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[somedaylazysomeday]

Noisy - Part Four

Despite your agreements, Viktor is being very loud... Again. You go to confront him about it.

Viktor x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 5,500

Warnings: Frustration, concern, hints of growing intimacy, unprotected sex, creampie, feelings

Previous | Masterlist

---

You couldn’t sleep.

You turned to your side, away from the window. Maybe the faint glow from behind the curtains was what had kept you awake. Or maybe all the thoughts crowding your mind were on that side of the pillow, sneaking in through your ear until they could snarl and snap inside of your brain.

Another sleepless night was not what you needed. 

A moment later, you amended the thought. If there was going to be one night you couldn’t really rest, this wasn’t the worst night for it to happen. You didn’t have anywhere to be the next day and no real plans. You could sleep as late as you needed to recover what you were losing to your racing thoughts. 

With that realization, you gave in and let your mind whir rapidly as it performed a variety of calculations it apparently thought were necessary. 

The first - and accordingly most concerning - thought was about your impending departure from the Piltover Academy of Science, Technology, and Innovation. 

You had been a student at the Academy for almost a decade. Your undergraduate work had been completed on time. Graduate work had slowed you down slightly as you started taking more advanced courses that required more field work. And your doctoral program seemed to have stretched on for an eternity. That was mostly because the Academy’s work-study program had left you attending courses only half of your time. 

Even then, your main focus for the last semester had been on writing your dissertation. 

From everything you had learned about other schools, Piltover’s Academy was unique in the way dissertations were presented, especially in practical fields. Instead of a simple essay, Academy dissertations were written as a proposal. You were to identify a problem, hypothesize about causes and solutions, and create a plan to help alleviate the problem or treat those suffering from it.

When you were finished with your dissertation, you would submit it to your mentor, Professor Ukkud. Once she went through it with you and you completed any final changes, she would present it to the Council of Piltover. They would read it, discuss your proposed solutions, then give you a chance to answer their questions and defend your intended methodology. 

If you successfully defended your dissertation, you would gain a doctorate. You would also be approved a specified amount of Piltover’s money to put your proposal into action, backed by the Council. Doctors whose experiments and solutions helped people were often offered jobs in the government itself, working to improve the lives of Piltover citizens. 

Your identified problem - the pollution in the Undercity, particularly the fumes found in the Sump sector - was easily proven. The causes were of concern to Piltover. The solutions were simple and relatively cheap. It was, by all accounts, tailor-made for a successful dissertation defense.

Except that you had been advised to start over. 

Your meeting with Professor Ukkud that afternoon had been profoundly disappointing. It had been your first meeting with her since you had discussed concepts. The professor had left the Academy for several months as she delivered a beautiful boy. She and her wife had spent much of the following time bonding with their newborn son and, by the time she returned, your dissertation was almost complete. 

Which was why it was particularly heartbreaking that you had presented your lovingly-crafted work to Professor Ukkud only for her to sit in uncomfortable silence. She listened to your explanation, but pushed the dissertation back to you unread. When she finally spoke, it was with an expression of sympathy and a delicate sort of tone. 

“I understand your passion for this project and I think it would have a positive impact on the Undercity. However, I feel that there is a strong chance the Council will deny you the funds you’ve requested.” 

You had been aghast. The Council rarely refused funds, and when they did, it was often because the attached proposal had been subpar. In a few cases, they had denied funds and awarded the defender their degree anyway, but it had happened only twice that you could remember. 

It was considered slightly shameful to receive your degree with no accompanying funds. It was a sign that the Council thought there was no situation in which your special knowledge could play an role in improving Piltover.

“But… But this is important research…” you had protested, knowing it wouldn’t matter. “My solution is simple and cost-effective, and no one can argue the impact it would have on the lives of those living in the Undercity. Especially the ones who live in the Sump sector, but it could make a difference for people who live much further away.”

Professor Ukkud shook her head sadly. “I agree, and I believe there is a strong possibility that your proposal would improve lives across the Undercity and even along the border of Upper Piltover where the river is narrow.”

“Then I don’t understand the problem,” you’d said, openly frustrated. 

“Simply put: the Council will not divert funds toward a project that will mostly impact the Undercity.”

You had suspected as much as soon as Professor Ukkud suggested you change the topic of your dissertation, but it was startling to hear her say it so directly. Worse, you knew she was right. 

You wanted to rail against the unfairness of it all, but the prejudices of Upper Piltover ran deep. There was no other explanation for the poor conditions half the city lived in - and perhaps more, since censuses tended not to go well in the Undercity. 

And, even worse, you partially understood. The Undercity rebelled against Upper Piltover on a regular basis, and most of those rebellions were violent. Yes, they were rebelling against a lack of representation and the fact that the Council didn’t put any effort toward improving the Undercity, but you could imagine that the proud Piltover people would see helping them as rewarding the very violence they were hoping to stop. 

None of those thoughts had left you. Instead, you slumped and stared down at the stack of pages resting on the table. They represented literal months of your life. When you weren’t helping Ukkud in her classroom, you were researching or writing or editing or experimenting, all in the process of crafting the perfect dissertation. 

“What am I supposed to do, then?” The question had sounded more defeated than challenging. “I can’t rewrite it. The semester is ending soon.”

“I think your best option is to stay an extra semester,” Professor Ukkud opinioned, looking visibly relieved that you weren’t planning to argue with her about it. “You could try to create a different dissertation, but in the limited time… You would either end up with an inferior proposal or be too exhausted to defend it.”

You hadn’t had anything else to say, by then. What was the point? Instead, you thanked the professor for her guidance and left the classroom. You’d spent the rest of the afternoon sulking and mulling over your options. 

The way you saw it, you had two: spend an extra semester at the Academy to create another dissertation and proposal about an issue you weren’t as passionate about, or… 

Or present the dissertation you had already prepared. 

Professor Ukkud was right, you probably wouldn’t be funded. But you could leave here and go somewhere where you could make a difference. You had taken several grant-writing courses during your time at the Academy. It would be far more difficult to do things on your own. But wouldn’t it be worth it? 

You turned onto your back once more, eyeing the ceiling with disgust. Now that you had rehashed everything about the disappointing meeting and rethought about the difficult choice that faced you, you had hoped sleep would come. But you were just as awake as you had been before and you clearly weren’t going to make any important decisions that night. 

Sliiiiiide. Scrape. Scrape! BOOM.

Your initial jolt turned into you sitting bolt upright in bed as a tremendous noise came from the apartment above yours. You looked up at the ceiling, like you could see through it if you stared hard enough. 

When that didn't work, you started to lay back down, but paused. Viktor knew you didn't need to be awake early the next day and had no specific reason to stay quiet, but this was excessive even for him. 

Immediately, your mind started jumping to negative conclusions. What if Viktor had tripped? What if his cane had caught on something, leaving him tumbling to the floor? If had fallen badly enough to hurt himself, how would he call for help? Would anyone notice until the weekend ended? 

The last thing you wanted was to imply that he couldn't take care of himself, but it would be good to check on Viktor, right? He couldn't be offended if you were making sure he wasn't hurt. And if he was, you could always pretend you were upset with him for making so much noise. He didn't know you had already been awake…

You pulled on a sweatshirt over your pajamas and started the trek upstairs. You had been casually sleeping with Viktor for months by that point, but you didn't go up to his apartment as often as you had expected. 

And who could blame you? Not only did Viktor prefer to keep people away from the experiments that filled his apartment, but he also didn't have a bed. You liked to think you were fairly low-maintenance, but you did prefer not to have sex on the floor. Unless it you were in a particular mood. Or a hurry. Or- 

You pulled your thoughts back to your current mission. Viktor could be hurt, and you needed to make sure he wasn’t in pain and waiting to be found. 

The first obstacle was that you didn’t have a key to his apartment. It had never been necessary before and you were struck by the strangeness of that for the first time. Your relationship was strictly casual, but it would have made sense for you proximity to lead to more opportunities for hooking up. Including swapping apartment keys. 

And so you knocked, your taps on his door were firm with an edge of urgency. Even as you waited for a response, you planned: if you knocked again and there was no answer, you would break down the door. How you would accomplish that, you weren’t really sure. As you eyed the solid wood of the door, you wondered if you might be overestimating your own abilities. 

Fortunately, you and your poor shoulder were spared from seeing how you fared against the door when it opened and Viktor’s brown eyes peered out. “Yes?” 

“Are you okay?” you asked, a little nonplussed. 

“Of course,” he told you.

“What are you doing up here?” 

Viktor looked overly innocent, which was a good as a red flag in the current situation. “Nothing in particular. Why?” 

You squinted at him. “Well, I heard a really loud noise a few minutes ago. I thought you might have fallen and knocked yourself out.”

“Do you really think so little of my balance?” 

The dry question was met with a hard stare of your own. You had seen him trip over nothing, and if something impacted how his cane landed, he was virtually guaranteed to end up on the ground. 

Graciously, you decided not to bring up any of that. Instead, you said, “You’re out of breath. A little odd for someone claiming not to be doing anything in particular. And it’s really dark in there…” 

You tried to see around him and into the apartment, but Viktor leaned into your line of sight. “Seriously, did you knock over a lamp or something? It totally dark in there. Wait, not totally… Are those candles? I don’t think you’re allowed to have candles in the dorms.” 

Viktor sighed heavily, letting the door swing out from his grip. You took a moment to process his bare feet and rumpled hair before accepting his silent invitation and stepping past him into the apartment. As always, you almost struggled to believe that his apartment shared a layout with yours, since his was decorated so dramatically differently. 

His furniture was almost entirely missing, with the exception of a very old and well-worn recliner that he slept in. The rest of the space was taken up with various experiments. They had changed since the last time you had been there, but precise layouts of chemical, biological, and mysterious experiments still spread across every available surface. Each one was accompanied by a notebook containing neatly written notes. 

It took a moment for you to check, but you couldn’t see anything around the room that would have caused the amount of noise that had brought you upstairs in the first place. That was good, since it meant that Viktor probably wasn’t hurt and trying to hide it from you.

There was a bare circle on one of Viktor’s countertops, all the experiments carefully swept clear. In the middle of the circle was a cluster of candles, throwing warm light dancing around the room. 

“Well, at least you made sure nothing would catch on fire from your illegal candles,” you conceded.

Viktor came to stand beside you. “Well, nothing that I don’t want to be caught.” 

Your eyebrows raised without your permission as you gave him a sidelong look. “Are you lighting things on fire in your apartment? Need I remind you that I live downstairs and that the building is ancient? And flammable?”

“Besides,” he continued, ignoring you. “I think they set a mood quite nicely. Don’t you agree?” 

“What mood are you trying to set? Angsty serial killer, or are you going for-”

Viktor leaned close, the motion so sudden that you pulled backward. You would have thought it was just a rushed attempt at a kiss, but the way he was looking at you was anything but romantic. His amber eyes were studying your face like you were one of his experiments. You didn’t care for the feeling.

“Is something wrong?” he asked abruptly. 

The bluntness of the question threw you off, made you less able to create a believable story. “Not- Not really? Bad day. Then my upstairs neighbor keeps being noisy.” 

“Today was your meeting with Professor Ukkud, was it not?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question; Viktor had proven to have a near-eidetic memory when it came to the things you told him. “Did she have many critiques for your dissertation?” 

“Something like that,” you admitted. 

“Strange,” Viktor mused. “I thought it was rather brilliant.” 

Your eyes snapped to his. Viktor was smiling slightly, but he seemed sincere. He had read your dissertation. 

When you had asked him to the first time - claiming that you needed another set of eyes on it - he had refused. His explanation was that his ties to the Undercity were too strong, that he wouldn’t be able to look at your proposal with any objectivity. That had seemed like a lie to you, but you hadn’t pushed. A boundary was a boundary, even if he wasn’t giving you the real reason behind it. 

“You… you read my dissertation?” you stammered. 

“Of course,” he told you. “It’s you. How could I no-? Unh!”

You felt a little guilty about the way that his throat had collided with the top of your shoulder as you pulled him into a hug, but you couldn’t stop yourself from gripping him with your full strength. 

It was only when he stroked a hand down your back, hushing you gently, that you realized you were crying. The entire story spilled from you then. Every detail about Professor Ukkud’s recommendation for rewriting, your crushing disappointment, and the nagging fear that she was right and that to present before the Council would be to set yourself up for failure.

Viktor held you close, making appropriate noises as the stream of words pouring from you finally slowed, then stopped. “Do you want to talk it over? Consider your options?” 

“No,” you refused, smiling tearfully at him. “I feel better just telling you about it. But I could really use a distraction. That is, if you don’t mind? I know I’m all gross…”

Viktor’s soft lips halted your apologies and explanations. You still felt as gross as you had claimed to be, but you sank eagerly into the kiss. It wasn’t often that you let Viktor lead - normally, you were too excited for that - but you gladly followed the soothing motions of his mouth against yours.

“We do not have to-” he started when you pulled back to breathe. 

“No, but I really, really want to,” you admitted openly. 

“In that case…” Viktor stepped away. You immediately felt the loss of his warm body against his, but he was holding a hand out to you. When you took it, he started leading the way to his bedroom. 

It took until you were at the doorway to remember why this was a bad idea. You tugged slightly against his grip. “I know I said I want a distraction, but I’d rather not get eaten by one of your plants, Viktor. That’s not exactly what I’m looking for right now.” 

“Do not worry,” he assured you, pushing the door open. “I removed them last week.”

“...Why?” 

He laughed openly at you. “You’re too young to be so skeptical.” 

And then he stepped through the door, pulling you in behind him before you could continue protesting. 

To your surprise, Viktor had been telling the truth. The plants that had dominated most of the bedroom the last time you’d been inside were gone, as were the colorful lights that had illuminated them. He had even removed the protective tape from the light switch. 

Even without turning on the notoriously harsh overhead lights, you could see Viktor’s bedroom clearly enough for your mouth to fall open. “Is that..?”

“Yes, it is,” Viktor confirmed, smiling more broadly than you had ever seen. 

You started forward, but paused. “I’m almost afraid to touch it. Is this a trick? A mirage? An optical illusion?” 

Viktor only chuckled at you, gently shaking his head. You moved closer despite yourself, extending a hand until your fingers rested against the soft, sheet-covered surface of a real, tangible bed.

“It’s real,” you reported, awe heavy in your tone. 

Viktor rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “I know, I moved it in here today.” 

You rounded on him. “Is that what was making all of the noise? You shouldn’t have put it together yourself, Viktor. I would have been happy to help you.” 

“I didn’t build the frame myself,” he said dryly. “I know my limits. I had some members of the housing administration bring the pieces and assemble everything for me this afternoon.” 

“Then what were you doing that made so much noise?” you asked. “And how did the housing administration not freak out when they saw your collection of experiments? You have to be doing irreparable damage to the interior of this place.”

Viktor looked offended. “I know how to perform an experiment with minimal risk to the environment, myself, and others. And did it not occur to you that I could be trying to surprise you?” 

“Honestly, the idea of you moving the plants was surprising enough,” you admitted. “But where are they? Are they okay?” 

“They are fine.” You relaxed at the answer. Viktor’s plants may have tried to eat you, but that didn’t mean you wanted to think about them rotting somewhere. “The experiments were a success, so I had the plants moved into the lab for further testing and eventual propagation.” 

You nodded, impressed despite yourself. Viktor’s efforts to grow plants using various colors of light had seemed ridiculous and frivolous when you’d first learned about them, but he had eventually told you that there were implications for growing them in the Undercity. 

“Now,” Viktor said lowly, taking a step closer to you, “Are discussions about my botanical experiments distraction enough for you?” 

You thought about it for a moment, but decided that, no, it wasn’t. “I think I need a distraction that’s a little more… hands-on.”

As you said the last, you grabbed Viktor’s spare hand, placing it on the curve of your hip. The warm weight of it made you tense with anticipation even as Viktor rolled his eyes. “You are impossible.” 

“Flatterer,” you accused, leaning in for another kiss. Viktor dropped his feigned grumpiness immediately to seize the offer of your lips. Eagerly, you lost yourself in his embrace.

By the time you remembered that you were a physical being in a physical environment, you had changed positions entirely. You were sitting now, making good use of Viktor’s new bed. He was in front of you, cupping your cheek with a careful reverence that made you feel distinctly melty. 

His graceful fingers traced up and down the stretched-out collar of your sweatshirt. “Tell me you are not wearing anything complicated under this.” 

You shook your head, grinning. “No, you’re still the king of complicated clothing.” 

Viktor gave you surprisingly wicked smile. “I planned ahead.” 

And then you watched, fascinated, as he unbuttoned the few buttons on his vest. With it gone, you found that his shirt was held together only by the buttons that would show above and below the vest itself. With three more buttons undone, Viktor was bare from the waist up, and looking very proud of himself for it. 

The laugh that burst from you was loud and joyful. That moment of silliness from Viktor had done more to lift your mood than hours of ruminating had. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“Flatterer,” he returned. “You are also falling behind in this particular race.”

Your eyebrows shot upward. That was a challenge you had no intention of letting stand. You stripped off your sweatshirt in a single motion and - luckily enough - static friction pulled your sleep shirt off at the same time.

You gave Viktor a triumphant look, then both of you were fumbling to remove your own pants. Viktor had buttons to deal with while you did not, but you were stymied by the shoes you had put on to climb the stairs. He beat you, but only by a margin of seconds. You cut off any intended boasting with a deep kiss. And since you were already there, you straddled his thighs at the same time. 

Viktor’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you back slightly. “No, I’m going to be on top this time.” 

For the first time in a while, you felt a little uncertain. “Is that a good idea? Your leg-”

“-Will be fine,” he told you firmly. “It has improved with all the exercise it has gotten lately. Nothing long-term, but I can do this. Let me do this?”

The soft entreaty, more than anything else he could have said, convinced you. You gave a shallow nod and Viktor set to work. He guided you down to the mattress - and you were privately disappointed that the sheets didn’t have time to smell like him yet - and settled on top of you. 

The weight of him was solid between your thighs, even with him bracing a hand against the bed’s surface. You were always mildly surprised at Viktor’s size - his height and narrow build often made him appear far more slender than he truly was. 

You did have admit that you liked the position for how close everything was. When you were on top, you often felt further away from him than you wanted to be. But with Viktor taking the lead, his free hand roamed your body as both of your hands did the same to him. He alternated between kissing you and nosing along your skin while you did your best to suck tiny bruises into every stretch of his neck and jaw that you could reach. 

After a span that seemed both endless and impossibly short, Viktor pulled away with a groan. “I am uncertain how much longer I can wait to be inside of you.” 

Everything between your legs gave an eager pulse, your muscles helpfully lifting the cradle of your hips to press yourself more firmly against him. The length of him slipped easily between your folds, pressing against you. 

You gave a stuttered breath at the contact - he wasn’t entering you, but the angle of him left his head brushing firmly against your clit and the sensations were dazzling. Viktor must have been in a similar frame of mind, because he gave another groan. This one was hoarse, verging on desperate, and you throbbed. 

“Please,” you asked, lifting your hips once more. 

It took a fumbling moment for Viktor to reposition the head of himself against your entrance, but he made up for lost time by sliding home the instant he was in place.

The noise you made was inarticulate and loud, and you were grateful that the only apartment connected to Viktor’s was your own empty one. Viktor was silent, but when you remembered to open your eyes, you found that his had fluttered shut. There was a wrinkle of concentration between his dark brows, but something about their upward tilt gave him a hint of beatific supplication. He looked like he was praying. 

He drew in a breath - a long, shaking inhale - and opened those gorgeous eyes. 

“You are never anything less than incredible.” His fervent, matter-of-fact delivery was sincere enough that you believed him. It wasn’t enough to remove the soreness of the day from your heart, but it certainly didn’t hurt. 

But you were neighbors with benefits, not a couple. This level of emotion seemed taboo, somehow forbidden for two people in a casual relationship. You pushed your response aside, teasing, “Are you talking about me or my pussy?”

“You.”

The only way to hide your response to the affirmation would be to close your eyes, and that was a sacrifice you weren’t willing to make. So instead, you leaned up to give him a kiss, hoping to convey some sense of what he meant to you. You couldn’t be sure what came through, but at least he began moving inside of you. 

Viktor felt exquisite inside of you and it was hard to concentration on anything other than the pressure he put on your g-spot every time he moved into or out of you. But in the quiet spaces in his rhythm, you gathered yourself enough to watch him. Not only was watching Viktor one of your great joys in life, you were also searching for any signs that this position was hurting or straining him.

True to his claims, it didn’t seem to be. Viktor’s pace was eager, nothing but intense focus on his face. The noises he made didn’t sound pained, either, and you let yourself relax into enjoying the entire experience. 

Your finger traced along the lean muscle of Viktor’s chest, danced across his ticklish ribs, and met briefly behind his back. The feeling of his muscles tightening and releasing as he drove into you and pulled back out was intoxicating. It also made you aware of the way your hips were surging up to meet his thrusts, turning every stroke into a earth-shattering collision. 

When your timing matched up with Viktor’s, it felt like he was pushing his way up into your stomach. The depth of it was a little strange, but it didn’t hurt. Far from it, actually. You jerked so hard that Viktor paused. 

“Am I hurting you?” 

“No,” you told him, adding, “If you stop, I’m going to hurt you.”

He laughed, and the desperate need pulled away long enough for you to see the humor in it. “It feels wonderful, Viktor. Please keep going.” 

Viktor took you at your word and started thrusting into you even harder than before, but much faster. The pleasure came roaring back with a vengeance. 

In moments, you were clutching at Viktor’s shoulders both to keep yourself from being pushed up the bed and in an effort to keep yourself grounded. This was overwhelming, but in a way that left you ready for more even while you were still experiencing it. This was something addictive, you realized, but you couldn’t even begin to worry about that. 

Especially when your body started to tighten around Viktor’s.

“Close.” 

Your panted warning made Viktor nod. He dropped his pelvis a fraction of an inch, making his occasional brushes against your clit far more often and intense. Seemingly instantly, that contact pushed you unceremoniously over the edge. 

Viktor managed to keep his pace even with your body locking down around him. You shook and panted and gasped - and made some sounds that were far more dramatic - as he worked his way closer to his own orgasm. 

When you drifted back down to earth, you were content to watch Viktor work above you. He was close, you could see it in the way his arms trembled, the drop of sweat from his temple tracing down over jutting cheekbones.

“Close,” he hissed, pushing into you so hard that it sent a shockwave through your body. 

You smiled at that. You had asked him once why he warned you when you had already come. He had simply shrugged and told you, “It seems the polite thing to do.” It was so perfectly Viktor that you had laughed then. It still made you smile. 

Viktor plunged deep inside of you, giving a low and hastily-stifled groan as he came. He was particularly beautiful in the throes of pleasure, you noted. His pale skin was slightly flushed with exertion, lips swollen and red from kissing you. When his head tipped back, you could admire the marks you had scattered across his neck. His eyes were closed, but you could picture the stunning shade of amber they would be when they glowed with pleasure.

When he was finished, Viktor’s arms were shaking badly enough that you were worried, but he managed to lower himself beside you rather than collapsing. You wouldn’t have minded that so much, but Viktor’s limbs were so long and angular that collisions tended to leave you with large, unfun bruises the next day. 

“Are you okay?” Viktor asked. 

You pulled your attention back to the moment. “Yes, of course. Why?” 

“You are usually talking by now,” he told you. His eyes were still closed, but a tiny smile played around the fullness of his lips. 

With a hum, you said, “Good point. Maybe we should talk about all of this.”

Viktor’s eyes opened at that. He looked wary. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean…” You sat up slightly, wincing at the way his cum started trickling out of you. But you pressed your legs together, ignoring the sensation in favor of counting on your fingers. “The candles, the bed, the mysterious noise with no apparent cause…”

“That is what would make a noise mysterious,” Viktor agreed, an edge of sarcasm in his accented voice. 

“Shush. Anyway, I’m working on a theory…” You paused to recheck your work, but arrived at exactly the same conclusion you had come to the first time. “Were you trying to lure me up here for some reason?” 

“‘Lure’ is an ugly word.” 

“That’s not a real answer,” you informed him. “Were you planning something? Something I derailed by bursting into tears before you could get to it?” 

“It wasn’t important,” he told you. “Not by comparison.” 

His closer hand was resting against the mattress, between his face and yours. You laced your fingers with his, and he returned your smile. How could you be sad when there was magic like this in the world?

“Will you tell me what it was?” you requested softly. “Please?”

Viktor’s smile turned a little sickly and he swallowed, but nodded. “I wanted to- Well, I still want to… Ask- If you might want something more serious.”

“With you?” you checked. 

Now looking distinctly queasy, Viktor nodded again. “With me.” 

You beamed, feeling inexplicably close to tears once more. “I would like that a lot, Viktor.”

“You-?” Viktor’s eyes were wide, even as he feigned a casual attitude. “You would. Very well. Then I believe we should enter into a romantic relationship together.” 

“I believe the same,” you said, giving him your best grave expression. It wasn’t particularly solemn, not with the way you had been grinning a moment before, but it was enough to make Viktor roll his eyes as he tried not to smile. “When should we begin?”

“In my opinion,” Viktor said carefully, “we already have.” 

“Fair point,” you conceded, squeezing his hand as you leaned in for another kiss.

---

Author's Note - As I've said on a few different fics I've posted this year, this is my last Fanfic February! The tolls of writing over 100,000 words to post all in one month is pretty high, especially when I have so many other ongoing projects.

I have some additional ideas for this story and I might continue it when I've caught up on the other works I've been ignoring. For now, I think this is a good pause point.

Thank you for reading!

[ragana62]

Sending 🔥🔥🔥

"Bad" fan content (art, fics, videos, rambles, etc.) is actually more important to fandom and a better indication of the health of a fandom than the professional grade internet darling stuff.

More below the break, because I got longwinded and don't want to wall of text people who don't want to read my takes.

First of all, purity culture is bullshit. Liking and engaging with only the most popular/top tier in terms of 'quality' (used here in the strictest technical sense, i.e. perfect adherence to grammatical rules and formatting guides for fics, a high degree of technical skill in drawing/painting/whatever your artistic medium, a borderline PhD dissertation level of lit analysis going into each and every headcanon) is the same as deciding you can't rewatch your favorite movie/reread your favorite book from middle school because you're an adult now and can only like mature things, is the same as deciding that you can't like certain ships because they aren't canon compliant. And it all comes down to this need we've all developed to curate our lives perfectly to present ourselves as the best and most perfect people to ever exist on the internet. Which is also bullshit.

Fandom is and always was a deeply nerdy, cringe space at its very best. It was where you could subtly ask people at a con if they watch Star Trek for 'the Premise' and once confirmed they were safe launch into your hottest Spirk takes, or where you can scroll past someone's New York Times Bestseller quality 400,000 word magnum opus on the complex inner life of a character with no spoken lines of dialogue in canon in the same mouse drag as a 400 word crack fic about the main character in a fandom centered on a horrific dystopia going to the beach. So not only does the closet cosplayer who looks more like your local emo 7-11 clerk than the character they're tagged as belong here just as much as the professional costumer who hand wove the cloth for their undershirt out of flax they grew themselves in their back garden, but I think they're actually more important to a healthy fandom. First, a brief defense of cringe:

We all suck at some point. Maybe you (general) didn't start posting anything until you could do it perfectly, but that doesn't mean you emerged from the womb flawlessly gifted at writing complex worldbuilding and painting masterpieces. That just means you didn't show anyone until you could, and that's kind of sad. Writing/making art/doing textual analysis/making gifs or song edits/costuming/any of it, all of it takes practice to be any good at it, and while none of it is 100% guaranteed to be a good time had by all involved, if you weren't having some fun along the way why bother? You shouldn't have to feel like you need to wait to be perfect to be excited and show people what you're doing just because curation culture says it's only worthy if it's perfect.

We are all inherently cringe. You didn't stop being cringe when you pulled out the cheap neon clip in hair extensions from Claire's and start saying that your favorite cartoon was for babies, you just became a different sort of cringe. That's fine, it's a right of passage, we all go through that phase, but part of growing as a person is learning that it's okay to like what you like, to embrace all the parts of you and your passions, whether it's the big mature official adult interests that people can understand and are socially accepted like prestige TV and whatever self-help book is telling you all the ways you should feel miserable today or the silly youtube videos that made you laugh in middle school or the cheesiest pop songs imaginable. It isn't morally superior to only acknowledge your love for the former, or an essential part of growing up.

Fandom has also always been middle aged suburban moms rambling about the two characters they want to shove into a closet and make kiss, just as much as it has always been the middle schoolers doing the exact same thing, just as much as it has always been people spending hours researching every detail of the latest episode to perfectly justify why Character X is actually a closet fan of doritos. There is nothing wrong with wanting to do a massive formal analysis on the magic systems present in the world of whatever and how they have to work in relation to real world physics, or explore serious themes in a work of fiction, or whatever else either. One set of those things isn't any inherently better than the other, and we all do both when we are being honest with ourselves, even if we don't share one (and more often than not it's the former). Learning fictional languages is an inherently dorky thing to do, no matter how many awards the show or book it's from wins. Dressing up as your favorite imaginary friend is an inherently dorky thing to do, no matter how perfect the costume is. Writing about a made up person going on adventures is an inherently dorky thing to do, whether it's grimdark serious or the crackiest AU imaginable. Spending hours getting the shading just right on the book not the show version of your favorite character is inherently dorky, even if you're the Michaelangelo of old man Yaoi (as though Michaelangelo himself wouldn't rise from the grave to fight you on that). Embrace it.

Anyway, why does this matter? Because purity culture and curation culture are actually what's killing fandom. Like I ramble about the death of community in fandom, the death of comment culture, the loss of old fandom rules/etiquette, etc., fandoms dying too quickly, all the time, but those are symptoms. The bigger problem is, we've all convinced ourselves that we have to be perfect on the internet.

A breakdown:

Fandoms die too quickly. - Because we don't nurture them. Sure, dwindling attention spans do contribute, but we don't give fandoms (or shows, but that's a different rant) time to get good anymore. If we are all refusing point blank to interact with any fanworks that aren't complete works, at the highest quality, that are already popular/have certain ratios of hits to kudos to comments, or aren't at a certain word count, then we're killing it before it starts. Like it or not, by the highest standards we hold this stuff to, 90% of just about everything is a bit shit. It's going to be bad grammar and unfinished wips and 'cringe' AUs and self-insert whathaveyou. That's fandom baby. And if that 90% has no interaction, you can bet those wips will never be finished and those fics with good ideas and bad formatting will never bother to edit it or find a beta and you'll never know that the author writing that 'cringe' was sitting on a draft of your perfect fic that scratches every itch your brain has ever had for your OTP. Because we can sit here all we like and say we write/draw/create for ourselves, but we all know we publish it because we want to exist in interaction with others.

Nobody comments/interacts anymore. - Yeah, because we're all a little bit afraid of someone seeing our AO3 username popping up in the comments/kudos and being found out for enjoying that deeply self-indulgent smut fic or the random 'murder hobo left the child death arena to get froyo' fluff stick figure comic or whatever else we're so afraid of somehow being called out for liking. We've all had it drilled into us that every moment of our existence on the internet has to be curated perfectly to match our official image, so if we want to be serious and mature and proper we can't be seen enjoying the same 'cringe' as everyone else. But if we all feel it, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy where nobody interacts with any of it, and it all just goes away because as much as we liked it, the creators never found out and stopped sharing with the class.

Fandom etiquette is dead. - Purity culture and curation culture strike again. In the olden times, we had a little policy called 'Don't Yuck My Yum' (it does have other names, this is just the one I use, though 'Don't Like, Don't Read' is the more fic specific one). That isn't to say there was never negativity and flame wars and the like, because oh boy was there, but the point stands. Demanding updates like clockwork because you want more? Anon hate because an author writes a ship you don't like/engages with clearly tagged subject matter that isn't for you/doesn't write a character how you see them? They come from the same place. We need everything we interact with to match our perfectly curated internet persona, and part of that is being seen defending that perfectly curated internet persona's rules. So none of your mutuals can possibly disagree on your headcanons, and nobody can ship anyone else with the members of your officially stated OTP, and nobody can ever find out that you liked that one Dead Dove fic when all your bookmarks are the fluffiest of fluff, and inversely, your favorite author must be a bad person if they wrote a dark fic, or isn't doing fandom right if they don't have a firm update schedule or only publish once the work is fully complete, etc. etc. That's not how any of that actually works in the real world. Why would it be how it works in fandom?

Death of community in fandom. - No shit. Given everything above, why would you bother building that community? Why would you become a regular commenter on a wip you like if it's probably just going to be abandoned anyway and your inbox will be flooded with people telling you that one time at 5:02 PM Pacific Standard Time on August 27th, a fan artist who did the cover for the fic you just commented on once said that they don't like relish on hot dogs and are therefore evil incarnate? Why would you risk putting yourself out there with your craziest takes that have no support but are pure vibes if you're just going to get 'well actually'-ed out of your entire online presence because you had the audacity to say 'fuck it, this is just for fun, I don't care if it's a bit out of character or unsupported by canon'? Why would you bother publishing your art/videos/gifs/fics/whatever else until they were so perfect they couldn't possibly be critiqued at all? The answer is, you wouldn't. So, nobody talks to anybody, unless you've known them for years already before everything got so closed off and perfectionistic, nobody builds those communities, fandom disappears off to little insular discord servers where the creators never find out anyone cares and only people with your exact same takes are let in, and it all slowly goes away because eventually people stop investing their time in putting themselves out there to receive none of the positive interaction and all of the negative.

In short: perfect is the enemy of good, and the best thing your creativity can be is 'in existence'. Make the 'bad' thing and share it, not because anyone else will necessarily love it right away but because it deserves to exist. Maybe one day it gets better. Maybe it never does. Either way, it exists. Inversely, show love to the 'bad' things, because fuck it we all enjoy these things anyway in our own ways so why be ashamed of it? Watch your 'childish' cartoon and rant about it on main, publish the crack AU 'Evil Dictator Spends 20 Minutes Wondering How You Milk an Almond on Their First Grocery Store Trip in 25 Years', draw the stick figure comic and the jerky animation for your fan music video set to the schlockiest pop song imaginable. The only reason we aren't all doing it, is because we're all stuck in these little shame bubbles that can only be popped if we start poking at them. And that's how you save fandom.

Because healthy fandoms, they have lots of 'cringe'. They have lots of 'bad' art and fics and gifs and videos, because they've been around long enough for people to start off bad and get better in a technical sense, or because they haven't lost that community spirit and willingness to admit they're inherently dorky that makes fandom great and have no shame in admitting they read the reader insert smut or the crack drabbles or the badly formatted and unedited fic that might not consistently be able to spell 'orange' correctly but damn it if the story isn't good. Sometimes both. Usually both. If we want to actually fix the issues we all rant about all the time in fandom, we need to start by embracing the fact that we are all doing fundamentally dorky, cringey, things by engaging with fandom at all and there is no inherent moral or personal superiority to be had in acting otherwise.

If we're all irredeemable dorks with questionable taste, then who gives a shit that you saw the author of that fandom darling masterpiece of high-grade wordsmithery's name pop up in the kudos or comment section of that smutfic or darkfic or crackfic or whatever else we're ashamed to admit we read this week? You're both there, you're both reading it, if anything, that's an endorsement that you'll probably enjoy what they're doing since you're both enjoying the same other stuff. If none of us are perfect, maybe we can finally get back to just letting ourselves have fun.

Send me 🔥

[jezabelle9299]

Dissertation Day S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture- Spencer completed his engineering dissertation, and you got him a vintage car to work on over the summer.

Cws- Kissing

A/N- First of 32 fics for October! I'm very excited. Also I've never gotten my doctorate, so there might be some inaccuracies with that, but we'll just pretend for now. Also the picture is Spencer's car in the show, but this was the only one I could find with him in it? Any way, it's a Volvo Amazon P130, manufactured from 1956 to 1970.

You were so excited, today was the day Spencer was up for his 3rd doctorate. He had to go up in front of a board to present his dissertation, which when he was accepted, he’d receive his final doctorate (for now) in engineering. You got up early this morning to cook him his favorite breakfast, help him rehearse his speech (again), and helped him choose an outfit that made him look as studious as he was adorable. 

He was a nervous wreck, even though he’d done this twice before, it never got easier. You weren’t worried one bit though. Your boyfriend was a genius, and you knew it. The only thing keeping you filled with nervous energy was your gift for him, such an accomplishment needed to be celebrated in a big way, and you were having trouble finding something to fit the theme. 

That was, until a trip to the other side of town last week had you driving past an old Volvo with a for-sale sign in the window. What could be a more perfect gift for an engineering major? The car wasn’t in too rough of shape, you bought it as-is, then took it to a mechanic to get a breakdown of what was needed to fix it, and ordered the parts. You emptied your bank account, but Spencer was worth it. 

You had talked before about needing a car, you could get away with buses and trains right now, but in the fall he was moving to Virginia. He was contacted by an agent after he completed his chemistry PHD, and it was time for him to start. After a long conversation about opportunities for both of you, here and on the east coast, you decided you’d go with him. There were career opportunities there for you as well, and Spencer was the love of your life, you’d never forgive yourself if you walked away. 

It was a few hours after he left when he was finally walking back up the stairs to your small off-campus apartment. The grants and stipends he got from his programs allowed him to not work during school, and you’d completed your bachelors program the first semester of this year, so you were working to pay your share of the rent, no matter how many times Spencer said that he could cover the space for both of you. You wanted him to put his money towards his future, it was bright, and college wasn’t cheap. 

“Hey babe! How'd it go? Did they love your dissertation?” 

“They approved it! I'm officially a doctor in the field of engineering!” He picked you up to spin you around your living room for a second, using all the strength in his body for that short time. You didn’t love him for his muscles, but once in a blue moon he’d do a show of strength like that, and it just made you melt. 

“Oh my god that’s amazing! So Doctor Reid, what would you like to do first, celebration dessert, or your present?”

“You got me a present? Y/N that’s so sweet, you really didn’t need to, I don’t expect you to get me anything when this is like my 5th graduation, and I don’t want you to have to spend your money on me.”

“Well it’s too late now, so do you want dessert or your gift first?” He had a faint blush going from his ears to well past the collar of his button up. 

“Let’s do dessert first, I want to hear about your day.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that, because that is my first surprise of the evening.”  You pulled a cake-shaped dessert out of the fridge, but it was made entirely from Jell-o. You weren’t sure what it was with Spencer and Jell-o, but you knew it was his favorite, so you made the dessert special as soon as he left this morning. 

“Jell-o? Did you make that for me?” 

“Of course, anything for my favorite genius.” You gave him a kiss on the forehead when he sat down, and ate with him while he talked about how his presentation went. When he was done, you cleared the plates and got yourself ready to present his final surprise. 

“Alright Spence, time for your surprise!” You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door.

“It’s not here?” 

“Nope! Just follow me.”

“May I ask where we’re going?”

“No you may not.” You quietly led him all the way down to the parking lot.

“Look straight up so you don’t see.” He walked alongside you, reluctantly following your wishes instead of letting his curiosity get the best of him. You led him around the corner, stopping only to pull the tarp off the car.

“Ok, no peeking but stick your hand out.”

“I’m getting more nervous about this plan by the second.”

“Just do it, alright?” You pulled his hand out for him, and planted a small peck on his neck while he looked up. 

“Ok, 1,2,3…Look!” On the count of three you dropped the keys in his hand. 

“Oh my god, honey you got us a car?”

“Yeah, I figured we’d need one for the trip to Virginia, and what better person to fix it than my newly named doctor in engineering boyfriend. I got all the parts, and I read a few books so I was thinking we could put it together over the summer.”

“You are amazing” He pulled you into a hug, and even though the keys ever so slightly dug into your shoulder blade, you were perfectly comfortable in his arms. When he ever so slightly pulled away to press small kisses to your face, you pulled his hands from your back to hold them. You just wanted confirmation that he liked his gift. You were a little worried you’d overdone it when he got so excited over the jell–o. 

“You like it?”

“I love it. And I love you, and I’m so excited for this.” 

“I love you too. There are a few books in the trunk that’ll help us get started”

“Can we start now?” He got that puppy dog look on his face, that you absolutely couldn’t say no to. 

“Absolutely.”

[ckret2]

“Opening it up was like a cryptography puzzle mixed with a dissertation research project, and each sentence was a fractal flower of information, a bud that bloomed into a dozen more buds that each bloomed into a dozen more. It was amazing. Enthralling. This was the kind of research Ford was made for. He was the most relaxed he'd been in weeks.”

One of my favorite excerpts from this chapter. Perhaps I’m reading too into it, but to me, this is a billford crumb. Why are you as a man describing another man(demon shape thing)’s writings like this. Enthralling. The most relaxed he’s been in weeks. It’s so over.

I think calling it a "billford crumb" is actually very apt—because this, in itself, can lead nowhere. Bill thinks it could lead somewhere (and his idea of "somewhere" is "befriending Ford just enough to help Bill survive/escape"), which is why he handed it over; but he's wrong. Ford loves the information, the challenge of it, just as Bill knew he would, but—

This was who Bill could be—gift-giver, wish-granter, teacher, guide, friend—and he chose not to be. Why?! When this was so easy for him—why did he have to be what he was instead?

This charitable act only made the true Bill look even worse by contrast.

—it truly did make Ford like Bill himself even less.

But, but... the juice is there. Bill can offer so many things Ford wants—knowledge knowledge knowledge, mysterious mysteries, boundless opportunities for research and exploration (and that's not even touching on the things Ford used to want in his youth—respect, fame, a breakthrough that will make his memory immortal). And, perhaps more importantly, he knows Ford well enough to know without asking that this is what he wants. And he was right. How many other people fully understand what Ford needs—and could any of them simply hand it to him the way Bill can?

But gifts won't make Ford soften toward Bill. Information is cheap to Bill, and now Ford can recognize just how shallow his "Muse's" friendship was beneath these pearls. He remembers exactly where Bill's gifts lead. Until Bill reckons for that treachery—AND until there's not a shadow of a doubt in Ford's mind that when Bill says "friend" he doesn't mean "useful tool"—Ford wouldn't be able to see him as anything but an enemy even if he wanted to.

... and yet it's still a lil gay innit.

[deontoillogical]

"Don't judge a book by its cover" is such a nothing phrase. We all know it means "the cover doesn't necessarily represent the contents," but so often it does. This is not to say that one should outright toss aside a book--or a person--simply because the cover does not fit our ideal book/people. But in a sea of content, a cover helps draw the eye to books that appeal to you.

I like books about necromancy, so looking at the cover of Gideon the Ninth, with its bones all over, I might be drawn to that masterpiece of a novel. I am not a fan of genre romance, so when I see the new hallmarks of such works (two people that look like they were hacked out in illustrator in a Location TM together), I will avoid it.

Red Tower, as a publisher, is intent on churning out "beautiful" covers with lazily edited fantasy/romantasy inside them. The moment I see sprayed edges, I check the bottom of the spine to see if it has the RT logo. (It often does). Honestly, RT has adjusted what I find beautiful on books, as sprayed edges (that once seemed so special) no appear cheap and careless to me.

AI on the cover might say that a publisher (or, in some cases, an author) does not care about the creatives they employ (or, in this case, don't employ).

As someone with a passion for graphic design (unironically) and as someone who loves to analyze media in all its forms (including fashion), there is so much that a cover will tell you, that an outfit will tell you. If someone wears a fedora, do you trust them? If a book title is in comic sans (or, god forbid, papyrus), does that not affect your first impression?

The phrase has a good message behind its literal meaning. A girl dressed like a bimbo might be ditzy or they might just enjoy the camp aesthetic. Someone in a fedora might be toxic, or maybe they're just unaware of the implications and enjoy the style. Someone in baggy, unkept clothes might be unfashionable or simply unable to afford better clothes. But that does not mean that what they wore had no meaning, simply that an initial impression might be wrong.

Also, it's important to note that in a racial context, "judging a book by their cover" can mean actual prejudice. However, the problem there is a flawed judgement. Colorblindness is, similarly, a flawed ideal that ignores the cultural ties of ethnicity and minimizes the real issues of racism in our society. The solution to internalized prejudice is not perpetuating the fallacy of "colorblindness," but checking one's own biases once greeted with them. In a society that is so heavily seeped in racism, it is necessary for all members, but especially those in the privileged group, to evaluate their judgements and adjust their actions accordingly. This is absolutely a simplification of the issue, but I do not mean to write a dissertation here.

The point is, the cover always says something. Whether that something is correctly interpreted by the reader is irrelevant to the fact that it will be interpreted. The goal should not be to pretend we live in a world where covers have no meaning, but to be careful that our interpretations match reality and do not harm the people that might be affected by them. Humans are creatures of pattern, for better or worse. For better or worse, we must understand that we do judge a book by its cover before we can unpack what that means for the book, and for ourselves.

[mammomlette]

I want to introduce Satan to so many things to do with books so bad. Someone get this man Goodreads. I adore stalking my friends Goodreads reviews and seeing how some of them just say stuff like “this book made me want to throw up glitter” and short stuff while other friends are writing whole dissertations on the fucking cruel Prince or something. Satan is 100% the latter, he is justifying his rating. Goodreads is his version of leaving a negative/positive help review.

Also, I want him to read the books I like SOOOOSOSO badly. I don’t care that I’m still reading books for kids like pjo and MMU, I want his thoughts and feelings on what I enjoy

Imagine just sitting in comfortable silence, both reading the same book and getting to plot twists at the same time (or, even better, one of you finishes ahead of the other one and you just have to stare at the other until they get to it so you can discuss)

IMAGINE BRINGING WORLD BOOK DAY TO RAD. (Is that even a widely celebrated thing?? Idek help) JUST CARTS UPON CARTS OR BOOKS IN A MAKESHIFT LIBRARY (who cares that rad already has a real one, this is the vibe we need) FOR DIRT CHEAP PRICES AND EVERYONE DRESSED UP AS A BOOK CHARACTER. MATCHING OUTFITS WITH SATAN AS CHARACTERS FROM YOUR FAV BOOK. AAA

In conclusion I want a book friend and Satan is that guy

[lirarubins]

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[lunarriviera]

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okay this is weird but here goes: from "book-eating pond":

•

The annual department party is, as predicted, painful. Lan Zhan hovers in one corner and tries not to make eye contact with any of the faculty, while Wei Ying clearly has a blast and seems to talk to every single person there, promptly getting into an energetic debate with Rachael about post-Marxism; Lan Zhan only overhears the phrase “be on the right side of the class war” which doesn’t completely make sense to him, since they’re talking about undergraduate textbooks.

Fortunately there are no white-gloved waiters (the department seems to have learned its lesson from last year) and, even more fortunately, this year, for some reason, there is wine. Just generic, unclassifiable boxes of pinot grigio and Syrah; but at least it’s neither white Zinfandel nor Merlot, so Lan Zhan helps himself liberally to the Syrah. He’s stealthy about it, manages to balance out his plastic glassfuls with just enough canapés to keep from getting completely shit-faced, just a little bit pleasantly numb. He’s always been a cheap drunk but a smart one, so after Walter has made his usual one-note speech about the successes of the department (which largely seem to be about having taken on even more undergraduate students without increasing the number of tenure lines; the adjunct pool is never mentioned) he hugs Rae goodbye and slips out, making his way across campus in the slanting light of dusk to the library, only a little unsteady on his feet.

Once inside his carrel, he opens the copy of the lit mag that Wei Ying gave him, and puts on the kettle. Wei Ying’s story is called “Coffin Town,” and it’s stark and bleak, a strange little Western set in a post-apocalyptic future, or the distant past maybe, somewhere in rural China. There are three swordsmen, who are clearly in love in some complicated configuration, though it’s never made explicit, and by the end of the story, everyone is dead except one of the men, who leaves to wander the earth alone, righting wrongs, carrying the ashes of his beloved soulmate with him.

The sentencing and diction are very plain, but the concept isn’t, Lan Zhan thinks, as he closes the issue without reading anything else in it. The work doesn’t remind him of McCarthy, which you’d expect; it’s not that ornate or mannered. Maybe Breece D’J Pancake or O’Connor, but without the brutal humor; maybe more Mavis Gallant, or even Alice Munro. It’s dark, but not self-consciously so. There’s an intelligence glimmering in it that Lan Zhan doesn’t often see in American literary short stories, which are usually just inordinately pleased with themselves for existing in the first place. The story is actually moving, he realizes: filled with heart in a way that’s dangerous, that gets called sentimental and amateurish in workshop. But there’s nothing mawkish or saccharine about the prose; it’s lean and tense and stripped-down, and the characters are alive, and the pacing is flawless, and it occurs to Lan Zhan that this would all be much easier if Wei Ying were a bad writer.

Because it’s too late. He already likes him. He likes him, in fact, a lot. He puts his face in his hands. This is an unexpected development, and an entirely unwelcome one. Lan Zhan still isn’t even sure if Wei Ying is straight, but the odds are that he must be. He’s extroverted and funny, and warm, and very, very smart, and now Lan Zhan knows he’s also a good writer; even though he didn’t mention anyone, wasn’t wearing a ring and never once said we, he’s surely already got a partner, since almost everyone does by the time they arrive at a PhD program. Everyone but Lan Zhan, who is quiet and strange and stays in his carrel all night and never finishes writing his dissertation. Who honestly hasn’t even opened the Google document since maybe April.

send me 🌹 and i’ll give you a sentence from one of my wips ♥

[tutorsindia152]

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[pupcarisi]

that dog ask got me thinking: what other animal(s) would represent him? dogs are too obvious, so I think it's a tossup between a barn owl or a donkey.

1. Barn owls. They're associated with churches/temples. Are famous for getting rid of pests in places like barns so people like their company. Real methodical and direct. Barn owls also look real pretty, but then you hear them open their mouths and screech, and it's like..oh!..why do they sound like that? The Staten Island accent of the owl world. Fairly family oriented and tend to mate for life (but Sonny's got two hands or wings if you know what I mean. Bi king. I can imagine him preening Barba and Rollins constantly).

Though Carisi is not shy like most owls tend to be, owls are sensitive creatures and can be very distressed if circumstances are not in their favor. They'll freeze and go into paralysis, almost panic attack like in nature. And look at face. Barn Owl face. My go-to creature for him.

2. Donkey. Another biblical animal, but Jesus literally rode on it to one of the towns, so it's very overt symbolism. Hardworkers. They're also used as live stock guardians and aggressive towards unfamiliar animals, canines especially. They can give off the wrong first impression and are generally the butt of jokes. They're also a cheap form of labor, and Carisi was brought in as a replacement for a more capable detective. Can be really stubborn, but they love a good time.

Thank you for reading my dissertation. I played Pokemon Mystery Dungeon as a kid, and those quizzes changed me. What other animals do you think fit this guy? Love to hear it.

omg anon you ATEEE with this one i love it!!!! 🍽️🙂‍↕️ i definitely see what you mean regarding the barn owl and donkey. 10/10. especially the preening behaviour? HELP i can't stop picturing the three of them as barn owls now. i'm actually so enamoured. he does look like a barn owl and the staten island accent of owls?? 😭😭 i did react like that when i first heard him speak like dude what is this man going on about

i had to think hard for this but i'd say he reminds me of mice and goats. (ACTUALLY as i continue typing on, i realised that the reasonings lowkey overlaps with your comparison of his traits as a barn owl and donkey) also in general to me, he gives more of a domestic/prey animal kinda guy

mice — unassuming but they are smart and resourceful. also very social creatures and family-orientated! at the same time, they're timid. yes sonny is a reasonably self-assured man but just move a bit past his walls, there's that anxiety and still that little guy in him. thinking about his lore drop about how he got his face smashed against a window by a bully and how he didn't tell anyone about it :( plus he has such a soft heart so i feel that mice fits him.

goat — biblical animal, also stubborn like a donkey. but it's also a good trait in him! he's a very persistent guy, like imo if they needed a guy to climb a mountain, he'd somehow try his best to find a way. (mountain goats ability to climb is so fuckin impressive damn wth 😭) they also look very unassuming but there's brain in there. people sometimes disregard stubborn animals but i think it can be a form of manifestation of intelligence

also honestly goats can symbolise other good things but two of the most striking things are how they're sacrificial animals and can be seen as an embodiment of sin. he's the kind of person who looks into the bigger picture, for a higher purpose/greater good. he also has a ton of religious guilt. religion is where he finds peace in but it causes him distress too, especially when the law and his idea of morality mixes. i'm no expert in religious imagery so i can't explain it but it just fits to me HAHA

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