#anything is worth a shot at this point
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huntunderironskies · 1 year ago
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A Call to Action
Hi all.
I wish I had better news to give. I thought long and hard about whether or not I should share this because I will be functionally doxxing myself when I do. But I've had several days to sleep on it and think about what to do. I've come to the conclusion that this is more important than me. This will be a long post but I urge you to read all of it. I'm afraid I have to be thorough here given the situation.
I think everyone who has been following me for more than a week knows how much I love religious studies as a field. It is my single greatest passion in life.
Unfortunately my school, UNC Greensboro, is trying to eliminate our department under claims of it being "not financially justifiable," among others (including anthropology and all Korean language classes.) These claims are highly spurious. Debunking this in full will take some time but I'll try to cover as much ground as I can in the relatively short space I am given and provide some sources. If anyone needs further elaboration, I'll report to the best of my abilities.
This is all to lead into the fact that I would like to provide some opportunities for people to help us out over here, which I will cover at the end. The shortest possible version is: please signal boost this. I do urge you to read it in full, though.
With the first introduction out of the way...
A Second But Very Brief Introduction to Religious Studies and a Justification of Its Presence in Academia (Given the Natural Bent of this Site is Sometimes Towards Antitheism)
Feel free to skip this if you have any familiarity with religious studies as a discipline, I'm putting it here because I find that it's often confounded with theology and every time I talk about it someone asks me if I'm going to be a priest (no.)
To be clear, religious studies is not theology. It does not purport the existence of any higher spiritual powers or presences. It is strictly the study of religion and spirituality as a force in human culture. This falls under both negative and positive effects, and covers everything from historical impact to individual psychology to macrosociological effects of religion to the simple understanding and study of mythology and folklore.
While internalized cultural norms are of course an issue that must be overcome by any scholar, for a religious studies scholar the Catholic Worker, the Sikh ragi, and the long-dead Sumerian ašipu should all have their beliefs and inner lives treated with the exact same sort of gravity and understanding, no matter how far their own beliefs might be from our own. It is, in my subjective opinion, the most humanizing of all the humanities because we are forced to operate on a deeply personal, vulnerable level.
I wish I didn't have to explain why these sorts of skills are important, especially given the current climate of intolerance that has been growing across the world and the growth of anti-intellectualism. I recognize that I might have to but I don't want to linger on that given everything else I have to cover in this post. Go ahead and ask as I do love talking about my field but I might take some time to answer.
A Brief Summary of Events Beforehand
My school has hired a firm known as rpk Group (lack of capitalization true to actual title) to restructure school funding financially with a focus on eliminating programs deemed to not earn enough for the school. Here is a brief explanation from the source itself. I apologize if the school website's CSS is still broken and it's difficult to read due to the social media icons being about thirty times the size they should be. Apparently they couldn't find the funding to pay a web designer instead of an expensive financing firm.
Those of you who have kept up with news in American academia may recognize this as the same group that forced cuts at West Virginia University. Please keep that in mind as we go forward.
Here are the high points:
Religious studies attained a passing grade under the rubric set out by the school. There have been active attempts to hide the scoring system from anyone but faculty. The spreadsheet in which the data was published has been password protected (source, which also contains several other refutations to the chancellor's talking points.)
For those who wish to keep score, anthropology did as well and our anthropology program is known for being quite good. This is without going into the other benefits the anthropology program provides the school with, which include such things as a community garden.
There were lower scoring programs that were kept. In other words, the decision-making process has been entirely inscrutable.
This is supported by the fact that the administration has been giving out incorrect numbers regarding program attendance to both news outlets and students, with some programs proposed to be cut having their student enrollment off by several factors.
Religious studies had over five times as many students as was originally reported. The Chinese language minor was reported to have zero students when there were thirty-six. To operate with this level of error from alleged professionals beggars belief and undermines any faith I would've had in this process.
The administration has claimed that they used the correct numbers in their rubrics. As they will not publish further data to myself nor the public, I have no evidence this is actually true.
They were going to cut Korean language as a minor. We don't have a Korean language minor. We do have a track of Korean language and I am given to understand as of this semester, culture courses. Which are operated solely by one professor and are consistently full or close to capacity due to popularity. There is no evidence they are losing the school money and I have several testimonials that the Korean culture-related programs have drawn students to UNCG as it is a unique niche the school gives not just over other UNC schools but over other colleges and universities.
Faculty and students were given information about what programs would be cut at precisely the same time, through an email sent schoolwide. Many students and faculty were in class at the time this was sent and had to proceed as if they weren't about to have their programs eliminated.
The administration alleges that current students will be able to finish their degrees. I have little faith this is the case for reasons that will take a while to get into but, to summarize as briefly as possible, completion of a degree here requires certain high-level classes that may be difficult to obtain with faculty cuts.
The chancellor alleges that Jewish Studies and Islamic Studies will not be affected by the elimination of religious studies, despite the fact that they are hosted under the department and Islamic Studies uses the same funding. As such, I believe that the highly technical and academic category used to refer to this sort of thing is "a blatant lie."
The administration has tried to quietly edit out any errors in original reporting. I am pleased to report that, as many of us intensely online people know, the Wayback Machine exists. Here is the original statistically incorrect press release that was given, which they have tried to bury.
While they have held forums, these have largely been ceremonial gestures rather than serious attempts at communication. At the one I went to, all non-administration speakers were given only two minutes to speak while the chancellor and dean were given as much time as possible to respond. Their responses to concerns were often dismissive and rarely addressed the necessary issues. I believe any person present will back me up on this, though I am not currently in possession of a voice recording.
I must operate within the evidence I am given. The best-faith interpretation of their actions is that the metrics they were using to determine what cuts should be made are incorrect and must be re-done before going through with any sort of program cuts, and that the administration's collaboration process with the group they employed is poor to nonexistent given the scattershot information provided. There is very, very clearly a communications breakdown somewhere along the line that raises this entire procedure into question.
I think it goes without saying it's all downhill from there. The level of arbitrariness with regards to cuts, lack of professionalism, and total lack of transparency would lead a reasonable person to believe there are heavy political motivations involved here and not simple brute facts. You are welcome to draw your own conclusions anywhere along this spectrum, of course. I encourage you to be skeptical.
Lastly, if I can't convince you that it's worth stopping this process to save religious studies, think about the anthropology department. Think about the languages that are getting cut. Think about physics or mathematics. A large-scale public university without a physics program is quite frankly unreal and the fact it's primarily humanities being targeted runs parallel with some sinister trends within American education. This process should, at the very least, be halted for time being.
What You (the Reader) Can Do
Firstly, be aware that we have until February 1st before decisions are finalized. I apologize for the short time limit. Myself and other members of the community were taken completely by surprise as well, and once again as I mentioned above it has caused some level of cynicism around the motivations of the administration.
With that out of the way...make noise about this. The school administration is making all efforts to keep this quiet. I can say the good news is that according to other people on the ground, they are beginning to lose control of their narrative that they are making difficult financial decisions to keep the school financially solvent.
Believe it or not, the farther removed you are, the better. If this hits a national scale then the school may be finally forced to acknowledge they are rapidly causing the otherwise prestigious UNC system, typically considered to be one of the best public university systems in the US, to be a national laughingstock and that they will lose money as their reputation declines in a way that they would not have if they'd simply carried out this process in a more reasonable way.
You can sign our petitions here and here. Easy enough, takes about three minutes, self-explanatory.
Finally, reach out to an academic or any passionate learner in a specialized field today. A lot of us feel understandably threatened and demoralized. Again, this is not just about me or even about my school. This is about trends within the American education system. Explaining the hows and whys in full detail is not within the scope of this post, but I think a reasonable person can conclude after looking at the current evidence that there is a dismantling of American schools in favor of a corporatized existence. For those of us who love knowledge and learning, this is incredibly sinister. Knowledge should not have a price tag put on it.
A Final Word
I and several other people have Chancellor Gilliam on record saying that he has dedicated his life to working at the collegiate level and towards students. While he and the administration have tried to ensure that their statements outside of highly controlled environments are not easily accessible, I should be able to provide a clip if needed given that this statement was livestreamed and North Carolina is a one-party-consent state in regards to recordings.
They have consistently characterized this process as having to make hard decisions to keep the university afloat. The chancellor is currently the highest-paid employee within UNCG itself and the fourth highest-paid member of administration within the UNC system as a whole (source.) Please be aware this does not include other benefits, which in 2022 put his salary above $500,000 (source.) As others have, I must ask why these "difficult decisions" within the school have not included a salary cut for himself if he is so dedicated to improving the lives of students.
Thank you for your time and consideration. If you've gotten this far, you've already listened more than anyone outside of the academic departments have and that means a lot to me in and of itself.
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skunkes · 6 months ago
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longlegs fucking sucked 😭
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rawliverandgoronspice · 4 months ago
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No but we need to keep talking about Gaza online, on every platform possible, actively and relentlessly, or they will actually get away with criminalizing any mention of the genocide altogether and that would put the palestinian people, palestinian immigrants/refugees and the people who are still actively advocating for their rights to immense risk.
The milder the general public's outrage gets, the more pressing the danger.
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I was rewatching The Stone Forest and I really like to think that Hilda had to pass by the Bell Keeper’s outpost on her way out of the city limits. I like to think that idiot looked at what was happening, shrugged, and said ‘eh, she’s the scariest thing out there’
#“‘the scariest thing out there’?”the girl sends him a look that isn't quite a glare for once; it still conveys her opinion just as clearly#Edmund shrugs. Hilda is still within sight of his binoculars. he watches her run and can’t be sure whether she’s running *towards* or *from#*.He doesn’t think she knows either.#'I mean. it’s not like trolls can harm her at this time of the day.#Don’t tell me you believe in fairies kid.'#And there it is at last: the glare. Meiri looks up from her art project - her new therapist had reccomended it as a way to express herself#and since he'd been helping so much so far she'd decided to grudgingly give it a shot -#“*No*” she states pointedly; to anyone who knew her it was an affirmation. And Edmund knew her better than she cared for#'What I believe in is wolves and recluse spiders and ticks and nettle. And I believe that someone with the spine#to sabotage the Patrol wouldn't have the self control to not lick a pretty mushroom'#“Hey!” Edmund protested putting down his binoculars. “I sabotaged the Patrol! For *you* I might add!”#Meiri's smile turned mean; it was a regular expression for her yet it never conveyed any malice. Just the thrill of a game that never tired#her. “And would you?” she lifted one thick eyebrow; signaling to her dad that it was his move now#The dad in question was unfortunately thinking back to a time in his young teenage years when he figured he could eat anything animals bit#and gave himself a poisoning that had him taken to the ER. But she didn't need to know that. *ever* in fact.#“Obviously I would. Like I'd let a mushroom ruin my perfect sandwich diet”#Meiri groaned loudly. Some games were worth playing. But some wars she'd already accepted she'd never win#“Anyway” he turned back to staring at the outside of the wall as if it was of any interest to him (it wasn't)#“kid'll be fine is my point. And even if she isn't ya know what's the best think about this situation?”#They looked at each other with matching smirks. “none of our flipping business” he said at the same time as she echoed#“None of our fucking business”#He gasped immediatelly. “*Meiri!*”#The chastening was useless. She just shrugged innocently.#He'd really have to limit her library visits#the bell keeper hilda#meirdom#hilda the series#hilda netflix
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megacarapa · 1 month ago
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one thing ive learned as i got older☝️ is that so many problems can be solved by clearing the cache
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sskk-manifesto · 8 months ago
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:)
#A nice episode :) I have a lot of headache tho and forgot everything I wanted to say#The ss/kk is nice :) It's nice every time Akutagawa spontaneously saves Atsushi seemingly with no reason to#The animation was very nice! It's evident a lot of money and effort went into this season and these last episodes in particular#And I like the art style a lot better than the one in the other seasons. Even season 4 where the animation is comparatively as good#What more. The Kyouka screentime is nice. The whole Guild aftermath celebrations section is very nice and heartwarming to watch#I still take a lot of issues with the entire way Kyouka's entrance exam was conceived but I think they're fairly self-explanatory.#Also fundamentally coherent with b/sd's general worldviews so#But even then there's a line that bothers me to an unexplainable amount from the first time I watched it to now.#The “it hurts” when she's hugging Atsushi. And I've reflected over that line so long from the moment I first heard it...#I think. Its meaning is to symbolize how being in the light sometimes will still result to be too overwhelming for Kyouka–#to the point at times it will still end up hurting her. But that doesn't make it any less worth it#So to say‚ there's no such thing as perfect happy endings. But she is going to be okay nonetheless#BUT IT STILL BUGS ME. I feel like it's part of a school of thought for whom we should just accept the fact that there's evil in the world–#that we can't eradicate. And nothing can be done about it. Which I don't think is a functional or useful way of thinking?#ALSO I know it's. Most definitely‚ 99% not how the scene is supposed to be interpreted#BUT ATSUSHI IS THE ONE HUGGING AND THUS HURTING HER and you know how there is this very slight narrative that seemingly–#frames Kyouka and Atsushi as romantic partners and like... Idk.#In that context the line almost feels expression of a narrative of wives having to bear pain that is natural and unavoidable.#I know this definitely wasn't the intended meaning it's just a bad impression for some reason I can't be able to shrug off even after years#But don't listen to me#I don't think there's anything else to add. Overall a very good episode.#Take a shot every time someone says “all according to Dazai's plan”#random rambles
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javic-piotr-thane · 3 months ago
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me trying to motivate myself to finally fucking start writing (not just drafting, writing) my magnum opus, Redshirts: i want to start posting my aesthetics for the fic but i can't post those and then the fic a year later, so i need to hurry up the writing so i can start posting the aests leading up to the fic's "release"
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confinesofmy · 3 months ago
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i looove getting older and time passing because i just remembered the bricked wii i bought off ebay for its cords years and years ago and it just occurred to me that at this point i can either fix it (i have gotten smarter and more knowledgeable and also value this bricked wii less than ever before), turn it into a dvd player, or finally throw it away/sell it for parts
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lokh · 1 year ago
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unfortunately i dont believe stimuwrite is working for me
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drop--pop--candy · 6 months ago
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hm. i don't want to get my hopes up. but maybe the reason i only remember good things really spottily and i can't distinguish them from dreams is because i was kind of raised to think that good things = dreams, bad things = reality. so. maybe if i can change the way i think about it i'll start remembering more
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fragglerockopinions · 7 months ago
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.
#This shouldn't be a surprise but seriously no one actually cares about my survival yes I've asked for help why would I get help#I'm functionally nocturnal and I keep staying up for like 48 hours and then sleeping for a day and I never know where I am#Or what day it is or if it's morning or night#Normal humans eat three meals a day and snacks right I think I maybe eat a snack every other day#I just don't feel hunger and my body hurts and cooking is so much effort I don't have#Weed used to help me be able to eat easily but now everything is just so hard and no food in house n cant go to store bc of ptsd too scary#I keep telling people when they ask that I am doing badly and need help but they as always just tell me to go to the store and buy food#Because it should be easy for a normal person!!! That would be such helpful and kind advice if I were normal#But I am not I am severely sick and traumatized and driving hurts so bad and stores give me panic attacks#Seriously if literally nobody cares about my struggling why not just be euthanized at this point?#This problem is so inconvenient to everyone and I have done all I can to convince people that I'm worth the inconvenience but :(#If I were worth talking to or visiting or helping people would have done that and I would be fine but I am not and that's okay#I genuinely don't mind being a husk at all#I'm just weirdly sad about it right now maybe because I think I feel hungry but genuinely I can't tell thanks autism#I also haven't been able to do my t shot in like three or four weeks I keep trying but I literally can't get the needle in :((#I imagine less testosterone in my system also makes me tired and lose my appetite#I'm so fucked up and nobody cares that I start my day at 8pm and am active and reply to emails and shit at 4am#Why would anyone notice that first of all but still. I would notice.#When even strangers are struggling I notice and I will do anything for anyone but it's selfish upon selfish to expect it back I understand#I keep looking for arfid and ed affirmations to help me but I can't find anything good#Genuinely . what the fuck#Just fucking need to be someone's dog feed me walk me put me in a cage teach me how to be better and treat me like I don't know shit#Because I don't I'm so stupid I can't even feed myself I'm dying please help me
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mrdrhenwardhykle · 1 year ago
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Idc what I said before but don’t freaking mention Mario or Charles Martinet rn because I’m going to freaking sob if I hear another damn thing about that again
(Read original tags)
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caraphernellie · 18 days ago
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Yk, Alcohol won’t fix your problems, but it’s worth a shot 😈
heh. I’m too autistic for that
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jackass-jones · 6 months ago
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People in the notes have said physical therapist Akihiko and ohohoho you fools you fucking clowns you don’t even know. Imagine Shinji getting out of the coma and all the rehabilitation shit he’s gotta do all the physical therapy like you just know Akihiko is so fucking over the moon he’s done so much research he’s so excited to see Shinji have a “training regime” he infodumps about what’s happening with the muscle recovery process and what stretches work best hes just way too invested he talks over doctors and Shinji is just like “good god if you know so much why don’t you just be a physical therapist” and Akihiko’s like 😈
Akihiko becoming a cop is something that simply doesn’t happen in the coma route cuz Shinji would see that shit and be like Aki what the actual hell is wrong with you
#like he does feel upset seeing shinji in such a vulnerable state and struggling with everything#but it does get overshadowed by excitement mitsuru is like ‘please he just got out of a coma stop being so pushy 😵‍💫’#hes just so invested he gets to learn so much shit he never even considered before its so interesting#and i think itd be very important that hes much more aware of like limits this time cuz a big strain in his relationship with shinji was#aki being pushy and not understanding shinjis limits and shinji being bad at letting himself have limits and communicating them#and like its very important not to push too hard when recovering from a coma cuz itll just make things worse#its a big adjustment for both of them cuz akihiko definitely has always been told to push harder past limits and to always try to be#stronger and not let yourself stop and its more important now than ever to unlearn that attitude#and shinji is so all or nothing like he either quits too fast or pushes to the point of destruction without communicating anything#so its very easy for him to get trapped in a hopeless spiral when things take time and then get desperate and try too hard#but he gets a lot of encouragement from everyone this time and its sooo weird and annoying and overwhelming but it is nice#also quick tangent like really pisses me off when ppl write shinji just like MIRACULOUSLY SPRINGING OUT of the coma like he just pops awake#gets up and starts running to do shit which tbf the game does it too but its like dude hes been in a like 6 month coma#im not an expert i still got a lotta research to do but i mean theres so much shit hes gonna go through#even if theres no like brain damage youre still gonna have to relearn basic stuff like eating breathing walking and like. general awareness#of your surroundings and who you are and what happened to you and 6 months is so long too so its gonna be rough#im not saying you gotta give him like brain damage but damn at least establish that recovery is lengthy and difficult#his ass is not walking around!!!#also hes still got a lot of mental illness and like did get shot fully believing he deserved to die so like hes also gotta lot of mental#health recovery to be doing like unless he somehow has some magical therapy coma dreams things arent gonna be perfect peachy for him#i get wanting to make everything happy but idk personally i think id rather it be gradual and a struggle cuz its more realistic and like#i think having this character just miraculously be fine is such a disservice like i think he deserves to have love and hope for him even#when its difficult cuz his life will never be easy he’ll never be free from the trauma but that doesnt mean his life isnt worth living#and him being loved unconditionally even though hes a ‘burden’ is so so important to me#i just hate the laziness like wheres the love man wheres the genuine character appreciation#anyway physical therapist aki its canon now hed be so so good at it and hes got personal experience
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lizziesangel · 30 days ago
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RAFE CAMERON - can't get enough
x HIGH MAINTENANCE!FEM!reader - MASTERLIST
SUMMARY: he can’t get enough of your kisses (5 times he wants your kiss and the one time you want his)
WORD COUNT: 877
GENRE: fluff
CONTENT WARNING: kisses, lots of kisses, soft!rafe cameron
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the first time
“rafe, don’t even think about it,” you warned, holding up a hand to stop him in his tracks. you were perched at your vanity, delicately putting the final touches on your lip gloss.
rafe, leaning against the doorframe, tilted his head with a grin. “think about what?” he asked, though his eyes were already on your lips.
you gave him a pointed look. “you know what. i just finished, and if you kiss me, you’ll mess it all up.”
he took a slow step forward, then another, ignoring your protests as he stopped just behind your chair. “you look so pretty,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
“rafe.”
“just one,” he said softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips.
you pulled back, huffing as you turned to inspect the damage in the mirror. “it’s sticky now! you never listen.”
he laughed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his chin on your head. “you look perfect, even if your lip gloss is a little smudged.”
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the second time
you were deep into your nighttime routine, carefully patting moisturizer onto your face when rafe walked into the bathroom.
“what are you doing?” he asked, leaning against the counter and watching you with a curious look.
“my skincare,” you said simply, dabbing a bit of eye cream under each eye. “you should try it sometime.”
he smirked. “i’ll leave that to you, princess.”
you rolled your eyes, turning back to the mirror. “okay, what do you want? you’re staring.”
“a kiss,” he said immediately, stepping closer.
you turned to him with an exasperated sigh. “rafe, my face is all sticky from product. you’ll hate it.”
“don’t care,” he replied, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer.
before you could stop him, he kissed you, pulling back with a satisfied smile despite the faint scent of your moisturizer lingering on his lips.
“you’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head.
“and you’re adorable,” he shot back, pressing another kiss to your forehead for good measure.
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the third time
the sun was setting, and you were chatting with sarah and wheezie near the food table when rafe appeared out of nowhere, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“hey,” he said, sliding an arm around your waist.
you looked up at him, smiling. “hey yourself. having fun?”
“not as much as i could be,” he said, his tone teasing as he leaned down slightly, his eyes flicking to your lips.
you quickly caught on, shaking your head. “not here, rafe! your whole family’s watching.”
he shrugged. “so? they know you’re my girlfriend.”
before you could argue, he leaned in and kissed you softly, pulling away just as quickly.
sarah groaned dramatically. “ugh, get a room, you two.”
you flushed, nudging rafe’s side. “see what you did?”
“worth it,” he said, smirking as he reached for a drink.
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the fourth time
you were pacing the living room, phone pressed to your ear as you talked to one of your friends about an upcoming event.
“no, i think we should go with the gold theme—it’s classier,” you said, pausing to listen to their response.
rafe was sprawled on the couch, watching you with an amused expression. when you passed by him for the third time, he reached out and grabbed your wrist.
“babe, stop,” you whispered, waving him off.
he ignored you, pulling you closer until you were standing right in front of him. “just one kiss,” he whispered back, a playful smile on his face.
you glared at him, but he leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to your lips before you could stop him.
“sorry, i got distracted,” you said into the phone, shooting him a look.
rafe just grinned, leaning back like he hadn’t done anything wrong.
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the fifth time
“careful!” you warned as rafe grabbed your hand, admiring the shiny new polish on your nails. “they’re still wet.”
he raised an eyebrow. “so? i’m not touching them.”
“still, don’t mess with me,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him as he pulled you closer.
he smirked. “mess with you? i’d never.”
before you could argue, he kissed you, holding you close despite your half-hearted attempts to scold him.
“rafe! now i’m all distracted,” you whined, though you couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face.
“good,” he said, grinning. “you’re cuter when you’re distracted.”
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bonus
it had been a long day, and rafe was lying on the couch, his head resting on a pillow as he flipped through channels. he looked so relaxed, so content, that you couldn’t help but be drawn to him.
without a word, you climbed onto the couch and settled beside him, resting your head on his chest.
“hey,” he said, his voice soft as he looked down at you.
“hey,” you replied, tilting your head up to look at him.
he raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised when you leaned up and kissed him gently.
when you pulled back, he grinned. “what was that for?”
“just felt like it,” you said with a shrug, though your cheeks were warm.
“you’re cute when you’re sweet,” he teased, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
“don’t let it go to your head,” you mumbled, but you couldn’t hide the smile on your face.
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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 1 month ago
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academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw
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request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c
i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….
update: i wrote a part 2 because it was highly requested! you can read it here :)
rating: explicit
word count: 3,5k
warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:
“How do you take your coffee?”
His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetical torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies. 
“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.” 
Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent. 
“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?” 
Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.
His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his. 
Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects. 
“If I may.” 
Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?
And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will. 
You will not.
“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”
Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use. 
But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given. 
“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.” 
More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate. 
Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.
However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table? 
That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’d already successfully wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.
However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.
Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all. 
Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were. 
“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. Heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”
“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”
“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”
“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.” 
That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness. 
“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!” 
“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?” 
“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.” 
“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”
Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided. 
“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”
You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”
“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.
And, well. You can’t argue with that. 
Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan. 
You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.
“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront. 
“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves. 
“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.” 
“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.” 
“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.” 
Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce. 
“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones. 
“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.” 
“But they’re so heavy.”  
“Well, what would you use?” 
He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow. 
“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.” 
Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted. 
“How did you even—“
“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.” 
“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?” 
Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat. 
“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact. 
“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.” 
He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. 
“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”
“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”
“Very well. Frame?”
“Something durable. Titanium?” 
“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”
“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”
“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”
“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.” 
He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for. 
“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?” 
“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”
He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin. 
“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled. 
“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders. 
“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”
Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”
“Precision?”
“The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”
“Shut the fuck up.” 
“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“ 
You don’t even register when it happens.
Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.
Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one. 
What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.
But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair. 
And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place. 
“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine. 
“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.” 
And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin. 
“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”
“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work. 
“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.” 
“Fuck you.” 
“Oh yes. You’re about to.” 
You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement. 
“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.
“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.” 
“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”
“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”
And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your  permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other. 
However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor  craved to postpone the main course. 
Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face. 
That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss. 
“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites. 
And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind. 
But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness. 
You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him. 
That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin. 
You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman. 
“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.” 
“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.” 
And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief. 
No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you. 
“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”
“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.
And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter. 
“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”
“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”
You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp. 
“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”
And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye. 
“Why should we limit it to just that?” 
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