#take care with this one guys

[cheeriecherrymain]

The Bottom Of The Inkwell [Chapter 8]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Chapter Rating: T Chapter Warning: sudden traumatic health issues regarding parents (also a mention of the reader vomiting in response) Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: You accidentally offend Viktor in the aftermath of kissing him. You have another heart-to-heart with your mother, though it doesn't seem to help much, because in the following days, you can’t sleep. And then you’re hit with the worst news of your life.

His lips are warm and soft against yours. His hair is soft on the tips of your fingers, when you slide them down his jaw to the back of his neck. He’s tense for half a moment, your sudden actions catching him by surprise. But he eventually melts into it, shyly kissing you back, reaching for you with curious, wandering hands…

And then you realize what you’ve done.

You pull away from him at the speed of light, so quick that you throw off your balance and topple backwards into the arm of the couch. You don’t even register that he’d been seeking you out - trying to touch, trying to pull you close.

The only thing you can feel is shame.

Viktor had bared his heart to you - told you that he was in love with someone he’s known for most of his life! He’d trusted you as a confidant, as a friend, and what had you’d done?

You’d kissed him!

“I’m sorry!” you utter, staring at him with wide eyes, frozen in place. “I’m so sorry- I shouldn’t have- I didn’t mean- gods above.”

He has the audacity to look disappointed of all things, as if you haven’t just personally affronted him! Slowly settling into his previous sitting position, dropping his outstretched arms back to his sides - you almost wonder if he’s angry, with the way his brows pull together in confusion.

In consideration.

In thought.

You want to cry, with how utterly perturbed he appears. 

“Please don’t let this change anything,” you nearly beg, pushing yourself back into an upright position. “Viktor, please, you’re- you’re one of my best friends. I don’t want this to ruin us-”

“Ruin?” he murmurs, his gaze flicking away from where he stares a hole in the floor, up to your face. “You…think it was a mistake?”

His tone breaks your heart; sullen at the realization that you hadn’t meant to kiss him, as if he himself were the mistake to be made, and not your unwarranted actions.

“Not like that!” you try to explain. You extend your arms towards him for half a second, before you think better of it and wrap them around yourself. “I just- you said that you love someone, and then I- I-”

“I don’t want this to change our friendship,” You warble, peering at him with pleading, tear-filled eyes. “Just because my feelings are all over the place, doesn’t mean you have to leave or- or that I’ll make things weird!” 

Viktor all but deflates as the words leave your mouth, slouching against the back of the couch and letting his head fall sideways to rest on his shoulder. You can’t tell exactly what he’s feeling - whether from his unreadable expression, or your spiraling anxiety, you’re not sure.

“I’m not…upset,” he finally says. “Nothing you’ve done could possibly change the fact that we’re friends. Nothing.”

You nod quickly, blinking away your tears. You know you should feel relieved by the sentiment; you know you would in any other situation.

“Right. Okay,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the couch. “We should probably head to bed. We still have work to do tomorrow, and it’ll suck if we’re tired.”

You bid him a swift goodnight before he can say anything else, skittering out of the room and disappearing into the darkness, completely unaware that he stares after you with hurt and confusion, and longing.

—

The following morning, your wake from a tumultuous sleep. You can’t remember what you’d been dreaming about, but as soon as you crack your eyes open, you’re acutely aware of how rapid your heart is beating.

You’re slick with a thin sheen of sweat, and your blankets are strewn all across the bed - some even having fallen off to lay completely on the floor, in an undignified messy heap.

You end up having to take several minutes to measure your breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly to try and slow your bristling anxiety. It eventually works, allowing you to finally rise and start your day, but you can’t help noticing the uncomfortable prickle at the back of your neck.

—

It worsens as you progress through the day. Tickles at the base of your skull while you make breakfast, worsens when Viktor comes into the room and asks what you’re making; lingers all throughout the pleasant conversations at the dining table.

You try your best to act normal, and not let anyone know just how weird you’re feeling. Your father doesn’t mention anything, nor does Viktor - they’re too busy conversing about the project you’re working on, anyways. 

Your mother says nothing on the matter either, quietly peeling an orange while she listens to her husband enthuse about what you’re making. There’s something in her gaze, though, the way she peeks at you from the corner of her eye in the most knowing manner.

She’s polite enough to not mention it when you’re in front of the guys, but the moment you’re alone together, you know she’s going to pounce.

—

Unfortunately, you can’t really avoid being on your own with her, no matter how much you want to avoid her prying questions. She hounds you and Viktor to pose for measurements as soon as you’ve cleared the dishes from the table, ushering you both into the other room to leave your father to the rest of the cleaning.

She’s nothing but professional with Viktor, and makes quick work on him once she whips out the inch tape.

It’s when she shoos him out of the room that you know you’re done for.

“So,” she begins, stretching the flimsy device across your shoulders, “What changed between today, and yesterday?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, hoping that she’ll catch onto the fact that you don’t want to talk about it.

You’ve never known your mother for her lack of curiosity, though.

“Darling, please,” she sighs, like she’s impatient by your reluctance. “You’re acting like you’ve suddenly forgotten how to move your body, and Viktor has been staring after you like you’ve kicked him. What happened?”

You pout for a couple moment, internally cursing her observation skills. You know that she wants you to share more of your life with her - that she wants to know you as a person - but the way she’s always egged you on is…nothing short of infuriating.

But at the same time…

What if it helped?

She’d been so open with you the day before, about her early life and where she came from, and about why she’d pushed you so hard. She’d apologized, even.

And it’s not like you had anyone else to talk to. Not about this.

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to meddle,” you say, shooting her a withering glance when she sputters in offense.

“Meddle?” she blurts. “Meddle!? Dear, I don’t-”

“Mama.”

She pauses.

You stare.

She sighs.

“Fine,” she mumbles. “I won’t meddle.”

You smile.

But it falls as soon as you start thinking about the night prior.

“I kissed him,” you admit, your gaze falling away from hers; in shame, in guilt, in anxiety. “Last night I couldn’t sleep. I made a cup of tea, and I was watching the snow fall in the dark. Turns out he was awake too, and we…sat together for a while. And we talked about stuff we’ve never talked about before.”

Your mother writes down a few of your measurements. “Nighttime conversations are always the deepest ones,” she says wistfully, “It’s easier to bare your soul when you’re not worried about being seen.”

“Tell me about it,” you huff, crossing your arms. “I’m more comfortable around him than I’ve ever been around anyone, and I still sometimes feel like I have to…”

You trail off, tightening your grip around yourself.

“Anyways, we were talking about- how do I even explain this? He was telling me about a person he loved, someone he’d known for a long time.” Your bottom lip wobbles the more you recount the events of the night. “He just- he was saying it with so much intensity, looking at me like I was the one he was talking about, even though that’s impossible.”

“So I kissed him,” you finish, dejected. “I kissed him, even though he was talking about someone else. I made a complete idiot of myself, and I’ve fucked our friendship up! He says it’s fine, he acts like it’s fine, but it! It’s not! It feels different now, and it’s my fault!”

A soft hand on your cheek draws you out of your spiral, pulling your attention away from your past actions and into the present. The warmth of her palm on your skin, the gentle pad of her thumb as she carefully wipes away the tears as they fall.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she says, drawing you down onto the little couch beside her. “Emotions are complicated, and messy, and unpredictable. And sometimes they hurt.”

“I know,” you sniffle, “I know, I just never thought I would have to deal with them!”

Her brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You were always talking to me about finding me a husband and marrying me off,” you say, shrugging. “You said you’d wait until I finished school, but…I dunno. I guess I figured I’d be stuck with someone I didn’t care about, and then I wouldn’t ever have to worry about genuine romance. Or love.”

Her face contorts into one of the most horrified expressions you’ve ever seen her wear. Tears welling in her sunken eyes, she takes your face in both your hands and stares at you.

“Why would you think that?” she whispers, pulling you close. “Your father and I - we always wanted you to have more, but we- we would never-”

“You always talked about setting me up!” you interrupt, squirming until she releases her hold on you. “You talked about introducing me to people as soon as I was old enough!”

“We’d never force you into anything,” she protests, “Especially not a relationship. When we talked about setting you up with someone, we meant- gods above. We meant we’d introduce you to someone we thought you would get along with, in hopes that you might at least expand your horizons and make a friend.”

A friend…

The word echoes in your mind as you process what exactly your mother is saying, dread seeping into every crevice of your being.

She wasn’t trying to marry me off, you realize. She wasn’t trying to get rid of me, she was trying to make sure I wouldn’t be alone…

“I’m so sorry we gave you the impression that we wanted to send you away,” she mourns, tenderly wrapping her hand around yours. “Darling, I can’t imagine the stress you’ve been under - the fear you’ve had to face, when expressing yourself.”

You deflate under her touch, as if all the strength you possess is suddenly siphoned from you. All the years of putting on a brave face and holding your head high, biting back your feelings in order to appease the parents that you so readily believed would sell you out at their first opportunity.

“I don’t know what to do, Mama,” you cry against her, hiding your face in the crook of her neck.

Her touch is slow and deliberate, stroking along your hairline and down your temple. “It’ll be okay,” she tells you, “No matter what happens, it will be okay.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you argue. “Every decision I make seems to screw something up! I’ve wrecked my relationship with Viktor, and he’s one of the only friends I’ve ever had. What if I do something, or say something, and I ruin my relationship with V, too?”

The thought comes out of your mouth before you have the chance to catch it.

“Who’s V?” your mother asks, and when you say nothing, she asks again, “Sweetheart, who’s V?”

Reluctantly, you begin to explain your story. 

How you’d found a fancy pen as a child, which happened to have some kind of magic tied to it. How it allowed you to write back and forth with someone else - someone who possessed the other half of the set.

You tell her all about V, and how you’d helped him when you were just becoming friends; how you’d subsequently found your passion in machinery and invention, how he’d been your shoulder to lean on all throughout the years, how you’d fallen in love with him despite not knowing what he looks like.

How you’d both been accepted to the academy, though he hadn’t been ready to reveal his identity to you.

How he now wanted to meet you face to face, at the winter gala.

And how scared you are that you’re going to do something to mess this up, too.

“What if he sees me, realizes who I am, and wants nothing to do with me?” you cry, wiping your face on your sleeve for the umpteenth time.

“Then it’s his loss,” your mother assures, rubbing circles into your back. “You’re kind, you’re compassionate. And sweetheart, you’re brilliant, just like your father. If this V somehow doesn’t already know that, then he’s not worth your time. If he’s judged you without even knowing you, then you deserve better.”

“I can’t lose him,” you sniffle. “He’s my best friend - I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

And then, she asks a question that baffles you more than you wish it would.

“Are we still talking about V? Or are we talking about Viktor?”

Silence permeates the room. The only sound you hear is the deafening thunder of your heart, as her inquiry sinks in.

“I…” you squeak, with a minute shake of your head. “I…don’t know.”

But your mother seems to know, as she fixes you with her usual coy smile.

“You’ll figure it out eventually, darling,” she comforts. “I know you will.”

You nod, still not quite believing her sentiment, but taking it anyways. You stand quietly and brush yourself off, fixing your hair and straightening your clothes, checking in the mirror to make sure it’s not too obvious that you’ve been bawling your eyes out.

Only when you reach the door and set your hand on the knob, does your mother pipe up again.

“And for the record, sweetheart, I don’t think you’ve wrecked your friendship with Viktor,” she says, hiding a smile behind her hand. “Quite the opposite, in fact - I think you’ve made him question his feelings for this mysterious other person.”

You frown.

“Give him some more time, Y/N. Not all men are as in touch with their feelings as your father is.”

With another nod, you slip out the door and shut it behind you, leaving your mother to her own devices while you head back downstairs to continue working on your project.

—

Throughout the rest of the weekend, you and Viktor manage to complete the entire trial of your final project. 

It has a lot of flaws, as it is: the resin encasing the diode takes far too long to set, as well as the aesthetic bulb to help diffuse the light. The base is too tricky to mold by hand, though it functions much the same as it would on a standard light would.

You briefly toss around a few ideas to perhaps work with glass instead of molded resin, which you suppose could work, if either of you could find a glass blower willing to work with you.

How hard could it be? Viktor had asked, and your only reply had been to fix him with an unenthused look.

Still, the outlook is favourable. Regardless of all the kinks that needed to be ironed out, it’s done.

You’re able to head back to the academy without a single worry on whether you’ll be able to finish on time, with just enough hours left in the day to read over your homework and get a good night’s sleep.

Or in your case?

Read over your homework, and then lay on your bed in the dark, praying to be struck down by a rogue meteor; a theme which continues over the next few days.

Each consecutive class becomes more and more difficult to pay attention to, and you know you’re slipping - you can feel the exhaustion gnawing away at your brain, and your patience. 

Like earlier in the year, when you’d overworked yourself to the point of becoming ill, it starts with a lack of attention. Which then slowly morphs into a headache, the less you sleep.

By Wednesday, your vision is fuzzy and you’re having a hard time keeping your eyes open, no matter how much coffee you consume. Viktor is a mirror of his former self - looking like he wants to say something, but not entirely knowing if he has the right to. 

Why would he? you remind yourself. You fucked up your friendship by kissing him.

You’ve been trying to take your mother’s words to heart - her assurances that Viktor is just sorting out his own feelings and being awkward in the meantime - but between your inability to find a moment of peace, and the oncoming migraine, you’re having a hard time with it.

It’s bad enough having to listen to your professor drone on and on about things you’d learned months ago.

You’re tempted to just leave.

“Miss Y/N, if you’re going to sleep in my class, I suggest you pack your things and take the afternoon off,” the sharp tone comes from the front of the lecture hall. Your head snaps up from where you’d momentarily set it in your arms, while a couple people giggle at the back of the room.

“Sorry,” you mumble, blinking hard to regain some of your focus. “Busy schedule, is all.”

Your professor sighs, in a way that makes him seem more disappointed than angry.

“It is as I said, Miss. If you need a day off-”

A knock comes from the entrance to the room, drawing everyone’s mocking attention away.

You put your head back into your arms, thankful for a moment to yourself, however small-

“Isn’t that one of your uncles?” Viktor whispers suddenly, setting his hand on your arm.

Your rouse from your doze in an instant, your snapping to where he touches you, and then to the door.

Sure enough…your uncle?

“What…”

“I saw him in a photo your mother had displayed on the mantle,” Viktor tries to explain, but you quickly shush him, patting at his hand. Every ounce of tiredness is suddenly expelled from your body, energized by the spike of adrenaline.

What is he doing here? You wonder.

Your professor nods in the doorway, then turns to you and hastens over.

“Pack your things, Miss. Your uncle is here to collect you,” he says in a hushed tone. Then, as he begins to turn away, he pauses, “Don’t worry about the rest of your classes for the day. I’ll inform your other professors that you’ve taken family leave.”

Family- what?

You share a worried glance with Viktor, and quickly begin packing your books up. They barely fit into your shoulderbag anymore with their sheer number, but you manage to squeeze them all in there.

“I’ll see you later,” you whisper to your friend, patting him on the shoulder as you pass him by and exit the classroom.

Only once you’ve shut the door behind you, do you turn to your uncle - your favourite uncle, if you had to choose. The youngest of your father’s older brothers, and the one he was closest with: the two of them spoke weekly, and got together every month or so to have lunch.

“What’s going on?” you ask him, as he gently loops his hand around your arm, and tugs you along.

So quick, you’re basically running in order to keep up.

“Uncle- what’s going on!” you repeat.

He doesn’t answer you for the entire journey through the academy. Silently pulls you along until you’re out in the snow, away from the student body and whatever prying ears might be lingering nearby.

“Your father is in the hospital,” he tells you solemnly, finally loosening his grip on you. “He had a heart attack when we were out this afternoon - the doctors…”

You feel like throwing up.

“He needs surgery to correct the problem, but it’s not without its risks.”

The more he speaks, the more you know you’re going to vomit.

“They advised me to fetch you and your mother - she’s already on her way there.”

You pause just before you set foot off the school grounds, marked by a tall, well-trimmed line of coniferous shrubs.

Lovely, when covered in puffy white snow.

Less lovely, when covered in the remains of your breakfast.

[artkaninchenbau]

A h-heartfelt reunion..?

Bonus

[wewontbesleeping]

the weirdest fucking thing to me is how men will be like "it's so hard being a man. no one cares that i'm sad. the loneliness we experience could NEVER be understood by a woman" and then also be like "btw i never talk to my friends and i don't know their names and i love hanging out with men because they don't talk about their stupid emotions all the time. women could never understand a bond like this." like ???

[cobaltfluff]

competitive aquarium date

bonus: the night before

[hinamie]

just looking at these hand poses was enough to give me carpal tunnel and that's how u know they're prime megu material

[sharkylad]

Thinking about the fact that Mabel and Dipper didn't know they had two great uncles.

Yeah they are 12 and at 12 I had a shotty understanding of my family tree- But really? Nobody brought up their great uncle? Stanley? Especially since they'll be staying with his twin brother, Stanford?

Shermie never went to Stan's fake funeral, which to me means the twos relationship was strained on some level. If Shermie is older that means his view of Stan was poisoned in some way, that even as kids they weren't close. If the Shermie is younger then he never even got to meet Stan and all he knew about him was how he failed his family. Hell, people probably barely mentioned Stanley TO Shermie.

The fact that Stan had become a black stain upon the Pines family name makes me so vividly upset. Stanley faked his death and the family just- seemingly decided to strike him from the record. To pretend he didn't existed to spare themselves the sadness and shame.

Stanford and Shermie Pines. The only children worth mentioning of Filbrick and Caryn Pines.

It was never Stanford that was lost to the world. It was Stanley, ever since he had to leave New Jersy- it was always him that had to be struck from the record. Change his name, change his state, change his affiliations, destroy the remains of ghost that was Stanley Pines. Kill him so the family doesn't bring him up, doesn't ask questions, stops asking "Stanford" about his twin.

I just keep thinking about the fact that since the day he made one single mistake all the way up until Ford walks out of that machine- Stanley Pines was killed and did not exist. And Stan himself had no one to blame, he had to play the part in his own demise- He is the only one who ever knew Stanley was alive and has been for decades.

He lives in the multitudes of every personality he's ever taken, all in the hope that he himself can stop being Stanley Pines.

[frownyalfred]

[aroaceleovaldez]

we should make Nico more fucked up, actually. enough woobifying him. that boy should be covered in blood and viscera

[isjasz]

[Day 287]

HAPPY EARTH DAY to plant some potatoes :D THIS IMPROMPTU COLLAB WENT BONKERS WTF

Colors by @sillyfairygarden @bad12amcomic (also prompt from her) and @kunehokki in order and lineart/sketch by me!

[shitpostingkats]

Alabasta Ace is so funny.

Like the strawhats keep commenting that Ace is so polite and restrained compared to Luffy but like. This dude drags himself out of the ocean just to thank them for looking after his brother and offer to help wash dishes. Mans asks "Are these guys bothering you?" and proceeds to blow up an entire fleet with his bare hands. He trips over himself to make sure all of Luffy's crew likes him and no, really, you don't mind that he's a weirdo???? That we, I mean he, are feral little insane guys who take up space and emotional labor and are kind hard to handle? Really???? Cool cool cool hey just a reminder I can help out with anything that needs doing. I got lost in the desert but donnut worry in the 0.6 seconds since you last saw me I have somehow acquired water and provisions for several weeks. Don't ask me how!

Peak oldest sibling behavior.

[danyyytarggg]

YOU can continue to treat house of the dragon as canon and YOU can continue to get upset with HOTD!characters’ actions, take them literally, and judge their characters off of said actions. ME, i will be MINDFUL of the unspoken OOC tag that this particular fanfiction has and will therefore not take any of their actions as canon

[bidisastersanji]

Everyone has seen those those Reddit posts where men force their girlfriends to open the relationship and then get mad when she’s the one who ends up enjoying herself and they don’t find anyone interested in them- that but with Zoro and Sanji 👀

Sanji is in a toxic relationship with Pudding and she gives him an ultimatum- either open the relationship (and let her keep cheating on him) or break up

Our poor boy is so desperate- he agrees.

Now. Right after she forces this on him they go to a house party at Luffy’s and the news spreads kind of fast. Nami goes to Zoro and rants about it to him (Sanji’s friends hate Pudding) and she says she hopes this will finally be what breaks those two up. Despite being in similar circles Zoro and Sanji haven’t interacted much, but he’s had a small crush on him- he’s exactly his type (fiery, strong fighter, nice ass and legs, kind, earnest)

Sanji, bless him, is surprised that quite a few people are flirting and interested in him at this party- with Pedro making a very obvious pass at him after lighting his cigarette in the most homoerotic way possible, and Ace telling him the news of his opened relationship are a dream come true for him and that he’s been waiting for an opportunity to get a taste (he does the call me sign haha)

Sanji’s flattered and flushed a bit from the embarrassment and the alcohol (he’s trying to drown the sorrow about Pudding and her sleeping with other people away). Eventually he starts letting it get to him and he confidently joins the dance floor and has fun with his friends.

(Pudding is seething from all the attention he’s getting, and for the fact that his friends have managed to cheer him up a bit, ie he’s not fretting over her and trying to get her attention.)

Zoro’s been watching all of this go down and is like- “honestly this is my opportunity to finally steal him”. He’s gonna show the shorty cook a fucking great time and what it’s like to be wanted, treated right.

He walks up to Sanji and to everyone’s shock he actually has a lot of game- their banter becomes more and more flirty and explicit, and Zoro gets more and more touchy- Sanji is a bit tipsy and mirrors this, Nami’s encouragements of getting back at Pudding and exploring this for real egging him on- why not indulge in this for once?

[hajihiko]

“oh no people tell me I have no sense of personal space and I'm a man and her unofficial coach what if I've been making her uncomfortable- and Akane is like nah. You're not gonna do anything to me I can feel it. Like hes the only person who can overpower her but he just uses that strength to be there for her” og my god. i need a minute after that ome. god i had a whole long winded analysis of this and i was gonna put it all here but i seriously have no words. this is so real in every possible way and a lil too relatable lmfao

ITMEANS A LOT TO ME OKAY. I too could rsnt but idk where it would go

[nelkcats]

Application Rejected

When Danny adopted Cujo he saw him as a puppy, which was a little sad considering the implications. He always thought Cujo was the only one who had stayed, the only one whose soul had persisted. He thought Cujo was alone.

He was wrong. Not all adult dogs and puppies stayed, of course. But many had. Cujo was simply the only one who decided to return to the world of the living, probably because of his obsession with his toy.

One day Cujo showed him where they were all hiding; Danny knew that those dogs had not stayed for the same reason as Cujo, they probably had a myriad of different reasons, and that was fine.

The problem was that excluding some of the adult dogs (that obviously were fine on their own and didn't care), there were many puppies similar to Cujo running around in need of affection and he couldn't adopt them all (besides, Cujo would definitely get jealous). And while many ghosts agreed to take a couple, it wasn't all of them, so Danny did something extreme.

He held an adoption fair in Amity, which was a smashing success. He just forgot that a lot of people in Amity...were usually traveling, and the ghost puppies would follow.

Then, a few days later when a scowling guy showed up (he obviously wasn't part of the general Amity Park population) and demanded a "bright green" puppy, Danny said no and refused his application. He couldn't trust someone with no knowledge with a ghost dog. Although he did offer him a course to learn about their care.

Damian Wayne was offended with his overall assessment. He was obviously the right person to care for one of those pups. So he set out to prove that to the boy in front of him, without hesitation.

[greelin]

also been told directly that i’m not allowed to say i dislike something due to “the amount of followers you [i] have” like you’re genuinely deranged if you think i’m going to not allow myself to have a little harmless hater moment here and there. because people follow me. that is batshit to expect and say to someone

[basil--and--sage]

*somewhere in Erebor*

Dori (in the process of tailoring Thorin a new coat): There you go. How do you feel?

Thorin: Like I said a dozen times, it is fine! I am late for court!

Dori: Fine is not good enough. Do you feel bonita?

Thorin: Do I- what?

Dori (through his teeth, a vein protruding on his forehead): Do. you. or. do. you. not. feel. bonita?

Thorin:

Thorin (starting to sweat): ... Come to think of it, I do indeed feel bonita.

Dori (delighted): Wonderful!