Isn’t It Obvious?”

With the popularity of NXT increasing on a near-daily basis, it was only a matter of time before the brand began more extensive touring. The first British tour had been a success, TakeOver in Brooklyn had been a smash-hit sell out. Everything seemed to be going well for the developmental brand.

Of course even more locales to tour, this meant more travelling for the performers and crew. Which meant more bus and plane trips. Not that travelling all over the world was a new thing for the majority of NXT's performers, whether they enjoyed it or not was a different story.

For Finn Bálor, travelling with this motley crew had been quite the experience. Almost worth signing on with the WWE for alone. Not that Finn wasn't used to travelling with eccentric characters, he'd travelled with the Young Bucks after all. But this lot? Hoo boy, Enzo Amore alone could fill a book of on-the-road wacky adventures even without taking the Vaudevillains into account. It was almost refreshing to see Samoa Joe come in, just for the sake of normalcy...but the sudden betrayal prior to their NXT title match in London had put the kibosh on him becoming a regular travel partner.

Luckily for Finn, Joe's change of attitude just about coincided with the in-ring return of his roommate and de facto Floridian best friend; Sami Zayn. Sami's enthusiasm at being back in the ring had helped lift Finn's spirits after Joe turned his back on him, and having the whole gang back together meant having a nice safety network around him once again. The minor side effect of being around Sami more often was...well, those itty-bitty teeny-tiny feelings in the bottom of his stomach that only Karl Anderson and his sister knew about were becoming a lot less little and a whole lot MORE.

It really didn't help that Sami's first matches back on the U.K. tour were against Finn. The constant close contact almost led to a minor sensory overload. However Finn prided himself as a professional inside that ring, and even a sweaty Sami Zayn wasn't going to compromise that.

The fact they hadn't been booked to wrestle each other since had almost been as much a blessing as a curse. It had been a fun series of matches, but Finn figured he'd need to mentally prepare himself for that much close combat (let alone Sami's in-ring quirks).

Still, it was nice to travel with Sami again. The conversations at home tended to be more recreational, whereas on the road they preferred to talk about the wrestling (with the occasional ribbing of Sami's fashion sense and his bizarre attempt to try the buzzcut look again). And if talking about the job got a bit dull, they could always fall back on Enzo's dumb stories again that couldn't possibly be true (but deep-down Finn knew they totally were...you couldn't make that shit up).

However, Finn accidentally discovered his new favourite thing about travelling with Sami whilst on the bus ride to Citrus Springs from a show in Tampa. That Tampa show had been a bit of a weird one...teaming with Bull Dempsey to take on Tye Dillinger and Tino Sabbatelli. Sami wasn't booked for those two live events, but he came along for public appearances and autograph sessions. It also meant that Sami was fresh as a daisy on the ride to Citrus Springs, whereas most of the booked talent were happy to grab a quick nap en route. At least it was only a sub-2 hour trip.

A 2-hour trip that Finn more-or-less had Sami to himself.

Usually Finn was wired to the moon after a show, restless and eager to discuss what had happened in excrutiating detail. Something that the usually energetic Sami was the perfect partner for. FInn was halfway through enthusiastically extolling the virtues of Tye's in-ring and character work when he caught Sami out mid-yawn.

"I'm sorry, am I borin' ya?" Finn joked, playfully bumping Sami with his shoulder.

"No, no," Sami managed to say as the yawn began to subside, "Just getting used to all the travel again after being on the shelf for so long. Might take a while longer, I guess."

"You want to take a quick nap?" Finn suggested.

"I'm okay, Finn!" Sami replied, the tiredness seeping through as he went on, "We'll be there soon enough, I can crash out then."

"Sami, you sound like you've crashed and burned already. Take a nap, it'll help."

"What about you, though?" Sami actually had the audacity to pout at Finn, eyelids already drooping, "Don't...want you to be lonely."

"I can keep myself busy on social media," Finn tried to hide a victorious smirk as Sami yawned again, "You need your beauty sleep."

"...maybe I'll just rest my eyes?" Sami sighed softly, letting his head fall back on the headrest, "Just for a minute."

"That's a good boy," Finn smiled as Sami's head began to loll to the side, "I'll wake ye up when we get to Citrus Springs...make sure there's no drool on yer face."

"T'anks Finn..."

Finn chuckled as Sami slowly began to drift away, his faint snoring only barely audible over the collective slumber noises from the rest of the bus. However, his chuckles caught in his throat as sleeping Sami's head slipped off the headrest and landed gently on Finn's shoulder. Finn found himself frozen, and not in his usual fun posing for the camera manner. The movement hadn't woken Sami up at least, in fact Sami seemed perfectly content to doze away on Finn's shoulder as he turned his body towards Finn and draped his free arm around Finn's torso.

Finn Bálor: Body Pillow In Training.

Well, he only had himself to blame...being the one who ordered Sami to sleep, after all. Finn could only look down at slumbering Sami fondly. He could live with Sami sleeping on top of him for an hour or so.

A soft giggling from behind his seat broke Finn from his reverie, and Finn turned his head as best he could to see Carmella smiling at him, “You two are unfairly cute. Tell me I can take a picture of this?”

“I don't think Sami would appreciate that,” Finn whispered back.

“Which part, the cuteness or the intended selfie?”

“Both, probably,” Finn grinned, “But you can absolutley do it anyway.”

“He fall on top of you like that often?” Carmella asked as she snuck beside Finn, her phone held up in the air for the big photo op. She waited for Finn to beam widely up at the phone before snapping the shot.

“Not as often as you'd think,” Finn replied, a touch of wistfulness in his voice, “Guess he's the angel on my shoulder.”

“Is he now?” Carmella asked coyly, not waiting for an answer as she moved back to her seat, “Well I'll keep this one to myself until it becomes a regular event that I can tease him over.”

Finn blinked in surprise before turning back to look at Sami, blissfully unaware of everything that had just transpired.

“A regular event, eh?” Finn whispered to himself, “You never know, I guess.”

#samifinn #finnzayn #dating for demons #i stole my sister's laptop to write this #here's hoping i remembered to wipe the evidence #my fanfic

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dailyurbine · 7 years

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Fic: Traveling Without Moving

#author: withthepilot #fanfic #urbine rpf #urbine

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filipinoscares · 7 years

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Pilipinas After Death #2

Part 1 here.

Aki Yama was not having the best day: her diva of a co-actor forced their shoot to go overtime, which meant Aki didn’t get to home until early in the morning; which meant she didn’t get to sleep before having to head to a casting call; which meant she probably wouldn’t be booking the gig she was auditioning for-- And as she surveyed the convenience store she was in, her chances at turning the day around were slim to none. Aki sighed.

One of the three stupid jerks robbing the store was grinning at her, “I guess that means I saved your life.”

Aki had to fight the urge to groan. Instead, she walked towards the guy with a smile--before kneeing his groin. Aki’s smile widened at the surprise spreading on the asshole’s face. “That means you killed a zombie, bastard.”

Aki turned to the other patrons of the store, “and that’s not the only one out there.”

“What?” One of the customers squatting on the floor spoke up, surprised at Aki’s statement. “That’s impossible. I would’ve noticed--”

Aki rolled her eyes. “Millenials. Always with your noses stuck on your phones.”

“I wasn’t--” the guy was about to protest, but he was cut off by the store’s cashier speaking up:

“Umm... Shouldn’t we, like, continue barricading the doors and windows?”

“And lock ourselves in?” One of the robbers, the one with a gun still pointing at civilians, had the gall to raise an eyebrow. Aki wanted to punch him in the face. But before she could give in to that desire, the cashier spoke again:

“Well, it would keep that zombie outside, so–”

Aki turned to the broken window, where the zombie she was sure was done for was standing again. Moaning. And walking.

“That’s not good,” the customer who spoke earlier said with wonder.

“Duh.” That one got away from Aki. The guy on the floor shot her a hurt look.

“Aki, what do we do?”

Aki turned to the person who spoke, one of her companions: her road manager. “What we always do, Gary. We survive.”

She turned to the robber who was still grasping his crotch in pain. “Are you man enough to let go of your dick, so we can push one of these display cases against the windows?”

The robber nodded. He put his gun down to help Aki with pushing one of the cases towards the broken window--blocking the access of the reanimated dead.

Aki turned to the other robbers and the cashier. “Gun man, boss man, cashier: You guys take care of the other glass windows and the door--”

“Why did we have to pick the corner store?” Gary sighed, turning to their other companion to help with barricading the possible entry points. The outspoken customer decided to help out as well, assisting the cashier with one of the displays.

“What happens to us when that thing... That zombie... gets in?” Aki turned again, locating where the question had come from. It was a mousy woman, holding a rosary for dear life.

“That’s why we’re blocking the doors, ma’am. So the fucking zombies won’t get in.”

The woman clutched her rosary tighter. Aki shook her head, and then turned to the other customers. “Look, guys, if we want to get out of this place alive, we’re going to have to work together. Those of you who aren’t doing anything--find things you can use as a weapon--”

"Like... What?” An older man. A bit heavy-weight.

“We’re in a convenience store, dude. Figure it out.”

“And then what?” It was the guy again. The one that had a gun pointed at him when Aki came in the convenience store. “I’ve seen zombie films. I know that when you shoot one through the head, they’re supposed to die. They’re not supposed to get back up to terrorize us again.”

“So we shoot somewhere else. We keep shooting until they stay down.”

“This might be a bad time to tell you guys that we don’t really have a lot of bullets,” said the robber that Aki had kneed in the groin. “I only actually have one left.” His accomplices glared at him.

“Great.” Aki surveyed the store again. There was a fire extinguisher, bottles of wine and other alcohol, there were matches--

BANG!

Everyone turned to see the mousy woman, with the pervert robber’s gun in her hand, slump down on the floor. The wall behind her was splattered with blood.

“Oh my God,” whispered the heavy-weight older man to himself before fainting.

“One less bullet to protect us,” the gun man gruffly said. He walked towards the mousy woman to take the gun off her hands. Everyone else looked away. Except for Aki. The mousy woman’s early exit reminded her that she can’t stay inside the convenience store with these lunatics.

“The barricades are temporary, people. We need weapons. We need to get out of here.”

To herself, Aki murmured, “our family needs us.”

The customer with all the questions turned to Aki, seemingly hearing what she had said last. Aki shot him a glare, and he kept his mouth shut.

Gary turns to Aki, “I call dibs on the fire extinguisher.”

“It’s heavy,” Aki frowned.

“I’ll get Homer to carry it.” Gary turned to their other companion, whose muscles rippled under his shirt as he put pressure on the cases that were blocking the broken windows. Gary sighed. Aki rolled her eyes.

“Fine.”

“There’s another fire extinguisher. A smaller one.” Aki raised an eyebrow at the guy who keeps talking to her. “I’m Karl, by the way. In case you were wondering. You probably weren’t. But since we’re going to be surviving this together--”

“Where’s the other fire extinguisher?”

“Here,” Karl hands the small extinguisher to her. Aki tested its weight, swinging it with one hand. It would do.

“What are you gonna use then?”

“I’ve never been good with fighting. It’s probably best that I don’t use anything,” Karl shrugged, before glancing at the others in the convenience store.

Gary was lugging the bigger extinguisher. Homer was still putting his weight against the display case that was, curiously, not very stable. The robbers held on to their guns, save for the pervy one who was now holding the magazine stand as his weapon. The cashier had a wooden bat. And the older man was still out cold.

“I could’ve sworn there were more people in here when I went in,” Karl muttered. A movement in her peripheral vision made Aki turn. Someone had closed the supply room. Some of the other probably hid inside.

“Once we go out of this store, they’re not going to be our problem anymore.”

“I know.”

“You could stay here.”

Karl flashed her a wistful smile. “I could. But at the rate my day is going? I would rather risk getting killed trying to escape, than wait for my death inside a Mini Stop.”

Aki nodded. She understood the feeling.

“Homer? If Gary’s not picking up a different weapon, I think we’re ready to run for our lives.”

“What about the old guy?”

“Feel free to drag him out yourself,” one of the robbers grumbled.

“Now, Homer.”

Homer backed away from the display case, allowing it to topple down on the older man. Beyond the broken window, there were more zombies making their way towards the convenience store.

Aki turned to the robbers, “start shooting!”

Gun man aimed at the first zombie, putting a bullet through its head. The zombie stumbled back and fell on the other zombies, giving them a small room to wiggle out of the broken windows.

"Gary, you go first--”

“Not in this lifetime.” Boss man blocked their way, allowing for his fellow robbers to get out first. “We have the guns, we go first.”

When the two robbers were safely out of the way, boss man kicked a shard of glass that remained on the window frame. He strode out, gun at the ready. And got jumped by a female zombie. The others followed, grasping at his shirt, his arms, at anything they could grab.

Aki turned to Gary, Homer, Karl, and the cashier. “Now’s our chance: let’s get out of here.”

The five of them made their way out of the store quickly, before truly realizing how fucked they were. Beyond the zombies feasting on the boss man, his fellow robbers had gotten caught by the other zombies as well.

There was nowhere to go, except to an abandoned car that was parked on the other side of the street.

Aki faced her companions. “Who knows how to drive?”

Karl raised a hand.

“Then get in the car.”

The five of them ran towards the car. Each of them swinging their chosen weapons, save for Karl who dived for the driver’s door.

Aki allowed herself to grin when she saw Karl finding car keys on the floor of the driver’s seat. With Karl starting the vehicle, Aki swung the fire extinguisher she was holding, taking care of one zombie that was ready to bite her. She opened the passenger door, and plopped down beside Karl.

The cashier hastily entered the back seat, followed by Gary.

“Homer, get in here!” Gary shouted, keeping his door open to allow Homer faster access inside the car. But a zombie gets inside the car instead. From outside, Homer pulls on the zombie’s legs, dragging it out. “Homer, no!”

Homer wrestled with the zombie, but locked eyes with Karl. “Go!”

Aki saw the non-verbal exchange. “Go.”

Karl stepped on the gas, allowing momentum to swing the backseat door shut.

“Turn around. We can’t leave Homer.”

Aki closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Gary.”

To be continued...

#Pilipinas After Death #Pilipinas AD

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