#(asking someone else to write my story for me would be like asking someone else to fuck my wife for me.)

[liondrakes]

Absolutely. Speaking as a writer, I could tell from jump that there’s no satisfaction in using gen-AI. Even if someone took out all moral disputes regarding the technology, I’d still have no incentive to use it.

This technology doesn’t know what I know on a personal level. It doesn’t know my style. It doesn’t know the themes or angles I want to tackle. Even if I gave it this information, it’d be a derivative of what I actually want to convey.

Why would I waste my time using it for my work?

There is nothing satisfying about asking a bot to “write” what I’m thinking of and watching said bot spit back “content” that it scraped from somewhere else. If I wanted a story that was loosely stitched together, I’d sift through my old WIPs from high school or undergrad, pick out what I liked, and stitch something together myself.

It will never have the satisfaction of writing out the ideas circulating in my head, knocking out the ones I’m not too into and making outlines for the idea that wins me over.

It will never have the satisfaction of the drafting process— the moment you finally get to write, to go through the trial and error of how you want to present your work. It’s hard. It’s time-consuming. It’s humbling, but it’s rewarding all the same.

It will never have the satisfaction of sharing what you’re working on with other people. It’s certainly nerve-wracking if you’re looking to publish, but I’m talking about friends, mutuals on social media, other writers in Discord servers and forums, et cetera. It doesn’t even need to be completed. Exchange drafts with people. Organize the notes you’ve taken on your characters, and share them as OCs (because that’s basically what they are).

I get none of that from gen-AI.

You know what I get? Empty words from a generated response.

I’m impartial to that. It’s technology at the end of the day. It’s programmed to do this. Yet, it’s still one of many reasons why I’ll never touch it as a writer. Empty ideas, empty criticisms and empty feedback in general get me nowhere. It doesn’t motivate me to write, and it damn sure doesn’t help me improve what I’m writing.

Furthermore, sharing that you told a bot to “create” something holds no weight. Anybody can do that, and I find it funny when this sentiment is used to defend gen-AI. The bot scrapes together anything it can muster to give you results. It does the same for anyone else who uses it, thus you have nothing of interest to show.

Not only would using gen-AI deprive me of what makes the creative process so worthwhile, it also keeps me in a cycle of monotony. Writing stops being a creative practice. It becomes boredom.

Tech companies pitched a vacuum of button-pressing and sold it to people under the guise of efficiency. Meanwhile, their idea of efficiency guts the entire experience.

If someone told me as a teen that if I love writing, and that I should give ChatGPT a try, I likely wouldn’t care for their suggestion.

Think of it this way: if someone recommended you a video game, and also recommended you to look at a bunch of walkthroughs and shortcuts while playing it, would you?

It’d defeat the purpose of playing the game, right? You don’t get the full experience that way.

Why scrape the arts and miss everything when you alone hold the key to that experience?

As gen-AI becomes more normalized (Chappell Roan encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use gen-AI because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by tech companies. I draw not because I want a drawing but because I love the process of drawing. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

[kirammanswifey]

hello!!! I really enjoy reading your writing, always reading them like it's a bedtime story lol. I was wondering how arcane characters would react with you wearing their clothes. like after a long day they come home and see you in their clothes or like you fall in a puddle and they give you their clothes to wear, anything you want

thank you for your words, sweetheart, you just made my day, hope you like this ;)

how arcane characters would react to you wearing their clothes (fem reader, romance/fluff)

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: i love you, person who asked for this. this kind of dynamics are fun because you can write it from many perspectives and use several genres, and i love a fluff with a little bit of spicy. as you already know request are open ;)

Viktor

The sound of the door closing behind you seems louder in the silence of the room. The rain hasn't stopped outside, and each drop seems to remind you how soaked you are. Your wet clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin, and you decide you can't stay like this. You look around, and your eyes land on one of Viktor's shirts, casually draped over the back of a chair. You know he won’t mind, so you grab it and head to the bathroom to change.

The soft fabric of Viktor's shirt, slightly oversized for you, falls over your shoulders, enveloping you in its characteristic scent—a mix of old paper, ink, and something you've always associated with him. You feel a little warmer, wrapped in something so intimately his.

Soon after, you hear the familiar click of Viktor’s cane in the hallway. He’s back home after a long day at the lab. You know he must be exhausted too, but you still feel a little nervous about how he’ll react to seeing you in his clothes.

The door opens slowly, and Viktor steps inside. His slender figure pauses for a moment when he sees you, his amber eyes studying you with a mix of surprise and something else you can't fully identify. He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can see his normally neutral expression gradually soften.

“Did you have a rough day?” he finally asks, his voice soft and concerned as he closes the door behind him.

You nod, fiddling with the long sleeves of the shirt that come down almost to the middle of your hands. “Yeah, I got caught in the rain on my way back,” you explain. “I changed so I wouldn’t soak everything, hope you don’t mind me wearing your shirt.”

He takes a few steps toward you, leaning slightly on his cane. His eyes linger on you, but this time there’s a warmth in them that he rarely shows. “I don’t mind at all,” he says, a faint smile curving his lips. “Though I must admit, it looks better on you than I expected.”

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks at his comment, and he seems to notice, because his smile widens slightly. Viktor rarely makes such remarks, but when he does, they always leave you momentarily speechless.

“Come here,” he says gently, extending his free hand toward you. “You’re shivering. I don’t want you to get sick.”

You take his hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrapping around yours. He leads you to the couch and helps you sit. “I’ll make something warm for you. Wait here.”

You watch as he moves toward the kitchen, his steps careful and precise. As you watch him, you can’t help but feel a mix of tenderness and admiration. Viktor is always so considerate, even when he’s exhausted.

A few minutes later, he returns with a steaming cup of tea. He sits next to you, offering it with a look that reflects both concern and something more intimate. “Drink slowly, it’s hot.”

You take a sip, feeling the warmth spread from your throat to your chest. “Thanks, darling. You always know how to take care of me.”

He looks at you, his expression more relaxed now. “It’s natural to want to take care of someone who means so much to you,” he says with a sincerity that makes your heart race.

You set the cup down on the table, turning toward him. “And you? How was your day?”

Viktor leans back against the couch, his gaze drifting for a moment. “It was... long. But seeing you here, wearing my shirt, makes it all worth it.”

His words are simple, but the weight behind them hits you hard. You lean toward him, taking his hand in yours. “I like wearing your clothes. It makes me feel close to you, like I’m carrying a piece of you with me.”

Viktor looks at you, his expression softening even more. “Then you should wear them more often,” he says, his eyes gleaming with a mix of affection and tenderness. “Though it might be hard to get them back if you look this good in them.”

You smile, feeling completely at home in this little world you’ve built together. “Maybe I’ll never return them,” you joke, enjoying the soft laugh that escapes his lips.

He leans in a little closer, his hand gently caressing yours. “That wouldn’t be a problem. I can always buy more, but seeing you like this... that’s something priceless.”

Jinx

You're at Jinx's hideout after a day full of adventures in Zaun. You had been helping her with some of her projects, and amidst all the excitement and chaos, you ended up with your clothes completely ruined, covered in paint and grease stains.

"Wow, wow! Look at you!" Jinx says, laughing as she points at your shirt and pants. "Looks like your clothes lost the battle against my masterpiece."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Yeah, looks like I need a change of clothes urgently."

Without missing a beat, Jinx jumps towards one of her wardrobes, rummaging through her quirky collection of garments. "I know! Put this on." She pulls out a black crop top and one of her signature jackets—blue with neon details—and tosses them to you with a mischievous grin. "You'll look awesome. Trust me."

After taking off your dirty clothes, you put on the crop top and finish with the jacket. "How do I look?" you ask, spinning around so Jinx can see.

She watches you with a growing smile. Her blue eyes sparkle with excitement as she quickly approaches, tugging at the sleeves to adjust them on your arms. "Oh, for the love of explosions! You look amazing! It's like this jacket was made for you!" Jinx steps back to admire you better, placing a hand on her chin as if evaluating a piece of art.

"It's not what I usually wear, but your style suits me better than I thought," you say, feeling the warmth of her gaze.

Jinx claps, thrilled. "I knew it! I knew it! My instincts never fail." Then, her eyes light up even more, as if she just had the most brilliant idea in the world. "I know! From now on, we could wear matching outfits. It'd be awesome! You and me, matching styles, taking Zaun by storm as an unstoppable duo."

You laugh at her enthusiasm. "Matching outfits? That sounds... interesting."

"No, no, no! It sounds absolutely amazing," she insists, giving you a quick spin to see how the jacket fits from all angles. Suddenly, her eyes stop on the back of the jacket, and an even bigger smile spreads across her face.

"What is it, sweets?" you ask, noticing her fixed gaze.

"Well... look at the back," she says with a mischievous laugh.

You turn to see the back of the jacket and realize that, in big letters, it has "Jinx" written on it. You turn back to her with a raised eyebrow and a playful smile. "So, you're marking your territory or what? You don't want anyone getting confused about whose jacket this is?"

Jinx bursts into laughter, throwing herself at you and wrapping her arms around you. "Exactly! Now everyone will know you're mine... or at least rocking my style! It's perfect, right?"

You join her laughter, wrapping your arms around her. "Aw sweets, I didn't know you were the type to mark your territory."

She shrugs with a cheeky grin, her face close to yours. "Well, I don't want anyone else claiming my girl. Now everyone will know if they see you, they're looking at half of our dynamic duo!"

Jinx's energy is contagious, and although you know this situation is completely crazy, you can't help but feel comfortable and cherished by her. "Well, I guess I have no choice but to embrace my new look," you say with a smile.

"That's it! Now, with this jacket and my name on your back, we'll be unstoppable!" Jinx leans in, putting an arm around your shoulders and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

Vi

You’d had a bad day. The city of Zaun wasn’t exactly friendly, and after a stumble, you ended up in a puddle full of dirty water with a nauseating smell you couldn't even describe. As you walked towards Vi’s place, with your legs soaked and irritation taking over, all you could think about was how lucky you were to have Vi to vent to and shake off this bad day.

When you arrived at her door, frustration and exhaustion were written all over your face. You knocked on the door, and as always, Vi opened it with a teasing smile, though upon seeing you like this, her expression changed to a mix of concern and amusement.

“What happened to you?” she asked with a playful grin, noticing the discouragement on your face.

"Zaun," you grunted, almost growling as you stepped inside. "I fell into a puddle. Everything stinks."

Vi let out a soft laugh. “Wow! You must be thrilled. Are you sure you're not going to become Zaun's new statue?” she said in her sarcastic tone, but there was something more in her eyes. A hidden concern behind her teasing tone.

“I’m not in the mood,” you muttered as you headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. The sensation of the hot water was comforting, and after a few minutes, you managed to feel like some of your bad day had washed away. However, upon exiting, you realized you didn’t have anything else to wear.

Vi, always attentive to these details, had left one of her favorite shirts on the bed. The red shirt, which always fit you loosely and had, over time, become something you wore more often. You put it on without thinking too much. The smell of Vi on the garment gave you a sense of calm, but at the same time, the tension that had always existed between you grew a bit more.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, Vi was in the living room, lying back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. She watched you silently as you entered, a gleam in her eyes that didn’t go unnoticed. The shirt, oversized on you, moved with each of your steps, and despite how awkward the situation could be, you felt incredibly drawn to her gaze.

Vi sat up straight, her eyes fixed on you. The smile that spread across her face was almost predatory. “So, you’re wearing it again, huh?” Her voice was soft, but there was a touch of challenge and desire in it that you couldn’t ignore. “You look... interesting.”

You shrugged, though the way she looked at you made you feel more exposed than you’d like. “You left it there for me, Vi. And yes, I like wearing it, it's comfortable.” But as you spoke, her eyes didn’t leave you, scanning you from top to bottom with that intensity that always made time seem to stop.

Vi approached slowly, her steps sure, almost as if she was savoring every second that passed near you. “Just comfortable? Are you sure?” Her voice was lower now, filled with a dangerous softness. “Because that shirt... it’s kind of sexy. And it seems like it’s not just the shirt. It’s like you’re saying, ‘I’m yours,’ but without saying it out loud.”

The atmosphere became heavy, the tension floating in the air was impossible to miss. Your cheeks flushed red at Vi’s proximity, at the words she had said and the way she had said them. You tried to maintain your composure, but the heat in your body didn’t lie.

“And what if it is?” you asked, your words bolder than you thought, as you looked her in the eyes.

Vi stopped in front of you, her hands resting on her hips, watching you with a mix of challenge and attraction. “Then,” she said, her eyes sparkling with complicity, “can I claim you as mine?” The way she said it, with that low, enveloping tone, made your heart race. The tension between the two of you was palpable, as if the distance between you disappeared with every word.

You stepped closer, enough to feel the warmth of her body, her breath almost on yours. “I don’t think you need to ask for permission,” you said, using a defiant smile, knowing the game had begun.

Vi smiled with that mischievous glint in her eyes, stepping even closer. “You’re right. I marked you as mine long before you wore this shirt.” She tugged at the hem of the shirt and pulled you closer to her. “But, do you want me to mark you now in another way?”

You felt everything inside you react to her closeness, and you knew this was about to get much more intense. Vi always had that power over you, and the way she was looking at you now proved it.

“That sounds tempting,” you murmured, your words coming out softer than you expected, but without regret.

With a satisfied smile, Vi finally took you by the waist and gently brought your lips to hers. “Then let’s not waste time, little deer,” she whispered before kissing you with an intensity as great as your desire for her.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn and you had just returned from a recent mission. It had been a long day, filled with tensions, reports, and the constant need to maintain the facade of control. But now, after leaving the worries behind, all you wanted was to relax and enjoy Caitlyn's company, who always managed to make the chaos of the day fade away, at least for a while.

In the bathroom, the steam mixed with the heat, surrounding you as you sank into the relaxation the tub brought. Caitlyn was beside you, dipping into the water to wet her hair, the situation beginning to feel more intimate than usual. Both of you had made it a habit to share a bath after work, an opportunity to shed the physical and mental tensions.

Though you had been together in moments of camaraderie, the brush of your wet bodies in the water created a new, different sensation. Caitlyn's hands sometimes slid softly over your back, seeking to relax tense muscles, and you reciprocated, letting out sighs as the closeness became more palpable. Occasionally, her fingers lingered a bit longer than necessary, touching you with a softness that made you shiver.

After finishing, Caitlyn was the first to step out of the bath, running a towel through her hair with a certain awkwardness. "I need something comfortable, do you mind if we wear pajamas?" she asked, almost without thinking, as she headed to her room. There was no need to ask, as something always felt very natural about how she behaved with you, though this time something in her demeanor caught your attention.

When you entered her room, Caitlyn had already changed, but she left the door slightly ajar while pulling out a long-sleeved shirt and comfortable pants. The sight of her bare back made you stop for a moment, watching her with a mix of admiration and restrained desire. It wasn’t the first time you had seen her in light clothing, but something about her attitude tonight felt different. As she dressed, her movements were softer, more... delicate, as if she were waiting for something. Caitlyn turned just as you walked in, giving you the chance to see her in her comfortable clothes.

"Don’t look at me like that," she said, smiling, as always, with that mix of challenge and amusement in her gaze.

"Impossible not to, sheriff," you joked, moving closer to grab your own pajamas and change, but before you could do so, Caitlyn looked at you with an intensity that made you feel uncomfortable in a pleasant way.

You stopped, confused by the intensity in her gaze. "What’s wrong, Cait?" you asked, with a soft smile, feeling how the atmosphere was becoming heavier. "You’re acting different."

Caitlyn took a step toward you, approaching with her typical leader stance, but something in her face said she wasn’t as sure of herself as usual. Her fingers played with the edge of her shirt as she looked at you. "It’s just that..." she began, clearly hesitant, "it’s just that... I like seeing you in my clothes. It’s not just that they fit you well, it’s that... it feels right."

The air between you suddenly thickened, the tension floating, as if her words had opened a door neither of you knew if you were ready to cross. Caitlyn, usually so confident, was now showing vulnerability, but with a vulnerability you had never seen in her before.

You approached her, noticing how her eyes shone a little more than usual. You took her by the shoulders, with a softness that contrasted with her strong character. "Why is it so important to you?" you asked in a low voice, feeling that this moment was different from any other you had experienced with her.

Caitlyn sighed, her fingers touching the fabric of her shirt on your skin. "It’s... hard to explain, but seeing you in my clothes makes me feel closer to you, as if we were even more... partners. It’s weird, I know."

For a moment, all you could do was look at her, your heart pounding in your chest as you processed her words. Caitlyn, so reserved, so firm always, was showing you a side of her that she only shared with you. And that made you feel more connected than ever.

You took her hand, gently stroking it and recognizing the vulnerability in her posture. "I understand," you said, smiling softly. "I like seeing you like this too. Not just in your clothes... but in everything you are. I don’t mind."

Caitlyn looked at you, a shy but genuine smile appearing on her face as her eyes softened. "I guess I’m always looking for ways to stay in control... but with you, it seems I let go of that facade," she said, almost as if speaking to herself. "I feel better when I have you close."

Then, without warning, Caitlyn hugged you, wrapping her arms around you protectively, a soft caress, almost as if seeking comfort. The hug lingered, and in that moment everything seemed to stop. The mission, the worries, the rules. It was just the moment when the two of you truly felt connected, without any barriers separating you.

Jayce

After a long, exhausting day filled with endless debates in the Council, Jayce finally arrives home. The doors open with a soft creak, and the sound of his footsteps echoes down the quiet hallway. You know he’s had a rough day, and you’ve prepared to welcome him in the best way possible. You’ve been working on dinner, almost ready for when he returns, but the most important part is how you plan to greet him.

You’re in the living room, holding a glass of wine, your body draped in Jayce’s white shirt. You know it’s much larger on you than it is on him, and you’ve done it intentionally. Traditional dresses or outfits seem unnecessary now; all you want is to see him relax, to feel good after a long day.

As he approaches, his eyes widen at the sight of you, his shirt hanging off your shoulders, the hem brushing your thighs. However, what catches his attention the most is how you’re wearing nothing underneath. The contrast between your relaxed demeanor and the tension reflected in his face is immediate.

“Welcome home,” you say with a soft smile, raising the glass of wine towards him. “I thought you could use some rest.”

Jayce takes a long breath, as if trying to maintain his composure, but it’s clear that the sight before him has thrown him off balance. His eyes briefly trail over your figure before meeting yours, where the tension is palpable.

“What… what are you doing?” he asks, clearly affected but trying to keep his tone serious, though his eyes betray him.

“I’ve prepared some dinner,” you respond with a playful smile. “Come to the kitchen with me, please. It’s almost ready.”

As you walk towards the kitchen, you can feel his gaze fixed on you. Jayce can’t help but follow you with his eyes, appreciating every detail of your form, especially the way the shirt clings to your body, leaving little to the imagination. The atmosphere in the house has changed, becoming warmer, but also more charged than anyone could have anticipated.

When you reach the kitchen, you start chopping some vegetables, focused on the task but fully aware that Jayce hasn’t stopped looking at you for even a second. The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board fills the space initially, but as time passes, you feel the tension between you both growing.

It’s as if the air thickens, and finally, he can’t resist anymore. Jayce steps forward, slowly moving behind you until you can feel his warmth against your back. His body presses against yours, his breathing now deep and almost irregular. The closeness of his body makes your heart race faster, and the brush of his chest against your back heightens the intensity of the situation… in the best way.

“You look incredible,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, as if afraid to admit what he’s feeling. His breath grazes your neck, and the heat of his body melds with yours, filling you with an electric sensation. “Seeing you in my shirt... I can’t handle it. It turns me on more than I’d like to admit.”

You feel your skin prickling at his words, and for a moment, the knife in your hand is suspended in the air. But you don’t let it fall, even though you’re close to losing yourself in the sensation he provokes in you.

“Oh, really?” you tease, tilting your head slightly to look at him over your shoulder. “What, are you jealous of your own clothes?”

Jayce chuckles softly, a sound full of tension and desire. “It’s not jealousy,” he responds with a smile that barely conceals what he’s feeling. “It’s... fascination. I didn’t know something as simple as a shirt could... affect me this way.”

You feel him move even closer, his body now pressed fully against yours, making the space between you nearly vanish. His hand, soft yet firm, rests on your hip, and the contact is so intimate you could swear the world is about to fade away in that instant.

“You look so good,” he says, his tone now deeper, filled with desire. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life.” His erection clearly pressing against your backside.

Finally, after that whisper full of desire, Jayce pulls back slightly, looking down with a small smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so direct… but I couldn’t help it. You drive me crazy.”

You turn fully towards him, still smiling, as you take a step closer, closing the gap. “I don’t want apologies. I just want you.” You whisper, before cupping his face in your hands and devouring his lips.

Ekko

Ekko enters his workshop, closing the door with a tired sigh. The gears keep turning, the hum of the machines welcomes him as always. You step into the space after hearing his footsteps. Ekko didn’t expect to find an unexpected scene: you, wearing his orange bandana around your neck, his sleeveless white shirt, and a pair of his baggy pants that barely allow you to walk properly. It was like you were cosplaying him.

You throw him a playful look as you adjust the shirt, which is obviously much larger than you. You smile as you see his eyes widen slightly, observing your figure draped in his clothes.

"What? Do you like my style?" you ask with a mischievous tone, noticing the sparkle in his eyes. The Ekko you know isn't easily startled, but now, you can tell something has slightly caught him off guard.

"I wasn’t expecting this," he responds with a sly grin, crossing his arms as he watches you with a mix of interest and amusement. "So, you took over my clothes without asking? Are you planning to take my entire wardrobe too, or just this for now?"

Your laughter is soft but playful. You know you're teasing him, but you enjoy seeing how his confident attitude meets this little challenge. "Does it bother you?" you ask as you step closer, playful.

Ekko takes a step towards you, wearing that characteristic, confident smile. "Of course, it doesn’t bother me, babe," he replies in a teasing tone, moving closer. "It’s just that I feel bad saying it doesn't suit you as much as it suits me," Ekko puffed out his chest with an air of arrogance that made you roll your eyes.

"Please, Ekko, we both know you're only saying that because you feel threatened. It’s not my fault your clothes look better on me than on you. It gives me a mysterious vibe," you joke in the same tone.

Ekko lets out a laugh, one that shows he’s fully into the joke, enjoying the chemistry between you two. "Mysterious, huh? You’re right. It’s strange seeing you so... you, but with a touch of my style," he responds, still smiling.

At that moment, you look him directly in the eyes, and without thinking, you say with a mischievous smile, "I think it’s going to cost you a lot to get it back, huh? Maybe I’ll make you a deal... I’ll give it back, but in exchange for something."

Ekko's face lights up with a grin of complicity. "Hmm, I don’t know if I want to know what kind of deal you have in mind," he replies in a low voice, clearly interested. "But now that you mention it, I might be willing to negotiate."

The tension in the air becomes more palpable, the electricity between you more intense. Ekko seems relaxed, but his gaze, his posture, everything about him says he’s enjoying the situation. You can’t help it; the power play between you is present, and you both enjoy it.

You step a little closer, almost closing the space between you and Ekko, feeling his warmth and the vibrant energy that always accompanies him. "Are you really willing to negotiate?" you ask, tilting your head slightly, letting your tone become a bit softer, more seductive. "Because if you are, I have a few ideas..."

Ekko looks at you with those bright eyes, always full of life and challenge. "Oh, I see you come with plans," he replies, his voice low and deep, full of the same playful energy you both are enjoying. "Tell me, what kind of deal do you have in mind?"

You slide your hands around his neck, letting them rest on his shoulders, while you play with one of his dreadlocks. "Well, you could start by convincing me why I should give you back your clothes," you whisper, leaning in close enough that your breath brushes against his skin.

Ekko smiles, clearly enjoying this little game. "Convince you, huh?" His hand slowly travels to your waist, holding you with a confidence that has always fascinated you. "What if I propose something? Maybe we could share it."

You look at him with a raised eyebrow, pretending surprise. "Share it? Wow, that sounds pretty generous of you. But what do I get out of it?"

Ekko tilts his head to the side, studying you with that sharp gaze that always seems to see more than you let on. "You get to have something of mine, something that reminds you of me every time you wear it. And I... I get the lucky chance to see you wearing it, like now."

His words, full of sincerity but wrapped in that light, playful tone, make your heart race a little faster. You feel the warmth of his hand on your waist, his proximity, and you can’t help but smile. "Sounds like a good deal," you murmur, brushing your nose against his.

Ekko holds you closer, his smile soft but confident. "And maybe, every now and then, you’ll let me get a piece of clothing back... but only if you promise to return it like this, with your added style."

You laugh softly, enjoying the warmth emanating from his body and the soft drumming of his heart under your hand. "Sounds fair," you reply before closing the distance between you and sealing the deal with a soft but meaningful kiss.

Silco

The atmosphere in Silco's office is always charged. The dim light from the lamps illuminates the dark corners of the room as he sits behind his desk, his calculating eyes focused on the pile of papers and documents in front of him. Since taking control of Zaun, his life has been immersed in a routine of power and difficult decisions.

However, today something has changed. Today, you have sneaked into his space. He knew you were approaching, he had heard your footsteps, but it wasn't until you entered that he realized what was about to happen.

You approach him with a firm step, and without warning, you settle on his lap, making him pause in what he was doing. You’re wearing his jacket, large, with the collar up, covering you completely and hanging from your shoulders. The garment is unmistakably his, and it fits you in a way Silco couldn’t have anticipated. The jacket, which gives your figure a more mysterious and dominant air, seems to imbue you with more than just his style; it makes you part of his world.

You settle comfortably on him, smiling playfully, enjoying the control you have over the situation. Silco observes you with a slight smile on his lips, though he doesn’t take his eyes off you. At first, he says nothing, but when his eyes fix on your clothing, his tone subtly changes, filled with that authoritative air that characterizes him so well.

"You've been holed up here all day, not paying much attention," you confess in a tender whisper.

"Is that why you're wearing my jacket?" he asks, in a deep voice, as his eyes scan your figure. It’s clear he notices the game you’re starting, and a spark of interest ignites in his gaze.

"I just wanted your attention," you respond with a mischievous smile, enjoying the closeness and the way Silco watches you, as if evaluating every move.

Silco raises an eyebrow, not losing his composure. "And what makes you think wearing my clothes will get it?" His tone is challenging, but something else shines in his eyes. There’s a mix of curiosity and, perhaps, a bit of amusement, something he rarely shows.

"Maybe because it looks much better on me than on you," you reply with a light laugh, feeling how the tension in the air shifts slightly, but without losing the essence of the power you both share.

"It suits you," Silco says, without taking his eyes off you. "You are… an interesting interruption."

He leans in a little closer, his presence always so imposing. "But, you know? What you're wearing isn’t just clothing," he adds, with that deep voice that always makes you feel as if you're being drawn into him. "It's a reminder. Of who you are, and who you belong to."

The air becomes tense, not because of the threat in his tone, but because of the intention perceived in his words. Silco, in his own way, is marking territory. It’s not something obvious or rude, but a subtle gesture that speaks of his way of claiming, of having control over what is his, over you.

You move closer to him, and the distance between the two of you shortens until you can feel his breath nearer. "Who do you belong to, Silco?" you ask softly, almost as a challenge, maintaining a firm, confident gaze.

Silco doesn’t respond immediately, but his eyes soften, and he looks you up and down with a mix of admiration and possessiveness. A side of him that he rarely shows.

"That’s something only you and I will know," he replies, and immediately takes a step toward you, positioning himself so close that the tension feels like a weight in the air. You can’t escape his presence, but you don’t want to either.

Finally, when the space between you is almost nonexistent, Silco places a hand on your shoulder, touching the fabric of the jacket delicately, as if this piece of clothing represents something more than just a garment.

"Take off the jacket," he orders in a whisper, with that deep voice that knows how to make every word feel significant.

Without waiting for you to do it immediately, he takes it with one hand and slides it off your shoulders gently, as if he wants to hold onto that moment a bit longer. When the jacket falls to the floor, Silco looks at it for a second, and then his eyes lock onto yours again.

"No need for more clothing between us, is there?" he murmurs, a challenging tone in his voice. "But if you insist on wearing something of mine, make sure it's what I want."

Mel

The atmosphere in Mel’s mansion is filled with sophistication and soft lights illuminating the walls adorned with high-class art. The event in Piltover, which both of you are about to attend, is one of the most anticipated of the year, and Mel, as always, is ready to stand out. Her presence is undeniable, but tonight, something feels different. The air between you is charged with an energy that rarely occurs between two such powerful individuals, but today, there is a closeness evident from the very first moment.

After hours of preparation, Mel is ready, but she notices that you still haven’t found the right dress. “Don’t worry about that,” she says with a confident smile, her tone soft yet firm. “I have something that will make you shine more than anyone else at that event.”

With an elegant gesture, Mel approaches the wardrobe where she keeps her most exclusive garments and shows you a dress that immediately takes your breath away. It’s a long black silk dress with golden details that seem to catch the light with every movement. The neckline is subtle but enough to suggest powerful elegance. The fabric falls gracefully, highlighting the figure without being vulgar, and at the back, there is a slit that reveals your legs in a sophisticated way.

Mel holds it up in front of you, and her eyes gleam with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity. “This is perfect for you,” she says with confidence, knowing her choice is flawless. “I want you to feel as impressive as you truly are.”

It takes you a moment to process the idea of wearing such a stunning dress, but you can’t help but smile. You feel a hint of excitement and perhaps something more in the air.

The moment you put on the dress, something changes. Mel watches as the fabric fits your body, her gaze attentive and assessing, but also filled with something more, as if she’s seeing beyond just appearance. The dress fits perfectly, as if it had been made especially for you, and Mel can’t help but smile, proud of having made the right choice.

When you finally see yourself in the mirror, you realize what she’s seeing. You become aware that, somehow, you’ve transformed into someone else. The dress highlights your strength and elegance, but it also gives you a vulnerability you’ve never felt before.

“Perfect,” Mel says, her voice soft, but her gaze full of approval. “I knew you’d be dazzling.”

She then steps closer and places a hand on your shoulder, slightly adjusting the fabric as if ensuring everything is in place is an important task for her. When she steps back to observe you again, her eyes show a warm glow, as if she’s proud of you in a very personal way.

“Now,” she says, her tone more playful, “let’s make everyone in Piltover wonder who this woman with so much power and beauty is.”

You smile, taking her hand with renewed confidence. The tension in the air feels electric, but this time it’s different. It’s not just about attending an important event but about the closeness of how you both feel at this moment.

When you’re finally ready to leave the mansion, Mel looks at you with a small smile, but full of admiration. “Let’s conquer this event together,” she says with the confidence that always accompanies her, and you know that with her by your side, there’s nothing you can’t achieve.

Sevika

It’s a calm afternoon in Zaun, but you know you can’t relax too much. Sevika has just returned from a mission, her body covered in oil stains and dust, but it seems like just another layer over her tough, hardened skin. Although it’s unusual for her to show vulnerability, today, for some reason, she seems more human, more approachable.

She enters the room with a firm step, but something seems to have left her tired. She’s looking at you without saying anything, though you know that silence rarely means there’s nothing more beneath the surface with Sevika.

You decide to take advantage of being in her space, knowing there’s no work to be done tonight. As you approach her, a strange calm takes over you. Without much thought, you head toward her wardrobe, opening the doors in hopes of finding something comfortable to wear. You know she’s not one to be easily unsettled by your jokes or your presence in her space.

In a moment of her inattention, you find a large leather jacket, rugged in design, clearly meant for someone more imposing than you. “I think this will fit me,” you murmur to yourself as you put it on without much thought.

When Sevika sees you, her eyes trail over your figure with a gaze full of attention. She doesn’t say anything immediately, but silence fills the air. However, her posture changes, and Sevika’s typical confidence unfolds with force. She crosses her arms and watches you, as if evaluating a new threat.

“Did you take my jacket?” she finally asks, her voice firm but with a small spark of amusement.

“What? Don’t you like how it looks on me?” you tease, challenging her to say something.

Sevika approaches you, unhurried but imposing. Her eyes never stop observing you, almost with curiosity. When she’s close, she extends a hand and, with a finger, touches the part of the jacket on your shoulder, examining it closely.

“Not bad,” she responds in a deep tone, but her gaze reflects something more.

You feel a bit provocative sensing her tone, deciding to play a bit more. “Do you like seeing me in something of yours?” you ask, smiling as you step closer to her.

The tension between the two of you rises. Sevika isn’t one to lose control, but you know that sometimes you like to challenge her. The brush of her finger on the jacket, her eyes fixed on you, and that way she has of dominating the situation make you feel the heat building in the air.

“Maybe you like being in my territory,” Sevika replies, her voice softer than you expected but still loaded with authority. The way she moves closer makes it feel like she’s already marking her space but leaves room for the game.

Suddenly, as if it had all been planned, Sevika steps toward you, her face close to yours, her lips almost touching your ear as she whispers, “Just make sure that jacket isn’t the only thing you take from me.”

Her tone is low, full of unspoken promises. The brush of her body against yours is inevitable, and at that moment, everything you’ve been waiting for seems to collapse in the air. Sevika isn’t the typical woman who gives herself easily, but she does enjoy playing with limits.

You stand there, wearing Sevika’s jacket on your shoulders, feeling her evaluating you, challenging you, and provoking you all at the same time.

You know Sevika isn’t someone who likes losing control, but you have a special place in her life, a place where trust mixes with that spark of madness that makes everything much more interesting.

“And what else would you like me to take from you?” you ask, keeping the challenge in your words, a playful smile appearing on your lips.

She stares at you intently, and the intensity of her gaze lets you know that, even though her attitude is one of control, she’s well aware of what’s happening between the two of you. The tension is at its peak, but Sevika simply smiles, that confident smile only she knows how to give.

“That, you’ll find out soon,” she replies in a softer tone than you imagined.

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Curse

- Summary: He loved you despite knowing he would never have you.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Brynden Rivers

- Note: Keep in mind how some things may have been changed from the canon, and any inconsistencies you notice are on purpose to compliment the narrative of this story.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (blood, gore, violence)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The chill of the evening air seeped into the stone walls of the Red Keep as you sat by the hearth in your chambers, the flickering flames casting shadows on the silver of your hair. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the scratching of a quill as you composed a letter. The soft fur-lined cloak draped over your shoulders framed you like an artist's masterpiece, your features illuminated in the warm glow of the firelight.

Brynden Rivers stood silently in the doorway, his dark, brooding gaze fixed on you. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too engrossed in your writing. His chest tightened as he took you in, your familiar presence stirring emotions he could no longer deny.

“Why must it be you?” The thought gnawed at him relentlessly, the bitter truth of it threatening to unman him. You were his sister by blood, his equal in both fire and ice, but the heart cares little for titles or propriety. The gods, cruel and capricious, had cursed him to love you. And yet, for all his cunning and resolve, Brynden Rivers, the master of shadows, had no strategy for this war within himself.

He stepped into the room at last, his boots soft against the stone floor. You looked up, surprised but not alarmed. A small smile curved your lips, a sight that could bring kingdoms to ruin, though you remained blissfully unaware of the effect it had on him.

“Brynden,” you said warmly, setting your quill aside. “I thought you’d be skulking about the council chambers or locked away in some dark corner of the library.”

“Do I skulk, then?” he replied, his tone light but his eyes betraying the heaviness in his heart. He walked closer, his long white hair trailing behind him like a specter. His eyes— the color of fresh blood—lingered on you as though committing every detail to memory.

You laughed softly, a sound like bells on a crisp morning. “You are the Bloodraven, are you not? Isn’t skulking in your nature?”

He couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips, but it faded as quickly as it came. He stopped before the fire, hands clasped behind his back. “What are you writing?” he asked, more to distract himself than out of curiosity.

“A letter to Daeron,” you replied, gesturing to the parchment. “He frets over my welfare as if I were still a child. I thought I’d ease his mind.”

Brynden nodded, though his jaw tightened at the mention of your elder brother. Of course Daeron would fret over you; who wouldn’t? You were the jewel of the Targaryen line, a creature of beauty and grace wrapped in Valyrian steel. Brynden had seen the way men looked at you—the way Daemon Waters, that charming fool, lingered too long in your company, the way even Baelor Breakspear treated you with a deference bordering on reverence. It filled Brynden with a fury he could barely contain, though he had no right to feel it.

“Daeron is right to worry,” he said, his voice lower now. “The court is full of snakes, and not all wear their venom openly.”

You tilted your head, studying him with those lilac eyes that seemed to pierce through his very soul. “And you, Brynden? Do you worry for me too?”

He froze. The question was innocent enough, but it struck him like a blade. Did he worry for you? Of course he did. He worried for your safety, for your happiness, for the day someone else might take you away from him forever. But his worry wasn’t born of a brother’s duty. It was something far darker, something shameful.

“Always,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your expression softened, and you reached out to touch his hand. The gesture was innocent—sisterly—but it set his skin ablaze. He wanted to pull away, to shield you from the storm raging within him, but he couldn’t move. Your touch was his undoing.

“Brynden,” you said, your voice gentler now. “You’ve been so distant of late. Is something troubling you?”

He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “Many things trouble me, sister. That is the curse of a bastard, is it not? To carry burdens that are not entirely yours.”

You frowned, your hand tightening on his. “You are not just a bastard. You are a Targaryen, Brynden. You are my brother. You are…” You trailed off, as if searching for the right words. “You are more than you believe yourself to be.”

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, and felt the last of his resolve crumbling. He wanted to tell you everything—that you were his light in the darkness, his solace in a world of treachery and lies. But he couldn’t. To love you was to curse you, to drag you into the shadows where he dwelled.

Instead, he stepped back, breaking the contact. “You are kind, sister, but you do not know what you say.”

Your brow furrowed, concern etched across your face. “Brynden—”

“Enough,” he said sharply, his voice like a whip. Regret washed over him the moment he saw the hurt in your eyes, but he turned away before he could falter. “It is late. You should rest.”

Without another word, he left the room, his heart a storm of longing and despair. As he walked the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, he knew he would carry this secret to his grave.

For what chance did a creature like him have to love something as pure and untouchable as you? His love was a fire, and you were the dragon; yet even dragons burned when the fire raged too hot.

The raven arrived at dawn, its wings streaked with the ash-gray of storm clouds. Brynden stood at the window of his solar, the letter clutched in his hand, its contents sharp enough to draw blood. The words swam before his eyes, written in a hurried hand that reeked of desperation. His breathing was shallow, his mismatched gaze locked on the jagged lines of the Blackwater Bay beyond.

You were gone. Stolen.

Daemon Blackfyre, legitimized bastard of Aegon IV and the shadow that loomed over Brynden’s existence, had taken you. Not merely taken—you were wed. A quiet ceremony, the raven reported, held under the banners of the pretender's house. Brynden's grip on the letter tightened until the parchment threatened to tear, his mind racing with visions he could not unsee.

“Brynden?” A soft voice called from the doorway, but he did not turn. It was Shiera, her tone cautious, almost hesitant—a rarity for her. She knew, as she always did. Her presence in the room only sharpened the knife twisting in his chest.

“He dared,” Brynden said, his voice low, cold as the Narrow Sea in winter. “That coward dared to lay his hands on her.”

Shiera stepped closer, her crimson gown rustling like whispers in the dark. “It was not unexpected, was it? Daemon has always craved what you value most. This… marriage… is just another way to wound you.”

Her words were oil on the fire raging in his chest. He turned to face her, his face a mask of fury barely contained. “She is not some trinket to be used in his petty games, Shiera. She is…” His voice broke, the words he could never say threatening to spill forth.

Shiera raised a dark brow, her expression unreadable. “She is your sister.”

Brynden flinched as if struck. It was the truth, the one fact that made this torment so unbearable. You were his sister, and that bond should have been enough to temper his feelings. But it wasn’t. It never had been.

“You know it isn’t that simple,” he said bitterly, turning away again.

“No, it never is with you,” Shiera replied, her voice softening. She placed a hand on his arm, her touch gentle but firm. “If you love her, Brynden, then act. Sitting here in the shadows won’t bring her back.”

He shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. “She is beyond my reach now. Daemon will ensure that.”

Shiera’s laugh was sharp, almost cruel. “Beyond your reach? You are Bloodraven, master of whispers and shadows. Daemon may have stolen her, but he hasn’t won. Not yet.”

Brynden didn’t respond, his thoughts a whirlwind of anger, regret, and despair. He could see it now, the image burned into his mind: you, standing beside Daemon, your pale hair entwined with his, your lilac eyes dimmed by the weight of the choice forced upon you. Did you go willingly, he wondered, or did Daemon drag you into this as he had dragged others into his rebellion?

The thought of your smile—so warm, so full of life—now belonging to Daemon Blackfyre was more than he could bear.

“What would you have me do, Shiera?” he asked, his voice raw. “Storm his camp? Kill him in cold blood? What would that make me? A brother who loves his sister too much, or a bastard no better than him?”

Shiera studied him, her gaze piercing as always. “It would make you a man who fights for what he cannot live without. Or,” she added, her voice softening, “it would make you a man who knows when to let go.”

Brynden recoiled at the thought. Let go? Of you? He had tried, gods knew he had tried, but it was as futile as holding back the tide. You were the sun in his shadowed world, the one thing that made his cursed existence bearable. Without you, what was he? A ghost haunting the halls of the Red Keep, a puppet master with no heart to guide his strings.

But he also knew the truth. If he went after you, it wouldn’t be for justice or even love. It would be for vengeance. Vengeance against Daemon, against the cruel twist of fate that made you his sister when his heart screamed for you to be something more.

He turned back to Shiera, his decision made. “Send word to my spies. I want to know where they are, every step they take.”

Shiera’s lips curved into a sly smile. “And when you find them? What then?”

Brynden’s gaze was as cold and unyielding as the shadow of the wall behind him. “Then, I’ll decide what kind of man I am.”

As Shiera left, the room fell silent once more. Brynden moved to the hearth, staring into the flames as if they held the answers he sought. The fire crackled and hissed, its light dancing in his eyes.

“You are mine,” he whispered, the words a vow, a curse, and a plea all at once. “Even if the gods will it otherwise, even if the world turns against me, you are mine.”

And though he knew his love for you was doomed, though he knew it would destroy him in the end, he swore he would not let Daemon Blackfyre win. Not this time. Not with you.

The battlefield was chaos—a sea of blood and fire, steel and screams. Brynden’s cloak billowed behind him as he dismounted his pale mare, his eye scanning the carnage with keen precision. The crimson of Blackfyre clashed with those of the crown, black dragons rippling in the smoky air. Yet amidst the maelstrom, his focus was singular.

You.

You were there, somewhere, caught between two forces too cruel for love to soften. You had been dragged into this war, a pawn in Daemon’s rebellion, and Brynden had sworn to get you out. He had promised himself—promised you—that he would not let fate take you.

But fate, it seemed, was indifferent to his promises.

His spies had found you at last—at the edge of the battlefield, atop a ridge overlooking the slaughter. Daemon’s men surrounded you, and though you bore no blade, Brynden could see the steel in your eyes even from afar. You were always brave, always defiant, even now when the world seemed poised to crumble around you.

He spurred his mare forward, cutting through the fray with lethal precision. His sword was an extension of his will, cutting down any who dared to stand in his path. Blood splattered across his pale skin, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but reaching you.

As he neared, he saw Daemon dismount, his black armor glinting in the fading sunlight. The pretender’s greatsword, Blackfyre, gleamed in his hand as he turned to you, his expression a mix of anger and desperation. Brynden could hear their voices now, faint but unmistakable.

“You’re mad to stay here, woman,” Daemon growled, his voice cutting as the steel he wielded. “You’ll die with them, do you understand? You’ll die because he—” He pointed his blade in the direction of the chaos, where Brynden’s crimson eye burned like a beacon. “Because he will not stop!”

You stood tall, unyielding even in the face of Daemon’s wrath. “I chose to stay,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging around you. “I chose to fight for what I believe, Daemon. You cannot force me to be something I am not.”

Brynden’s heart twisted at your words, pride warring with panic. You were brave, too brave, and it would cost you everything.

“Enough!” he roared as he reached the ridge, his voice cutting through the din. He dismounted in a rush, his boots crunching against the rocky ground as he advanced on the two of you. His sword was raised, its edge glinting with blood and fire. “Step away from her, Daemon.”

Daemon turned, his eyes narrowing as a cruel smile curled his lips. “Ah, the shadow himself. Come to play the hero, have you? What will you do, Brynden? Kill me? Will you stain your hands with your sister’s blood, too?”

Brynden ignored him, his gaze locked on you. “Come with me,” he pleaded, his voice low but urgent. “There’s still time. I can get you away from this madness. Away from him.”

You hesitated, your expression flickering with something he couldn’t quite place. Regret? Pain? Or was it something deeper, something he had never dared to hope for?

But before you could respond, Daemon stepped between you. “She’s made her choice, Rivers. You think you can claim her now, after everything?” He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “You’re too late.”

Brynden lunged, his sword striking against Daemon’s with a deafening clang. The two men clashed, their movements a brutal dance of fury and desperation. Blackfyre against steel, brother against brother, shadow against flame.

You shouted for them to stop, your voice breaking over the sound of their blades, but neither listened. They were consumed, two sides of the same cursed coin, both fighting for something that could never truly be theirs.

It happened too fast.

Daemon feinted to the left, and Brynden lunged too far. The pretender twisted, his blade arcing wide—and then, suddenly, there was silence.

The sound of steel hitting flesh. A gasp.

Brynden froze, his sword falling from his hand as he turned to see you standing between them. Blackfyre’s blade protruded from your chest, its dark steel slick with blood.

Your blood.

Daemon’s eyes widened in horror, and he stumbled back, releasing the hilt. You fell to your knees, your hands clutching the wound as crimson stained your gown.

“No,” Brynden whispered, rushing to your side. He caught you before you hit the ground, cradling you against him as if his arms alone could hold your soul to this world. “No, no, no. Gods, no.”

You looked up at him, your lilac eyes clouded with pain but still achingly familiar. “Brynden,” you whispered, your voice weak but steady. “It’s… all right.”

“It’s not,” he choked, his eye brimming with tears. “It’s not all right. Stay with me. Please.”

Your hand, trembling and bloodstained, reached up to touch his face. “You were always the better man,” you said, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “Don’t let this… break you.”

Your hand fell away, your eyes sliding shut as your body went limp in his arms.

Brynden stared down at you, the world around him fading into nothing. You were gone. The one light in his shadowed existence, extinguished.

Daemon stood frozen, his expression a mask of anguish. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw with grief and rage. “This is your doing, Rivers. You brought her to this. You killed her.”

Brynden didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The world was ash and silence, and all he could feel was the weight of your lifeless body in his arms.

For the first time in his life, Brynden Rivers—the master of whispers, the shadow of the realm—was truly and utterly lost.

[ckret2]

Pardon me, however, have you ever considered getting help on WAIGLZ or any other fic of yours? Such as a ghost writer or someone to help you with art so it can get done faster?

I am just curious because I thought it would be really coolio to work with you or something, idk.

Please have a truly wonderful day/evening and toodaloo! ^ ^

+ Btw, if I sound rude at all, that is %100 not intentional tone is kind of hard to translate through text lol

I appreciate that the question is meant kindly; but why would I want somebody else to tell my story for me?

It might not make a difference to an audience member; y'all simply just wanna see the rest of the story, it doesn't make a difference who made it because from the consumer's end it still reads the same.

But it makes a hell of a lot of difference to the writer.

If i wanted a ghostwriter I could just chuck my outline into chatgpt. it would be just as good—which is to say it would be very bad—because in both cases it'd be written by someone/something that doesn't intimately understand the vast web of ideas the story's built on and the hundreds of tiny tiny goals I'm looking for places to thread into the story and the exact themes I'm trying to achieve and exactly where and how I want to make it funny and make it heartwarming and make it hurt; and in both cases I'd have to rip the product apart and edit it to sound like the story i'm trying to tell rather than sound like a 40% accurate retelling of my story that was based off of a barebones summarization.

Like, how many times have you seen Gravity Falls? Probably at least once or twice? If you sat down with an episode summary—only the summary, not the transcript or gallery—and tried to rewrite the script word-for-word and redraw the episode shot-for-shot, do you think you could get every word and every angle right? And you've already seen the episode! You remember the finished product! Imagine trying to guess at all that based off of the summary alone if you'd never seen it before!

So now instead of writing my own story i'm merely editing SOMEONE ELSE telling a water-downed version of my story. It takes me just as long if not longer; and on top of that there's no joy in it.

And if that's what i wanted to do with my life... at least shoving it in chatgpt would get me a first draft to edit faster.

as for art: about a decade ago i was writing/drawing a fancomic and tried to split it with friends so i was writing and they were drawing. it slowed down the whole thing immensely. took 4x longer to get art than doing it myself would've taken.

At the time, I updated multiple times a week (my art was worse then lol); and when I asked someone else to do art I had to keep choosing between:

delaying my next post for days while patiently waiting for a friend, with no guarantee they'd actually finish;

impatiently waiting and trying to find a way to politely repeatedly pester them about finishing the art; or

give up on waiting and do the art myself, which would hurt them deeply, especially if they'd already started it and I just went "nah you're too slow, I'll do it myself."

The thing is, I put my passion project ahead of my other hobbies. Why would somebody else put my passion project ahead of their own hobbies? It would be unfair and unkind for me to ask somebody to do that; but I'm not willing to slow down and wait for somebody to do some art for me when it's finally convenient for them; so therefore I'd better do my own art.

[bitchface24-7]

Hey, it’s me again. Did I send in a request last night? Yes. But ur writing is very cool and I rly like it and my thoughts are eating my brain so I’m sending in another! (Please take however long you need to reply to this tho, I would hate to overwhelm u)

N e wayz, I am once again requesting JayVik x fem reader. I was hoping to ask for more comfort maybe? Mostly just smthn with a reader who doesn’t want kids at all ever.

Like, it’s not that I’m not good with them, they super overwhelm me and they’re loud and messy (and pregnancy horrifies me(and I think(?) I’m autistic so also that doesn’t help))

Just, maybe smthn where R tells em or someone else brings it up? They’re upfront abt it but worried abt losing Jayce and Viktor (also if I’m going into too much detail I apologize, I’m very specific abt my feelings towards kids and it’s hard to find anything like this. Most fics that bring up pregnancy are abt the R wanting kids or expecting and that’s just. Not for me)

Also if this makes you uncomfy that’s also cool and chill :))

Hope ur doing good, thank you either way :))

WE ALREADY MAKE THREE - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: you're in your late twenties. Your partners are thirty-one and thirty-two respectively. The dreaded question keeps coming up, “When are you going to have kids?” Never if you had it your way. Time to see if your partners are on the same page as you.

warnings: being childfree by choice, talks of overstimulation, fear of pregnancy and childbirth, talks of not wanting kids due to illness, soft fluffy comfort, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/m/f

p.s. I too do not want kids, and you damn near listed every reason I have as well (add suspected ADHD/AuDHD). I'll personally add that I'm selfish, I like doing things when I want to do them, in peace. I want to spend my money on me. I want to wake up at noon and drink my coffee in silence. I'm also a graduate of a nursing program so I had to do maternity/child as a course and OMG IT WAS HORRENDOUS. I've never wanted kids, never dreamed of having them; and that won't change. Your feelings are valid; don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I also may or may not be projecting a bit onto this story; hope you don't mind pebble!

You're at that time in life as a woman where people keep asking you in a variety of ways when you're getting pregnant. Or they shoot you a variation of either pity looks or side-eyes when you're childfree; and happily so!

You've never wanted kids. Never had that baby dream where you wake up crying wondering where your kid is. If you did have that dream, you'd be crying in relief knowing you don't have a kid. People have always looked at you funny, your parents especially. “You’ll change your mind when you grow up!” “When you find the right guy, you never know!”

Eventually, when you hit your early twenties, your parents left it alone. Understanding that you don't want kids. Period.

Now… you need to ensure both Viktor and Jayce are on the same page as you. Because this… this topic can either make or break a relationship.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The conversation came up one random day in the lab. The three of you tinkering away when you just blurt out, “What do you think about kids?”

The sounds of tools crashing and swearing fill the lab, you try your best to suppress a giggle, but you fail.

“Where— where is this coming from?” Viktor asks, his voice frazzled as he holds a finger he accidentally smashed in his panic.

You shrug, “People keep asking me when I'm getting knocked up. Other departments, professors, acquaintances. I want to know your opinion on having kids. This topic… is a sensitive one. And I know this can either strengthen our relationship, or it'll crumble to dust. I don't… I don't want to lose you two. I can't imagine my life without you in it.”

Viktor lightly smiles and takes your hand with his non-injured one, and Jayce comes over to scoop you into a big hug.

“I— I've never wanted kids.” Viktor admits, his voice low as he looks at the two of you from beneath his eyelashes, “I’m sick. I'm disabled. I would never want to pass that down to my child; it'd be cruel. Even if we had a cure, I’d be hesitant.”

You squeeze Viktor's hand in reassurance, and the slowly built-up tension in his shoulders eases slightly. Now we just need Jayce's opinion.

The two of you look to Jayce, who just has a contemplative look on his face.

“Kids, babies especially, are a lot of work. Your whole world revolves around them. We wouldn't be able to do things like we are now. Hextech would have to wait. Finding a way to make Viktor feel better would have to wait. And I— I don't want to wait. I want to see Hextech helping everyone, I want to find a way to make Viktor feel less pain. And a kid… a kid would ruin that. Does that make me a bad person?!”

At Jayce's panic, the two of you get up on your tiptoes as best you can and kiss him on the cheek; one on each side. The dopey smile you get in return makes you and Viktor smile.

“Oh thank Janna,” you sigh, “I don't want kids. I've never wanted kids. I like doing things when I want to do them. I want to wake up when I feel like it. I want to drink coffee in peace. If I want to go to the market, I can immediately put my coat on and leave the house. I want to travel the world with you two; I want to make our dreams become a reality. A baby… a baby would ruin all of that. Besides, pregnancy and birth terrify me. That's one of the highest mortality rates a woman faces.”

At that last tidbit, Jayce and Viktor tense up.

No.

Absolutely not.

You're not dying, not anytime soon if they have anything to say about it. They want to be with you until you're all old and wrinkly. Your hair is no longer its rich colour, but a stark white. All three of you will die at the same time, cuddled up in bed holding one another.

You don't see their contemplation and just continue in your explanation, “And they're incredibly overstimulating. I understand logically that they can't speak but sometimes they just cry and make noise unnecessarily. You've taken a bath, your diaper is clean, and you've been fed and burped. We’re having mommy-baby time so I can love on you and you're pitching a fit? Why? It makes me so—”

Your explanation is interrupted by a passionate kiss from Viktor, you think your lips are gonna be bruised later by the amount of force he used. Eventually, he pulls away, and you feel breathless; Jayce quickly replaces Viktor's lips on yours. This kiss is softer, a bit tender as if he understands your lips feel tingly.

Jayce pulls away and as you're stuck in between them; Viktor and Jayce kiss. You appreciate their beauty as you bite your lip and smile. Jayce is the super physically affectionate one, you're in the middle, and Viktor rarely shows PDA. To have Viktor start this means a lot.

Your little kissing session ends a bit too quickly for your taste, but at least you get swamped in a group hug from both your partners.

“So…” Viktor starts, “We’re all in agreement? No kids.”

Both you and Jayce simultaneously respond, “No kids.”

Viktor nods, “Good. So, shall we go back to work? Or are we going to cuddle the whole day?”

“If I had it my way, it'd be the latter.”

“We know, Jayce.”

“So… I guess its back to work?”

“Yes, Jayce.”

“Hmph.”

With a dramatic sigh, Jayce lets the two of you go and you all go back to your workstations. Your heart and steps are a little lighter than when you first came into the lab today.

You work in comfortable silence for about ten minutes before you decide to be a menace, again.

“Why is everyone so invested if I'm getting my shit rocked and getting stuffed full of cum? Like I hate when couples are all like, “We’re trying for a baby! We’re trying every night!” Like… okay? I didn't need to know that. What do you want me to say? “Congratulations. Try harder.” Like?”

More crashes are heard and even more swearing. But this time you cackle in glee. Yeah. You wouldn't change this for the world.

Here it is! I hope people enjoy this tiny fic (especially you pebble!) its nice to know I'm not the only one who doesn't want kids. Whenever I feel lonely in that mindset, I search up “childfree by choice” on tiktok and see so many other women with the same mindset as me; and it makes me feel a little less alone. If you do want kids, all the power to you, but this story isn't for you.

[doberbutts]

I’m kinda new to tumblr so idk if this is like, improper, but that recent shit about your folks sucking was rough. just like, to read. I can’t even imagine how hard it sucks to be there right now. but idk I wanted to shoot an anonymous ask and just be like “hey you’re gonna make it” which I know you already know but figured it would be nice to hear from someone else too, so. hang in there fellow trans person and fuck your family’s behavior

Oh I never did really fully explain what was happening did I?

My great aunt died on December 1 and it wasn't particularly unexpected (she was very old, and her husband died a few years ago on Dec 3) but it was quite sudden and without much warning. I drove to my parents' house to mourn and help with funeral arrangements and it was my first time visiting since right before covid and also since starting medical transition. I figured I'd be enduring a lot of misgendering and the like but wanted to be there for my aunt because I had a lot of wonderful memories of celebrating Christmas at her house with her and my uncle.

An assortment of little comments added up over the next 24 hours until my mother effectively called me stupid unprompted to my face as I drove her from my sister's house back to her own, because I'd said that my niece and nephew were quite smart and that wasn't an abnormality within our family. This is referring to my graduating at 16 and testing well into genius for my IQ, my sister winning several national awards for her poetry and essays, my adult nephew graduating at 17 and only because of an August birthday, both of my parents having masters degrees they earned on scholarships they were given due to their own strong writing, etc and now my niece is skipping a grade and my nephew is averaging well above his grade level and likely will skip a grade too. So I said something about being a family of smart kids and my mom more or less went "well one of my kids isn't very bright" and then looked hard at me.

I'm the only college drop out of my siblings, and with a worse gpa. It's also not the first time she's called me stupid but normally not in so many words or out of left field like that so it cut pretty deep especially considering all the other bs I'd been putting up with since arriving.

I voiced discomfort with what I had (correctly) assumed she meant as a joke, which turned into an argument, which made me have the realization that this is not my home and has not been my home in some time and in fact the reason my mental health improved rapidly when I left is because I got away from her and all of her nasty little comments she doesn't think are a big deal and now I'm having a panic attack and oh- this is a trauma response. I am back in the same house, the same bedroom, the same situation, and I am being triggered, and I am having a trauma freak out, and it has been a very long time since this place and these people have been anything but detrimental to me.

TO HER CREDIT she did come into my bedroom late that night and stated that she couldn't sleep because she felt awful because clearly she seriously misstepped and did not actually mean to hurt me this badly but at that point the damage was done. We talked it out and then we both cried ourselves to sleep in our respective bedrooms and then I woke up with covid the next day and drove the 5 hours back home so I could access healthcare in my state with my state insurance.

And I don't think I will ever go back there willingly, at least not to stay overnight. I'll come up with a reason that I have to stay at a hotel or something.

So anyway long story short the issue was relatively shortlived and I am now back to normal but WOW that was a BAD night. I have not had a night like that in a very long time.

[mandy-asimp]

Wait ok here's the plot to the story (I bet other people have thought of this is a very generic plot) but I won't ever write it because I just wouldn't want to try and figure out butt stuff😭

Uhh proceed with the warnings that there's corse language, very light smut, some fluff, and then some😚

but it starts when they're in the teachers lounge and Jacob mentions Goldilocks and what not and melissa goes "if a girl broke into my house ate my food and slept in my bed, yeah id eat her ass." Or whatever.

so reader, you, is a fucking comedian or whatever so later that night you do exactly that! You quite literally break into Melissa Schemmenti's house!

And so she wakes up once she registers the smell of her leftovers from dinner, and that woman knows her cooking in one whiff. So you though leave the small eaten plate and dance around her, knowing the lay out from the few times you had been over.

Let me clear here though you guys are friends, not close but comfortable. And with a woman like her you obviously caught feels, hence why your breaking in trying to get her to eat your ass.

This was honestly insane if you asked anyone else, you could've easily told her how you felt but this was another way I guess🤷‍♀️

so after managing to get your way up into her room, you had another number planned inside your honestly brilliantly scheme. You untie your black sneaky coat and think Sabrina Carpenter tour outfits. You're basically in one of those cute pieces or whatever you find on Pinterest to help see the vision (it's what I do for everything).

you then crawl to the middle of her bed and wait patiently for her to finish searching her entire home. And when she does she's shocked to see you in her bed. "Hun, what the fuck?!" She shook her head in disbelief. Who wouldn't, you broke in.

Now you're a bold person in this story. You don't back down easily and you get mostly everything you want by your own way. Ava loved you when you mentioned how good you were at it. It's why she hired you, in return you have to do a few things here and there.

Anyways though you look at her and you tell her you wanted to see if she would.

"Would what?"

"Eat the girls ass if she broke in, ate your food, and slept in your bed."

She was dumbfounded in that moment. What the fuck? Was she dreaming? You could see the blankness and decided to fix that. You slipped from the bed, letting her see you in that outfit you chose and so that's when shit clicks.

Y'all are kissin'.

Touchin'.

Basically fuckin'.

And then she does. She eats your ass. And she likes it. And I mean she really likes it. And fuck so do you cus if your reading this knowing it's about butt stuff you gotta either be curious or into it and I guess since I'm writing this a part of me has to be if I'm writing it so actually-

Anyways so you both really fucking like it and it's not until she's fucking you in the ass with a strap. Her fingers reaching around you and fucking you there. Her palm bumping your clit, oooh child you were feeling this. And you guys went for a good minute too like she fucked you like a slut you were for her and same really like same.

So the next morning, she wakes you with soft kisses to your face, completely contrasting the woman she was the night before. "How are you feeling, baby?"

You were confused as to when you went from hun to baby but you assumed it was sometime after you blissed out. "Goldilocks never stood a chance." You groaned, yet your arms slipped around her bare waist and you hurried your head into her chest.

"Well, maybe you'll double think breaking into people's homes."

Your head came back up, "first of all this is the first house I've broken into. I just got lucky the bear was you."

"Yeah, but next time maybe just ring the doorbell instead of making me search my entire home."

"Awfully a lot of complaining for someone who was saying they just couldn't get enough of me last night." You softly laughed under her.

Her eyes narrowed down for a second. "We have work in a few hours. Do you need to go home and get something to wear?" She changed the topic.

"No, as planned I have a bag in my car. I'm very good with making sure things go as planned if you couldn't tell yet." Your lips curled into a cocky smirk.

That morning you both spent together spinning around and getting ready. Passing kisses to bare skin as you left putting on anything more than a bra and underwear till the very end. Neither of you could keep your hands to yourselves. Not after...

To end it, nobody at work had noticed your slight hobble as they were too busy focused on the volunteers.

Another bonus is Deandra had tried to put one single move on you at the end of the day Friday and Melissa had pulled you away almost instantly, throwing the excuse that you had a dinner date to get to together. It ended up being your first date and it's a so forth story😋

[vonbabbitt]

okay this is my final statement on this

please stop sending me asks telling me to watch the cmndrbubbles review streams. please stop sending me asks telling me my writing is bad because a streamer you like didnt enjoy it. please stop constantly berating me over somebody else’s review of my streams.

i dont watch the cmndrbubbles streams anymore because ive been getting several asks weekly telling me things i should change about the story because of how reviewers are responding to my story. you’re welcome to criticize tetro however you want. when you message me directly to tell me that my story is bad and i should watch someone else’s review and make changes according to it, that’s where i get annoyed.

please stop roping me into this. tetro is already written. even if it wasn’t, im going to write tetro exactly how i want to and im not going to make changes i don’t want to make just because people are screaming at me in my ask box.

i promise your favourite streamer would not like you making an absolute ass of your own fanbase like this. stop messaging me about this.

[docdudo]

Nothing to ask but just wanted to say that your stories brighten my day and make me smile. The way you write the interactions between the 141, especially in foster child, has just such a natural chemistry to it?? I don’t quite know how to explain what I mean, but often times in writing I find couples played up to make sure the readers know they’re romantic, but the way you write them is so *perfect* for the chemistry of a couple/throuple/whatever the word is that they are, that would’ve been together for years. It’s a kind of easy banter that not a lot of people can do, so props to you! 😊😊😊

That's so sweet of you... (ㅠ﹏ㅠ)

What I think about when writing partners I think about how long they know eachother, and in what level do they know eachother.

Like, for example: It they were good friends before getting together, I don't see them being bashful when talking with eachother. Maybe bashful with more romantic things that they are not used to, but they would still have normal conversations.

Now, if people get together quickly with someone else, I can see them being more reserved or shy with both romantic actions and normal conversarions, depending on the person. It's that fear of messing up, or saying the wrong thing to your partner, that a lot of new couples have.

But, the 141 in my fic have been together for a looooooong time. They are not shy about anything with eachother, and both normal conversations and romantic actions are something they are very casual about.

So yeah, I try my best to make their interactions good and the most natural I can kkkkkkkkkkkkk

I'll keep working hard for you guys! ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

[deoidesign]

Time and Time Again comes back tonight!

Thank you all for being so patient with me, I know it was a long hiatus.

My health was struggling, my arm was (is) hurting, and I decided it wasn't worth it. I'd rather be slow!

So thank you for giving me that grace, and I hope you'll be there with me for the rest of the series.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

I'm not a huge fan of the Tazercraft mental link headcanon (it's just not my cup of tea personally), HOWEVER—

I can't stop thinking about Pac in Alcatraz with his back to the wall as Cell approaches him with a cold smile on his face and a bloody knife in one hand, and Pac completely blocking Mike out because he knows something terrible is about to happen, and if he can't save himself then maybe he can at least spare Mike the graphic gory details.

And even when he’s lying on the cold concrete floor in a pool of his own blood, Pac is still trying to block everything out so he doesn't project his pain to Mike through their mental link. But ultimately, that's what scares Mike the most — the sharp flash of Pac's terror for an instant, and then silence.

[dootznbootz]

opinions on helen of sparta being compared to prey animals? blink blink

*blink blinks back* Then immediately sits like this because of the question.

It's a good question that I'm happy to answer! It just makes me mad.... I sincerely hate the wording of "prey" being used to describe her.

SHE IS A VICTIM! THAT DOES NOT MEAN SHE IS "PREY"!

I can...see how people in ancient times may have used that word and still meant it in how she is a victim... but modern-day English-speaking people calling her that??? (considering how in different languages the word "prey" could have different meanings.) I'll just say that as someone who has been "prey" herself at one point, I REALLY hate that word as a descriptor. Just say victim or survivor. 👍

Honestly to call ANY victim "prey" is so fucked up. "Prey" to me, feels like "it's meant to happen." "Prey" are part of the food chain and so that's what happens. And to compare that to abduction and SA? Almost as if "that's our place"? It also kind of implies something being "eaten" or killed... Helen SURVIVES. She's traumatized and definitely needs healing and support but it's not like she can't find joy or peace ever again. Prey just feels so fucking gross.

Also, if someone calls victims "prey", I hope they know that Moose, Elk, Boars, Bovine, ZEBRAS, etc. are technically "prey". And these are VERY aggressive animals while still being "prey" for some other animals. And also that doesn't mean that "Oh, they're powerful! Clearly they should've been able to stop it." That's victim blaming :P

She is a clever, determined, caring woman who was ripped from her home for YEARS because Paris was a dipshit who decided he needed the prettiest woman in the world despite already having a wife. He didn't care about the fact that Helen didn't want to be there and was already married. He is so selfish that he will not let her go back even when THOUSANDS have died in the war! EVEN HIS BROTHER HECTOR AND PRIAM DO NOT BLAME HER! Granted, we do not know if Aphrodite would have let him undo their deal of "I want the prettiest woman" if he DID end up feeling bad for Helen and he wished to let her go home (I doubt it based on his personality though).

"Oh, if she is so independent/strong, then why didn't she just kill Paris and leave?"

AGAIN! Victim blaming!!! First thing, people who ask that have media literacy that is piss on the poor. You also have no idea about the political implications that would have happened if she DID kill Paris. She literally cries about staying there and argues with Aphrodite about seeing Paris, only to get strongarmed by Aphrodite as, guess what? A GODDESS WILL ALWAYS OVERPOWER A DEMIGOD. (This isn't Percy Jackson where he "killed" Ares as a 12 year old (Percy, you were my childhood, but that's bullshit.))

Even confined in Troy, she ARGUED with APHRODITE about going to see Paris! She is not some meek woman who just does as she's told with no pushback! She argued with a GODDESSS! Very few survive doing that!!!

She's not "Prey to fate", she's a "VICTIM of Fate".

[bumblingbabooshka]

T’Pring Memes 

[mishy-mashy]

Hi! I noticed you bring up fanfiction every once in a while, so do you have an ao3?

I DO

But the stuff I post here isn't actually written out and posted anywhere else, and my ao3 (posted stories) is pretty bare. Like, I only touch it to read other people's stuff at this point

Everything I do write is OC stuff though, and that's not everyone's jam

The stuff I do post here all comes from my notes for said fic ideas. They're all fleshed out enough that I can write them into proper stories. Like, the whole plot is figured out, I know where to end, character perspectives, all that jazz. I just don't write them out, since I don't have that motivation, and the stories would end up huge

I don't like posting the actual stories either. People have asked for updates on the new chapters I just put down, and I've run into a lot of copy-pasters. Even the few things I have on ao3 is having a mimic somewhere. So I otherwise keep everything to myself, or post little things here

I've been going through my past stuff lately to reorganize. It's fun. Even if they're old (some are over 5 years old), I find little gems that surprise me like these

(Unordinary; Re:Zero; BNHA)

Like- they aren't that bad. That's surprising. How old are these things???

[jacobied]

feeling an unreal amount of dread rn bc i have to write some sentences about an illustration of mine in a way that fits a theme lmfao

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just���a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

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“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.