okay So you know how Phil is a crow hybrid? And crows hoard things and collect things they like... Well like if he liked a person I feel like he'd consider them part of his collection. And be protective of them, collecting them pretty random trinkets he likes. They'd be his favorite piece in his collection.
(Is this X reader? Don't know I tried, still working on that style)
TW: Swearing, me being british and projecting that onto Y/N :,)
You practically raised Phil, and it shows with how similar the two of you act
You spent a lot of your life travelling, sometimes with friends and sometimes alone
So while you were off building bridges and meeting new people, Phil was slowly but surely accumulating a surplus of children and friends - biological, legal and emotional
You don't come to the SMP often, but when you do, his home gets progressively more crowded
First it was just him and Techno
Then Wilbur
Then Tommy and Tubbo
Then Ranboo and Michael
And now Niki drops by, too
You swear you've seen Jack and Fundy a couple times
Even Eret used to drop by every now and then when L'manberg was starting out
"Every time I come to visit, you've picked up more feral little shits." "I'm not trying to." "You're a bloody liability, honestly."
... Yeah
If you end up having children like he does, you'll never hear the end of it.
"Hypocritical if you ask me." "Piss off, at least I didn't pick up the founding fathers of a country and their partners."
oh my god
Can we stop pretending he wasn't a feral gremlin child
Tommy and the others had to pick it up off someone, and we all know it wasn't from Kristen
"Wilbur, did I ever tell you that your dad was a fucking psychotic child?" "... REALLY-"
As much as you love your nephews, you're not afraid to play favourites
It started when Tommy and Wilbur were younger, with you would casually say "if you did this, you'd be my favourite"
Over time, they'd get more and more competitive
You're their coolest relative that laughs when they do stupid shit, of course they want to be your favourite!
Little do they know, Tubbo is your favourite
But you won't tell them that
That ruins the fun!
Phil is your brother, you're always looking out for him
That's why when Tubbo put him under house arrest, you couldn't help but feel betrayed
You also broke him out, but that's not the point I'm trying to make
Technically, you're not part of the syndicate
But when Techno calls upon Icarus to help, you're never too far away
A young boy with snow white hair ran through the snow, hurrying to get back home. White ears poked through his messy hair. “Here, Dad.” He said out of breath. A familiar fox hybrid appeared at the door, beckoning his young son inside. The boy plopped down on his great-grandfather’s floor and let his eyes drift to the mantle. A familiar chest sat on top, gleaming from its spot. He knows he’s not supposed to touch it. But he’s only a kid, isn’t he? He’s bound to be a little curious…
To the man who just wants a happy family,
I love you.
I need you to know that before I start.
Just please, remember that.
I…
I know that you’re immortal.
I know that Techno is immortal.
I know that Tommy and Wilbur aren’t.
And…I know about their mother.
I know that it’ll hurt when you and Techno outlive the other two and…
I know it’ll hurt when you outlive me.
I love you so much, Phil. And I can’t stand to watch you go through that pain.
So I…
I’m leaving. Tomorrow. Come see me if you want. Or don’t, if that’d make it easier. Either way, I’m gone.
I’ll miss you.
Goodbye, Phil.
A letter, from me to you.
“Woah.” The boy muttered. “Yogurt!” He jumped, his ears folding back on his head. Oh no. His father saw. “Put that down! You know you’re not supposed to see that!” He hurriedly shoved the letter back into the small chest. “Sorry, Dad.”
I have not written anything in some time - since I took a break from my writing account, actually (now deleted) - so cut me some slack here. I’m gonna format this in the same way that I did my old fics for that jolt of serotonin. So, if you would be so kind to indulge me, this is how I (niceimafan) would have submitted this work on fandoesfictionwriting:
What War Does || (platonic) Father Figure c!Phil x Teen gn!Reader
A/N: This is my submission for the 100 follower milestone of the lovely @/krabmeat! Krabs (Damien today) is an amazing friend of mine and is quite possibly the best human being in the world. (Go follow him if you haven’t already!)
War struggles paired with the classic familial miscommunication, what could be better as a way for me to get back into writing? This takes place around the time of Doomsday, or the final battle/destruction. Also I can’t remember if Wilbur’s room was still there at the time of Doomsday because I have goldfish memory so pretend it was if it wasn’t.
Requested: No
{Word Count: 1,946}
CW: intense arguing, mentions of war, mentions of death, cursing (up to the f-word), caps, use of godforsaken (I don’t know if people get triggered by that? I’m not religious so I wouldn’t know), very brief mention of spit, less than great relationship with father
This is an xreader fic!
This has been proofread. (skimmed rip I don’t like reading my writing)
- In which Y/N and Phil argue about Y/N and their right to participate in Doomsday. -
Phil works away high in the sky, loading cannons with enough TNT to detonate a nation. He, Techno, and Dream have everything planned out; you know because they did all of the planning right in front of you. Meaning you know everything they are going to do, and you aren’t even allowed to be involved.
You avert your eyes from your father and pick mindlessly at some grass instead, feeling the cold breeze of afternoon cool your flaming temper. For a moment, it appears as though everything might be fine, like you could get over this and let the Big War Men do their thing. But then Phil’s boots appear in front of you, and it’s all ruined again.
“You look miserable,” he says. Phil finishes his sentence with an airy laugh, trying to convey that he’s trying to joke with you. And so you make sure that the gaze you shoot him ensures he understands you do not find him humorous. Phil sighs, taking a seat beside you.
“Look, I understand that you want to help. I do! But I also understand that people with a spirit as strong as yours have risen to unimaginable heights, only to crash back down onto the blade of loss. And I fear that you will be no different.” Phil places his hand on your shoulder. “I just want you to be safe.”
You shrug him off, turning your neck so fast to glare at him it leaves a sharp stinging sensation in your movement’s wake. “Safe? You want me to be safe? No one is safe here, and you know that.”
“Y/N, you know-”
“What, Phil? What do I know? Because according to you, it doesn’t seem like a lot.” You stand after that, stomping off in an attempt to clear your mind, hoping Phil won’t follow you. But, of course, he does.
“Y/N, wait.” He shouts, but he makes no move to speed up or stop you. He simply follows along at a distance, saying nothing else. Probably waiting for you to make the first move. But you refuse, you refuse to let him win this and watch you break again.
And so the two of you walk in silence, you with no destination in mind and Phil’s footsteps echoing yours calmly in the distance. All you can do is follow your feet to wherever they find fit for this argument to play out.
To your amusement, you find yourself in Wilbur’s old room. Where he blew up his dreams for the first time and where Phil took the life of his son. How fitting.
You finally come to a stop, taking a brief moment to collect yourself, before spinning around on your heel to address your father. “Ph- Phil?” It does shock you to find that Phil isn’t there. He’s not standing behind you with a small, comforting smile, or with his eyebrows pinched together in a way that lets you know you’re going to be scolded. Nothing.
“You dress like him, you know.” Phil says from behind you. You whirl around again, reaching for your sword on instinct. Phil stands with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the soon-to-be battlegrounds.
“What?” It feels like you’ve lost all air in your lungs. Phil doesn’t just say things like that, especially not to you. And of course you know who he’s talking about; Techno doesn’t wear tattered trench coats and Tommy hasn't adorned ripped up fingerless gloves to protect from burns, to your knowledge. But speaking of Wilbur when referring to another child of his in this room in particular hit you in a place you have not yet built walls in.
“Wilbur. You dress like him.” Phil turns around, and you finally see that his eyes are watering. But he still has that sympathetic smile plastered on his face. “Every day, you remind me of him. And in doing so, you remind me that I can not let you turn out the way that Will did.
“Wilbur was changed by war. He destroyed everything he worked for because of it. And for that to happen to you, with such grand dreams and ideas, it would be heartbreaking.” Phil can’t maintain eye contact with you anymore, “I just want you to be everything that Wilbur couldn’t have been.”
You let his words sink in, and as they do, you begin to fight with yourself.
He just wants to help you!
How, by comparing me to his dead son? Yeah, something about that doesn’t feel right.
Just hear him out.
You grit your teeth, balling up and releasing your fingers into and out of fists. “I am not Wilbur.”
Phil shakes his head, rubbing the place where his eyebrows crease together. “I know that, and that’s not what I’m trying to sa-”
“Yes, that is exactly what you just said!” You begin to raise your voice, getting tired of this stupid game you two are playing with each other. Lying about what you’re really talking about to try and avoid the inevitable. “You just compared me to your dead son that went crazy and blew up everyone’s homes! The one that sold drugs out of a damn hot dog van!”
The air around you seemed to heat up as tensions between you two started to rise, Phil clearly getting more angry as well. “You are not Wilbur, but you are my child!”
“Oh, am I? Am I, Philza? And how long have I been your child for, huh? My whole life, a year, a few months, just this past hour? You have been trying and failing to be my father figure because you just see me as some rogue that could get too far out of control unless you’re there. Isn’t that right?”
“No, of course not. I just-”
“No! How could I have not realized? You just want a replacement! Someone to fill the hole that was left in your poor old heart when you stabbed your son through the chest.”
“I love you, Y/N, you don’t understand! You are like a child to me, you always have been! From the moment that I met you, I saw greatness in you. I swear, you mean more to me than just some replacement for Wilbur.”
Tears burn your eyes, the singular one that fell leaving a streak through the gunpowder and dirt smudged on your cheeks. You shake your head and scoff, unable to believe that this is the conversation you are currently stuck in. “Phil, that’s the kind of bullshit that you have to tell yourself in order to sleep at night. But guess what? It doesn’t work on me.”
“It doesn’t have to ‘work on you’, it’s just the truth, Y/N. I don’t know how I can get you to believe me.”
“You can’t, Phil.” You say, trying to ignore the way your voice cracks. “Because I have believed people, and then those people have either died, or tried to kill me, or both. So you know what I did? I grew up, Phil. Because THAT is what war does.
“It doesn’t make you write sad song lyrics on the walls, it doesn’t make you love your father figure oh so dearly, all it does is make you realize that there is more in this world to deal with than whatever any one person can do. And once you wrap your head around that, you realize that the best you can do is make the smallest of dents, and hope some other people do the same. That is how this world works, Phil.
“And do you know what my dent is going to be?” Phil has blurred by now. Once you blink the tears away, you can see that he’s crying too. Good. Now you’re really on the same page. “Blowing up this godforsaken nation once and for all.”
You turn to walk away again, hopefully for the last time, but Phil actually makes a move to stop you before you can get anywhere. “Y/N, I refuse to allow you to go out there and risk your life for a war already fought.”
“No war is already fought until people are dead.” You snap at him, resisting the urge to spit on his boots. “Besides, I can handle myself, I don’t need you to tell me who I can and can’t fight.”
“Y/N, I am your father!” Phil’s voice practically echoes through the entire SMP as he shouts at you, finally just as mad as you wanted him to be. You’re convinced people on the other side of L’Manberg can hear you two arguing. “Listen to me, you can not risk this.”
“YOU ARE NO FATHER TO ME!” You scream, getting your face as close to Phil’s as possible while still being able to look into both of his eyes. Phil’s eyes widen, whether in pain, shock, or both, you don’t know, but he quickly recovers with a stare solid enough to cut through stone.
“Do NOT turn this argument to family matters when we are discussing life and death!”
“This is no longer a discussion, dad,” you make sure to add as much venom to the name as possible, “We are not talking this out like a father scolds his young kid about what they can and can not touch in the house. We are screaming, and shouting, and ruining relationships like adults.” You try one more time to walk out. This time you make it down to the ground floor, but Phil follows you yet again, stopping you before you can reach the Prime Path.
“You aren’t an adult, though.” Phil’s voice is softer now, he sounds like he’s on the verge of defeat. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.”
“I was made an adult because of this damn war over some stupid place, I should be able to fight for it’s destruction like one.” You also stop shouting, but you don’t soften your voice. You keep it as firm as it can be despite your wobbly crying, letting Phil know that you are no longer playing games with him like you used to.
“I know that you could. I do. But that does not mean that you should.”
“Awwe, you really think so?” You feign a high-pitched voice, even clasping your hands together under your chin. “You honestly think that I can handle something more than a boo-boo, huh?”
“You know that I am making no attempt to infantilize you, Y/N. If you’re such an adult, you need to grow up. I do believe that you could fight for us, but I do not see it as wise.”
“Bullshit,” you say again, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. Phil tries to speak again, but you cut him off. “No. No! No, I don’t want you to tell me over and over about what I can and can’t do. About how you think I could be a good ally to you. I already know that, because I can make my own decisions.
“Do you know what I do want, Philza? I bet that’s something that your infinitely wise mind can’t think of. All that I want, all that I have wanted for the past SIX. FUCKING. YEARS. Is for you to just take me seriously for once in your damn life!”
Philza stands there in silence, seemingly dumbfounded, and you take this as your chance to stomp off for good. But you know full well that you’ll see Phil tomorrow. On the battlefield.
But you won’t be fighting for him, or Tommy, or Wilbur, or any of them. Tomorrow, you fight for yourself, and you win for yourself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DUDE WHAT?!?!?! INK THIS IS IMMACULATE HOW IN THE- WHAT THE F-CK THE WAY YOU CAPTURE THE ANGER AND FEELINGS AND HESITATION OF THE ARGUMENT IS SO WELL DONE!! AND THE FLOW OF TRANSITIONING FROM ONE SETTING TO ANOTHER ISNT CLUMPY OR FORCED AT ALL, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL INK! AND THE BUILDUP TO THE QUOTE, THE WAY YOU REALLY EMBODY ALL OF THE CHARACTERS IS SO MASTERFULLY DONE DEAR, AMAZING JOB!!!
