#Firkmore

[popgoesthewiener]

Play Ball - Filmore Anderson/Firkle - SFW

Title: Play Ball Author: Daisy  Fandom: South Park Setting: Filmore Anderson’s Backyard Pairing: Filmore Anderson/Firkle Characters: Filmore Anderson, Firkle, Quaid, Michael Genre: Romance/Humor Rating: T Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 1927 Type of Work: One-shot, Part of the Play With Me Series Status: Complete Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Established Relationship, Innuendo, Headcanons Employed, Unbeta’d Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Summary: Filmore just wanted to share everything with Firkle, including his football years. AN: Hey, everyone! It’s my birthday, today, so this is probably all that’s going to be written. xD I don’t think I have much more personal time. Anyway, this fic is for @filmoreandersonx, my good friend. ; u; I promised I’d have it done yesterday but some stuff happened. X.x Hope you enjoy!

Play With Me Series Masterlist Play Ball ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “Come on, babe, it’s not that hard. I can do it.” Filmore chuckled to himself, tossing the football from one hand to the other, standing about ten feet from his loving boyfriend. The goth didn’t look very impressed with his explanation, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his weight to one leg. Standing there in his black turtleneck, black jeans and too-large boots, he looked like a small stormcloud against the backdrop of the bright, sunny summer day.

“Yes, but you and I both know that you have no fear of balls raining from the sky. The only kind of balls I like are the ones I can fit in my mouth.” They both knew what he meant, and Filmore’s red cheeks showed it. Still, he readied himself to throw, form perfect, one leg back and arm poised, and Firkle’s first instinct was to flinch. “I’m not going to hit you.” The jock cooed sweetly. “You’re going to hit me because I can’t catch.” The goth replied with a cautious frown. “Just try for me? Please?” The pout that got Filmore out of more trouble than he knew slipped onto his face and that was the end of it. “Okay, fine, but if you hit me in the face, I’m going to make you sleep by yourself.” Firkle responded finally, sighing with defeat. Trying to get into a position to catch the football, he couldn’t deny he was embarrassed when his lover barked a genuine, enthusiastic laugh.  “I am definitely going to hit you in the face if you hunker down like that. Here,” Jogging over and showing off his muscles beneath the barely-there t-shirt he’d cut most of the side out of, the jock set the ball at their feet. Gently moving his hands over the other’s body, he turned his light caresses into easy angling, until he had Firkle positioned just right. “There. Now, I’m going to throw it, and you’re going to catch it perfectly because you don’t do anything in any way that isn’t totally flawless.” He winked, and Firkle’s eyes shone with adoration and acceptance. “Alright. Like I said, don’t hit me in the face.” “I won’t.” He promised, patting the ball Firkle hardly remembered watching him pick up again before getting into his best throwing stance. With that, he let it rip and the goth found himself trying his best not to flinch. Years of gym class where he’d been the target of rogue balls of all types left him fearful, even if he trusted his lover thoroughly. Sure, they had had their differences, there was that Month Of Swirlies bullshit from middle school… But Filmore had really grown since they had started this thing they had. He’d even told Quaid to fuck off when he’d been less than enthused to hear of their relationship. Still, a few months of trust did nothing to keep the goth from ducking and giving the world’s most Un-Goth Yelp ever as it finally hit the downward spiral that would lead it to his waiting arms. Instead, it bounced off of his ass as he cowered in the elder teen’s backyard. Filmore’s laugh was soft, this time, and he jogged right back over, picking Firkle up with his arms around his waist. Holding the slighter male against his chest in an almost crushing hug, he nuzzled his back gently.  “I told you I wouldn’t hit you in the face, didn’t I?” He chuckled, kissing the other’s spine. “You hit me in the ass, though!” But there was a laugh on Firkle’s lips, regardless. “I wouldn’t have if you would have tried to catch it.” He offered, grinning as the little goth began to wiggle in his arms. “Put me down, you meathead.” There was no bite to his words, and he yelped as the other fell back onto his ass, taking him down with him. Pinning Firkle down to the grass on his back, he nestled his face in the other’s neck. “Look, babe. I know you’ve had a lot of people that hurt you. Especially in gym, with footballs and--” “Quaid threw a medicine ball at my face once. It’s why my nose is a little off kilter.” Filmore made sure to press a gentle kiss into the bridge of it. “Your nose is beautiful. You’re beautiful.” And he’d say it a thousand times, in a million languages, until Firkle believed it just as much as he did. As much as all of his Instagram followers did. They had been pushing for Firkle to join in on videos and photos and things, and the goth just didn’t think he had a good side for the camera. It didn’t stop Filmore from making his favorite picture of them, the first one they took together, all snuggled up on his bed, as his lock screen on his phone.  “And you are known for false complements to get something you want out of someone.” Firkle’s smile didn’t falter, and he leaned in to nuzzle their noses together. Kissing him softly, the goth sighed, rather happy when his lipstick stuck and they both were smeared purple. “So, what do you want?” “All of your love is enough for me,” Answered the jock, before tapping his lip for a second like he was thinking, “Though if you didn’t chicken out when I threw a football for you, that would be a close second.” “I didn’t chicken out!” Though he knew he had, the goth wasn’t ready to admit to it. The look he earned was enough to have him looking away, decently shamed, “Okay, okay. I totally pussed out. If I try and catch it, now, will you stop pouting at me? Seriously, that look could make a tiger leave you alone.” “I always thought of myself as the tiger, not the prey.” Baring down and wiggling his ass playfully like a cat would, Filmore pretended to pounce on his lover, biting his bare shoulder gently and making him moan. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. And it was working, too. “So you’re going to eat me?” Squeaked the goth, writhing after those teeth only tightened on his flesh and his entire body seized after the grip grew vice-like. The choked moan that left him was enough to have Filmore giving an answering groan, and he knew suddenly that this was going in a bad direction to be so public. “I could.” He whispered, kissing the other’s ear, then the teeth marks he’d left behind, “But you have a ball to catch. I’ll tackle you and protect the sack once you’ve caught it. ‘Kay?” “Uh… Y-yeah, okay. You should have scrambled my brains after I caught the damn thing.” While he tried to sound grumpy, Firkle sounded more like he was pouting.  “Maybe with your brains scrambled, you won’t be so afraid.” Getting into a pushup position and then lifting off to a standing position, Filmore winked and ran to the ball, picking it up. “Come on, babe, I promise you I’ll toss it gently.”  Pushing up onto his hands, he brought his feet in slowly before finally getting them under him, he jumped a couple times and shook his head out. Trying to remember how Filmore had positioned him the first time, Firkle closed his eyes for a second, imagining the other’s hands on him, opening his eyes again when he was ready. “Throw it.” This time, instead of his All Star Throw, Filmore gave the football a gentle pass that landed against Firkle’s chest. He gasped as his arms instinctively shot up to grab it, and with wide-eyed wonder, he stared at the ball in his embrace. Excited, he looked up at the other with a blooming smile on his face, leaping for joy and throwing the ball down, watching it bounce off down the slight slope of the yard they were in. “And there he is, Firkle Ablah, number one, winning it for the Cows! And the crowd goes wild!” Filmore laughed, jogging over and picking the smaller male up around his waist again, facing him this time. Spinning them, he made loud hissing noises to imitate the crowd, .kissing the other’s stomach and up his chest a little bit. “Oh my Gods, Filmore Fucking Anderson put me down!” If Filmore made him laugh one more time today, Firkle was going to kill him. Maybe with love, however, before he cupped the other’s cheeks and leaned down, kissing him a la The Notebook’s DVD cover, minus the rain.  “I’m starting to think you actually believe my middle name is ‘Fucking’.” Filmore mumbled against the other’s lips, kissing him back softly and nuzzling their noses together slowly.  “Maybe it is. I sure call you it enough.” Firkle muttered, kissing the other’s cheek and rocking forward, pushing the other over towards the grass again. “Hey!” But that was all he got out before Firkle continued to kiss him. Tongues slipped wet and hot against one another, and the pair stayed like that for far too long. Possessively biting at Filmore’s lips, the goth made sure that his mouth would be very obviously claimed, much like his shoulder. Soon, their kisses turned to soft chuckles and giggles, hands wandering beneath the shade of the large tree in the back yard. Firkle eventually rolled off of his lover, snuggling up against him. “I’m never doing this sports thing again. You should have taken a video.” He informed, only half-joking. “Who says I didn’t? I’ve been streaming this whole thing, even if the angle might have messed up. My phone fell over.” “You what?” Shooting up, Firkle glared immediately at the other’s phone, frowning, “You ass, you didn’t even--”  Another kiss distracted him, and Filmore brought him into his lap, petting over his sides. “Shh, it’s okay, babe. Everyone wanted to see you. See us. I just wanted to prove that I’m with you, not Quaid. Since I only take pictures with him, they started to wonder.” “You are so lucky that your lips taste good and I love you.” That hadn’t been what he’d thought he was going to say. He had yet to say that out loud, and here he was, saying it for the internet to enjoy. “I mean-- I--” “You already said it, babycakes.” Filmore cooed, kissing his cheek gently, nuzzling him, “I love you, too.” He added, quickly, seeing the distress in the slightly younger male’s eyes. This didn’t, admittedly, help his fear, at least, not visually. “Quaid’s going to kill me, and Michael’s going to kill you.” He whispered softly into the other’s ear, pressing their cheeks together. “Let me think about them. You just relax in the knowledge that you’re mine, and I’ll protect you.” It was a comforting thought, but Michael wasn’t going to be an easy, open-and-shut case. “Alright.” He mumbled, kissing at Filmore’s cheek. “So, can we go back inside? I’m going to be on fire if I stay in all this sunshine much longer.” “I guess so.” Filmore pouted again, and Firkle wasn’t having it, leaning in and kissing him on the mouth.  “You mean ‘yes, Firkle, let’s go inside before you turn into a permanent tomato’, don’t you?” “Of course, babe.” Picking the smaller male up, he swung him over his shoulder and made sure to grab his phone and turn off the stream before carting the other up to his room to reward him for all he’d done this morning.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: This was supposed to be a lot shorter. xD But who cares? I’m rather proud of this! I hope you guys like it. Happy Birthday to me!

[written-in-sunshine]

Controversial Yet Mundane - Filmore Anderson/Firkle Smith - SFW

Title: Controversial Yet Mundane Author: Donnie Fandom: South Park Setting: South Park High School Pairing: Filmore Anderson/Firkle Smith Characters: Filmore Anderson, Firkle Smith, Pete Thelman Genre: Romance/Humor Rating: K Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 268 Type of Work: Drabble Status: Complete Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Fluff Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Summary: What could have prompted such a dramatic change? AN: Alright, so, I decided that I wanted to write a fic (or ficlet) for all of my Firkle ships. xD It’s kind of a tall order but it’s worth it, I think. This is the first of many, actually, so I hope you guys are looking forward to it! EDIT: This is mega old. Sorry. I have sixteen fics to post and seventeen that need edited. If you’re someone that can edit for all kinds of fandoms, please message me. I really need some help. Fandoms needed for betaing what I have so far: Saw, Insidious, Insidious/Saw Crossover, Fallout 3, Heathers, Heathers/Dismissed Crossover, South Park/TheVVitch Crossover, Assassin's Creed, Kick-Ass, Left 4 Dead 2, Dragon Age and Until Dawn.

South Park Fic Masterlist Controversial Yet Mundane ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ When Filmore Anderson did anything, Instagram was the first to know. Most of the time, he just liked showing off and getting lots of validation. His ego was so inflated, Firkle didn’t know how his head stayed on his neck. He often thought about seeing what would happen if he decided to just lob it off one day. Would it float away on its own, still begging to be relevant?

At least he didn’t bother with Instagram anymore. That also meant that when Filmore debuted the beautiful, rich red tips to his dark hair, Firkle was unprepared. The tight black jeans and red button up weren’t helping the racing of the goth’s heart. Dammit, why was that asshole suddenly attractive? The red should have reminded him of Pete. It should have made him repulsed. Or, at the very least, ready to defend goth appropriation. Instead, all he did was gawk like some troglodyte mouth breather. Oceanic eyes were wide and almost innocent as Filmore glided past him. “Might want to pick your jaw up off the floor, Dorkle.” He teased with a smirk. So, his shot in the dark had worked. Taking the risk of losing his hand, Filmore reached over and closed Firkle’s mouth for him, patting his cheek with a smirk, “See you in English.” “Uh… Y-yeah.” What an eloquent sentence. Firkle could have killed himself on the spot for floundering so much. Filmore blew him a kiss before sauntering off to meet his friends at the other side of the commons. This left Firkle alone with his short circuiting brain and self loathing. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: Another little short thing, but I’m still happy with it. I hope you enjoyed! Prompt: Seachange - A profound or notable transformation.

[littlemountaintownrp]

Baaaaaaaaaaby goth doo doo doo do do.

Firkle’s been accepted, of course. We know your shit, boo ;)

out of character info

Name/Alias: Alison Pronouns: she/they Age: 22 Join Our Discord: c; Timezone: mst Activity: 6.9/10 Triggers: n/a Password: randy is a dilf Character that you’re applying for: Firkle Favourite ships for your character: uhh Fike or Firkmore. Whichever bugs Kyle most.

in character info

Full name: Finn Nyarlathotep “Firkle” Sinn (I hate his canon name, I’m sorry.) Birthday: October 25th, (Scorpio) Sexuality, gender, pronouns: Death (Bisexual), Goth (cis man), “Don’t fucking talk about me” (he/him). Age and grade: Freshman, 14

Appearance:

Standing at the height of 5’7, but subtracting three inches the moment his boots come off. Firkle always wears two expressions, one of constant disdain, or a vacant one. Despite the eerie faces he likes to make, he has a rather pretty face. Heart shaped, large almond eyes, the color the storm clouds before the rain begins to fall, a small, slight turned up nose, a smattering of freckles on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. More often than not, he straightens his naturally wavy black hair, his fringe hangs down, on his right side, past his chin, and the sides are shaved with an abstract design of geometric shapes.

He has piercings, including: a septum ring, a bar through his left eyebrow, numerous cartilage piercings, a bar through his tongue, and his collar bones. He has a total of 7 tattoos, a skull with horns and the word ‘death’ over its forehead on his right upper arm; he got it when he was 13 and properly initiated into the cult. An Omega (Ω) on the outer side of his left wrist, “some ghosts are so quiet, you would hardly know they’re there” in a small handwriting font on his left thigh above a small ghost line art. He has an octopus the size of a CD on his left upper arm, it holds little knives in each hand. He has a boo from Mario over his left forearm, accompanied by the three life hearts from Legend of Zelda, and the Space Invaders alien.

His body type is thin, though he does have lean muscle from several years of fencing. His fingers have numerous scars on his fingers from years of playing with knives. Pale scars, a very slight contrast from his already corpse-like skin tone. His makeup is usually just dark eyeliner and black lipstick, very rarely does he use any cover-up or contour. In contrast to his minimal effort in his appearance, he has a very decorated taste in clothing. Plain black skinny jeans, plain dark grey t-shirt, wallet with chains hanging from his hip, boots with studs and buckles, and his jackets, always black, commonly leather, have studs, patches, and/or patches.

Personality:

Firkle is a true nihilist, he believes that nothing really matters, and he’d defend that philosophy until the day he died. Though he lacks empathy and is an undiagnosed sociopath, having said that, when he finds someone he wants to nurture and cherish, he does so. He would murder for them, and take care of them through thick and thin. It’s incredibly rare that this occurs, and he isn’t fond of the majority of the people he talks to. He has a short patience for people he doesn’t like, he’s snappy and will start roasting people in hopes they will leave him alone. He often comes off as cold and reclusive, but it’s actually because he hates talking to people, it makes him emotionally tired; though good at carrying conversation and it’s the entirely of his school career, it makes him want to curl up into the fetal position and sleep for a week. Having control over his emotions is something he’s mastered over the years and it’s rare that he would snap at anyone outside of being tired. Anger, sadness, and even happiness are controlled.

Behavior wise, Firkle is cunning, often lying to cover for himself, and generally selfish. Admitting when he’s wrong is something he despises doing, and he will get violent over small, insignificant disputes. Instead of getting mad or arguing, he’s more likely to slap someone than to shout at them. (But if they do shout at him, he can get incredibly loud, and he does not take anyone’s shit.) He’s not selfish in the “all for me, none for you" sense, but he will let someone become a scapegoat as long as it keeps him looking like the Eldritch Golden Boy his cult sees him as.

When he hits his most stressful moments, he grows numb and acts robotic, because the only rational, sanity retaining, thought he can think is that none of this actually matters, and his pure form, the sadistic apathetic asshole he is deep down comes out.

History:

Firkle was born to a single mother, Maeve Sinn, due to the absence of his father after his conception, his mother gave him the name she felt was most appropriate for him, including her own last name. Finn is a traditional Irish name, Nyarlathotep is the name of an Elder God, and Sinn has been the last name in his family for ages. His name rhymes, but he’s not fond of being called by his first name. When he was born, his mother was finishing her doctorate to start working full time as an alternative medical doctor. Commonly referred to as the local witch doctor, more accurate name than the population knows.

Firkle was raised by a goth and more or less by the cult his mother belonged to. Spending his earliest years, being laid down to nap on the pews of the abandoned church. By the time he was old enough to start school, the sadist fit in well with the resident goth clique. It took a long time for him to even like them, he betrayed them at gunpoint at one point, and it wasn’t until they forgave him unconditionally, that he came to realize that he had friends. Not really his own age, as they were all four and five years older than him, but much closer in age than the group he was raised by.

Spending the next 6 years being numbed to be the most apathetic asshole he could be, in the one place on the planet where everyone was a bit on the psychotic side. Must be something in the water. 12, and in the 6th grade, he spent the second semester of school in the South Park public school system, creating a reputation of defiance early. For his 13th birthday, the following semester, he was properly initiated into the cult, no more sitting on metal chairs, or on the pews, he got to attend the rituals, not just the sermons. Throughout the next year, he became a very active member of the group, attending every sermon and ritual he could, even if it meant skipping out on things normal kids got up to. Homecoming? He was harvesting blood from a sacrifice. Despite how much time he spends at these meetings, they never became common knowledge. He just called it “therapy”, and never went into any details.

Sample paragraph:

McDonald’s espresso, it seemed like a good idea when he bought it, but as Firkle sat at his booth alone, he came to realize how terrible it was. The taste was bitter and scalding, the way he liked it, but that wasn’t the issue. A gremlin released upon the world was, and it made the young goth livid.

Some punk ass eight year old came running down the aisle between booths, banging his fist down on each one, for no obvious reason. Naturally this caused the craved caffeine to tip over, soaking into a filled page of poetry, rather than into the goth’s blood stream. A great Shakespearean Tragedy. The pools of ashen misery he called his eyes just watched the liquid soaking into his pristine white page for an absurdly long moment, frozen by the thought he just spent three dollars to ruin a twenty dollar bullet journal.

Letting out a long overdue huff, he starts to sop up the remaining fluid. All of the pretty poetry pictures he had hoped to obtain were lost to time now, dumping the hardly used notebook in the trash with the napkins, he heads off towards the nearest location with any hardcover journals available. Doubtful any would ever be waterproof, the goth was still resolved. His mind void of any emotional attachment to the event further than the major inconvenience it happened to be. He had to draft the artwork his writing was before he could ever dream of posting it for his whole school to see, and now he was going to write a new poem. One called McDonald’s Espresso.

Headcanons:

-He plays violin. -He has a total of 0 expressions when anything happens, he just keeps this blank look on his face like he’s some sort of robot.

[all-my-friends-were-glorious]

for each muse, is there a character you wish had a blog so you could interact with them?

⊱asks for muns with a multimuse or more than one muse⊰

[ Mun ]

Ooooh God, each muse? Okay, let’s see.

Vegreth - He’s an OC, but I’d love more demons for him to play with!

Puddin' - He’s also an OC. I have no idea, I haven’t really gotten to use him much, yet.

Butters - Bradley. I want a Bradley so fucking bad.

Eric - I think it would be fun to have his family, other than Scott. Like his cousin!

Clyde - I’d love to have a Bebe for him, honestly.

Tweek - I really don’t know. Gnomes would be fun, or maybe a therapist type character.

Dylan - Dylan’s kind of an OC, but I think it’d be fun for him to have more therian muses to hang out with.

Harker - I think he’d be fun with anyone, really. I’d like to see him with Mark, though!

Estella - I think she’d be fun to play with any of the girls. She’d like Rebecca, I think.

Gregory - OH man I really, really want him to have like. A Dogpoo for some reason.

Pip - Chef. Definitely a Chef.

Israfel - Man, I have no idea. He’s an OC so I guess more werewolves?

Lycidas - Also an OC. I have noooo clue but he loves anyone with food honestly.

Shades - He’d love to interact with anyone who can cook. Another OC.

Crystal - Jason!! I’d love to have some interaction with the siblings!

Filmore - Firkle. One that isn’t mine lol I have such a Firkmore craving rn it hurts.

Quaid - Firkle, Sally. I want Quirkmore content honestly. There’s not enough bully/goth sammich. I want it. I also love Sally hanging out with him and Filmore.

Ferrari, Infiniti, Mercedes, Porsche - LEXUS. I want a Lexus but I don’t want to have her, too. >: Any other Raisins would be welcome!

Aster - He’s an OC. I guess other fankids to hang with would be fun?

Firkle - Filmore, Quaid, Kevin. I know I have them but I really want someone to actually play these ships with oops. Also I miss him and Father Maxi.

Karen - Tricia, mostly. But she’s on her way, I think!

Pete - I honestly don’t know. He’s pretty well good, though I think I would like to see him have the unnamed goth girl from that one intro. I’ve had one for him in the past and they worked real well.

AJ - AJ’s mostly good. I think other vamps would be fun!

Delilah - OC again. Kinda. Any of the other vamps she sits with would be great.

Fisher - OC again sort of. More vamps!!

Georgi - OC again. More vamps! Also maybe other Kindergarteners!

Bloodrayne - Vamps, mostly. I really don’t know. But she needs more interaction!

Larry - He’d honestly love to have more children lol

Dougie - I don’t really know, tbh.

Fauna, Gil - More fankids!

Gary - More Mormons! Annnnd maybe a Jesus?

Kevin - I’d love to see anyone that’s interested in him, honestly.

Kyle - Sheila. I’d love an aunt Sheila for him.

Trent - Josh Myers!! 

Wendyl - Bebe!!! Any of the girls, really!

[comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog]

Finn “Firkle” Sinn

out of character info

Name/Alias: Alison Pronouns: she/they Age: 21 Join Our Discord: c; Timezone: est Activity: 6.9/10 Triggers: n/a Password: jimmy can fastpass my ass Character that you’re applying for: Firkle Favourite ships for your character: uhh Fike or Firkmore. Whichever bugs Kyle most.

in character info

Full name: Finn Nyarlathotep “Firkle” Sinn (I hate his canon name, I’m sorry.) Birthday: October 25th, (Scorpio) Sexuality, gender, pronouns: Death (Bisexual), Goth (cis man), “Don’t fucking talk about me” (he/him). Age and grade: Freshman, 14

Appearance:

Standing at the height of 5’7, but subtracting three inches the moment his boots come off. Firkle always wears two expressions, one of constant disdain, or a vacant one. Despite the eerie faces he likes to make, he has a rather pretty face. Heart shaped, large almond eyes, the color the storm clouds before the rain begins to fall, a small, slight turned up nose, a smattering of freckles on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. More often than not, he straightens his naturally wavy black hair, his fringe hangs down, on his right side, past his chin, and the sides are shaved with an abstract design of geometric shapes.

He has piercings, including: a septum ring, a bar through his left eyebrow, numerous cartilage piercings, a bar through his tongue, and his collar bones. He has a total of 7 tattoos, a skull with horns and the word 'death’ over its forehead on his right upper arm; he got it when he was 13 and properly initiated into the cult. An Omega (Ω) on the outer side of his left wrist, “some ghosts are so quiet, you would hardly know they're there” in a small handwriting font on his left thigh above a small ghost line art. He has an octopus the size of a CD on his left upper arm, it holds little knives in each hand. He has a boo from Mario over his left forearm, accompanied by the three life hearts from Legend of Zelda, and the Space Invaders alien.

His body type is thin, though he does have lean muscle from several years of fencing. His fingers have numerous scars on his fingers from years of playing with knives. Pale scars, a very slight contrast from his already corpse-like skin tone. His makeup is usually just dark eyeliner and black lipstick, very rarely does he use any cover-up or contour. In contrast to his minimal effort in his appearance, he has a very decorated taste in clothing. Plain black skinny jeans, plain dark grey t-shirt, wallet with chains hanging from his hip, boots with studs and buckles, and his jackets, always black, commonly leather, have studs, patches, and/or patches.

Personality:

Firkle is a true nihilist, he believes that nothing really matters, and he’d defend that philosophy until the day he died. Though he lacks empathy and is an undiagnosed sociopath, having said that, when he finds someone he wants to nurture and cherish, he does so. He would murder for them, and take care of them through thick and thin. It's incredibly rare that this occurs, and he isn't fond of the majority of the people he talks to. He has a short patience for people he doesn't like, he's snappy and will start roasting people in hopes they will leave him alone. He often comes off as cold and reclusive, but it's actually because he hates talking to people, it makes him emotionally tired; though good at carrying conversation and it's the entirely of his school career, it makes him want to curl up into the fetal position and sleep for a week. Having control over his emotions is something he's mastered over the years and it's rare that he would snap at anyone outside of being tired. Anger, sadness, and even happiness are controlled.

Behavior wise, Firkle is cunning, often lying to cover for himself, and generally selfish. Admitting when he's wrong is something he despises doing, and he will get violent over small, insignificant disputes. Instead of getting mad or arguing, he's more likely to slap someone than to shout at them. (But if they do shout at him, he can get incredibly loud, and he does not take anyone's shit.) He's not selfish in the “all for me, none for you" sense, but he will let someone become a scapegoat as long as it keeps him looking like the Eldritch Golden Boy his cult sees him as.

When he hits his most stressful moments, he grows numb and acts robotic, because the only rational, sanity retaining, thought he can think is that none of this actually matters, and his pure form, the sadistic apathetic asshole he is deep down comes out.

History:

Firkle was born to a single mother, Maeve Sinn, due to the absence of his father after his conception, his mother gave him the name she felt was most appropriate for him, including her own last name. Finn is a traditional Irish name, Nyarlathotep is the name of an Elder God, and Sinn has been the last name in his family for ages. His name rhymes, but he's not fond of being called by his first name. When he was born, his mother was finishing her doctorate to start working full time as an alternative medical doctor. Commonly referred to as the local witch doctor, more accurate name than the population knows.

Firkle was raised by a goth and more or less by the cult his mother belonged to. Spending his earliest years, being laid down to nap on the pews of the abandoned church. By the time he was old enough to start school, the sadist fit in well with the resident goth clique. It took a long time for him to even like them, he betrayed them at gunpoint at one point, and it wasn't until they forgave him unconditionally, that he came to realize that he had friends. Not really his own age, as they were all four and five years older than him, but much closer in age than the group he was raised by.

Spending the next 6 years being numbed to be the most apathetic asshole he could be, in the one place on the planet where everyone was a bit on the psychotic side. Must be something in the water. 12, and in the 6th grade, he spent the second semester of school in the South Park public school system, creating a reputation of defiance early. For his 13th birthday, the following semester, he was properly initiated into the cult, no more sitting on metal chairs, or on the pews, he got to attend the rituals, not just the sermons. Throughout the next year, he became a very active member of the group, attending every sermon and ritual he could, even if it meant skipping out on things normal kids got up to. Homecoming? He was harvesting blood from a sacrifice. Despite how much time he spends at these meetings, they never became common knowledge. He just called it “therapy”, and never went into any details. 

Sample paragraph:

McDonald’s espresso, it seemed like a good idea when he bought it, but as Firkle sat at his booth alone, he came to realize how terrible it was. The taste was bitter and scalding, the way he liked it, but that wasn’t the issue. A gremlin released upon the world was, and it made the young goth livid.

Some punk ass eight year old came running down the aisle between booths, banging his fist down on each one, for no obvious reason. Naturally this caused the craved caffeine to tip over, soaking into a filled page of poetry, rather than into the goth’s blood stream. A great Shakespearean Tragedy. The pools of ashen misery he called his eyes just watched the liquid soaking into his pristine white page for an absurdly long moment, frozen by the thought he just spent three dollars to ruin a twenty dollar bullet journal.

Letting out a long overdue huff, he starts to sop up the remaining fluid. All of the pretty poetry pictures he had hoped to obtain were lost to time now, dumping the hardly used notebook in the trash with the napkins, he heads off towards the nearest location with any hardcover journals available. Doubtful any would ever be waterproof, the goth was still resolved. His mind void of any emotional attachment to the event further than the major inconvenience it happened to be. He had to draft the artwork his writing was before he could ever dream of posting it for his whole school to see, and now he was going to write a new poem. One called McDonald’s Espresso.

Headcanons:

-He plays violin. -He has a total of 0 expressions when anything happens, he just keeps this blank look on his face like he’s some sort of robot.

Anything else: I love you gays.

[popgoesthewiener]

Devastating - Quaid/Firkle, Filmore Anderson/Firkle - SFW

Title: Devastating Author: Daisy Fandom: South Park Setting: Skeeter’s Wine Bar Pairing: Quaid/Firkle, Filmore Anderson/Firkle Characters: Quaid, Firkle, Filmore Anderson Genre: Drama/Romance Rating: T Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 946 Type of Work: One-Shot, Fanfiction-Friends’ Weekly Writing Prompt Status: Complete Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Forced Kisses, Underage Drinking, Jealousy, Unbeta’d Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Summary: Quaid had intended on getting Firkle to leave, but all he did was confuse himself further. Tonight was a disaster. AN: Another piece for the Fanfiction-Friends’ Weekly Writing Prompts! This week’s prompt was Disaster, and this is what came out. xD I love these guys so much. ; u; Here we go! This is for @quaidsilva / @filmoreandersonx! Devastating ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ How many drinks had it taken to make Firkle look less like a punching bag and more like something he wanted to take home? Even Quaid had lost count, but he’d never really started, either. 

It had started simply enough. Under Filmore’s nose, he’d gone and invited Firkle out for drinks, mostly to intimidate the other out of dating his best friend. What he’d done, though, while he’d waited for the little goth to appear, was drink his anger down to a slow burn in his gut. When the other finally took the time to arrive, Quaid was too far gone not to want to leap on the first chance to test out Firkle’s slutty reputation. The skinny goth traipsed over, taking his seat at the bar beside Quaid, not managing eye contact with his long-time bully. Instead, he ordered himself his own shot of liquid courage, downing the whipped cream vodka quickly. He knew, somehow, that he’d need it. When his hand moved to call for another, Quaid’s shot out and grabbed his wrist, and for a second, Firkle’s heart skipped a beat. For a long moment that stretched into a thousand eternities, Firkle’s stormy blue eyes met Quaid’s grassy green ones, and then the jock shot off like lightning. What the goth expected to be a punch, or maybe his head cracking against the bar, was, instead, a crushing kiss that left his lips bruised and breath caught in his throat. One of Quaid’s big hands held the back of his head in a death grip, as if pulling away would, once and for all, announce his sexuality to the world and he wasn’t ready for that step out of the closet. Everything about the kiss was rough and sloppy, but it certainly wasn’t the first time that Firkle had ever dealt with a man so homophobic he couldn’t be himself. Many of the guys he’d slept with before Filmore had been the same, too afraid of what other people thought to let their freak flag fly. Some of them still were, convinced Firkle would keep their secret. And he did. When Quaid finally broke the kiss, panting like he’d just run a marathon and glaring as though this was all Firkle’s doing, the goth prepared himself for a punch. But it didn’t come. Peeling open his eyes again, not quite sure when he’d scrunched them shut, he stared up at the other, watching his face carefully. There was a flicker of disgust, followed by a sneer he could have placed anywhere, and the hand still forcing pressure on the back of his head pushed him closer again. This time, the larger man was going to have the goth at his mercy, if only because he wanted to kill him for making these stupid kisses good. He’d remembered the stories of Wendy Testaburger and Eric Cartman, how their sexual tension had been easily disbanded by a kiss. Why wasn’t it working with Firkle? It wasn’t like he liked the kid in his lap. He was scrawny, he wasn’t good at anything, all he ever did was talk down on everyone. Why did Filmore like him so damn much? Another kiss, and he hoped to find out the reason. Tongue, maybe? His alcohol addled brain sure seemed to think that that was a crackerjack idea, and he took Firkle’s chin in his hand helping to keep the other focused as he sunk his tongue into the other’s mouth. He tasted like stale cigarettes and mint and cherry all at once, and it was straight up intoxicating. No wonder Filmore liked this little slut. “You’re a fucking whore.” It wasn’t the nicest thing that someone had ever said to him, but Firkle didn’t mind so much. Quaid would say that about him until he was blue in the face, and the fact of the matter was, he’d had no choice in either of these kisses. He’d done what came naturally, sucked his tongue, then tried to push it back out. He didn’t really kiss back either time, but Quaid was leaning in again, and he needed to think fast. “I stopped doing that. For him.” He spoke quickly, and Quaid paused; there was anger shining in his eyes, coupled with shame that the alcohol probably helped him feel. This whole thing was a disaster and a half. He had come here to try and beat Firkle out of Filmore’s life. Leave him dead in a ditch, maybe. But, instead, here he was, forcing a makeout session on his best friend’s boyfriend. Somehow, it sunk in that maybe this wasn’t the way to go about finding out just what the Korean saw in this kid. Letting Firkle go with a bit of a push, he growled a little and looked away. Another brandy on the rocks for him, and he downed it like it didn’t scorch his insides. He should have known better than to start drinking. That was where this all went south. Firkle opened his mouth to speak but Quaid rose his hand to stop him. “Just go, Ablah. I don’t care to continue this. Go tell him for all I care. His decision is obvious.” It might not have been something he understood, but it was right there, staring at him like he had a moose growing out of the side of his head. Firkle hesitated, as if he didn’t know quite what to do, before simply nodding, rising, and flouncing his way out the door. Stupid slut. He’d find out somehow how to break them up. Tonight was just shaping up poorly, that was all. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: Wowie Zowie, that ended up being more than I thought it would be. I had a lot of fun with this one. Hope you guys enjoyed!

[popgoesthewiener]

The Fortunate - Filmore Anderson/Firkle - SFW

Title: The Fortunate Author: Daisy Fandom: South Park Setting: South Park Football Field Pairing: Filmore Anderson/Firkle Characters: Filmore Anderson, Firkle, Quaid Genre: Romance Rating: K Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 541 Type of Work: One-Shot Status: Complete Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Fluff, Mentions of homophobia, Unbeta’d Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Summary: Filmore had never tried harder for his team in his life. AN: So, this was something I came up with while trying to get in a nap last week, and I finally got around to getting it done. Once more, this is a gift for @filmoreandersonx, I really hope you like it, dude! I’m really excited for this one. ^^ Hope you guys enjoy! The Fortunate ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ What was he even doing here? This had to have been the millionth time Firkle had asked himself that since he’d arrived. It was the big Homecoming game against Middle Park, and he had promised Filmore he would go. If he was seen, that was another matter entirely. 

The again, in the elaborate, elegant corset dress and leggings he wore with his favorite new boots, how could he not be noticed? Filmore saw him the second he started for the bleachers. Distracted by Firkle’s arrival, he was tackled, his face driven into the terf before he could finish his wave. Firkle’s entire body tensed, but his grinning would--e boyfriend rose, all smiles and waves, from his unfortunate attempted dirt nap. Quaid sent the goth a death glare he only just barely caught, too distracted by FIlmore’s blown kiss. Returning it shyly, he moved to the top of the bleachers, secluded, to write while he watched the football game play out. As he’d said, Filmore tried harder this game with his goth in the stands. Firkle even joined in on the ‘Let’s Go Cows’ chanting, clapping his hands with modest enthusiasm. Nobody had ever seen such spirit in the pair, and a few of the girls scooted to the top of the bleachers to help cheer Filmore on. For once in his life, Firkle didn’t mind being surrounded by his peers; Filmore really did do strange things to him and his image. The girls beckoned him down to the very bottom of the bleachers during the last quarter of the game, and he shouted even louder for his boy to help bring home the gold. According to a couple of his newfound cheer squad, this was the best their team had done this season. Filmore was a force to be reckoned with, and in the last seconds of the game, scored the touchdown that secured the Cows their win. With the game called in the favor of the Cows, even Firkle didn’t know what he was doing. Climbing the fence in a dress wasn’t easy, or very ladylike, but he managed to accomplish it with flying colors. Hitting the ground running, he leapt into good ol’ number seven’s arms, kissing him solidly on the mouth for everyone to see. Girls and parents alike erupted in whoops and hollers, and he could hear Quaid groan in disgust, but everything was drowned out by his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Filmore’s arms wrapped around his waist and he spun them a bit, excitement in his every movement. “So, is this a ‘yes’, then?” Filmore asked, breathless, their mouths barely an inch apart. “Yes.” Firkle nodded exuberantly, “I’ll go to homecoming with you.” The bear hug he was in tightened and he smiled slightly, kissing his winner on the cheek, leaving behind a purple kiss mark. “And what about being my boyfriend?” Filmore’s smile was uncertain, but hopeful, and Firkle kissed his teeth. “Of course.” They shared another long kiss, forgetting the world around them as more people flooded the field. There were taunts and jeers focused on Middle Park’s players and fans, but for the most part, people left the two lovers alone. It couldn’t have been a better night. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: So, I started writing this on paper and finally got a chance to finish and type it this morning. I’m trying to accomplish things, and I’m feeling pretty good about this. I actually really love this story. ; u;

[popgoesthewiener]

Dump Truck Is Right - Filmore Anderson/Firkle - SFW

Title: Dump Truck Is Right Author: Daisy Fandom: South Park Setting: Filmore Anderson’s House Pairing: Filmore Anderson/Firkle Characters: Filmore Anderson, Firkle Genre: Romance/Humor Rating: K Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 1113 Type of Work: One-Shot, Part of the Fanfiction-Friends’ Weekly Writing Prompts and Part One of the Play With Me series Status: Complete Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Fluff, Teasing, Slight racism mention, Korean!Filmore, Top!Filmore, Bottom!Firkle, Unbeta’d Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, except Monster. Summary: Filmore really would eat anything, maybe that was why Firkle likened him to Experiment 625. AN: So, here’s another piece for the Fanfiction-Friends’ Weekly Writing Prompts. This week it was the difference between Defiantly and Definitely. I had too much fun writing this, and I dedicate it to my Filmore I rp with on Tumblr ( @filmoreandersonx). Quick note: Firkle has two pets, a veined/coconut octopus named Edgar and a nine-year-old Chihuahua with a missing toe, most of his fur missing, one eye missing and the other has cataracts, named Monster. He’s Firk’s baby, even if he’s kind of a downer. Anyway, on we go! Another note: I know the word cap for these WWPs is 1,000 words, but I couldn’t find a way to condense and was given permission to have gone over a bit. ; u; 

Play With Me Series Masterlist Dump Truck Is Right ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “I think I finally found the best analogy for how you eat.” Firkle stated proudly, hunkered over his laptop on Filmore’s couch. He glanced over at the other, who was busy snapping another picture with Monster, trying to get the toothless wonder to smile for his phone. “Ahem, I said--”

“I heard you, babe, aish.” Finally rolling off the couch and leaving the poor, old Chihuahua to rest on his favorite pillow, the jock strode over and knelt down beside his whirlwind of a lover. “So, what is it? If it’s a bunch of fancy words you might need to tutor me.” He joked, even if his words weren’t entirely untrue. English was his first and only language, despite appearances, and he was nowhere near as good at it as Firkle The English Freak. “Don’t worry, it’s a children’s game. Even you should be able to understand.” Leaning over and pecking his cheek, proud of the purple lipstick mark he left behind. Filmore offered him that stupid, adorable pout that made all of his thousands of Instagram followers melt, and Firkle was only slightly embarrassed that he fell for it and kissed the other’s lips to make him grin again. “Okay, so, do you remember that movie Lilo and Stitch?” He questioned, finally, head tipping a little bit. “Yeah, a little.” By now, the taller male was rocking on the balls of his feet a little, watching his lover’s screen with a raised eyebrow. “Well, they made a T.V. series out of it, and my sister was obsessed with it. On the Disney website, they had this game called 625’s Sandwich Stacker. And I play it sometimes when I’m bored or stressed out. It’s kind of mind-numbing and easy but it’s also addictive.” The explanation came and went, and all that Filmore seemed to hear was ‘I’m bored’. “I’m boring you?” “No, shut up. What I meant was like… I play it sometimes, okay? And this little guy,” He pointed to the yellow alien in the small window of the game, “He eats just like you do. I’ve made sandwiches for him that are nothing but mayonaise, mustard and lettuce, and he eats it anyway.” “What?” With a disgusted frown, Filmore leaned back on his ass and offered up a half-hearted glare accompanied with another pout, “That sounds disgusting, even for my standards of garbage.” He spoke defiantly, crossing his arms and putting on a nice, big ‘take it back’ show. “Well, you did always wear that dump truck shirt when you were a kid. It’s like you were just advertising the fact that you’ll eat almost anything.” The pout only increased with his words, and the goth scooted forward to set his laptop down before getting up languidly. Stepping over carefully, he dropped himself into the other’s lap and pressed a kiss to his cheek when he turned his face away. “Oh, come on. You admitted it yourself, you feed yourself garbage all the time.” “Yeah, but not a lettuce, mayo and mustard sandwich! Geez.” “I know, I know. You have to have Manly things on it, too, right?” Kissing all over his jaw and neck, he prided himself in smudging the purple lipstick into one giant mess. “Like roast beef and chicken, a turkey, a pizza~” “Now you’re just buttering me up.” And it was working, too. That soft coo, the teasing tone, it was going to be his undoing. He needed to stay bitter for at least five minutes to help his bruised ego, but Firkle was nothing if not good at disarming his anger since they had gotten together. “I am definitely buttering you up, Mr. Instagram.” Firkle practically purred in his ear, kissing and sucking on the lobe for a second before pushing him back to lay down. “Anyway, it’s not like you’re fat or anything. Your constant intake of everything you see just feeds your stupid-fast metabolism. I wonder if you get that from your birth parents.” “Hey, now,” That pout returned and Firkle instantly regretted saying that, “I’m being civil, no need to start pulling that ‘all Asians are skinny’ card.” “How many times have you pulled that ‘all goths are freaks’ card on me, huh? I think I owe you a little return warfare.” He was smiling, at least, and that definitely took the fire out of Filmore’s belly. “Aish, you’re such a handful sometimes, babe. What am I going to do with you?” This was tailed by a gentle laugh as Firkle fluttered his eyelashes just under the (slightly) elder’s chin. “Love me forever and remember that my goal in life is to be your pretty little trophy wife.” “You’d definitely be good at that.” Petting a hand through the other’s long hair, he pushed it out of his face and kissed him softly on the lips. “So, can I try this game that supposedly is me?” “Of course. I call dibs sitting in your lap, though.” “Alright, alright. Let’s do this.” Firkle stood slowly, offering a hand to help his bulkier lover even if he probably couldn’t pull him up if he tried, and Filmore took it even if he didn’t really use the other’s weight to stand. Picking him up around the waist, he moved them to the couch and sat with his back against the arm, and Firkle between his spread legs. With the laptop in place over Firkle’s lap, he wrapped his arms around him to click ‘Start Game’, and Firkle guided him through the controls. “The best way to get a high score later in the game is to stack as much as you can in the first ten levels,” He explained, “Because after that it gets faster and harder to catch the bread before you get covered in rancid food.” “Oh, so he doesn’t eat everything?” Filmore chuckled, skipping the first launch of bread like he was instructed. “No, he’s like you. He doesn’t like germs.” Resting his head on the other’s chest, he closed his eyes, letting the music take him away. It was funky and not his usual bag, but he’d grown to see it as something cathartic. “Shit!” That had his eyes blinking open again and he looked down at the game, giggling behind his hand. “You can do better than that, you know. Keep trying. I didn’t do so well when I first started, either.” A kiss was planted on the back of his head and he smiled softly, watching the other begin his first retry. This was going to be a long afternoon, if the other’s perfectionist streak said anything.

Play With Me Series Masterlist ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: Oh my gosh this was so much fun to write! And I’m finally putting forth some effort into the Firkmore ship! This ship will sail, even if I have to power the whole thing with my own air.

[popgoesthewiener]

Play With Me Series Masterlist

Play With Me is a series of Filmore Anderson/Firkle fics involving the couple playing together. It could be video games, board games, sports, whatever! I will update as I add more parts to it.

Part One   Part Two   Part Three