# When Life Gives You Tarot Cards

Title: When Life Gives You Tarot Cards
Status: Complete
Characters: Anon, Fang
Rating: SFW
Classification: One Shot
Author: P.M.
​
>Anon's stomach churns
>He can't quite determine the cause of it however
>Either it was the airplane food that he ate maybe half an hour ago
>Or it was the idea of seeing everyone again after all the months apart filling him to the brim with anxiety
>Especially the idea of seeing Fang.
>Being away from her after all that time together took its toll on Anon
>The both of them talk daily, but it's no comparison to actually being there to hold her, to love her, to tell her just how lucky he is to be with her
>The weekly recital of their song over the phone kept their love for each other strong, but drove daggers tinged with homesickness into Anon's heart
>Still, it's a good pain. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so he's been told
>A cardboard rectangle drops from Anon's hand onto the floor, his fingers fumbling at a critical moment as the card twirled around them
>Stella had given him this card. It was right when everything in his life had finally clicked together, before he left for college
>Maybe she had cheated the outcome, maybe not. He's kept the card close to him as a reminder regardless
>And there it lies, face up, upright
>The Lovers, art emblazoned on the face depicting a human and a pterosaur locked in an embrace.
>Anon bends down from his seat and grabs the card, securing it back inside the coat pocket hugging his chest, as close to his heart as he can place it
​
>Looking back, the future those cards foretold was prophetic. The threads of fate plucked and depicted on their surface fulfilling themselves in a frightening fashion
>Anon really should have asked Stella for crypto advice
>He still can't believe how high Snootcoin is surging. The current price can fund his entire education and have some left over for a house down-payment
>Something about a new update to the |Generation-Of-Snootcoin.LING| mining protocol causing an extreme shortage in newly created coins
>Oh well, no point in complaining. He has it good enough already considering where he is
>A giant metal tube with wings, thousands of feet from the ground, moving at blistering speeds
>Fang's parents went out of their way to help fund a flight back to Volcaldera for the holidays
>The notion was unbelievable to Anon. He had offered to simply take a cross-country bus, but Fang's Mother countered with how much time would be wasted traveling
>She wasn't wrong. By the time Anon arrived he would have to pack to leave again
>He didn't think his relationship with them was that good, considering how rocky it seemed all those months ago
>They even got him an exit seat. Leg room for days.
>Anon's parents certainly didn't put forth any effort in seeing their only son during Christmas
>He still sent them a postcard. Sometimes you alone have to be the change you want to see in the world
​
>A vibration on Anon's leg grabs his attention
>There sits the ceramic slab of his phone. The constant stream of messages during the flight demolished any thoughts of pocketing it
>It also threw away his thoughts of sleeping through the flight. Jet lag may get him later, but that's what copious amounts of coffee is for
>Maybe Reed will share that special blend he's been talking about for the past few days
>Let's see here...
>A picture from Stella shows up at the top of his phone notifications
>An intricate constellation of tarot cards is laid out before him, their meaning incomprehensible to an unpracticed reader like Anon
>She knows this of course, with Anon's message feed quickly filling up with the answers to his unsaid questions
>With how quick and how chipper Stella's messages are, he knows there's nothing to worry about mere minutes into the reading
>Still, he indulges her. It helps take his mind off his anxiety, and her enthusiasm is infectious
>Might be worthwhile to actually learn a bit about it. Impress the lads on campus with some tricks
>As expected, the reading finishes on a hopeful note, the only roadblock being a warning about a future conflict
>The way it's displayed, it could only be referring to Fang's father, Ripley
>There are certainly a lot of rough edges remaining to work through with him. At this point, Anon is confident Ripley at least trusts him with his daughter
>After all, she's the one picking him up from the airport
​
>Another message hits Anon's phone, this time from Reed
>Confirmation that the dinner reservation at Dino-Moes has been set
>Uncle Moe might not be there to greet them, but the atmosphere and memories created there made any other place for a reunion seem unsuitable
>The amount of schedules that lined up for this is practically a miracle
>Fang, Trish, Reed, Stella, Rosa, Naser, and himself. It feels like it's been forever since they were all together like this
>Naomi can't make it, but that might be for the better. Things are still raw between her and Fang
>Anon shoots Reed a message about the coffee, his previous question returning to him
>...And apparently it is also unsuitable for human consumption
>Seriously what are dinosaurs made of? An invasive thought pierces into Anon's brain making him consider if he should minor in dino-biology
>But that thought train derails before it even clears the station. His scholarship can only go so far. He's stretching it as is
>He'd have to bug one of his dorm-mates about it. Surely one of them was taking dino-biology
​
>Anon's not done with Reed just yet though
>He can't have his bro deny him all the time, he needs that coffee. Surely there is some sort of agreement they can come to
>If he doesn't violate Reed's non-aggression pact anyway
>A battle of wills flash over the two, artillery barrages of words shot over radio waves detonating into each-other's arguments
>Good thing Anon's ticket included wifi. He doesn't think that the cell towers underneath him can handle this kind of warfare
>The intensity waxed and waned as battle lines were redrawn with every sentence.
>And then it was over, the digital landscape forever altered, twin white flags of truce flying high
>Anon is getting his coffee after all, once Reed figures out how much he needs to dilute it. Reed needed a test subject anyway as he expands into the skinny market
>Some cheeky words from him confirm that he was goofing around. The guy must be really bored right now
>Anon is still chalking that up as a win. It doesn't matter to him whether or not Reed gets it right the first time anyway
>Either it keeps Anon awake for just long enough to fall asleep in Fang's embrace
>Or he makes up for lost time and takes comfort in the feeling of downy feathers draping over him, her heart beating with his, their chests rising and falling in tandem
>Can always sleep later if it comes down to it. He feels that he's been asleep most of his life anyway, only recently having woken up to actually enjoy it
​
>Speaking of, another vibration of Anon's phone alerts him to Fang's arrival at the airport, proof manifesting in a selfie showing both her and the airport lobby
>She wears a fragile smile that mirrors the anxiety within Anon's heart
>Quickly, the decision is made to send a picture back to Fang.
>Anon angles the camera and takes the photo, immediately sending it on its way
>He opens the picture afterwards to admire his handiwork and-
>Ah fuck he looks hideous. These tiny phone cameras always do something weird with his face
>It's as if it can't tell there's a face there at all, the post-processing smearing all his features together
>This time it made him look like a flesh horror, like something out of a creepy-pasta
>Fang on the other hand is drowning Anon's phone in text messages, each one spiraling further and further into exuberant laughter
>She really wants to know what kind of photo filter Anon used
>...Just roll with it. This must replaced the fragility in her smile with something more assured
>He's about to minimize the photo when he notices something odd about one of the passengers behind him
>He zooms in until-
>What? Who wears a Burger Rex crown inside a plane?
>That guy's eyeing the triceratops across the aisle rather intensely
>There's no way this is going to end well
>He's gotta get off this plane
​
>As if Anon's prayers were answered, the intercom crackles on
>the plane steward announces to the passengers of their imminent landing, and to follow some guidelines to ensure passenger safety
>Upright seat, check. Tray table, check. Seat Belt, check. Wireless electronics?
>Anon types out a short message to Fang that he's landing, and will see her soon before tapping on airplane mode and stowing the phone in a pocket
>He can't wait to get out of this chair. Between the constant messages and the occupant of the seat beside him, Anon has been sitting down for the better part of 4 hours
>Couldn't even grab the laptop out from his carry-on luggage to get through some of his anime backlog
>How Pterodons could get that fat, He didn't know. Fang wasn't joking when she said she won the genetic lottery
>The window beside him draws Anon's attention, the flickering landscape catching the corner of his eye
>Doesn't look like much has changed in Volcaldera Bluffs. Then again, it hasn't been that long
>Can even see the shit-hole of his old apartment. That place would have made him neck himself eventually had he stuck around
>The apartment gets swallowed up by the surrounding city skyline, and then by the treeline as the plane makes its touchdown
>The rumble of Anon's seat and the slight strain of his seatbelt confirm the plane's successful contact with the runway, it's brakes engaging.
>With butterflies in his stomach, Anon waits for the airplane to taxi down the tarmac
​
>"Thank you for flying P.T. Aero, where our wings span from coast-to-coast!"
​
>A groan escapes from Anon as he finally gets out of his seat, his muscles and bones protesting the movement
>He couldn't believe how long it took the ptero beside him to get out of his seat and grab his stuff
>Now only a few others remain with him on the plane, lethargically grabbing their belongings. They must have been lucky enough to catch some sleep
>The rest filed out minutes earlier
>Fang was sure to be worried if he wasn't with the rest of the crowd entering the terminal
>When it became obvious that the Fat Bastard imitator was going to delay him, he sent her a message, but he has yet to receive a reply
>Anon opens the overhead compartment to grab his carry-on luggage
>A blurry cube smashes into Anon's face as soon as the door cracks open, imprinting dulled visions of stars and fireworks into his vision
>Fucking hell, he doesn't have time for this shit.
>Was this the actual danger Stella's reading hinted at?
>That he'd be accosted by bullshit until Fang thought he was lying about being on that plane and just left?
>His hand blindly dives into the compartment, grabbing hold of his luggage straps and yanking it free of its confines
>It swings down with a thud, smacking into the chair below
>A note of exasperation leaves Anon as his vision clears. He could really go for a smoke right about now
>What even fell out? There's nothing on the floor
>He kneels down, casting his gaze under the seats
>There it is, the dark cube. Well, more of a box really, embossed with reflective foil
>Stella's old tarot deck, another part of Anon's going away gift she gave him
>He doesn't remember packing it, how did it get here?
>Questions for later
>Anon pockets the deck and makes his way to leave the plane, his path flowing around the remaining stragglers
​
>Oh god how many planes are unboarding right now?
>Anon remains stuck behind a mass of people moving at the speed of bureaucracy
>Did that fat ptero get stuck? Or was there an altercation between that Burger Rex guy and someone else?
>Some of them are even trying to use a treadmill walkway as a shortcut
>It might have been a good idea, had it been moving in the right direction
>Each passing moment only adds to Anon's anxiety
>His message to Fang remains unanswered. Better send another one to make certain she knows what's going on
>At least the music is nice. Is that a live performer? Hard to make out with the bustling crowd in front of him
>Didn't know airports had live performances. Thought they were pretty strict when it came to soliciting and security
>Thank fuck, finally some movement.
>As if a clog in the aisle was finally removed, the mass of people drain into the airport arrivals lobby
>A hefty amount of them seem to be clustering around the seating area, from where the music is playing
>Sounds like someone is covering the latest pop sensations with an acoustic guitar
>Anon scans the crowd, trying to find his pale better-half in the sea of rainbow
>...She's not there. He must have missed her, he just has to look harder
>Yet, no matter how many times he goes over the horde of people, he can't find her
>Anon's heart catches itself in his throat, irregular breathing syncopating with his pulse
>Fuck! Where is she?!
>Anon grabs at his phone again. Still no reply
>Should he call her?! He should call her! He's going to call her
>Frantic fingers navigate through his phone menus, bringing up Fang's contact info
>He hits the dial prompt then brings the phone to his ear
​
>It rings once, twice, three times and-
>With a click, Anon is suddenly hearing double, the music from the performer coming out from his phone
>Before Anon's chaotic thoughts can settle, he is interrupted by the voice of a child
>"Hello!?"
>That's not Fang. That's not even remotely close to Fang
>Anon quickly double checks the number he's currently dialing, confirming that it is in fact her number
>What's going on here? Is she playing a prank on him?
>Maybe the child knows? Worth a shot
>"Hey, I'm Anon, is Fang there?"
>The sounds of shuffling are heard through the ear-speaker before Fang's phone drops down onto something soft
>The voice coming through Anon's phone is further away from what he can determine, but no less excited
>"Miss Fang! Phone's for you! His name is An On!"
>And just like that, the musical echo halts for a moment, before being fortified with a melody that pierces straight into Anon's soul
>He knows that singing, that song. He knows it by heart
>His body snaps towards the crowd by the seating area once more
>She's in there
>All those months at college navigating crowded corridors trained Anon for this moment
>Also helps that his phone's loudspeaker is communicating to the surrounding horde to make way for him
>He almost feels like Dino Moses with how they part for him
>Anon passes through just before the tunnel of people closes up on him
​
>There she is, all bundled up in winter wear
>A most plain person by dinosaur standards. They might even call her a monochromatic weirdo
>But to Anon? To Anon, her pale radiance shines forth like a beacon, beckoning him towards her
>She is completely in her element, surrounded by a completely enthralled audience
>Anon included. He dares not break formation
>She's strong enough to do this on her own. She's been strong enough since that one fateful concert
>Gone is the broken melody that took both their combined efforts to keep steady
>In its place, the harmonious whole sings out, all those weekend practices over video-chat showing their results
>And so Anon waits. He had waited so long already, a few minutes longer is nothing by comparison
>A small pastel coloured dinosaur catches Anon's eye, a triceratops sitting right beside Fang having the time of her life
>She must have been the child on the other side of the call
>Looks like her grandfather is right there too, judging by how old he looks, with an open guitar case by his feet
>Answers Anon's question about where the unfamiliar guitar Fang is playing came from
​
>The harmonic chords echoing off the airport walls announce the end of Fang's miniature concert
>The applause and cheers could have been a song of its own with how enthusiastic they are
>Fang is entirely unperturbed, smiling as she hands the guitar back to the old man while receiving a hug from her biggest, yet smallest, fan as payment
>She then sweeps her eyes across the audience, scanning their faces, committing them to a memory
>And then she sees Anon, eyes locking onto his in recognition
>He lets go of a breath he didn't know he was holding and steps forward, dropping his luggage on the ground
>Fang was on him in the blink of an eye, outstretched arms latching together above Anon's shoulders, the momentum sending them both into a spin
>Arms clasp around Fang in a desperate attempt to keep both of them upright, holding her aloft as they come to a stop
>They could have been figure skaters with moves like that
>A thought for later. They haven't gone ice skating yet, have they?
>Anon continues to hold Fang tight as he sets her back onto the ground, whispering words for her ears only
>"I missed you."
>"I missed you too, dweeb."
​
>He holds her there. He holds her until his heart calms, until his weakness leaves, until the sounds of the airport lobby return
>They then part, Fang clasping Anon's hands in hers
>She kept her promise. Her wings are fuller then on the day he left, her eyes full of driving determination, her face showing no signs of emaciation, and her hands
>Her hands are as soft as a professional guitarist's can be
>But something catches the corner of Anon's eyes in those hands
>Fang notices where they trail to, giving him an affirming nod to continue
>Anon turns their clasped hands, until the back of hers lies upward
>The chaotic symbol is gone, an old memory of desperate misery obliterated. New ink adorns her hand
>In its place, a bright star blazes as if depicting the fire found within her soul all that time ago at Stickstock
>The spokes of the tattoo underneath have been transformed into fiery prominences arcing across her hand, twisting around and conjoining each-other in a silent dance
>"It's beautiful."
>Anon plants a kiss on it. Fang can punch his shoulder all she wants for that, he'll take it in stride
>There's no song tempo he can think of that matches the beat of Fang's tail whipping back and forth however
>He'd say it matches the redness forming across her face more closely
>Maybe he'll avoid some bruises this time
>But she's not done with her reveal yet
>Fang's free hand moves up to the knit cap she's wearing, pulling it off in one smooth motion
>Locks of flowing silver hair cascade downward, swinging and swaying until it finally stills itself above her shoulders
>...So that's why some of the photos she sent him were oddly cropped
>Anon's hand finds itself reaching, caressing her head in his hand, feeling her hair part in his fingers
>Fang leans into his touch, eyes closing as they both enjoy the nostalgic feeling from years long gone
>Yet, the burning love in Anon's heart urges him onward. He couldn't possibly hope to extinguish its flames with this alone
>It made his soul tremble and ache, as if responding to all the wrongs and injustices he created that were slowly being healed
>That he had changed
>He moves in, the hand cradling her head angling her upward, and plants his kiss on her lips
>Electrifying contact. Fang's eyes flare open at the touch before she resigns herself to it, accepting all of Anon's love, and giving hers in return
>It has been so long. Anon found himself lost in a memory of a kiss shared before he left. Melancholy tinged the edges of the memory with visions of unbound tears
>This, however, is nothing like that old memory. All he can feel in this moment is unrestrained exhilaration
>But, the cheers and whistles from the surrounding crowd remind them that they are not alone
>Fang separates with a giggle. Musical performances were one thing but something so emotionally charged was another
​
>"Mister! You dropped this!"
>The pastel child had returned. In her outstretched hands is the patterned box containing Anon's tarot cards
>It must have been flung from his pocket as he and Fang whirled around in their embrace
>He accepts his cards back from the child, ruffling her hair with a hand before she runs off back to her grandfather
>Fang gives the box an inquisitive look before recognition flashes over her face
>"Tarot cards?"
>"Yeah, Stella's old set. They ended up in my bag somehow. Don't know how they got there."
>Fang hums out a note of contemplation before she asks if Anon knows how to use them
>Certainly not, but what Stella used to do seemed simple enough
>The two of them can always ask her what it means later today at Dino-Moes anyway
>The cardboard flap is opened, the cards withdrawn
>Anon fans them out, their faces obscured from sight
>Does it matter if they've been shuffled or not?
>It's not like he sorted them or anything. They haven't been removed from the package since Stella gave them to him
>Anon comes to the conclusion that as far as he is concerned, they're shuffled
>Fang's hand hovers over the cards, her expression wrinkling in concentration
>She pinches at a card, before reconsidering, moving over to the one beside it and pulling it free
>Card in hand, Fang regards it, eyebrows furrowed in thought as she tries to grasp some meaning from it
>She's not satisfied with her solitary thoughts on it, turning the card face to Anon
>The text on the upright card gives a hint to its meaning
>The World
>Anon has no idea what it means
>Regardless, Fang is still looking at him like he can give her an explanation
>Well, one certainly comes to mind
>"Maybe it means 'you are the world to me'."
>Ok, he definitely deserved that jab to his shoulder. Still a fair trade to see her smile like that.
>For a second there, She almost looked like she would wrap herself in her wings to get some time to compose herself
>Instead, Fang is having trouble keeping her mirth contained as the two of them make their way to the luggage carousel
>She can laugh all she wants
>It's music to Anon's ears