#this fandom need to consume more content like this

[somewhatprofesional]

I've been watching Conan voice imitation streams of the Conan crew playing among us. There's these yearly stream where they sometimes invite Hattori vc and everytime he's on he's just automatically become a Kudo bot.

Like last year (2023) his kudos count is 155 compare to last last year (2022) with the count of 416 (thanks you the one who counted them in the comments). I swear his Kudos haunted me even when I'm sleeping.

Bonus content is when Heiji is being voted off he said something along the line of "There's no meaning if Kudos is already dead, just vote me off)(?) And my he goes full yandere sometimes while the Conan vc just keep trying to run away.

Conan even said once: "If I'm an imposter this guy right here would already been dead!"

Even funnier when Heiji and Kid surrounding lil cone and them both keep going :"Meitantei" "Oi Kudo"

[swallowtail-ageha]

Also i feel like that generally. People spend too much energy wanting a bloodborne sequel/remake without asking themselves "do we really need it?"

[antiparticular]

not going to respond further on the actual post because I don't want to start an argument in my mutual's comments and also the person who left the comment clearly doesnt actually care about it but the experience was so baffling I've got to talk about it. this was said about caitvi

ok so the cop argument, I've heard it before that's nothing new. don't get me wrong I hate cops as much as the next self respecting person, but I don't think it's a valid argument. not going to get into it, I think cait haters just need to get over themselves. yeah she does bad shit. EVERYONE does bad shit in arcane. the enforcers are not portrayed as a good organisation.

the part that really had me ???? was 'one of them is british'. hello??? neither of them are british, britain doesn't exist. does this person not watch anything with british actors??? I know that people have done a 180 after the anglophilia or whatever of the 2010s and yeah that's funny. but dismissing a canon lesbian couple who have complex characterisations, grey morality, and their own individual arcs, with their lesbianism being incidental (this NEVER happens anymore), because one of them has a british accent is wild.

[lale-txt]

it's been over a week but i legit haven't stopped thinking about this

[starscream-is-my-wife]

Just curious, will you ever draw megop?

I can see why its the most popular ship, if I had just gotten into transformers now I think I would have been a big fan, there’s so much good fan content for them and I can’t deny their relationship is pretty gay, but my mind is consumed with other robot thoughts ya know? Sides, you guys don’t need me, there’s plenty of talented megop artists out there haha!

I have drawn a stupid joke with them once before, maybe I'll redraw that but more better??

[sanasanakun]

Since people are discussing Larian’s “people pleasing” updates with this latest hot fix, I’m gonna add my two (unnecessary) cents to this as well. I really love Baldurs Gate 3 for the choices and agency it affords me as a player. That’s its main draw to me. However, when comparing it to its main inspiration (i.e BioWare games), the writing in BG3 is far worse.

And I think this shines through the most with the companion content disparity. I do think Astarion is a very well written character, but I also think his popularity partially comes from the other characters being far too underwritten. This isn’t even touching on Karlach’s lack of depth and the shocking disparity that is Wyll’s entire storyline/character. But other companions like Shadowheart and Gale, while well written, lack the same attention and suffer for it.

And god, the villains. I think that’s another egregiously bad area of the writing. Kethric gets a whole act! Meanwhile, Orin is interesting but crammed into sharing space with Gortash. And Gortash is given an incredible backstory that ties to another villain, but nothing is done with it and it’s mostly hidden in notes. And the story overall is just ok. Act 2 is easily the most compelling. But compared to BioWare, the story is lackluster imo. The Dark Urge plot line is the most interesting part of the overall main storyline, but it’s not afforded enough detail or content (imo).

And none of this is helped by Larian removing bits and pieces of their characters in these hotfixes. I really wish they’d just start adding content to flesh out these problem areas, especially Wyll and Minthara.

[itspneu]

another thing that makes me sad every profile i found that reads the manga only talks about it on tuesdays am i the only one talking about it on a daily basis cmon :(

[harmonizewithechoes]

.

[theheartmold]

I was reading this post over on the Ao3 subreddit this evening and I think it brings up a lot of good points about how fandom, as a community, has been shifting in its treatment towards fanfic writers.

Fanfic is more popular than ever, which means there are more works "competing" for the readers' attention, who take on a passive approach that treats fanworks not as a means to talk to people with similar interests, but as content, as products. [...] Gift cultures thrive not on monetary exchanges, but on the expectation that the gifts freely given will be returned in an unspecified future through emotional and relational means. This used to set fandom apart, but it's slowly being absorbed into the mainstream way capitalism operates. Where does that leave us?

And it's demotivating to see the responses authors get when expressing their grievances with this state of affairs, or how they feel underappreciated. Being called entitled, told to write for themselves, or to promote their work as if writing and posting isn't enough. I write for myself, I post for the community. There are things I want to say about the source material and characters, and I do through storytelling. And I'm grateful about each of the comments I got, no matter how short. It's just that it doesn't feel like there's a community out there when no one talks back. Writers aren't just expected to write, but to do it for the "right reasons", and to also be as pleasant about it as possible, lest they'll be criticized by more people than the amount that's offering them support.

I've seen posts going around on tumblr that have approached this topic as well--that fanworks (particularly fanfic) should be created from the perspective of a perfect vessel that can pour, pour, pour out and never needs to be poured into. You should do it for the "right reasons" and not complain because "no one owes you interaction". But what is fandom if not interaction?

Writing fanfic is one of the most time-consuming labors of love that makes up a fandom. (That's not to say other fanworks aren't labors, time-consuming, or made with love. We're talking about fanfic). Your 300k+ enemies to lovers slowburn porn-with-plot fic that has reshaped the entire way you approach a specific pairing or media has been made with time, effort, for free, with the intention to be shared with you.

And in the state of current fandom, it has been made with the expectation to receive nothing back. Is that fair? Maybe. Silent readers exist and a kudos on Ao3 is at least an acknowledgment that some people read and enjoyed. But does it hurt to leave a comment? Even a heart emoji or an "I loved this, thank you for sharing!" is enough to at least start a dialogue, a conversation, form a connection.

That's not even to mention the isolation of fandom interactions to private Discords; time after time I've heard from fanfic authors who found out that there have been discord servers or twitter groupchats where their fanfic has been discussed, loved, and lauded at length--but never once was the author told this! Ao3 has comments for a reason. Many authors link their tumblr profiles or emails in their bio for people to reach out to them.

It's just a sorry state to see it go.

[letteredlettered]

feedback and fic in fandom (3 f's of our own)

This conversation about feedback on fic says everything I’ve been wanting to say better than I could say it. But I’ll go ahead and try anyway.

Over the last five years or so there have been some great discussions around the rise of commodification of fanworks and decline of fandom community. This commodification looks a bit like enshittification of the internet: a cool site exists; its popularity makes someone realize they can get money from it; it has more and more ads; the site adds features to drive engagement, including The Algorithm; the things that made the site cool start to fall away. The site exists now as a vehicle purely to get clicks, and the people on it are on it solely to get clicks—to make money, to be successful, for some kind of social cachet.

AO3 doesn’t have advertisements. It’s not making money. But what is happening to fandom is proof of concept that enshittification changes the way we as humans engage. A cool website in 2004 was often a community space where you could meet people, have conversations, find cool things, and make cool things. A cool website in 2024 is either a content farm that will continually feed you enough content to hold your attention, or a social media site where your participation will come with stats to show you whether you are holding the attention of others.

AO3 wasn’t built to be a community space. It doesn’t have great functions for meeting people and having conversations. The idea was that, because fandom community spaces already existed, AO3 would serve the part of that community where you can find the cool things and store the cool things you made. It was meant to be a library in a city, not the whole city itself.

But it was also never meant to be a website in 2024, a content farm constantly generating content solely for your clicks and eyeballs and ad revenue, or a social media site where the content creators themselves vie for your clicks and eyeballs.

The most common talking point when people discuss the enshittification of fandom is the folks out there who are treating AO3 as that first kind of enshittified website: the content farm. This discussion is about how people treat fanfic as a product for consumption.

The post that kicked off the discussion on @sitp-recs’s blog was about someone who wasn’t getting very many kudos or comments on their fic, and was feeling pretty demoralized about it, then joined a discord server and found an entire channel dedicated to people loving their fic. But those on that server had never come to share that love with the author, which the author found really discouraging.

There are more and more stories like this. Someone on tiktok pulls a quote from a fic on AO3 and makes a 10-second video with them staring at a wall, the quote pasted at the bottom, music playing over it. It has 100,000 hearts, and 100 comments with people gushing over the fic, which has 80 kudos on AO3. Overall, people notice more and more hits on their fics, but fewer and fewer comments or even kudos. Fewer and fewer people seem to feel the need to interact with the author, instead treating the fic like a product to be used and discarded—which the enshittified internet (a stunning feature of late-stage capitalism!) encourages. The fandom community is dying, these stories conclude.

I agree. 100%. Both of the stories above have happened to me—viral tiktoks about my fic, secret discord channels to follow and discuss my fic—and let me tell you, it fucking sucks.

But from these observations about fandom enshittification, the discussion continues in a very odd direction. The solution to the death of fandom community is our favorite enshittification buzzword: engagement. We should engage the authors. They’re producing these products for free. We consume them at no cost. We must demonstrate our gratitude by paying them back.

It’s as though the capitalist consumption that the enshittified web encourages is so ingrained within us that we must think in terms of payment, in terms of exchange, transaction. Or as though, by forgoing payment, authors are some kind of martyrs defying capitalism, and the only way to honor their great sacrifice is comments and kudos.

Indeed, the discourse around this sometimes does veer away from capitalist rhetoric into something that smells almost religious in desperation. Authors are gods who bestow us mere mortals with the fruits of their labor benevolently, through love; the least we can do is worship them. Meanwhile the authors adopt the groveling sentiment of starving artists: I produce great art; I only humbly ask that you feed me in return.

These kinds of entreaties make my skin crawl for a number of reasons. I’m not a god. I’m not writing because I love you. I don’t expect your worship or even your praise.

I think the thing that disturbs me the most about it is that it suggests that authors (or, if the OP is feeling generous fan work creators) are the most important people in fandom. I’ve even seen posts stating that without creators, fandom wouldn’t exist—as though readers aren’t just as important. As though conversations where people discuss characterizations and plot points and randomly spin out interpretations and ideas and thoughts related to canon are meaningless. I’ve even seen people scramble to include folks having these discussions as “creators,” as though realizing that these people are necessary and integral to fandom communities but unable to drop the idea that the producers are the ones who are important. As though that person who just lurks can never count.

Is this what community is? When you join the queer community, are you expected to produce a product of your queerness? If not, must you actively participate and give back to the queer community in order to be considered a part of it? Or is it enough that you are queer, that you exist as a queer person and want to be around others who are queer, you want to be a part of something? What is community, anyway?

The problem with people raising the authors above everyone else in the community and demanding that tribute be paid is that they are decrying the “content farm” style of 2024 website out of one side of their mouth, but out of the other side are instead demanding that AO3 become a 2024-style social media website. Authors are influencers. “Engagement” and clicks are the things that really matter. They are in fact suggesting that the way to solve the commodification of fanfic is by “paying authors back” with stats.

Before anyone comes at me with the idea that comments aren’t just “stats,” I will clarify what I mean. There are literally hundreds of posts on tumblr alone claiming that any comment “helps” the author. Someone replies that they are shy to comment. Someone else replies that incoherent keyboard smashes, a single emoji, or the comment “kudos” are all that is required to satisfy the author, all that is required as tribute—all that is required as payment to keep this economy healthy.

I’m not condemning the comments that are keyboard smashes or emojis or a single kind word. I receive them. They make me happy. If anyone wants to leave such a comment on my fics, I’m really grateful for it. But this is not community-building. This is a transaction. In @yiiiiiiiikes25’s excellent response in the post linked at the beginning, they point out that “you have a cool hat” is something that is “perfectly nice” to hear from someone—and it is! We all want to be told we have a cool hat! But as they go on to say, what builds community is interactions that are deep and specific, interactions that are rich in quality, not in quantity. A kudos or a comment that says only ❤️are lovely things to receive, but they don’t build community.

My reaction, when I see people begging for kudos and comments as the only means by which to keep fandom community alive, is very close to @eleadore's. I want to say, “No. Readers do not need to comment or kudos. Believe not these hucksters who claim to know the appropriate method of fandom participation. Participate as you feel able, or not at all; nothing is required of you.”

I’ve been told before (several times) that I’m not qualified to participate in such discussions because I am an established author who has some fics with very high stats. It doesn’t matter that I have also been a new writer with almost no one reading my fics. It doesn’t matter that I still write in new fandoms where no one in that fandom knows me. It doesn’t matter that I, like any human being, still care about receiving recognition and attention and praise.

And maybe that’s correct. I personally don’t think that billionaires have a place in deciding the direction of the economy, and--if we're really going to consider fandom an economy--in fandom terms, if I’m not a billionaire, or even a millionaire, I’m definitely in the infamous “one percent.” So, just as no one wants to hear Elon Musk say “money isn’t everything,” maybe it’s not my place to say “kudos isn’t required, actually.”

That said, I’m not the only one who has a problem with the stats-based discourse around fandom community. However, the main counter-response to this discussion I see goes something like this: you shouldn’t be writing fic for validation. If you’re writing for attention, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. Authors should write fic because they love it without any expectation of return.

This is, in my opinion, missing the point of what is meant by fandom community.

I wrote fanfic before I knew that fanfic, as a concept, existed. I read books; I wanted them to be different; I wrote little stories for myself with new endings, with self-inserts, with cross-overs, with alternate universes. I did it for myself in the 90s. It never occurred to me that anyone else would do this, much less that people would share.

As @faiell points out—creating and sharing are two different things. I created fics for myself, but I decided to share them in the early 2000s because other people might like them, too. And of course, I wanted to hear whether other people liked them. How could I not? I might decorate my home just for me and not for anyone else’s preferences, but when people come over and say my house is nice, how can I not enjoy that? And if a lot of people think my house is nice, which encourages me to post pictures of it online, isn’t it understandable I might do so with the hope that more people will say my house is nice? And, honestly, if no one is appreciating my pictures, I probably won’t continue to go through the trouble of taking them and posting them. I’ll just enjoy my house that I decorated without sharing, the end.

When I found out there were whole fannish communities where people discussed canon and tossed ideas around about it, made theories and prompts and insights into the characters, fics they had written and recs for other fics and analyses of fics and art based on fics and fics based on art—I wanted to be a part of that, too. Now, sometimes, I write fic not out of an internal need to do so but out of a desire to participate in that community.

The idea that we write fic only for the love of it, then post it only because we possess it, is a process entirely centered on the self. It’s fandom in a vacuum. The idea that we share this thing, that we feel pleasure if someone likes it but feel nothing at all if no one says anything about it, that it’s completely okay to be ignored and unseen—that’s not what a community is either. That’s some weird sort of self-aggrandizement through self-effacement—because yes, there is often a weird kind of virtue-signaling in this kind of discourse.

I say this as someone who has virtue-signaled in that way: “some people write for stats, but I write for myself.” It’s bullshit. Sure, I write for myself, but why post it on the internet? Honestly, said virtue has a whiff of the capitalist machine, which would like you to produce for the sake of production, work for the sake of work. The noblest among us expect no recompense for that which they give!

The reason that I’m bringing this back around to capitalism is that capitalism actively works to dismantle community. The reason that folks are out here pleading for “engagement” in order to “pay back” authors for the products they give us “for free” is because people no longer even have the language to discuss how to participate in meaningful community. And frankly, how to build back fandom community, in the face of enshittification, is getting harder and harder to see.

But I do think that if we value fanfic and the fanfic community, it’s really, really not constructive to judge whether someone’s reasons for writing fanfic are valid. It’s also weird to me that it would be considered wrong that someone’s reason for sharing fanfic is because they would like to receive some recognition for it, when in fact that seems to be the most natural reason in the world for sharing something so private and vulnerable with the world.

Let’s go back to that idea of how hurtful it is to find out your fanfic is trending on tiktok without anyone from tiktok saying anything to you about your fic, or how it can be painful to find out there’s a secret discord channel dedicated to your fic. The people who respond to that with, “Ah, but you shouldn’t be writing to get attention!” are missing the point. The fic did get attention. It got lots. Attention obviously wasn't why the writer was writing--they were writing to participate, and they didn't get to. At all.

However, if your conclusion is that the author was upset because these particular stats were not accruing under this author’s profile, thereby preventing them from achieving the vaunted status of BNF and influencer—I don’t know, maybe you’re right. But I don’t think that’s why I, personally, have been hurt by these things, and I doubt it’s what hurt the people in these posts either. They’re hurt because they want to participate, and they have been systematically excluded by the very people they thought were part of the community they thought they could participate in.

Sure, if those folks from tiktok and the discord server all came and showered the author with kudos and comments that said “kudos,” the author might have felt satisfied enough with the quantity of this recognition that they would continue writing. But in the end, this still does nothing to address the problem of fandom community, in which the deep, meaningful recognition, interactions, and relationships in fandom are getting harder and harder to have and to build, as a result of how people now expect to engage in online spaces.

So, how to address the problem of fandom community? You probably read this long, long post hoping that I had an answer, and for that I must apologize. I don’t have solutions. My intent was to be descriptive, rather than prescriptive. I wished to outline the problems that I’m seeing in what was hopefully a slightly new or at least thought-provoking way, rather than offer solutions.

But, now that I’m talking about being prescriptive, maybe I can offer one suggestion, which is—maybe the solution to this isn’t about prescribing behavior. I do understand the irony in writing a prescription saying we shouldn’t prescribe people, but I’m going to write it anyway:

Maybe we shouldn’t be telling anyone the appropriate reasons for writing fanfic or for sharing it. Maybe we shouldn’t be telling readers they need to kudos or need to comment. If we’re going to go pointing fingers, we should be pointing at the institutions of capitalism that have made the internet what it is today—but I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem either.

But I do think that describing this problem, understanding what it actually is, not blaming readers for it and not blaming authors for it—I do think that helps. The discussion I linked at the beginning of this post is what I think of as the fandom I miss, the fandom that's now harder and harder to access, the fandom that is dying. That fandom was a social space where people had opinions and disagreed and went back and forth and gazed at their navels and then talked about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

In the words of @yiiiiiiiikes25, it was a fuckin’ discussion about hats. And we’re hungry for it.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hi guys!

Okay so I've gotten a lot of asks about JKR, since she's been extra terfy lately. ( @lonely-parrot @mushroom-enby and many anons) Basically asking me what I think about the marauders fandom, talking to people about it, etc.

I think that we have to acknowledge that being part of the Marauders fandom does cause some harm.

Why? Because we are, however unwillingly, talking about and giving popularity to characters created by a horribly bigoted and harmful person.

We can't just stick our heads in the sand and pretend that isn't true. Not in the days of algorithms that respond every time you search 'Sirius Black.'

However, I also think this fandom, and fandom in general, has been helpful to many queer people in ways I can't even begin to describe. For so many queer people, fanfiction and fandom is where you begin to explore those feelings you think are 'weird' or 'different,' and the people you meet through fandom are the first people you meet like you. The way characters are depicted in fanfiction can be the first time you see a character that you truly relate to, and I know that I am not exaggerating when I say I owe my life to fanfic writers, because I used it as a coping mechanism as a teen when I had nobody to talk to at all.

I think that we just have to be conscious of consuming fandom, especially Harry Potter fandom, ethically. And I have to say that I am NOT perfect at this. I have been to the Harry Potter theme park. I own Harry Potter merch. In my childhood, my entire Christmas list was Harry Potter things. So please know that I'm not speaking from some holier-than-thou position here.

But as things get worse and worse, we need to be even more conscious about what we are consuming, and how we are consuming it.

So here's my opinion on things we need to do:

Do not consume any new content by or related to JKR. This includes the new TV show.

If you want old content (the books), buy them secondhand. Do not give your money to the bookstores that give money to her. Give back to local secondhand shops.

Etsy has a lot of amazing independent artist-created merch, look there!

When people talk about the books, do NOT shrink away from their flaws. Mention them. Talk about the issues. Talk about the house elves and the goblins and the ridiculously racist names.

Same with JKR. When people talk about the books, the TV show, the videogame, etc, TALK about JKR's transgressions. Don't let people be willfully ignorant.

Make fandom a safe space. The world is an awful place right now and I think one of the reasons I, personally, am okay with being part of this fandom is because it is a safe place for me and so many others. DO NOT change that by becoming part of the problem and spewing hate. Cut the shit with the ship wars and the transphobia and the 'I don't like when writers...' Just stop.

Keep making your characters gay. And trans. And ace. And POC. And all of the things JKR is so scared of.

Yeah. These are just my thoughts. Feel free to comment (politely) below!

[axkirak]

Kiss and Make up

(𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Viktor x f!reader

Fandom : Arcane (TV Series)

Content waring : 18+ smut/nsfw, fingering, oral (f!receiving), p in v, vanilla sex, creampie, slightly OOC because they fucking COMMUNICATE

tags : porn with plot, argument, makeup sex, angst and fluff and smut, purposeful teasing, workaholic viktor, canon compliant, these character's aren't perfect and sometimes do stupid things (english isn't my first language)

Summary: As a Zaunite, Viktor always knew he had to work five times harder to prove himself in Piltover. His work always came first, even before you. But when you finally reached your breaking point and decided to leave him, he realized what truly mattered.

A/N : just binged Arcane season one and and immediately decided I had to write a Viktor fic. Please enjoy my 6,517-word smut fic Lol.

Viktor’s workaholic tendencies were, without question, his greatest flaw—one no amount of effort could ever fix.

He was painfully aware that his place in Piltover society was worlds apart from everyone else’s. After all, he had been born a Zaunite. He wasn’t one of the privileged from the Upper City, blessed with wealth and comfort. On the contrary, he had grown up in crushing poverty. His body, too, had never been his ally—frail, thin, and broken. His right leg was useless—permanently braced with metal and reliant on a cane he could never part with.

But for all his physical shortcomings, Viktor’s brilliance more than made up for them. His intellect bordered on the extraordinary. At a young age, his talents stood out so starkly they caught the attention of Professor Heimerdinger himself. It was Heimerdinger who plucked Viktor out of the Undercity slums, gave him shelter and a scholarship that opened the doors to the University of Piltover. Viktor graduated with a doctorate in his early twenties, becoming the youngest PhD holder in the city’s history, and secured a position at the academy as assistant dean not long after.

Nothing in Viktor’s life had ever come easily. Every inch of progress had to be earned through sheer determination and relentless effort. From his school days through to his professional life, he worked at least five times harder than everyone else. All of it—every sleepless night, every sacrificed comfort—had been for one purpose: to prove he belonged. That he wasn’t just some crippled, penniless boy from Zaun who had lucked out and stumbled upon Heimerdinger’s charity.

His relentless need to prove his worth had slowly consumed him, transforming what was once an admirable work ethic into outright obsession. What began as ambition had long since crossed into compulsion—until, at last, Viktor became the very embodiment of a workaholic.

Every breath he took was devoted to his work and research, which had become more important to him than anything else in the world.

…Perhaps even more than you.

You and Viktor had been together for years—lovers since your university days, when you, two years his junior, first crossed paths in a physics class. It was your sharp wit and incisive questions that caught his attention from the start.

You weren’t afraid to challenge him, especially when it came to his research, which you believed still had plenty of room for refinement. Viktor had expected to be irritated by your constant critiques. Instead, he found himself utterly captivated. Your confidence, your mind, the way you spoke with such unwavering clarity drew him in completely.

He fell for you hard, and fast.

And it terrified him.

Despite being hailed as a prodigy among his peers, Viktor knew he was painfully inexperienced in matters of the heart. His attempts at courting you were nothing short of disastrous. He was always awkward, flustered, and hopelessly out of his depth, fumbling over words every time he tried to talk to you.

So it was a complete mystery to him—what did you see in a crippled, ordinary man like him? Why did you say yes when he finally confessed his feelings? He had braced himself for rejection, fully expecting a ninety percent chance that you would gently turn him down. But you didn’t.

You said yes.

And from that day onward, Viktor felt like the luckiest man in all of Piltover.

You cared for him with quiet devotion, never once faltering through all the years you’d been together. You made him meals three times a day, brewed his favorite black coffee each morning so he could take it with him to the Academy. You reminded him, almost pleadingly, to eat at proper hours and to sleep at least six hours a night. You begged him not to get so absorbed in his research that he worked straight through until dawn, just like he used to during his university days.

Viktor always promised you he’d try. He meant it, every time. But he never managed to keep his word.

Time after time, he would lose himself in his work, completely oblivious to the hour. He would drag his body home near dawn, exhaustion etched deep into his features, as if this was the only way he knew how to live.

He assumed—mistakenly—that you had grown used to his way of life, too.

It never once crossed Viktor’s mind that the day might come...

The day when your patience finally ran out.

Tonight is another night Viktor returns to the apartment later than expected.

After spending countless hours working in the Academy’s lab, exhaustion weighs heavily on every inch of his body as he steps through the door. The clock on the living room wall strikes three in the morning just as Viktor enters.

All he wants right now is to crawl into bed, wrap his arms around you, and drift off to sleep with your body warm against his chest. That’s the moment he cherishes most—the fleeting pause when he can let go of his burdens, wash away the physical and mental fatigue, simply by lying beside you each night.

But tonight is different.

You're wearing a silky sky-blue nightgown, your favorite color and a familiar sight to him. But this time, you're not lying on the bed like you usually do. You're sitting at the kitchen table, chin resting in your hand as you gaze blankly out the apartment window. Moonlight spills across your face, casting delicate shadows and making your features appear even more striking in the dim room. Your brows are slightly furrowed, as if you're lost in thought.

Viktor frowns as well, sensing that something isn’t quite right, though he can’t put his finger on it, and that uncertainty leaves him uneasy. He quickly shrugs off his coat and hangs it by the door before carefully walking toward you, the soft tap of his cane on the floor the only sound breaking the tense silence.

“You’re late. Again.”

You speak without looking at him. Though Viktor hasn’t yet seen your expression clearly, your tone carries a trace of irritation, and that alone is enough to tell him exactly what kind of situation he’s walking into.

Viktor sighs. This isn’t the first time the two of you have argued about this, even though it doesn’t happen often. Still, he never quite gets used to dealing with your anger. You’re not the type to snap or raise your voice when you’re angry. Quite the opposite. When you’re mad at him, you become eerily calm—quiet like the surface of the ocean before a tsunami.

And that, frankly, terrifies him.

Viktor’s expression softens slightly as he steps closer, steady but careful, stopping just short of where you sit, close enough to reach, but not close enough to invade your space. He braces one hand on the edge of the table to steady himself, amber eyes fixed on you.

“I didn’t mean to,” Viktor says simply. “I lost track of time.”.

There’s no excuse, and he doesn’t offer one. The two of you know each other too well for lies. A single glance speaks louder than any words could. And Viktor knows he’s at fault. He buried himself in work and forgot everything else, including your request for him to come home on time.

Once again, he’s broken his promise to you.

You fall silent, not saying a word or even glancing his way. Your gaze stays on the window, your thoughts miles away. “Go to bed, Vik. It’s late. You have to wake up early tomorrow.”

Your voice is cold, emotionless. You don’t even bother to look at him, as if he isn’t here at all.

Silence stretches between you. Viktor watches you closely, his sharp eyes scanning from head to toe before settling on your face beneath the soft glow of moonlight. It’s the face of the woman he loves, steady and unchanged, just as it has been day after day.

“You’re… still upset,” he says bluntly. It’s not a question, just another one of Viktor’s logical conclusions. To him, everything runs on cause and effect—patterns he can analyze, break down, and solve.

It’s one of the things you both admire and resent about him: that analytical mind of his, always dissecting everything and searching for a clear answer, especially when it comes to you.

You let out a long sigh. “I’m not. I’m just tired,” you reply flatly, still refusing to meet his gaze. Your eyes remain fixed on the night sky beyond the glass, as if there’s something out there far more interesting than him.

Viktor scoffs under his breath, clearly unconvinced.

His slender fingers gently take your chin, coaxing you to look at him. “Don’t lie to me,” he says, voice low but firm. His gaze pierces into yours, unwavering and intense, refusing to let you look away. “You’re angry because I came home late. Aren’t you?”

You meet his gaze coldly before pulling his hand away. “Do I even have the right to be mad at you, Vik?” you snap, sarcasm edging your voice. “This is your life. Your job. None of it has anything to do with me.”

Viktor’s eyes narrow, brows furrowing. There’s hurt in his expression, mixed with a flicker of frustration. “Nothing to do with you?” he echoes, stepping closer until only inches separate you. His jaw tightens as tension builds in his chest. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my girlfriend. Of course it has everything to do with you.”

Now it’s your turn to scoffs “Oh, so now you remember I’m your girlfriend? I thought you were already in a relationship with your work.”

The words hit him like ice water, chilling him to the core and leaving a dull ache right in his chest.

Viktor presses his lips into a thin line. His expression hardens, laced with hurt and barely restrained anger. But he keeps his voice steady, not wanting this to spiral. “Don’t say that, Zlato[1]. You know how important my work is.” he murmurs, his tone softening. “I’m doing this for a better future—for the world, yes, but also for us. Everything I’m doing, I’m doing it for us.”

You know exactly what he’s talking about.

Hextech—the revolutionary arcane technology project that’s taken all of Piltover by storm. A project he co-founded with Jayce Talis, another rising young scientist at the Academy.

"Hextech will change the world.”

That’s how he once described it to you. And deep down, you’ve always known Viktor is an ambitious man. He’s always wanted to make his mark. That’s why he’s poured everything into this project—because he truly believes it’s the key to making his dream come true.

So when he says he’s ‘doing it for both of us’ you let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

Because you know it’s not true. It never has been. He’s doing it for himself.

But you don’t argue. There’s no point. You’ve tried to change Viktor before, more times than you can count. Every time, it ends the same.

Disappointment. Loneliness. Being left behind.

And each time, it chips away at something inside you. You’re growing tired. Tired of chasing him. Tired of waiting.

Maybe... maybe it’s time for you to be the one who changes.

"I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Vik. Let’s just go to bed." You cut him off, rising from the chair and heading back to the bedroom.

You’ve given up—for tonight, at least.

But Viktor hasn’t.

His eyes stay fixed on your back as you walk away. His expression remains unchanged, firm and determined. He grabs his cane in haste and follows closely behind.

As soon as he steps inside the bedroom, he shuts the door and turns to face you again.  "No. This isn’t over," he says firmly. "You’re angry with me. And we need to talk this through. Now."

His stubbornness makes you pinch the bridge of your nose. You exhale slowly, trying—really trying—not to snap. But it’s getting harder, especially with those amber eyes locked on you, relentless and unwavering.

"What’s the point, Viktor?" you say, your voice growing colder with each word.  "In the end, you always go back to being the same. You’ve never once cared about me"

Your words are sharp now. There’s no hiding your anger anymore.

"Maybe you really are better off alone than in a relationship."

That line cuts deeper than anything you’ve said before.

Viktor freezes, momentarily speechless. Your words strike like a blade—deep, merciless, straight to his heart.

And he knows. Deep down, he knows you’re right. He’s never been the boyfriend you deserved. His work has always come first. You have every right to be angry with him. But hearing you say it so plainly hurts in ways he never expected. It feels like you’re no longer his lover, just a stranger who happens to be sharing the same roof.

He swallows the sting of your words, forcing his face into a hard, unreadable mask. His fingers tighten around the cane until his knuckles turn white.

"Maybe you’re right..." he finally says. His voice comes out hoarse and flat—an attempt to sound unaffected, but the pain in his tone is unmistakable. "Maybe I’m just not cut out for this. Maybe it would be better for both of us...if we ended this."

He doesn’t mean it—not really.

Somewhere inside, he’s hoping you’ll take it back. That you’ll say you’re sorry. That you’ll realize you still love him. That you don’t actually want to leave.

But what he gets in return is the exact opposite.

You look at him with that same icy expression, unflinching and unreadable. You don’t argue. You don’t apologize. You simply walk over to the wardrobe, pull out your things, and toss them onto the bed. Then you grab your suitcase and begin packing, swift and eerily calm.

Viktor’s eyes widen. He never thought you’d actually go.

He wants to say something, anything, to stop you. To make you stay. But his mind is a storm of emotion: panic, guilt, and sorrow, all hitting him at once. He’s too overwhelmed to speak, too paralyzed to act. So he stands there, frozen, watching as you shove the last of your belongings into the suitcase.

He snaps back only when you finish packing and drag your suitcase to a stop right in front of him.

“You’re in the way,” you say flatly. “Move.”

And that’s when he knows you’re serious.

Once you step out of this room, this apartment, it’ll all be over. Nearly a decade together—gone in a single night.

And in that moment, it finally hits him.

Hextech was never what mattered most.

It was you.

You were the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose. You were what truly mattered, more than his work, more than his legacy. And now, he's about to lose you for good.

He can’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever.

Viktor still stands in place, unmoved by your command.

“Where are you even going to stay? It’s so late,” he says, desperate to stall and grasping at anything that might buy him time to fix this.

But you shut that hope down instantly.

“Not your business,”  you snap, locking eyes with him. You're standing close now, close enough to see the tiny mole above his thin upper lip and the one on his forehead. “Move, Viktor,” you say again, firmer this time.

His jaw clenches. He stares back at you without budging, plants himself firmly in front of the door.

“No,” he says, voice steely.

Viktor knows how pathetic this is. He knows he's being selfish. He never once treated you the way he should’ve. You were always second to his work. He thought you’d stay no matter what. Only now, as you’re walking away, does he realize what he’s losing.

Deep down, he knows he doesn’t deserve your love. You should be with someone who treats you right.

But there’s a part of him, buried deeper and darker, that refuses to let you go.

He has no right to ask you to stay. And yet, he says it anyway.

“I don’t want you to go.” The words come out barely above a whisper—raw, pleading. The sharpness in his voice is gone. “Please don’t go, Koloušek[2]”

Then he moves. His tall, wiry frame steps closer. One hand still grips his cane, while the other latches tightly onto your suitcase handle, refusing to let it go.

You caught off guard by his sudden action. “Vik! What the hell is wrong with you? Let go of my suitcase!” You yank it, but he only tightens his grip.

“No,” he snaps. His eyes blaze with stubborn fire. There’s no way in hell he’s letting go.

You struggle for a while, tugging the suitcase back and forth, but he won’t budge. He’s not strong by any means, not physically. But adrenaline gives him an unexpected surge of strength, and he uses all of it just to keep you from taking it.

Realizing he’s not going to let go, you finally give in. For now.

You release the handle, cross your arms with a sharp sigh, and glare at him in frustration.

He meets your gaze, unflinching.

For a few seconds, neither of you speaks. The silence thickens as you stare each other down, testing and daring each other to move first.

The air thickens, saturated with an unspoken tension that weighs heavy between you.

And in the end, it’s you who cracks.

“I hate you,” you say, hoping your voice will sound firm, resolute. But it comes out soft and trembling, like even you don’t quite believe your own words.

And he sees it. Of course he does. 

Viktor lets out a short, dry laugh and shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

He steps in, this time closer than before. So close your chests nearly touch. He’s only slightly taller, so when you’re face to face like this, his amber eyes are nearly level with yours. You catch every flicker of emotion in them. And you know, without question, he reads yours just as clearly.

“You’re just angry. I get it,” he murmurs. “But you don’t actually hate me.”

He speaks with such calm certainty that it’s maddening.

“You’ll never hate me. Even if you try. Even if you push me away or tell yourself a thousand times you’re fine without me. It’s a lie, and you know it.” His voice drops to a whisper, warm breath brushing your skin as he leans in. “Want to know why?”

You already do. And Viktor does too.

“Because you know I love you,” he breathes. The words fall like a confession, weighted and unshakable.

His hand lifts to your face, fingers tracing the line of your jaw before stopping at your chin. He tilts it up gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He sees the hitch in your breath, the flicker in your gaze—both undeniable signs that he’s right.

“And you still love me.”

You freeze, stunned by the sudden kiss that follows.

His lips crash into yours, and before you can step away, his arms wrap around your waist and pull you flush against him, leaving no space between your bodies and no chance to escape.

The kiss is desperate and deep, hungry yet heartbreakingly tender. It steals your breath away. You can feel it all in the way he kisses you: the longing, the guilt, the silent apology he can’t voice but tries to show with every motion of his mouth against yours.

And for a moment, the world fades.

Your mind goes blank. Everything disappears except for the feel of him—his lips devouring yours over and over, his tongue slipping past your lips with impatient desire.

Without realizing it, your hands reach up to circle his neck, and you kiss him back—just as fiercely, just as helplessly.

You only realize it when your back hits the mattress, guided down by Viktor’s gentle push.

Now, you're lying beneath him, completely bare, your nightgown already stripped away. Your hair fans across the pillow, and your half-lidded eyes shimmer with the heat of unrelenting desire. Your cheeks burn, flushed a deep red. You breathe in ragged gasps as you stare up at him, questions trembling behind your gaze, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

You catch the way his eyes roam over every inch of you, drinking in every detail now exposed to him. His palm glides over your body like a man desperate for redemption, his fingertips trailing across your soft skin with a touch that feels both reverent and ravenous. Then he lowers himself, pressing his bare chest flush against your warm body. His lips move to your neck, sucking and nipping lightly, just enough to leave a mark.

Suddenly, he lifts his head and leans toward your ear. “Say it,” he whispers, voice low and possessive. “Tell me you want me.”

His hand drifts lower, fingertips teasing the sensitive peak of your breast until it hardens under his touch. The caress is featherlight, intentionally to make you squirm.

You jolt, sucking in a sharp breath. Your desire is unmistakable, tangled with frustration—at him, at yourself. You want so badly to say no, just to deny him the satisfaction. To bruise his ego. But instead, what slips from your lips is, “I want you.”

And that’s exactly what Viktor wants to hear.

A faint smile curves across his lips as he watches you shudder beneath each increasingly intimate touch. Whatever resistance you were trying to hold onto is slowly crumbling, melting into the fire steadily consuming you.

His hand continues toying with your breast, fingers brushing over the swell, feeling the rapid beat of your heart beneath his palm and the shallow rise and fall of your breath. He doesn’t make you wait. Leaning down, he exhales warmly against your skin before wrapping his lips around the sensitive bud. His tongue curls and licks as his other hand rises to cup your other breast, kneading the soft flesh with purposeful pressure.

A moan escapes you before you can stop it. The pleasure surges, impossible to contain. Your hands grip the sheets tightly, desperate for something to hold onto as his mouth ravishes your chest, licking, sucking, biting, driving you wild with every deliberate stroke of his tongue.

His mouth and tongue travel lower, slowly, almost torturously. From your ribs down to your navel, he worships your body with kisses that alternate between soft and firm, leaving behind damp heat and the occasional playful scrape of teeth—gentle enough not to hurt, sharp enough to mark you as his: a claim, a brand.

Viktor halts when his lips reach the warm, damp heat between your thighs. His breath makes you twitch. You instinctively try to close your legs, but his hands catch your thighs and hold them apart, keeping you open beneath him. His eyes fixate on your glistening sex, unblinking, as his fingers slide gently through your slick folds. The more he touches, the wetter you get.

He can feel the tension coiled in your body, every breath hitching with anticipation. And it only excites him more.

Without wasting another second, he lowers his head and presses his mouth to your core, giving you a deep, lingering kiss between your thighs. He takes his time, tasting you thoroughly, his tongue lapping through every crease and fold with worshipful precision. He lingers over your clit, drawing it into his mouth with a suck that makes your hips buck. Then, he slips his index and middle fingers inside your tight heat, pumping them slowly in and out, stirring you with maddening rhythm until your sanity begins to fray.

Your head falls back against the pillow as your hands abandon the sheets and move to clutch his hair. A sob of pleasure escapes your throat while Viktor remains utterly focused, devouring you with lips and tongue, touching you with fingers that seem to know your body better than you do. He worships every inch of you as though your body were sacred.

He’s mesmerized by you, by your reactions, by the way you respond to him, by every trembling moan that spills from your lips. Everything about you drives him wild. He could spend hours like this—tasting you, exalting you, pushing you over the edge again and again.

But no, not yet.

The moment Viktor senses your body twitching in small spasms, an unmistakable sign that you're teetering on the brink, he abruptly pulls away. A frustrated moan escapes you, irritation flaring as you're left aching and unsatisfied.

“Vik! I want to come,” you protest, voice thick with need, eyes pleading for him to return to you.

That look in your eyes nearly breaks him.

But he forces himself to hold back. Just for now. He needs something from you first.

He shifts his weight, bracing himself above you once more, lining up his eyes with yours. You see the glisten on his lips, still slick with your essence. His hand moves to your hip, giving it a playful squeeze.

"You want me to make you come, don’t you?" he murmurs hoarsely against your ear before dragging those messy lips down your neck, leaving wet, deliberate kisses that mark your skin anew.

God, you feel even wetter just hearing him talk like that.

Dirty talk isn’t exactly a common feature when the two of you are in bed. But every time he lets it slip,  it wrecks you in the best way.

And he knows that. He always knows how to push your buttons.

You nod rapidly, breath catching. “Vik, please don’t tease me…”

That sly grin returns, curling at the corner of his lips as he looks down at you—shaking, desperate, pleading with that raw, aching need in your voice. He knows you’re exactly where he wants you. And he’s not about to waste it.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he says, voice slow and deliberate, as his hand glides lower. His thumb traces lazy circles on the inside of your thigh, stoking the desire already burning within you. “But you have to promise me something first...”

“...Don’t leave me. Don’t ever break up with me again.”

You freeze, staring at him in disbelief. You can’t believe he’s using this moment to negotiate terms. “Seriously, Vik?” Even though you're squirming and desperate, you can't help but throw some sass back. “Did you forget you’re the one who said, ‘Maybe it would be better for both of us if we ended this’?”

He lets out a long sigh. He knows he’s partly to blame. But he never meant for you to leave. And now, he’s doing everything he can to find a reason—any reason—to convince you to stay.

“I know I said that, but I didn’t mean it,” he mumbles, kissing along your jaw now, soft and slow, almost apologetic. “Just… promise me, Milaček[3]"

You hate to admit it, but part of you is starting to soften. Still, the bitterness from your last fight hasn’t fully faded. “Didn’t mean it? Of course you never do. Unless it’s about work—that’s the only thing you ever seem to mean,” you shoot back, quick and sharp.

Viktor stops short, then pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes narrowing at your jab. “You really have a talent for ruining the mood, you know that?” he mutters, dry and irritated.

“Oh, really? I don’t think so”  You smirk knowingly, teasing glint in your eyes. “I can tell how much you love it when I get under your skin like this. It turns you on every single time, doesn’t it?”

You don’t wait for an answer. You grind into him, and the way he hardens beneath you says it all.

Your movement catches him off guard, and he stiffens, a low growl slipping from his throat as the friction sets his nerves ablaze.

Viktor isn’t the only one who knows how to push buttons. You’ve mastered his just as well.

His hand lifts to your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks in mock frustration. His eyes are dark with want, breath coming shallow and uneven. He knows he’s about to lose control, just from your taunts and that wicked smile on your lips.

“Quiet, you,” he growls, trying to sound scold, but his hoarse voice betrays him—showing just how right you were.

You chuckle softly, raising an eyebrow at him in defiance. “Then make me... Miláček.”

And just like that, the final thread of Viktor’s restraint snaps.

“You asked for it.”

He doesn’t silence you. Quite the opposite—he pulls even louder moans from your lips as he grips your thigh, pushing you open and thrusting into you with a single, forceful motion. burying himself to the hilt inside your dripping cunt. The way you’re already wet makes it easier, though you're still so tight that Viktor has to pause, his face pressing into the crook of your neck as he collects himself. The sensation of your velvety warmth tightening around him, enveloping him so perfectly, is almost too much to bear.

Then, he braces your hips and begins to move—slow and steady at first, but with growing intensity.

Moans rise and fall from your lips along with the rhythm of his thrusts, growing sharper as he goes harder and deeper. His tip hits that perfect spot inside you every time, grinding against it with relentless precision, drawing gasps and shivers from you, your whole body trembling from the pleasure building inside you, coiling tighter with each push.

Your voice cuts off  when Viktor captures your lips in a bruising kiss, mouths and tongues tangled, the taste of him like coffee, his scent a heady mix of sweat, metal, and chemicals. Everything about him makes your head spin.

Viktor may be a scientist, methodical and precise in every thought and action when he’s working. But in bed, he lets go. Here, he moves on instinct alone, hips snapping forward in steady, punishing rhythm. And the moment he feels your inner walls clenching tighter around him, his control slips even further. He grunts low in his throat, pace turning rough and uncoordinated, lips abandoning your mouth in favor of your neck. He kisses along the frantic pulse under your skin, dragging his teeth over sensitive flesh, leaving fresh marks wherever he can reach.

You melt beneath him, every inch of you yielding to his touch. Your hips lift to meet his every thrust, bodies tangled and pressed so close there’s no telling where one ends and the other begins. The room fills with the sounds of their fervent coupling, the slap of skin against skin, and your moans mixing with him echoing through the room.

He starts to lose his rhythm, thrusts growing uneven and frantic as the edge pulls him closer. He’s close—so close—and he knows you are too. Just a little more. His hand slips down, thumb finding your clit, circling and pressing the sensitive bud in sync with his driving thrusts. The dual sensations—of being filled and rubbed, stretched and stroked—short-circuit your mind. all of friction igniting sparks of ecstasy that race along your nerves. You arch with a gasp, clutching at him when suddenly your climax crashes into you like a tidal wave, a sharp cry tearing from your throat louder than before, eyes rolling back as intense pleasure seizes your entire body in a blinding surge. consumed by all-encompassing bliss.

The sound of your voice, the way you clamp down around him is more than enough.

With a final string of ragged thrusts, Viktor follows, groaning against your shoulder as he spills into you. His cock pulsing as he empties himself deep inside your clinging heat. Jet after jet of hot seed coated your sticky walls, his hips jerk with the aftershocks, then finally still. He rests his head there, letting out a long, shuddering breath. Neither of you has ever minded finishing inside; Viktor knows you’ve never once missed a dose of birth control.

For a while, he just stays there, catching his breath. His body still quivers with the afterglow, and he can tell you’re just as wrecked. Both of you lie there in silence, panting, drained from the intensity of what just happened. Too tired to speak. Too blissed out to think. The only thing left is the quiet gaze you share.

Eventually, Viktor slowly pushes himself up, bracing on one arm, though he doesn’t pull away. He’s still inside you. His eyes roam over you, studying every detail: the mess of your hair, the sweat glistening on your skin, the steady rise and fall of your chest. You look completely undone, and yet you’re breathtaking. So beautiful that he can't tear his eyes away.

Then suddenly, something inside him bursts without warning.

“I love you,” Viktor murmurs, his voice low and trembling as he presses his forehead to yours. He inhales deeply, as if the weight of his feelings is too much to bear. “Please don’t leave me. Stay with me,” he whispers again, this time his voice thick with raw emotion. “You’re everything to me. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

The image of the cold, unfeeling scientist who once lived for nothing but his work is gone. Now, he’s just a man—desperate, pleading, terrified you’ll walk away.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His arms wrap tightly around you, as if even the slightest distance might make you slip through his fingers forever.

“Are we... good now?” Viktor asks as he pulls away, his eyes soft with yearning. He is trying everything he can to coax a bit of forgiveness from you.

You let out a tired, breathless laugh, half amused and half exasperated. Though your expression says he’s being ridiculous, your touch tells a different story. Your hand moves gently over his shoulder, fingers trailing across the sweat-damp skin with quiet affection.

“Alright, fine. I forgive you,” you say affectionately, poking his nose. “But you’re still annoying, just so you know.

“I probably am,” he replies with a relieved smile, grateful beyond words that you’ve finally forgiven him. “But we’ve made up now. No take-backs. That’s final.”

He studies you again, then reaches up to brush a damp lock of hair from your forehead. His fingertips linger as he caresses your cheek with a gesture so tender it makes your breath catch.

And in that moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have been given a second chance.

He knows he doesn’t deserve you. Not even close. But he’s far too selfish to let you go.

“I know I’m not exactly the best boyfriend,” he whispers against your skin, planting soft kisses all over your face. “I’ve got plenty of flaws, and I drive you crazy more often than not. But I’m not going anywhere. And I promise I’ll love you for the rest of my life.” He lifts his head to meet your gaze, eyes filled with sincerity. Then his voice turns playful. “So you better get used to me, Milaček. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

After a while of cuddling, Viktor finally, reluctantly rolls off you and lies down beside you. But even then, he pulls you back into his arms, unwilling to let you go. Your head comes to rest against his chest, where you can hear the steady beat of his heart. He places his chin atop your head and closes his eyes for a moment. “Just try breaking up with me again. I dare you.”

“Oh yeah? And what would you do if I did?” you tease, your voice full of playful defiance.

Viktor squints at you, grinning slyly as he tightens his hold. “I’d just do this all over again. As many times as it takes until you change your mind.” His hand glides over your thigh, massaging gently near the sensitive spot he’s just thoroughly explored. The touch makes you jolt from overstimulation, and in retaliation, you nip his earlobe, drawing a low growl from his throat.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want,” you tease, giggling softly before nestling back against his chest. You breathe in the faint scent of sweat clinging to his skin, strangely comforted by it. “But for tonight, let’s just stay like this. I want a quiet cuddle. Let’s save the arguing and round two for another night.”

Viktor can feel how exhausted you are in the way your body relaxes and melts into his embrace. His hand strokes your back slowly, coaxing you toward sleep. “Goodnight, Milaček,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and lingering there for a long while. 

Once he’s sure you’re truly asleep, he shifts carefully to make you more comfortable, then reaches down to pull the blanket up over both of you.

He knows he should get some sleep too. He has to be at work early, with a thousand tasks waiting for him. But his mind refuses to settle. He lies awake in the dark, eyes fixed on the ceiling, replaying the night’s events again and again.

He almost lost you.

The thought terrifies him more than anything ever has. It’s a kind of fear he’s never known before. So he reminds himself over and over that you’re still here. Still in his arms. Still his.

Viktor knows he’s never been the easiest person to be with. Reserved, withdrawn, too wrapped up in his work to truly connect with people, he’s pushed others away for most of his life, sometimes without even realizing it. And he never cared who stayed or left.

But not you.

You’ve always been a part of him. His other half. But he never truly saw how deeply you were rooted in his life. He didn’t realize how much you meant to him until he almost lost you.

Now he has another chance, and he swears he won’t make the same mistake twice.

The road ahead won’t be easy. Even after everything you’ve been through together, there are still things you’ll both need to work on. There will be days when you’ll make him want to pull his hair out, or when he’ll drive you up the wall. But Viktor is ready for that. He’s ready to fix things and do better every single day, because you matter more to him than anything. Even his work.

You are the best thing that has ever happened to him. And he’s never letting go.

He listens to the steady rhythm of your breathing. The quiet presence of you beside him eases the tightness in his chest. Slowly, he begins to relax, and his eyes finally drift closed. He exhales, surrendering to the pull of sleep. But even as drowsiness settles over him, his mind keeps moving, quiet and focused on tomorrow.

Viktor has made up his mind.

Starting tomorrow, he’s going to change.

And for the first time in years, he’s taking a day off. Just to be with you. To savor every moment of the second chance you’ve given him.

『• • • ✎Footnotes • • •』

[1] Zlato is a Czech word meaning darling, gold, or something precious.

[2] Koloušek is a Czech word meaning little deer and can be used as a term of endearment. (In this fic, Viktor never calls the reader 'Koloušek,' before, but uses it here to be affectionate, like 'Please don’t leave me, my little deer.')

[3] Miláček is a Czech word meaning "darling" or "beloved." It is commonly used as a warm and affectionate way to refer to a loved one or someone who is important in one's life.

[frownyalfred]

Why is it so hard to find ppl that actually understand bruce? I am tired of either finding ppl that see him as an abuser or others that only love wfa version of him I am really tired of this like really I can't even join a Fandom without getting my favorite character not getting mischaracterized left and right 😔

I'm going to rant a little bit here, and I apologize in advance. This isn't really directed at you. But I'm kind of tired of this flavor of ask. I get it a lot -- half of these asks are praising me for having a "good" interpretation of canon, and the other half are blasting me for being too "fanon" and bending too much to fandom tropes in my posts and writing. And of course the nonstop WFA hatred in my inbox is tiring.

Be the change you want to see in the world. If you don't like what the fandom is doing to your blorbo, write him your way. But sitting at the edge of the playpen complaining about how someone else is playing with their toys isn't useful. And it's really getting annoying to me, as a content creator.

I'm also tired of the superiority some canon-adherents have over those who write/draw more fanon tropes. So many of you are SO bitter over the idea that fandom is "ruining" Bruce or your other Batfamily blorbo because how DARE they write your blorbo in that way that is so OOC. How DARE they! And yet, you sit on the sidelines and create bitchy tumblr posts about how those fandom participants are stupid, or ill-informed, or simply don't have the higher thinking ability to understand your blorbo like you do.

And yet. You don't write Bruce the way you "enjoy." You don't create content or share posts or promote those canon characteristics you so highly value. Instead, you write posts complaining about the others in this fandom and deride them for being stupid like adhering to canon strictly somehow makes you better than anyone else. You mock their acceptance of fanon tropes as canon as if there is required reading in this fandom, entirely dismissing the idea that the line between DC fanon/canon is confusing as hell on a good day, and ignoring that the natural progression of engaging in fandom is finding out -- sometimes on your own timeline -- what actually happened in canon. Especially when canon is so vast.

And guess what? At the end of the day, we are all on the fandom website(s). You're still reading fanfiction at the end of the day. Canon or fanon or some blend of the in-between, you are still a fan participating in fandom content in some way or another. And we are all equal in that respect.

We are all here to enjoy these characters. Fanfiction is a medium that allows us to further explore canon, yes, But it is also a way to explore the OOC, the what-if's, the out of character but fandom-fave ideas and tropes people want. The fact that OTHER people enjoy those things should never impact your enjoyment of fandom.

If you cannot handle someone else playing with the same toys as you, but playing with them in a way you don't like, you need to go back to preschool. And if someone won't give you your toy back, find another one. Write the story. Create the post. Build your own engagement from the ground up, finding likeminded people if you can. They are definitely on here.

But I get the impression that when people complain about fanon "ruining" fandom, what they're actually saying is "I'm upset that canon content isn't as popular as fanon content." And that, I can't help you with. We can't always change what other people love or want to engage with.

I'm sorry that this rant is blunt, but it's been simmering inside me for a while. I'm really tired of getting and deleting this ask 15 times a day. You will not find much sympathy on this blog for canon purism and the derision of fanon/fandom, and for that I apologize. But it's the truth.

I enjoy consuming content about both "fanon" and canon Bruce. I like the contrast and complexities. But I have seriously had to stop following a ton of blogs in the last year who don't create "canon" content anymore and instead spend their time complaining about other people in the fandom who are just enjoying themselves and creating their own content. It's incredibly disheartening and frustrating.

[sorryimananti-romantic]

to a dying? atinyblr

i don't usually speak about these things, but a lot of blogs (amazing writers) are leaving this platform or taking time off bc of lack of engagement which serves as a big demotivating factor. especially and specifically in this atiny fandom, some things have come to my attention and i just want all readers and writers to take a look at this post and refresh some reading and writing etiquettes, as well as revive the essence of being a part of this fandom.

feedback:

i understand that there are a lot of silent readers on here, but since tumblr is dying and our fandom is not very huge, the least you can do to show the writers some support is like the post. 

which brings me to the point that the like function didn't even exist in the past. this site still runs on reblogs. as readers, to show your favourite writers some semblance of support, you should be reblogging with tags. a simple ‘#ateez x reader’ or ‘#ateez fics’ is enough. it's literally not asking for much– reblogs are the only way writers can get reach.

if you cannot do that bc of your blog's aesthetic or whatever, side blogs exist. if you still cannot do that, a simple anon ask appreciating the writer sometimes saves them.

also, what has happened to the quality of reblogs? readers consume years of writers’ work and efforts in mere hours and don’t even leave any feedback? art in general in all forms is very underappreciated and with all sorts of problems like plagiarism, ai writing and everything, true art and writing is dying and needs to be appreciated now more than ever. we’re literally the last generation witnessing ai take over in all fields of arts. appreciate content creators before it’s too late, don’t be a content glutton!

updates and requests:

asking writers for updates when they specifically mention that they would prefer posting at their pace is wrong for so many reasons– we all have a real life. you, the reader, do too. just like you don't always have time to read, writers don't always have time to write. do you ever see the writers asking their readers 'why have you not read my latest chapter?' 

most of the times, writers mention in their bio/faq post or elsewhere that they do mind being asked about updates. respect your writers, please, and do a little scroll before you send such demanding asks (also, sugarcoating when asking for updates does not make it any better!)

if you are only asking about updates, it demotivates a lot of writers bc these same people will disappear when it is time for feedback. writing is a form of art. we can write, artists can paint, musicians can compose music, but all of it has no meaning unless it is shared with an audience and appreciated. readers are just as important as the writers but there is no way of knowing fics are valued unless feedback is given.

the same goes for requests. you can only send a request when the requests are open, which is usually mentioned in the writer’s bio/faq post. it’s literally not that hard to check if requests are open and it’s basic decency to not send a request when the writers specifically mention that requests are closed. when sending a request, please be courteous. a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ are examples of being courteous when sending requests.

the fanfics in atinyblr:

i understand that you can read whatever you like, but why is it that in the atiny fandom, fics that do not contain smut hardly ever get attention? as a writer, i enjoy writing and reading smut, and while i am not specifically a smut blog, i have noticed how fics containing smut get far more reach than fics that do not contain smut– not just in my case, but other amazing writers as well. 

there are such amazing fictions in this fandom. all fics are crafted with dedication and care, yet stories without smut often get sidelined. writers are not able to express themselves in their writing freely anymore and they simply conform to a genre they know readers will consume, as they are forced to consider adding smut to their stories so they can get more reach in this fandom. i have heard accounts from a lot of writers who were inclined to add smut to an otherwise smut-free fic just for reach.

this is by no means hate to the smut writers. i am also not placing blame on them. smut drabbles have always been in this fandom, and there are amazing smut writers out there, doing their thing. it is the readers here who are failing the writers. readers are quick to talk about the lack of ‘good fics’ or ‘plot’ yet will not even bother searching for these works. there used to be a good balance and appreciation for all genres alike.

i know that smut is what's hot and trendy these days, and drabbles in general, no matter the genre, are easier to read when you want to take a short break. but there is such a lack of longfics in this fandom, especially as of lately, and as someone who has personally witnessed the ratio of longfics decrease exponentially, i felt the need to point this out. appreciate all writers! appreciate all genres! longfic writers need as much validation and encouragement as drabble writers, and vice versa! don't be too harsh on longfic writers for not pumping out fics at the same speed as shortfic writers.

and on that note, smut drabble writers experience a lack of quality feedback despite the high engagement, so readers, please don't hesitate to point out exactly what you liked about a fic, even if it's a short drabble! be kind to those writers, give them time to write and be kind when sending requests! they may post more often but they, too, have a life.

tags:

this is specifically for the people who will post a very normal picture of a member, no caption, but tag it something like #ateez smut, #ateez hard hours, #ateez x reader. and for the people who tag their asks with irrelevant tags– literally learn to tag your post properly, and stop crowding the wrong tags. you're just proving the point that if you don't tag a post with the smut tag or something similar, it won't get reach. if you've posted with a caption, that makes sense (though it still doesn't warrant some of the tags being used there).

as for writers, also learn to use your tags appropriately. fics that do not contain smut should not be tagged with smut related tags. believe in yourself. i get that there is the problem of reach but do not overcrowd tags with irrelevant material.

disclaimer:

this is by no means about me. if i cared about the notes, or lack thereof, i would have stopped writing a while ago. while it is challenging to be a writer here, especially as of lately, i still enjoy posting whatever i write no matter the genre or the word count. but it's a bit disappointing that my planned out fics get much less attention than a simple smut headcanons post that i wrote in the heat of the moment with my friend in literally a few hours as a joke (which has reached almost 10k notes btw in a span of 2 years). sure, it has exposed my blog to new readers but that's about it.

this post is for all the amazing writers who have left, are thinking of leaving, or are struggling to voice these problems because they are afraid of being marked as 'problematic' or a 'hater' or something worse. i am not afraid to voice my opinion on here, and if you think that i am wrong, feel free to interact with this post and correct me because i am not claiming that i am right about this.

these are just the observations i have made as someone who has been actively writing on this platform for about 4 years now, and since i have a decent number of followers, i hope this post gets more reach. do not be afraid to reblog this if you agree, and even if you do not, reblog this so someone else gets educated. i may have missed some points so feel free to add if you want too.

[yallthemwitches]

Like a lot of other authors/content creators in the HP fandom, I am feeling a sense of heaviness over the rulings that happened in the UK and feel the need to speak on my (albeit very complicated) feelings.

What JKR is doing is terrible. It will ruin lives. It will end lives.

If you feel like that is being hyperbolic, please go look up the suicide rates for the trans community. It's a staggering number and it only grows as people seeking information, comfort, and support are locked out of proper resources due to heinous legislations like the one passed yesterday.

It saddens me too because I know that so many in the LGBTIQA+ have found characters/stories in the HP universe that have spoken to them and helped to understand their personal journeys---only to have that comfort ripped away by the very person who created them.

If you can permit me to be personal for a second: My brother is trans and before/during his transition (this was early 2010s) he always cited Remus Lupin as one of the foundations for coming to terms with his trans identity because he saw some of his own internal struggle in Lupin's character. He even went so far as to write a letter to JKR (which, thank GOD he never sent...) thanking her for creating a character that aided him with the complicated feelings he had when there were no other resources for him.

My brother is now a psychologist specializing in the young trans community and speaking to him recently, he has said that he comes across this same story constantly and each one ends in tragedy because that little piece of solace and comfort was not just taken from them, but told them that no, actually. You thought wrong to see yourself in this character. You don't matter.

Watching what happened yesterday and knowing the long history of bigotry JKR has spouted for years now weighs heavy on my heart every time I step into this fandom and often I question if I should still contribute to it. I know it's not much, but I would like to share some of the things that keep me going--even when it all looks really fucking bleak:

Fanfiction and fanart are, at their foundation, anticapitalist works--and can be used to fight JKR's agenda. By consuming fanfic/fanart zero money goes towards JKR. None. And further, JKR has no say in how you use her characters in these spaces. So, if you want to use these creative outlets to uplift trans voices, please do! Support trans writers/artists and urge them to PERSIST--because I promise you nothing is going to tick off the ole' bitch more than trans bodies/ trans supporters writing her characters.

Just because the writer is the devil, doesn't mean the art has to be. I won't go into the concept of "death of the author" because I think it can be pockmarked to hell with various examples, but what I DO subscribe to is that once the art is out in the world, it is now owned by the person who consumes it. To put it simply: when I read HP I am POSITIVE I imagine characters/settings differently than the person next to me. It's the beauty of the imagination: the creator can give us the blocks but how it is built is contingent on how WE perceive it.

Did I mention money? DON'T GIVE IT TO HER. Buy the books/movies second hand. Pirate the media you wish to consume around the fandom. Don't give her any reason to give any more hate funding and instead send that money to trans communities and groups who need it (they REALLY need it.)

Maybe I'm naive to say this, but I don't think interacting with the story as an art form is bad. She invented it, sure, but she isn't in charge of what goes on in my brain. If anything, this fandom NEEDS the trans community and supporters within it because not only can they push back, but they can educate those who otherwise are listening to the author. Don't let her win the space even though she's the author. It's no longer hers to have.

If you are someone who wants to leave the fandom because you can't bear to watch her continue to destroy it--I completely understand. But, as someone who has been in this fandom for over 20 years, the one thing I've learned is: besides monetarily she doesn't own shit. Don't let her take what you love from you and don't let her get away with scaring people out of their community spaces. Support and love our trans brothers and sisters and enjoy your HP despite it all. The things you love are worth fighting for.

[sister-lucifer]

A Needy Toby Drabble

Content/warnings: gender neutral reader, needy jealous toby, no smut but very suggestive with nsfw dialogue 

Toby has a lot of issues when it comes to attention— or rather, a lack thereof. He’s hidden his complete obsession of you rather well, at least better than he expected, but it’s slowly consuming his every waking thought. Each day he wants you more and more and more, and every time you so much as glance at another person for a second too long it makes his chest ache. It sparks something primal in him, something that begs him to just take you right now.

He can’t do that. He knows it.

But god, he’s going insane over you. 

When he finally can’t take it anymore it happens at the worst time. He starts shifting a bit during an innocent cuddling session, struggling to focus on whatever movie you’ve chosen this time. He squeezes you a bit tighter, but you don’t think anything of it. That is, until he’s nuzzling into your neck without warning, his lips brushing your skin. 

You start to stammer out a question, but he cuts you off with a sudden rough kiss to your neck. You jump and let out an embarrassing mewl that makes him shiver. When you’re finally able to speak enough to ask him what’s gotten into him, he can’t hold back from giving you the whole truth. 

“I-I need you,” He stutters, speaking against your skin, “I-I just fff-fucking need you…so tired of o-other people having your attention— t-ten—tention. It’s not fair…you just d-drive me so crazy, a-all the t-time, I wanna…I w-want— wanna kiss you all ov-vvv-er…wanna fff-fuck you ‘til you cry…”

You squirm under him as the assault on your neck continues, little whimpers now falling from your mouth freely. You grasp at the back of his sweatshirt. 

“I’m so, s-sss-so tired of h-hiding it,” He continues, his hips staring to grind against you, “I shouldn’t h-have to hide it…I need— n-nnn-need you— y-you…just this o-once, please, just…just let me have you.” 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!