(alternate Music Only Video)

Silly lighthearted comic about the villain trio! :D

people are sharing this on insta again so here’s the version with the font i made 🥰💖

available as a postcard in my shop!

Maybe this is the wrong platform to pose this question given the average tumblr user but

Is it just me or did our generation (those of is who are currently 20-30 ish) just not get the opportunity to be young in the 'standard' sense?

Like, everyone I talk to who's over 40 has all their wild stories about their teens and 20s, being young and dumb, and then I talk to my friends and coworkers and classmates, and we just... dont.

snapshots. [—chilchuck tims]

TAGS / WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, modern au,       minor pining, background marcille/falin WC: 1,000 NOTE: divorced father of 3 save me... save me       divorced father of 3...

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS DNI.

“Move over.”

Chilchuck’s voice startles you. The bowl in his hands is steaming: a hearty stew made with Falin and Marcille’s collective effort—(“Senshi’s tried and true recipe!”). A thick slice of bread perches on its rim. It smells just as heavenly as it did at dinner.

“Here?” you ask, stupefied. The armchair you’ve claimed is wide; there’s easily enough space to fit a Chilchuck-sized person, but your mind jumps—unbidden—to the reason he’d been late in the first place.

“Where else?” He nudges you with his knee. “As if I’m gonna sit near that love-fest over there.”

“You’re not welcome anyways,” Marcille tuts, midway through dipping the maraschino cherry from her sundae into Falin’s mouth.

“This is my apartment!”

You concede with a laugh: it’s just your bruised heart working overtime. The moment his body settles, shoulders touching, you stop being able to taste the ice cream Laios had scooped into your bowl. Existence narrowing to that point of contact with a familiar little rush.

It’s Laios’ turn to choose tonight’s movie, much to Marcille’s dismay—(“A documentary classifies! This is a really interesting one!”)—and he scrolls to find it as Chilchuck digs into his food.

Midway through, you engage him in a thrilling mock-battle of fencing spoons. Falin dozes, lulled from the careful stroke of Marcille’s fingers through her hair. By the time the credits roll, they’re folded onto each other, soft snores drowned out by music.

“They fell asleep again,” Chilchuck drawls, chin cushioned against his hand.

“Must be crashing after all that sugar,” Laios suggests, drapes a blanket over them.

“They were pretty high energy tonight. Eager to hear about how Chilchuck’s date went, I guess,” you tease, taking up the mantle with Marcille fast asleep. “You didn’t even tell us her name.” Keeping the tone casual despite the haunting little pit in your stomach.

(It’d been a shock to hear about it: for as long as you’ve known him, Chilchuck has been eager to keep his life private—even from long-time friends. And there’d been no signs of anyone—except you and your little group—coveting his time and attention; no extra, unexplained toothbrushes, no brands you don’t recognize in his pantry, no missed get-togethers.)

“Huh?” He gives you a look, confusion twisted in his features. The TV’s light illuminates a silver hair. “I wasn’t with any girl.”

Your brow furrows. “…His name? Their name?”

Chilchuck stares. This close—where the minuscule twitches in his expression are noticeable—it’s strangely evaluating.

“You know Marcille was joking when she said it was a date, right?” Heat sears along your cheekbones; embarrassment flushing hot under his gaze—the realization of your mistake.

“Of course I knew,” you say stupidly. Chilchuck’s eyebrow quirks. “Shut up. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, then if it wasn’t a date, who were you with?”

“Senshi,” he says. “He was—we, uh,” his eyes slide off to the side, “I asked him for a favor.”

“Oh?” you hum, relief and mirth creating a warm hum behind your ribs. “Looking to get a side hustle as a cook?”

“Not even close,” he grunts, looking away.

“Should we start calling you our little master chef?” You nudge him with a grin.

“Chilchuck is already quite good at cooking,” Laios pipes up without taking his eyes off the screen. “Maybe he’ll learn to make something else after mastering ramen.”

“Hey—”

“Ramen?” you ask, head tilting. “Like, the instant kind?”

Chilchuck splutters. “No!”

“From scratch!” Laios beams. “Senshi’s said he’s been making really good progress since his first day.”

“Oh?” you grin. “Our little master chef is gonna open a ramen shop?”

“Shut up. No way. Not ever,” Chilchuck grumbles, the high curve of his ear a soft pink.

“I hope you’ll make it for us one day—I love ramen,” you say. “Very tedious, though, so I’ve never done it myself.”

His face scrunches, mouth pursing together like he wants to speak, but doesn’t. His cheeks puff with air, releasing as a long, quiet sigh.

“Oh, hey, so after ramen”—you lean a hand on the chair’s opposite arm, boxing him in with a cheeky little smile—“you should look into French onion soup. It’s probably easier than ramen but caramelizing the onions takes so long—”

“You—!” he leans back, shoulders tense and eyes wide. “Don’t go making requests before I’ve even cooked anything decent.”

“Why not? I bet it’ll be great! You’re good with your hands, so soup is probably a piece of cake for you.” You watch—with no small amount of pleasure—as Chilchuck’s face flushes with vivid color.

“Get away from me,” he mumbles, but his tone is so insincere all you do is laugh. He knocks a loose fist against the inside of your elbow. A surprised noise jumps out; you retreat back against the chair, rubbing the spot.

“Mmh?” Marcille rouses with a sleepy hum. “What’re you requestin’?”

“Chilchuck is making us ramen,” you joke, relishing the way he knocks an admonishing leg against yours. “He’s our little master chef.”

“Oh, yeah. Did Laios end up spilling the beans?” Marcille yawns. Falin stirs, eyes fluttering. “Congratulations, you two.”

Chilchuck goes stiff beside you. “What do you mean?” you ask.

Marcille pauses, head tilting with a drowsy look of confusion. “Huh? Didn’t you ask why he’s learning to make it?” she asks. Falin tugs her sleeve.

You blink. “No. Should I have?” Marcille doesn’t respond right away, head bent to put an ear by Falin’s mouth, expression pinched as they whisper. Then, with a sigh, she reaches up to stretch.

“No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Laios is quick to grab her attention.

“Hey, so are you actually opening a ramen shop?” you whisper to Chilchuck.

“You’re such an airhead,” he grunts against his palm.

“I’m great,” you reply. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze. When next he speaks, his voice is soft—acquiescing easily to your jest.

“Guess you are.”

"you shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you" if you insist on treating me like a beast then you can't be shocked when i play the part

Signed, Viktor | 11/18

Transcript:

Resident impromptu marine biologist,

The flowers are thriving, you can see them from even the sidewalk below your balcony! I didn’t doubt you could grow them from just cuttings, but I’m still a bit relieved because, to be honest, I picked the types solely on their names. Fuchsia is simply too interesting of a word for me to dismiss.

Speaking of thriving, I’m sure the “mermaid” is doing just as well. Perhaps you shouldn’t have convinced that child the manatee was really a lost species, but I suppose that’s what he deserves for pounding on the glass so much - he should prototype inventions of the Talis family.

As you know, I lived near a river in the Undercity, but our visit was the first time I had seen anything larger than a minnow or crawfish. It was simply magical, though we probably shouldn’t have gotten candy floss before the whale show - after the splash, it seemed more like a disappearing act. I wasn’t aware creatures could grow that large! Rio was already a spectacle to me, though it was most likely because of how small I was at the time.

I’m sorry for cutting this reflection short - I realize our visit was already a week ago anyway, yet that doesn’t stop it from rebounding around my head like you did from glass pane to glass pane. I understand you were excited, but that won’t stop me from reminding you that you identified staff members inside the tanks cleaning as different species of fish twice.

Instead, I wanted to speak of last night, hopefully while seeming as much as like I am directly talking to you as I can. Ironic when I could quite literally do so by simply knocking on the door to your quarters, I know, but I thought it would be the most fitting in a letter - at least, the most sentimental. (Not to mention that I am tremendously anxious, but I’d rather not think of it at the moment.)

Speaking of sentimental, did you know that the café - the one we had our first meeting off school grounds at - has closed down? I could hardly believe it when I saw it this morning since I wanted to surprise you with a drink, but I've heard they're merely moving, so it should still be nearby.

Also, do you happen to remember the sachet of herbs you gave me? I know you told me it was only an old wive's tale that it helps with allergies, but I genuinely feel that my sinuses are clearer. If only all ailments could be cured so easily.

Wait, I'm getting off track - I can't believe I've had not one but two tangents in writing. I promise these notes aren’t usually this nerve-wracking, but this letter carries considerable weight; so much so that I am delivering it myself (again, a bit redundant, but I like to think it adds to the charm).

If there is one thing I may ask of you, it would be to please not think of me any differently.

Because of last night, an internal cauldron that I have been carrying for quite a while has finally boiled over. It had been brewing ever since you shook my hand across the library table, but the last evening simply pushed it over the edge. Everything about it seemed tailored to pull me to that realization; from our journey in continuing to find out which key belonged where to chasing those discoveries to the water wheel outside.

We didn't trade many words sitting on that ledge, but I'd never felt closer to somebody. I know I've told you I’m not one for physical affection, even avoiding an embrace or two from you, but I regret it immensely. Goodness, I think that plant from so long ago had held you longer than I ever have.

However, I have reason to believed that has all changed. Because of you, I've found out why people hug, why friends link arms, why a single pat on the hand can be important, why a brush on the shoulder can linger for hours. Yesterday, and so many days before, I felt, well... received, I suppose. I couldn't play with the Zaun children, I couldn't travel with the academy students, but I don't have to with you - because there's nothing else I want to see.

I felt like with my arms around you, I never had to leave that spot, never had to pick up my cane again, like I could merely drink in your happiness and live forever.

Above all, you've stirred the heated coals of my lost faith in myself and my scientific proficiency into a renewed smolder; that aspect heated the cauldron before I even saw your face. A little drop of dreams can only go so far, but you've turned both yours and mine into a river.

And I don't plan on building a dam anytime soon. Like we have all these months, I still want to dodge flashlights in the dark with you, to formulate increasingly outrageous excuses when they inevitably land on us, to ensure that you get more from this academy than an assistant job and a metal brace. To put it simply, I'm sure you've heard of the term "Cupid's arrow". In my case, he must've used a rifle - and he's a terribly good shot.

Perhaps this is all a bit forward. I hope you are not uncomfortable or feel obliged to be mutual in this, anything but that. I just felt it was only right to tell you. After all, are we not for progress?

By botanical (though maybe not scientific) terms, the tree of my life had become barren, and I could barely remember when my potential was a promise instead of a regret. When you came to sit under its branches they not only bore fruit, but also more types than I could ever imagine. I’m not certain of much in this world, but I know indefinitely that you are beautiful and that I want us to pick every fruit on that tree until the only thing left for us is to touch the stars.

I don't know, I may be overcomplicating this. In the end, I only have to use a few words to describe how I feel.

I love you.

♥ Viktor

━━━━━━━

↢ Previous

Next ↣

Table of Contents

i hate fun

Am I the only person who thought this was really fucking funny

They shrunk him!