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thelostexperiment · 11 months

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As good as DuckTales 17 is, what is one thing you would change about it? I’ve noticed that its fanbase, while passionate, can be critical. Not overwhelmingly pretentiously critical like Star Wars fans, thank god. Critical out of love is more like it.

I'm actually one of the more forgiving fans of this show's flaws, because for what it was, it was a great reboot that exceeded my expectations when I first saw the promo art to it. It's a fun watch and got me hooked enough to make this blog.

That being said.

This may seem obvious but, the one thing I would change about the show is I would give it more seasons. As fun a ride as The Last Adventure was, it was obvious that there were still a lot of stories, character arks and adventures the show could have covered that it sadly didn't have the chance to because of its cancelation. I know that's not the show runners fault, more so the execs of the company that owns it.

It's not like the show isn't profitable or popular, or why else would there still be active fan discords of it, why have a DuckTales globe trotting event thrown in Epcot, why have the DT characters (specifically the 2017 version) be a prominent part of the chibiverse cast? (I have my own hangups about the chibiverse show)

There's still a market for the Duckverse otherwise the DarkWing Duck reboot wouldn't still be greenlit.

I'd at the very least like to get more DuckTales stories in comic or graphic novel form, there's still so much material and lore to explore.

I've already told some friends how much I'd love to see a graphic novel series on Isabella Finch's adventures. Have a narration from her published book play over the scenes or be written in the corners of the panels and show how things really happened in the scenes. Show more child Bradford, show us how Isabella really was. Give us an Interesting look at the characters and a great Indiana Jones or G rated Venture bros parody.

Give us more character growth arcs for some of the side characters that didn't get resolved in the show. Show us who Huey Dewey and Louie's Dad is and what happened to him. Show us how Scrooge and Webby handle the new biological father/daughter dynamic they both just found out about.

I guess what I'm really trying to say is, GIVE US MORE DUCKTALES, IGER!

#ooc #anon ask #ask response #sorry i've been gone so long #trying to get back into activity again #my criticism #ducktales 2017 #ducktales #dt17 #dt2017 #dt 2017 #dt 17 #disney #my thoughts

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smol-lydia · 2 years

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After Hours: ViktorxFem!Reader Part 3

Summary: Standing on the freezing streets of Piltover, you’re having a hell of a shift trying to bring customers in to your club for drinks. You see a pair of Academy students headed your way--one is eager enough, but the other is much more of a challenge to win over, and you like a challenge.

Part One

Part Two

SFW (spicy in the next chapter I promise!!): After your date with Viktor, you return to work, hoping against all odds that you’ll see him again, that he’s different from the men you’ve known in the past. You are in for a surprise, in more ways that one.

Sorry I’ve been gone so long bbys! I got diagnosed with several chronic health conditions and only just got a medication that works and allows me to sit upright for more than 20 minutes so we back!!!!

Perhaps we can do it again sometime.

The words repeat in your mind as you go about your morning chores—afternoon, really, given that you’ve woken at half past three. Problem is, of course, you have no idea how to contact Viktor, as exhausted and tipsy you had been the night before.

He had mentioned being assistant to the Dean, but you would rather swallow nails than march up to the Academy in your stiletto boots looking for whomever the Dean was, and trying to explain yourself.

Well, you see, your assistant stopped by my hostess club and we went out after. No, it wasn’t what it sounds like, he’s kind, not the type to—

Janna above, even the more thought is making you want to sink into the floorboards. This kind of chasing isn’t your style to begin with. You kept your distance, preferring to be alone.

It wasn’t loneliness if it was self-imposed, right?

You try to distract yourself by getting basic household work done, packing your bag for the club—most of your outfits and makeup are in your dressing room, but there’s always essentials to refill, things you keep forgetting in the chaos of the day.

It’s not until you’re in the dressing room, digging through your cubby for something to wear that you let yourself hope. Viktor knows where you work. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll stop by and visit.

If you’re lucky, he won’t bring his friend and you’ll have him all to yourself.

The thought of entertaining Viktor for the evening has you buzzing with nervous energy, your palms sweating and heartbeat picking up despite yourself. Suddenly every detail of your ensemble has to be perfect, just so. You paw through your limited stock of dresses over and over again, wondering what his favorite color is, what he would think if he saw you in this outfit or another.

Unlike many of the wealthy Piltover girls who work in the club, you don’t have many options, but poverty has given you ingenuity and creativity; the ability to style one piece ten ways, making everything stretch far further than it needs to. Mending holes late into the evening, turning rips and wear into sex appeal.

Finally you settle on an old favorite: a short pink plaid dress with a ruffled hem and fake diamond brooch at the bow placed strategically near your cleavage. Sheer black stockings with a ruffled pink garter belt. You take extra time with your hair, teasing and curling it into oblivion and putting small pink paper flowers you made into the teased mess. Black stilettos, your usual distinctive eye makeup and a spritz of perfume later, and you’re ready to go.

The other girls are giving you looks at your extra effort, whispering amongst themselves, but you ignore them. Being number one at the club means something different to you than to them.

For you, it’s a ticket to a better life not just for you but for so many you care for, those who look up at you with wide eyes when you visit every week, your heart aching as you desperately wish you could do more.

For them, it’s a shiny trophy to put on a shelf, another notch on the proverbial bedpost.

You knew in your heart that Viktor would understand. After your conversation in the coffee shop you realized that was a shared trait between the two of you: a desire to make it Topside in the hopes of bettering the lives of those in Zaun, where your roots are.

How could you not hope, meeting someone like that? The giddy energy you got from his kiss had carried you up until this moment and you start your shift bubbly, full of smiles.

He could walk through the door at any moment, after all.

As the night goes on, however, that bubbly energy fades, replaced by anxiety at first, then disappointment, and finally, anger. Anger is better than hurt. Anger is better than dashed hopes.

Stupid, you tell yourself. You were so stupid to get your heart and your head carried away by a man, even if he was a handsome man who spoke your language, who was so sweet and gentle—

No!

You’re not doing this. You’re not falling into his trap. Men were all the same, you saw that well enough from your job. This was why you didn’t give your heart away. Too much of this back and forth, a push—pull you couldn’t afford.

By the time your shift is over you can barely disguise your anger, and your boss has you in the back, lest you scare off any potential customers.

You don’t even bother getting changed; you don’t want to look at yourself in the mirror. You’re afraid that if you do you’ll burst into tears. Instead you shrug your coat on and trade your heels for a pair of flats and storm out of the club, thankful for the day off tomorrow. A day off to curl up in bed and mope in a blanket roll of self pity.

Pathetic? Maybe.

But the only one judging would be your cat, so you’ll take it.

You’re regrettably sober, as you had pretended to drink far more than you actually did this shift, worried that if you actually got drunk you would start crying or throwing things or both. The streets are deserted as they often are at this hour and almost home, so absorbed in your thoughts that you don’t notice him until you collide, your face making contact with his waistcoat.

He’s so tall, and you know that scent of library books and coffee—it’s been living in your mind since the kiss.

“Miss (y/n)?”

Gods, this cannot be happening.

You back up, hands on your hips. “What are you doing here?”

Viktor has the gall to look bashful, the bastard. He runs his hand through his perpetually messy brown locks. “I, ehrm, left you a letter in your mailbox. I realize I had mentioned we should see each other again and then had given you no way to contact me to make arrangements—“

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Barely. “At 2 am?”

He looks at you with those wide honey-whisky eyes. “It’s 2 am?”

“Yes, Viktor, it’s two in the morning. I was at work.”

“Ah. I am sorry. I was working late at the lab and lost track of the time; I had no idea. I apologize for the imposition.”

You sigh. As loath as you are to admit it, you find it difficult to stay angry with Viktor, especially when he looks at you in that way, so eager and sweet and genuinely apologetic. You should know better and yet your judgment seems to fly out the window anytime you are in his vicinity.

“Well, it would be rude of me not to invite you in,” you say, reaching in your pocket for your keys.

“Truly, Miss (y/n), I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“Viktor, it’s fine. I have the day off tomorrow. And didn’t I ask you to call me (y/n)?”

He gives you a small smile. “If you insist, (y/n).”

When you open the door to your place, the small attic apartment you call home, your cat chirps at you in greeting. She pads over to Viktor, who holds out his hand to her.

“That’s Koko,” you tell him, and he gives her a scratch behind her ears. “She’s a menace to society.”

“I have difficulty believing that,” he replies.

You hang up your coat on the rack by the door and you realize Viktor is not, in fact, immune to the effort you had put into your appearance earlier. You catch his gaze lingering at the pink ruffled garters and grin. Cross back over to him, close enough to press yourself against him, your hands lingering on the buttons of his waistcoat.

“Do you like my dress?” You ask him innocently, blinking with those spiky false lashes.

Spots of pink appear on those sharp cheekbones. “It’s very—you’re very…” He pauses, bites his lower lip. “Pretty.”

“Just pretty?” Oh, this is fun.

“I’m not certain if everything else on my mind is too forward,” he murmurs, and you raise a brow.

“I think I can be the judge of that.”

His hand encircles your waist, the other cups your chin. “Miláčku. Mayn oytser. Shayna maydel—I….” That hand cupping your chin, fingers brushing across your cheek, “I have struggled to focus on my work today, I must admit. I lose track of time on the best of days, however….”

“However?”

“My mind keeps wandering. To you.”

This, this you could drink in for days; his shyness, the terms of endearment in your shared language. Darling. My treasure. Pretty girl. He’s a romantic, this Viktor, and Janna help you, you want nothing more than to watch him come undone under your touch.

This time when he kisses you, there’s heat beneath that sweetness and you bite his lower lip in your desperate need, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

When you break for air, his cheeks bright red now, foreheads pressed together, his nose nuzzling gently against yours, its less of an invitation, more of a command.

“Bed. Viktor, please.”

#viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor #arcane fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor x reader fic #viktor x reader arcane #viktor imagines #my fic writing #my fic #sorry i've been gone so long #i love you all #viktor my beloved

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