#i like the idea that they both were getting replaced but had polar opposite reactions to it

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This Is Not A Date

Upgraded Connor (RK900) | Nines/ Reader fanfic

Rating: Mature

Wordcount: 5560

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, emotionally curious nines, groping, smut, p in v sex, rough, kinda soft kinda not lil boi

Link to AO3 here or continue below cut:

You envied him, really.

Holding down a forefinger, the imprint fogging your phone screen, the victim of your poking quite literally quivered under your fingertips; a damn bloody dating app. Its cornered ‘x’ be the only good idea it gave you since its offered romantic prospects surely weren’t.  

It shakes a violent plead of mercy, like the castle clown prancing joyously, a jingle bell on its neck collar shaking its head desperate no’s where you snapped two fingers for its forthcoming executions. Disappointing. As per usual.  

But punishing the joker meant nothing if its replacement came from the same circus. You downloaded another app, pinky peach hearts pictured on a mobile symbol, your expectations had sunk passed the depths of hell.  

You were no less given the attention, a text ping except for a joker's bell. Despite Detroit’s ever-growing gene pool with the doubling population of both humans and androids, your huddle of situationships barely satisfied you, lacking a spark you so craved. Matches appeased your eyes, descriptions void of icky pick-up lines, but with every other text you were sent, something scrunched up your face worse than the last.   

“Why are people so boring?” you vented to the brioche-scented air, very much aware that fine-tuned android ears had spaced out. You’d grown to suffer alone.  

He didn’t have to worry about bearing the weight of carried conversations, he was perfect. Bloody hell looked it too.  

Nines envied you equally, but for the opposite reasons.  

There hadn’t been a day's rest of his HUD, notifications running haywire like sugar-induced children running laps in a playground. But even little humans collapsed in exhaustion — you did a lot of that — and energy was spent, Nines’ string of leeching matches never tired. 

“How tall are you?”  

“Glad we matched! My place or yours?”  

“How big did they make you?”  

“Boring indeed,” silencing the utter mess of thirsty texts, he turned his attention back onto you, a croissant half-stuffed in a stun where you hadn’t expected an answer. Flakes stuck to your lip as you chewed, fluttering eyelashes moaning for you at the fill of French delectables. Your reactions amused him. People were boring, indeed.

You, however, were quite interesting.   

Many months of a developed friendship had the both of you puzzlingly closer. Intending to better work efficiency, Nines fed into your friendly advances, but he hadn’t expected to actually enjoy your company. You two had clicked like polar forces, self-fashioned laws of physics in your own little world together.   

Nines, surprisingly, was a pretty handsome wall to talk to. You enjoyed every little teenage-like whisper of gossip you shared, to which the android’s sharp ears picked up on the latest in the DPD. You’d grown accustomed to his partially stiff persona as he did to your free-spirited one. The moon to your sun, and he surely brightened in your gifted happiness. Kindred souls hand-in-hand, shoulder-to-shoulder, you were there for him, and he was there for you.  

Nines scoffed at deleting another chat thread with a persistent match mate.  

It started as a joke. ‘I can get more bitches than you,’ though you knew you were speaking out of your ass. You did not, dare you say could not get more bitches than a man who mastered being a man, despite being made plastic and steel.   

Eyes blue like arctic winds, soft but intimidatingly focused in burning through flesh, his face sculpted unfairly to turn heads his way. Broad shoulders and a narrow waist that looked good in anything, even you could admit that. You were no stranger to getting asked about his romantic status.   

The sheer size of him shifted uncomfortably in the little bakery’s equally little seats, shoulders swallowing the back of his chair as if his steel spine served a replacement. Discomfort, albeit making him stir again to lean forward with a frustrating twitch of brows, was still foreign to him; a bitterness that squirmed deep in his chassis. It had taken a while to identify and label the feeling.   

Experience was the tutor in the study of emotional understanding. Experience was his guide to an emotionally coloured world and discomfort was by far the dullest, sluggish and unattractive hue he’d come across.  

Nines heard an audible moan deep from your chest, satisfaction making you lick buttered fingers clean. Your palate cleansed except for pastry bits on your plate, following a trail to your lap, above your chest and still on your bottom lip. You, however, were that bit of colour that sagged his shoulders, the bit of colour that made him agree to silently accompany your weekly brunch ravishment.   

His chest shook in a chuckle at seeing you no less a mammal in its habitat, wild and careless, waving away thrown looks at your poor table etiquettes. Hair frenzied in a mess, your posture slouched as if you owned the ground around you, you had a flair of contentment with everything you did. Interesting human, indeed.   

“I wasn’t aware wearing your afternoon brunch was socially acceptable,” he quipped and your eyes widened, patting hands rubbing away crumbs that doubled his laughter. Croissant bits projectile in his direction, ultimately landing on the table and his lap. 

Your phone announced itself, a text ping waking up your screen with the surprising icon of a newly downloaded dating app. Flat on the table, Nines perked in out of curiosity. Your spread grin was better at drawing his attention.   

It could only mean one thing.  

“I’ve got a date on Friday.”  

-.—.-  

It just happened.   

Somehow in some weirdly fated way, you and Nines had your dates aligned. When you’d dress up for a dinner evening, he’d be suited up for one couple of roads down. The forgotten competition falling into a routine of complimenting each other’s outfits, you pointlessly fixing his collar and escorting either into another’s hands.   

As expected, you’d gasp at the sight of his fitted dress shirt, threaded buttons pulled taunt to the rise and fall of his chest. Bigger biceps smoothed into the arms of his blazer, an icy pair of eyes that’d drop anyone to their knees; you watched appreciatively, blessing your eyes with what his dates would be so lucky to sit across.   

Dang, he looked good. Who needed dinner if desert sat inches away?  

And he’d eye you similarly, following the curves and dips of your dresses, a taunting hug of fabric an extension of your skin leaving little to the imagination, not that he had any. Loose silk that hung low, embraced your thighs just right, it was enough to have you smiling at your reflection. You liked to look like this, beautifully sexy, earning heart eyes from victims you’d never contact again.   

Nines was effortlessly attractive, but you sure believed you were too, and confidence was already half the charm. There was a reason your dating race lingered neck-and-neck, people wanted him and people wanted you.  

Still, you didn’t understand why serial dating was so damn hard.   

Nines excused his admiring as a friendly reciprocal to yours and then you interlinked arms, trotting in pretty shoes to leave some date awestruck.   

Struck, definitely, so much so they didn’t show.   

“Fucking flunked on me,” all of your hours getting ready wasted for nothing. A dangling table light held you in spotlight, the universe laughing at your misery. The waiter dared to make a brief visit, scurrying away when you shot daggers, Phone glued to your ear, you lined a fork with distracted fingers, “I went through all that effort, for what?”  

“He dodged a bullet,” Nines teased, a smirk leaking into your speakers. You groaned annoyingly, a tad bit hurt though you’d never mention it. Nines only chuckled, “are you not hungry?”  

“Of course, I am,” your volume had diners eavesdropping, you lowered it, “but I’m not gonna sit here and eat alone like some… loner .”  

An elderly woman leaned into your line of sight, doing little to mask her judgement.  

“It’s embarrassing,” you sighed, straightening up subconsciously. Nines remained silent, a little something nagged you, “tell me you have better luck than me.”   

He did. Unlike you, Nines was glad his date didn’t show.   

“Unfortunately, detective, I have been cancelled on too.”  

“No. Way.”  

So, obviously, the next step pretty much carved itself out. You were both in need of a nice dinner, dressed to impress, and without your respective dates. Nines took no longer than necessary to join you, filling in the void of an empty seat as you did for him.   

This happened again, from your silk dress to a casual getup, and again, from fancy dining to amusement parks. From black tie gallery visits to turtleneck picnic dates. You found it harder to believe Nines was getting cancelled on when he kept miraculously showing up.   

It wasn’t a date, even if it always looked like it and you’d get ready as such. Painted lips smiled at him rather than some other guy, and neither of you was complaining about it.   

Upon reaching the front of the queue to an ice cream cart, did someone first state the obvious.   

“Here’s one for you and a drink for your partner.”  

You stilled, “oh, we’re not- he’s not-"  

“Thank you,” Nines took your waffle cone, giving it a tasteful lick before handing it to you. He walked away before you could protest.   

“What was that?” You fell behind his longer strides struggling, Nines always found it amusing.   

“What was what?” Pale flickers of his eyes were a tell of his naivety, “are we not partners?”   

Work ones, sure. “Pretty sure she was calling you my date.”   

For his advanced prototype kinks, he hadn’t preconstructed that theory. It was his turn to freeze, the ice of his irises solidifying the rest of his body, the only tell that he hadn’t fallen stasis being an amber spin on his temple. His abrupt halt had you bumping into his back with a grunt.   

Though your complaints died into laughter at seeing him so… off guard.   

“It’s not so bad,” you nudged him, elbow meeting his midriff, its proximity to his thirium pump regulator pulled a heavy huff through his voice. You winked, “you’d be lucky to score with me.”  

Park attendees walked in their chatter, dogs let off their leashes, rolling in the glass with both furry flesh and synthetic plastic alike. Families shared inside jokes, children playfully screaming on the lake’s perimeter. Information coded everywhere in his scans, the broken grid of his deviancy reminding him of his freedom.

But he grew overwhelmed around you.

The past few mutual flunks hadn’t exactly been… mutual. The moment you’d text him your date was boring, or the guy left you hanging again, he’d be the one to disappear mid-mingling and scurry away to accompany you. Surely, that’s what it meant to be a good friend, right?  

He wasn’t looking to replace your flings. He just merely wanted to be there for you. Be a light of colour as you had been for him so many times before.   

Nines blinked erratically, warning ambers giving him away.   

“Jeez, I’m not that bad,” you joked but he caught wrinkled brows of concern, following another lighter playful nudge on his arm. The contact teetered on the edge of overwhelming his processors.  

Neither of you talked about it.  

On came another Friday evening, a ping reminding you of a ‘Tomas’ looking forward to seeing you. Your dressing table mirror applauded the artistry of makeup whilst you merrily shoed up, throwing a text back via that dating app 2.0.  

“I’m so sorry! Can we reschedule?”  

“No show again,” you sighed, lying out of your ass, “how’s that android with the green hair doing for you?” 

“I’m afraid she does not feel interested anymore,” also a lie, Nines had pretty much blocked the persistent woman.  

Getting comfortable in the back row of your local cinema, which was supposed to be Nines escapade for the day, he passed you a popcorn bag, one he’d already bought for you. Lights dimmed at the title screen, Nines sneaked a glance at you, silently admiring the palette of your makeup. Nines liked it when you played with pigments, orange and purples finely painted on eyelids, bringing out the colour of your eyes. It pleasantly stimulated him.  

“What?” Curving in a half-smile, you caught his ogling.   

“You look lovely, detective,” it was pretty much routine at this point, to compliment you. Though this time, the air hung heavier, the smile never making it to his lips, his thirium pump straining for a beat when your vitals jolted the slightest.

He said it so sincerely; why did he sound so different? Your retort wasn’t given voice, a prickle of shivers meeting your extremities in a blush, you were glad the darkness covered for you.  

You swallowed down. He cleared his throat. The movie went on. But the heat of your body, the subconscious leaning on his arm, close enough he could decode the product in your hair, the movie wasn’t plenty distraction.   

And as if rA9 evilly taunted him, a couple cornered in the cinema audibly moaned, latched onto each like horny teenagers. You bobbed your brows at him, ‘kids these days’, but your skin grew hotter, ultimately arising a glitch or two in his system.  

“The movie was great,” you gulped a smile when he walked you home, kicking lone rocks, eyes weighed to the pavement, “I guess, I’ll- I’ll see you.”  

“Yes-,” he spoke too quickly, nodding, “I wish you a good night, detective.”  

You blinked, “you too. Goodnight to you too.”  

“Thank you.” His feet shuffled, “I shall go now.”  

“Get home safe, alright? Goodnight, Nines.”  

“Take care, detective.”  

Awkward couldn’t even begin to describe it.  

-.—.-  

The competition was long gone, dating threads snipped weeks ago when you decided to delete the apps once and for all. Nines had pulled from the single scene even before you did, gulping down excuses as to why he decided to bail on all his prospects.   

“No, we’re friends,” you’d say. Friends that helped each other down a couple drinks. Friends that slow-danced at New Jericho’s fancy dress party, to which Connor had invited you both. Friends that publicly teased each other with a flutter of eyelashes and hot heavy breaths.  

“Since when were you two dating?”   

“This is not a date!”  

Said you at a party where Nines was your plus one, glued to your side like your extension.   

It was getting ridiculous.  

Eventually, neither of you spoke about seeing other people, just assuming the other would turn up. On paper, and even in person, you both looked pretty stupid in denial.   

But one night, clinking afters with your department crew, did the dusted line between friendship and something more sharpen, something that made sense in the entanglement of your not-dates with Nines.  

Officer Wesley was clear in the intention to woo you and have you in bed, playfully raking his gaze and hissing out a compliment. He leaned in closer, elbow atop the bar front with a daring smile. Admittedly, you missed the thrill of being a tease, slipping your tongue out to wrap around the straw but not enough to give him a show. Wesley caught on your game, and for the officer he was, he’d happily play cat and mouse.   

But this time, things felt different and flirting with the dirty-blonde man felt wrong. Flirting with anyone felt wrong. And you couldn’t understand why.  

You flickered in the RK900’s direction, only to find him already watching Wesley talk you up at the bar. A heartbeat thumped particularly loudly when he held your eye contact, leaning back in his booth whilst tonguing his straw similarly to how you had done it.   

Fucking hell.  

“So, how about that drink?” The officer reminded, thumbing at the display of bottles behind the counter.   

Holy shit. You didn’t want to be like every other victim to the reeling of those darkened blue eyes, you weren’t like that.   

With a double take, you caught that damn triumph smirk on his face, as if he could see exactly what that tongue did to you, being on the receiving end of it. Fuck him, you wouldn’t let him win.   

Nines’ smirk faded as soon as you gave the officer your undivided attention, edging your barstool. Your touch crawling up his arm, soft lips leaning closer to his ear and speaking just out of earshot. It had the android inexplicably grinding teeth.  

That was another thing about deviancy it had taken him a while to calibrate; urges. The urge to partake in conversation, or flee from it even, the urge to tease you to the point your cheeks were coloured tomatoes. It was this urge that had an added darkness looming over you, two icicles boring into the back of your head.   

Sixth sense tied a thick knot in your throat.  

Wesley cleared his throat too, sitting up straighter, “Nines, you ah - you good?”  

The android didn’t look it, stalking over your shoulder like he’d no less bite into your neck and suck you dry in one go. But if this officer be a conquest you wanted to take to home, Nines would personally help you put on a show.   

That’s what good friends did, right? Help each other?  

He slitted fingers between chunks of your hair, pulling your head aside abruptly, the contact freezing you in place. You gasped as he lowered his mouth, speaking to the shell of your ear but loud enough for Wesley to pick it up, “we know you want to fuck our little detective, officer.”  

Nines dragged his lips against heated skin, tongue peeking out to taste you. And just as he expected, his HUD blasted with paintballs of colour at the encoding, his pump fluttering when your lashes did so.   

His other hand dragged up your waist, curving at the shape of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples. Lips replaced his tongue, and a trail of android saliva burned into your skin in his venturing down your throat. You took a staggering breath, forcing your eyes open, not realising they had closed.

“Your advances could use some work,” Nines spoke to Wesley, the man’s larynx bobbing at the sight of you melting.   

Large palms curled inwards on your thighs, pushing them apart on display and kneading flesh through fabric. You held back a moan, biting down on the feeling of leaking arousal. God, when did Nines feel so good?  

Nines smiled against your skin, lipsing down the expanse of your neck whilst you pretty much leaned to give him more room. His tongue prodded and lined the length of your passing artery, tasting your fastening pulse, you shivered under him. Even if rendered speechless, your body did the talking.   

Wesley couldn’t decide where to look, Nines prompted further.  

“You just need a little push.”  

Fingers roughly pressing between your legs, one push of a massage that forced a moan deep from your chest, and Nines retreated, taking a large step back. Wesley looked half as shocked as you did, your jaw clenching in the realisation of what just happened.   

Nines leaned carelessly on the bar, unbothered in leaving you aroused. That was his intention, no? To give you and your prospect a push in getting things going? Which is why he blinked confusingly when you shoved him, a frustrated scowl leaving your lips before you stomped out. Wesley sat glued to his chair, still recovering. Nines ran out after you.  

Light patters of rain met his scalp upon catching up to you. You groaned when he called your name.   

“You can’t just- do that!” You yelled, frustration grating your throat, showers dampening your hair, “you can’t just-“  

The android remained still, attempting to understand you with a series of yellow circles.   

“You can’t just touch me like that, Nines!”  

But his touch had arisen positive responses, his brow furrowed in confusion, “why?”  

You stumbled, eyes widening, “why- why? What do you mean why? You can’t go around touching up random people! It’s- it’s wrong!”  

You weren’t random people. Nines processed for a moment, rain splatters snugging the fabric of his sweater against his skin. His scanners quickly caught your gulp, “did you not enjoy it, detective? I assumed he needed a little push.”  

You blinked again, dumbfounded. Who gave him the right to put on a show for Wesley? What on Earth goes on in that metal brain of his?   

“That’s not- I wasn’t going to go home with him,” water collected on your lashes, “I don’t want him.” 

A wave of understanding struck him. He had misunderstood you and his ‘help’ stood void of reason. And recalling the way he stalked over you, no reconstruction software helped in justifying what he did, because the urge didn’t do it for you, it did it for himself.  

The warmth of your chest invited him, kisses digging into the valley of your neck whilst he continually decoded the electrolyte contents of your sweat. It quite literally fuelled him.   

Deviancy was a strange thing, though the only explanation for why Nines wanted to taste you again; he wanted to hear you breathe out his name, shaking with need, begging for more.

You shivered under water pellets, the silence weighing down each of your breaths. And hidden in the muddle of conflicted feelings, you craved Nines to touch you again, give you a warmth in frozen winds. Neither of you moved, and the ghostly burn of his lips longed for his return.   

“I’m going home,” you muttered, straying away from his scanners.  

He wasn’t your date. You weren’t together. But hell, if the assumptions of such didn’t make your heart flutter, you didn’t know what will. Besides, Nines was the embodiment of allurement, poised and perfect, what would he do with the likes of you?  

Arms wrapped around to wade off the cold, teeth chattering, you blinked a few before turning away to walk to your car, the gusts of wind trying to push you back. Nines wouldn’t see you as anything more than a friend, you were sure of it, but your disappointment was cut short when a firm grip latched around your wrist.   

He twisted you, swallowing a squeak with a collided kiss. The colours returned, blinding him tenfold in pretty pinks and bubbly yellows, prompting him to press a hand firmly on the base of your skull and keep you there.   

The tension in your spine remained, but you quickly came out of shock and fervently returned the moulding of your lips with his, hand trailing the flex of his pecs, damp fabric squelching under fingertips.  

The hand on your wrist migrated to the small of your back, pulling you closer. His tongue poked into your mouth, making you gasp at the added anatomy whilst he curled around ravishingly, wet sounds amidst the ambient splashes of rain. Both of your minds dazed, Nines blinking ambers at devouring you and you suddenly patting his chest with a light push.   

He pulled back to let you breathe but returned mid-inhale, this time eagerly tilting his head to see what better fit. He made out the whisper of his name between kisses, responding with an approving groan.   

“Nines,” you tried again, water running streams down your back as it poured heavier. You wondered if hypothermia was worth it, “nines, wait-”  

He kissed you passionately, hoping to swallow the colour of lips and paint his innards as such. Though he eased, slowing to a stop and you panted onto his jaw. He took in the sight, mimicked tears streaking your blue eyeshadow and mascara under the rain, he fought the urge to prod his tongue in your mouth again.   

He awaited your rejection. As you loved to remind everyone, Nines wasn’t your date, always the friend accompanying you instead. He’d be lying if he said watching you with other people didn’t bother him.   

But you didn’t scold him, nor push him away in a fury. You smiled, a toothy grin that you failed to bite away and broke into a soft giggle, “we’re in the middle of a street,” you shook your head, leaning a fraction of an inch closer, “and I’m soaking wet.”  

Nines pulled into a smirk, “you’re welcome.”  

There, the cherry rouge of your cheeks, that was another part of you he wished to consume wholly, preferably with his tongue.  

Everyone else felt wrong, but Nines felt right.  

And upon passing the threshold of your home, Nines proved the feeling to be mutual by meeting your lips again, vocally praising you when your arms wrapped around his neck. Kicking the door shut, his biceps wrapped you tight, squeezing the air in your lungs and suctioning it straight into his chassis.   

He stepped you back, tongue dancing with yours, his fingers tucking away wet hair from your face. You gasped as you hit the wall behind you, his hip bucking into yours with a noticeable erection.  

Hands rummaged under clothing, your damp shirt peeling off your skin with a gust of cold, leaving your hairs on end. The foyer’s air, however, grew dense when Nines hungrily eyed your body. Calm blue of his LED blinked an amber and he suddenly threw you over his shoulder.   

“Nines!” You shrieked, your protests dying as he caressed the back of your thigh. He carried you to your bedroom, bouncing you onto the mattress with a look that kept you frozen. You gulped in anticipation as he undressed whilst you were only stripped of your shirt.  

“Your body temperature has dropped to lower ranges,” he knelt between your legs, clasping your wrists immobile and kissing you into the sheets. You arched into him, gasping at the skin-to-synthetic contact. His lips ghosted to tongue at your jaw, a wet pad of the plastic muscle running up just below your ear.  

“I must heat you.”  

“You’re as cold as they come,” he pulled back to meet your remark, a teasing glimmer in your eyes. Nines kissed your collar, the sound of compensatory breaths prompting him to lower to your bra, unclasp it and swirl a perked nipple with his tongue.   

The moon slitted through blinds, painting him a blue that matched his temple. A warm breath breezed over your lower abdomen, fingers gripping the hem of your pants and shimmying them off. Wet skin made you sensitive to his touch, a tingling working overtime where he wrapped around your thighs, his lips hovering over your remaining underwear.   

Of all your dating partners, specifically those you had slept with, only a handful of them had been androids, and it never made it passed foreplay. Whether that be inexperience or hesitance, flings would be done after a touch-up.  

Nines had his fair share of sexual partners, learning what got people going and what fed his desires. But your unfiltered storytelling exposed you of kinks and likes that a curious android like Nines couldn’t help fantasising about.   

What would you look like under him? How did you sound when forced a rolling orgasm to ripple through you?   

A devilish smile made his lips before he took your undergarments in his teeth, lust-blown eyes watching how you shivered at the sight of him dragging them off. Wrapping around you twice as tight, he gave you a flat lick from slit to bud, pushing down your hips to stop your squirming. He was glad to find you were, indeed, soaking wet.  

Having him right there, head of brown bobbing up and down, experimentally sliding his tongue in places you didn’t know existed, the sight of him had you biting your lower lip, trying to chew down an embarrassing whimper.   

His tongue made circles around your clit, flickering left and right at a gasping pace. Your hands found his scalp, splitting his hair into sizeable chunks, holding on like the handlebars of a rollercoaster; and the way he looked at you, pupils swallowing icy blue into a predatory black, a shiver ran down your back, clenching your thighs against his biceps.  

Wet muscle prodded into your slit, eliciting a moan. You almost squealed when his thumb continued to press patterns on your clit whilst tongue-fucking you into the sheets. You pulled at the root of soft, chestnut hair, and he only picked up the pace, having you pant in line with his pace.   

You tipped over unexpectedly, crying out your orgasm with an abrupt push against his mouth. Nines crawled above you again, making you taste yourself with a deep, sharp kiss.  

To see you like this, body quivering for his touch, an undertone of pink blushing your skin, his field of vision saturated in the colour of you. He wanted more. He wanted to see you come undone again, paint you an orgasm that would stain him for the rest of his android existence. Maybe he understood why Markus created art so often, maybe abstract understanding was closer than he realised. Nines wished for nothing more than to place you high on a pedestal or pin you against the wall for reasons other than framing you a painting. 

“Every date you were bailed on,” he whispered confessions on your skin, gently lipsing your shoulders, “I cancelled mine to join you.” You stiffened under him, muscles taunt under his lips, he clarified, “I’d much rather have you than anyone else, detective.”  

Of course. You were right. Nines wouldn’t get bailed on that often, it was impossible. You mustered up enough air to speak, “if we’re confessing, I deleted the apps weeks ago.”  

Like the robot he was, he halted mid-kiss, a shifting yellow giving him away as it did back at the ice cream cart. You were both lying to each other, simply to be in each other’s company.  

You added with a tease, “you don’t have to lie to score a date with me, Nines.”  

“I thought I was ‘not a date’,” blue-greys accused you.  

“Yeah, I guess we’re both pretty stupid then.”  

Your smile brightened the room, despite moonlight barely filtering through your windows, corners bordering darkness. Nines mirrored the grin, dipping down to kiss you with a newfound heaviness in his chest. He pulled off his briefs, lips never leaving yours, and lined himself between spread thighs.  

Your breath hitched at the stretch of muscle when he pushed in, barely giving you time to adjust and pushing in further until he bottomed out. Or at least you hoped he did, you weren’t sure if you could take any more of him.   

Breathing in each other's pants, he rocked slowly, fingers bruising your wrists, lips bruising your neck. Nines grew desperate to see you in the colour of his lips, turning purples in broken blood vessels. His pelvis smacked again your clitoris, grinding an added stimulation, your head rolling back, moaning his name right into his ear.  

Setting a brutal pace abruptly, swallowing squeals in messy lip-locking, Nines stretched you to the teetering line of pain and pleasure, the head of his cock driving into a sensitive spot that jolted your nerves in bliss. He rutted like an animal, resting his forehead on yours, fucking you with a harsh snap of hips, your legs could only hold on for dear life. He loved to see the dip between your brows, raccoon-faced from messy makeup. It made him twitch inside of you.

“You feel so good. You look perfect,” he praised, bringing two fingers under your jaw to prompt eye contact. You met his darkened expression, his rouge curl tickling your forehead. Thumb shaping your lips, he pushed in knuckle-deep, pressing down on your tongue. You gave an instinctive suck as he growled, “you’re mine.”  

Every thrust brought about a new sound from your throat, and with your mouth forced half-open, there was little you could do to stop them. Your eyes rolled back, toes curling at a rolling orgasm, the sounds of sex driving you to buck into him as he did you.   

You were desperate, needy, and what was left of Nines’ restraint was snapped. He fucked hard, muttering profanities as he edged closer, seeing you at the mercy of everything he gave you flipping him inside out.   

He wanted to see you like this, again and again. His thumb subconsciously retracted his simulated skin, a ripple in your mouth that diverted your attention, and a glowing blue lit up from below the whites of his hand. An interface, the both of you realised. You moaned at his display of intimacy. 

Nines staggered into you, losing his rhythm. 

You looked good in blue.   

“Come for me.”  

And with sharp thrusts, you arched into a mind-blowing orgasm, limbs shaking as he continually dragged in and out to chase his own. He spilled with a throb, panting at the chance of painting you inwards as you did to him, and watched the slowed pumping of where the both of you connected.   

Though upon spotting a trail of blueish white leaking out of you, his hips bucked involuntarily, eager for another round.   

You moaned in euphoria, and that was enough for him to keep going.

It was no surprise Nines adored the sight of you decorated in his markings, growling in every painted colour you presented. So, the next steps carved themselves, and you had a great idea for your next date.   

Painting.

[lesbiten]

i dont think simon has a canon reason why he turned deviant and it is very fun to imagine why...bc he seems like such a devoted & rational dude it doesn’t feel like he turned deviant out of anger towards humans. and pl600s are domestic assistant androids so he was probably just some random family’s android butler. maybe he had a story similar to daniel’s where they decided to replace him. but instead of being overtaken by anger like daniel, he just ran away so he wouldn’t be repurposed. maybe he ended up at jericho while running away and he still misses his little family

[lesbian-in-leather]

So it's a little late but I finally made the extended version of this post

I'm just going to rewatch the trailer and write down all of my thoughts, but actually expand on everything this time (and it'll actually be mostly in order)

Maybe it's just the cut for the trailer, but the lawyer scene feels very rushed. BBC made it comedic in its own right, not just a setup, but here it feels very much like "have some exposition so we can get to the ghosts". The ghosts should not be the only point of comedy - they're important, sure, but "Samantha" and "Jay" should be able to carry a scene by themselves

"Samantha" doesn't think it through. At all. She cuts off the lawyer after his first buyer suggestion, and "Jay" doesn't seem to be on board with the idea. In the OG, they were both into this (admittedly bad) idea, so the responsibility was on both of them. Yes they rushed into it, but it was way more thought out than just hearing the words "bed and breakfast" and deciding that's your new plan

Why did they age down Pat for "Pete". I hate it. He's younger and skinnier and there's no reason. Like yeah, the OG doesn't have AMAZING diversity, but it's better than this - don't take out diversity in a remake. Didn't think I'd have to spell that one out

The sage joke is admittedly funny. However, it gives us some insight into the ghosts that I'm not the biggest fan of, and let's us see a lot of their new designs. Let's go across, shall we?

"Issac" is so much less dignified than Thomas. I understand that Thomas isn't always as poised as he'd like to think, but there's a level of class that's missing from "Issac", right down to the way he stands

"Flower" looks high. How can a ghost be high, you ask? No idea. But here we are.

"Sasappis" (I read in an article that this is a character name and I believe tis the Native American guy) has such a tiny reaction I almost missed it. He barely moves while everyone else freaks out. I'm hoping they didn't create this character out of the 'emotionless Native American' stereotype but... I guess we'll see

"Hetty" is the replacement for Lady B, and she's super expressive, protective of the others, and so much younger. She was supposed to be a grumpy mother/grandmother figure - why is she literally leaping in front of the others to protect them? That should be the Captain's job but they've axed him so I guess it falls to her now. Also, why did they make everyone so young?? Like, none of the ghosts look over 35. Why. This was unnecessary and, quite frankly, stupid. Why is everyone at this house dying so young? Just so they can market them as fuckable???? L o a t h i n g

Viking Man also barely moved. He seems interested in the sage and is basically a "cooler" version of Robin as far as I can tell. They seem to have taken away the joy of Robin's character, leaving only Some Guy which would be bad in any genre, but ESPECIALLY a comedy. He has potential in theory, but I feel they aren't going to utalise it

"Trevor". I have so much loathing for this man. Let's have some overall analysis, shall we? First of all, we'll start with, what I hope is a well known fact: Julian is not a good person. I love him as a character and he is starting to learn and grow, but at no point does the BBC or the other characters try to justify his behaviour. CBS saw this, and made Trevor. Trevor is younger than Julian (because for some reason they AGED EVERYONE DOWN), which also makes people far more likely to excuse his actions. They seem to be trying to make him a 'loveable fuckup' who makes bad choices because of privaledge, and I am. So worried. That they're going to try and excuse his actions. He already feels like a writer's self-insert and that never bodes well, especially in this type of character. Mark my words, they're going to market him as the 'relateable' one while having him spout misogynistic views (probably also homophobic and maybe even mildly racist/xenophobic ones too)

MOVING ON

Why is "Pete" sarcastic? I don't like it. Pat wouldn't be the one yelling aggressive comments while everyone's actually doing something together - he should be happy! Encouraging! He should be trying to catch up to the moving group instead of attempting to draw attention away from it!

Everyone looked so happy for the dead relative when she moved on. Hate that - it was so funny in BBC when they were like 'fuck off why does she get to leave' - having "Pete" be happy is fine, but the rest of them? WHY IS "HETTY" HAPPY.

Oh look, "Travor" actively flicks "Pete's" arrow to cause him pain. Why. That was so unecessary. None of the ghosts should try to hurt each other out of pure malice, and they certainly shouldn't get joy from it. It feels like CBS is trying to turn us against "Pete" and put us on "Trevor's" side, which I called, but am not a fan of.

And here she is. "Alberta". What the FUCK did they do to Kitty. She has Kitty's colour palette and fits the diversity demographic, but that is where the resemblance stops. Kitty is SUCH a wonderful character because she was an upper class black woman who was allowed to be soft and sweet and innocent and the others all protected her and I LOVED IT. Do you want to hear some fun descriptors they gave to "Alberta" in this article?

"In her time, she dated a bootlegger and has “seen it all,” and is a bit of a diva. Though tough and not one to take crap from anyone, she has a maternal streak and often acts as the protective den mother to the “family” of ghosts"

This is not only far closer to so many stereotypes, but it's the polar opposite of Kitty!! Having a flapper was a pretty cool idea but she could have had the same character traits as Kitty! Why change that! There was NO REASON TO RUIN HER. Also is it just me, or does it seem like they've made way too many of them sarcastic? Like, they've taken away Alison's snarky streak but given sarcastic lines to way too many of the characters

Also can I just take a moment to question the sheer amount of ghosts they've included. I understand that technically there's about the same amount. But with so much less of American history to draw on and the questionable character choices they've made, it feels like there are so many undefineable characters. Like, how do we differentiate them?? Even in the trailer there are so many scenes where most of them are just... standing around. In BBC, they're all so distinct and you get so much out of rewatches because they're all always doing something - look in the background of any shot and the ghosts who aren't talking have a reason to be there! But in this they're just... standing around. Do better.

I've just realised I'm only 0:59 seconds into a 2:16 trailer so I'm going to split this into two parts

Part two is here

[escritorian]

How to (not) be an Adventurer by Althea Dawnwind Chapter 2 - Role models

All right, so I figure if he’s going to hear all this the first time around, anyway, I may as well keep recording.  Or...asking him to transcribe, I guess.  We talked about it.

While I take no offence to your choice of pronouns, I feel I should remind you I have no gender.

Gotcha.  Sorry.

No need to apologize.

Thanks.  Still sorry.  Wait, so is all this side commentary getting transcribed, too?

Yes.

Lovely.  Perfect.  All right, whatever.  Let’s go.

So there are a bunch of new people at the house.  Most of them are super cool, but one of them’s a total creeper.

Predictably, Julia’s hot into the creeper. (Ugh, her taste) But whatever.  Her romantic graveyard.  Let her dig it.  Besides, I’m sure Galen would never let this guy actually hurt Julia. (If he could actually hurt Julia).  It does make me wonder about why he lets this skeezeball travel with him, though.  I mean, I guess he’s not always the most perceptive, but-

Whatever.  I’m getting off topic.

Can journals be said to have an incorrect topic, properly?

Shush.  Anyway, they were all just here, suddenly, talking about the pact and my plague and my future. I wanted to scream, but I was just so tired and scared. I think I’d have accepted anything that gave me hope at that point.  

Okay. No. Wait. Not anything. They were saying in some alternate past (?), they thought I was about to make a pact with some god of entropy? And honestly, that just sounds bad all around. Like sure, okay, I was pretty sure mine wasn’t one of those cases of spell plague you live through, you know? But some things are just worse than death.

Honestly, I was- am really offended that they thought so little of me. Okay not “they,” really. I barely even know most of them, but Galen…I really though at least he’d have some respect for my integrity. I thought maybe he could see me as more than just the little sister who needs protecting and can’t be trusted to make her own decisions I only even made this pact because everyone seemed so sure it was my best shot. And I- I mean, I wanted to live. Guilty, okay? Who doesn’t?

I felt the same, Althea

Yeah. So… yeah.

It is not wrong to wish or fight for life.

Thanks, Sha- uh, do you have like, a nickname I can use or anything?

Shadhavar is the only name I have ever known.

Wow, that’s…kind of sad. For the record, you can call me Thea. It’s what everyone in the family calls me.

I thank you, Thea.

Ha. Ummm. I was about to say I was smiling, you know, to transcribe it? The idea? Feeling? But, what is it, really? Can you even smile here?

There is no physical form or structure here to demarcate itself into what you call a smile.  The underlying ideas and feelings that cause the smile, however, can be recorded.

Oh. Cool. I mean, no really. Seriously. Cool.  Anyway, what was I saying?

Is this question rhetorical?

Um, yes? I mean it was, but you can- you know.

Those who found me presented you the possibility of a pact.

Yeah, that’s pretty much it, and I said yes.

Do you regret having done so?

Pfff, no. I’m not going to pretend I understand the full implications of having formed a soul bond with an ancient, sentient sword-bridge-focus thing born from both the feywild and the shadowfell? But it’s for serious better than the alternative. I can say that with total confidence right now.

Anyway, most of Galen’s new friends seemed like they really cared for me despite having just met me. It was weird, but also kind of nice? Oh! And Galen’s girlfriend. (!)  Apparently she left after everyone else but flew here the whole way to catch up!

Bad.

Ass.

And they all helped him defeat a death priest (or something) who was after me. I mean, okay. Julia helped. That…doesn’t count for nothing, I guess. I know mom and Nicon have trained her a lot and she’s freelanced a bit without telling mom. But now I have this whole group that seems like they’re sticking around for a bit? And maybe giving me some lessons?

This. Is going. To rule.

I also intend to provide you with instruction regardless of anyone else’s actions.

Really?!

Yes.

That’s…Ioun’s Wisdom, I don’t even know what to say! This is…am I going to cry? Fuck. No. I’m not going to start crying in here. Quick. Help me out.

Focus your mind on a task. You’ve mentioned these friends of your brother, but only just. Describe them.

Y-yeah. *sniff* Okay, yeah.

Breathe deeply and slowly.

Nono, I’m okay. It’s okay. Thanks. I’ve got this. Okay, strong feelings first. Let’s start with that creeper.

So, Creeper Creepzoidington is basically like a broody shadow who shoots everyone dirty looks, and I don’t say he’s a shadow because he’s drow.  Like, that’d be rude and also really inaccurate.  I say it cause this guy loves shadows.  Like, he loooves them - practically lives in them. They’re his home and they keep him safe and warm. Nicon says he’s already stolen from them, and I think the only time I’ve heard him talk was to swear. So yeah, whatever his deal is, I am not training with him.

Then there’s this other drow, Phaedra. I mean, I only point out they’re drow because they’re supposed to be really rare.  Surface elves are, too, but not as much? And I think I’ve only ever seen one of them. And now? Bam. 3 drow. More than I thought I’d ever met in my life, and everyone’s reaction has pretty much been, “Oh, hm! What a perfectly normal occurrence!”  It's just a little bit surprising.

Anyway, Phaedra, she’s about as different from Slimeus Slimeballius as you can get. She’s really elegant and nice. She came by later that night to see how I was doing. I didn’t feel much like talking, so…um…I didn’t, but she was really calm and polite about it. I could tell she knew I wasn’t really fine, but she didn’t press it. She just…did her best to be reassuring then left me alone. I kind of didn’t want her to go, but I appreciate that she did.

And how she moves! I mean, okay, so that probably sounds weird, but you should see her! She’s like floating silk or flowing water. She doesn’t even seem human, sometimes. Well, I mean, she’s not human, but you know what I mean.  She’s just ridiculously graceful, like she’s dancing in slow motion all the time, and my brain wants to learn the secret to it so much it can’t look away. So yeah, her I would totally train with.

Then there’s this younger drow, Tsabura.  (Tsubara?  Someone keeps messing up her name, and it’s really throwing me off.)  I thought she might’ve been be their kid or something, but even without speaking the language, I picked up that was not the case real quick.  She’s super cute but really quiet, and – I mean, I don’t know if the same standards culturally apply (nor am I sure whether or not it’s rude to consider that) - she has such nice skin.  She seriously just glows. Her skin is literally, physically lustrous.  But she’s just so angry.  Like, all the time.  Also?  Really sad.  I hope we can be friends.  I guess that’s a bit random, but it’d be great to have someone to relate to on a different level while on the road (more on that later), and maybe having a friend will help her not be so sad and angry.

It's weird, though. Like, no one’s saying anything about her, but she doesn’t seem like she’s been taking lessons from anyone, and she was pretty much dressed in rags? Mom tried to give her some of my old clothes, but that didn’t go so well. Maybe that’s why she’s in rags. Or maybe it’s a religious thing? Either way, I should probably stop calling them rags. When I tried talking to her, she barely even looked at me.  Honestly, I’m not sure I didn’t just imagine the brief glances she did give me, either.  I just...I want to know why she’s deliberately making herself so distant.  It’s like a mystery my brain needs to solve.

Moving on, there’s this really cheerful gnome named Tielka.  She’s...interesting.  She’s covered in armor and has a sword that drips frost but somehow seems super approachable?  Paradoxically, that makes me kind of nervous to approach her.  She also sounded really smart.  So I guess she’s...what?  A friendly warrior scholar?  I don’t know.  I mean, the image I’d always had of paladins is super stiff and serious, all thees and thous, but this?  It’s a weird vibe.  I mean, she looks like she’s 20, but she’s got this really motherly aura making me unsure if I want to befriend her or make sure she doesn’t catch me at mischief, so she’s got that, “inspiring the best behavior in others” thing down, I guess.

She’s also got a huge dog named Axle with the best leg.  I mean, omigosh, okay.  So his natural leg would’ve been the best leg, of course, but out of potential replacements?  This thing is, literally, divine.  Like, it’s full of clockwork, but it makes almost 0 noise, and it moves with him.  It doesn’t just sit there.  I really want to know how it works.  I mean, I’m guessing the answer will be something like 50% divinity, 40% magic and 10% mechanics, but still.

And then there’s Max.  I’m getting to her last, but she’s easily the biggest personality of the group.  (As befits a bard.)  She’s pretty much the polar opposite of Broody Broodfacerson.  She’s super friendly. She’s always smiling the brightest smile.  She has a siren’s voice and sings all the time.  She has a whole troop of animals who follow her around, all of whom I’m pretty sure she actually talks to.  (I think they’re all named Annie for some reason?)  And she’s so pretty.  Seriously, everything she does is extra charming.  There’s just something about how she moves, how she talks.  Just like, everything she does is so captivating.  There must be some lesson on mannerisms in bard college that teaches you how to keep people’s eyes on you cause there are like hooks on her gestures that grab the brain and don’t let go.  Basically, what I’m saying is she definitely made the right career choice.  Honestly, I wish she were a little quieter, but, well, no one can have everything, you know?

sighs

“You know.”  I have to stop that.

This is your fifth time using that phrase in this entry.

Fuuuck, really?!

Yes. Would you like me to alert you when you use it?

Nooo. I mean- auuugh, Vecna blind it! Yes. Yes, please do.

Very well.

Thanks.  Anyway, moving on...actually, I think that’s about it.

Oh!  And Galen.  But you know about Galen.  Well, I know about Galen, but will you, hypothetical/theoretical mystery future person, know about Galen?  I guess I should talk about Galen.  I mean, honestly, though, it feels like it’s enough to say he’s the best oldest brother anyone could want. Aforementioned rudeness aside, that is.  He’s just, I mean, he’s always giving me his time and teaching me the most interesting things, and he’s smart enough The Academy was too slow for him.  So he just, you know, decided to go adventuring and-

That’s six times.

What?

That you’ve used the phrase, “you know.”

Ugggghhhh.  All right, you know what?  My brain’s clearly tired.  He’s great, and I might end up going adventuring with him, which would be the best.  The end.

…

Sooo, how do I stop...

You can do so in the same manner as you did last time.

Yeah, I’m not really sure what I did last time.

You need simply to “feel” your intent to stop.

Okay, so kind of like-

[lurafita]

Rich!Tony/Artist!Peter, part 2

Go here for Part 1

Okay. Gotta be honest, this part isn’t that much more interesting than the first part was. But I did some actual research for this one and most of the artworks described in the text were inspired (or unashamedly stolen) from this site: https://theartofeducation.edu/2017/10/26/11-fascinating-artists-inspired-science/

So, let’s get this done!

The Art of Science and the Science of Art

While self-satisfaction might not be very virtuous, Pepper couldn't help the proud smirk that spread over her face, as she watched Tony all but fawn over the different artworks.

“Are you seeing this, Pep? This is a glass model of a magnified virus cell. They installed tiny light sources in specific places and angles to show how and where the cell interacts with the human body. And then there is a whole other set of lights and mirrors that indicates which parts are targeted and gradually destroyed by an antiviral drug. Actually, the way the mirrors are positioned here... yep. If you go around the pedestal and look at it from the different angles, it's like a little movie. First you see the lights indicating the parasitic effect of the virus on the body, then the way the drugs counteract the effects, and once you reach full circle; Ah, see here? Now the lights and the mirrors and the shadows create the effect that the virus evaporated. Damn, that's clever.”

Tony walked around the pedestal once more, trying to make out the positions and calculate the angles of all the lights and mirrors used.

Pepper's previous gleeful smirk softened, as she watched her boss move on to the next exhibit, a gorgeous piece created with metals and specially coated glass. The reflected images and light created 'Sun Drawings', that moved and changed in response to sunlight and the passage of time.

Having been Tony Stark's personal assistant for almost 8 years now, Pepper had learned much about the inner machinations of the man. And at his very center, Tony Stark was an engineer. A mechanic. He could talk theoretical physics with the best of them, but he preferred practical results. Tony's work had a purpose, a direct impact.

Which was one of the reasons why he wasn't normally swayed by art.

“Okay, this here? Classic movie effects. Chemical reactions used to visualize the images of a nuclear explosion, but it all happens under a microscope.”

While the billionaire could certainly appreciate beautiful art, something that was nothing more than 'nice to look at' held no value to him. It was the same reason why he had tons of one night stands, and hardly any actual relationships in his life. He was at first attracted to a person's physical beauty, which usually led to sex. But when the sexual need had been sated, mere physical attraction wasn't enough to keep him interested in the person he had bedded the night before.

“Now this, this is art. Applied physics at its finest. Do you see how the magnets interact with and against each others polarity? This is a perfect demonstration of the symbolism behind the theory of gravitational forces.”

It was why Pepper had jumped on the chance to get her hands on the tickets to Peter Parker's first ever art exhibition. He had been steadily making a name for himself over the last two years, and the redhead had seen some of his early works while she was on vacation in Europe. The young man had been set up in a corner of a street market in Marseilles, and with the help of various visual and practical effects, had explained the complex mechanics behind aerodynamic principles, to his wide eyed and utterly fascinated audience.

“A model of Nikola Tesla's early design for a solar collector made by modern computer code. See this section here? That's programming code for data extraction. In this context, it translates to Tesla's attempt to convert the energy of solar rays into electrical power. It serves as a parallel between combining old and new resources. See? This is the kind of art one can actually talk about. Not a painting of a stupid fruit bowl.”

Whereas Tony used his genius and understanding of different areas of science to create and improve, Parker used his to teach and inspire. Parker's art was something that Tony could not only relate to, but also admire, because it had purpose beyond it's beauty.

The hour that Tony had initially given himself to suffer through the showcase had long since passed, as the billionaire found himself unable to curb any of his enthusiasm, as he grew ever more fascinated with every new piece of art. Other people milling about the rooms 'oohed' and 'aahed' as they inspected the different works of the artist, sipping on their glasses of complementary champagne. But Tony doubted they could truly grasp the idea; the genius behind it all.

He was going to buy it all. The whole exhibit. Everything. He wanted those pieces in his company, in his home, in his workshop. He wanted to have the computer coded Tesla piece in his office, as a symbol of Stark Industries work on renewable energy. He wanted to gift the glass model of the virus cell to Bruce, to celebrate the biochemist's latest break through in the field.

He wanted both the magnetic force field work and the microscopic chemical reactions in his workshop, as a source of constant inspiration. His fingers itched with the want to create, the need to pour his skills into his work.

He wanted... He wanted to meet the artist.

When they had made their way almost full circle around the exhibit, they stopped at what appeared to be the last of the show cases. This one was different from the rest. For one, it was made out of Play Dough, though that was a fact Tony only realized by reading the description. How the hell this Parker guy had managed to form a completely genuine looking circuit board out of such an inferior material as children's clay, he could only guess.

He wanted to talk to the artist.

Another thing that struck Tony was that this circuit board looked somehow familiar.

He leaned in closer.

“This one section here looks like a rather awkward welding job. The connections between the wires seem a bit clumped. I would put it down to the use of Play Dough, but the other details on the board are so clean... You know, this looks almost like-”

“-the circuit board you built when you were five years old.”

Both surprised by the new voice, Pepper and Tony quickly turned around. Just a step behind them stood a young man, dressed in a casual but nice enough suit, with deep brown eyes, fluffy looking chestnut hair and a shy smile. Pepper recognized the man she had seen in France right away, and held out her hand to him.

“Mr. Parker. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Virginia Potts. But please, feel free to call me Pepper. Everyone does.”

The artist took her hand with a pleasant smile.

“In this case, I insist on Peter. And the pleasure is mine, Pepper.”

Tony could hardly wait for the handshake to end, to insert himself into the introduction.

“So you are the surprisingly gorgeous face behind all these beauties. I'm-”

“Tony Stark. I know. I'm a big fan of your work, Mr. Stark.” Parker smiled brightly (and blushing heavily) at him and eagerly reached for his hand. Then he shyly nodded to the pedestal display. “Your earliest work included.”

He wanted...

“Just Tony will do. One question, though. Why Play Dough? I may not have been very skilled with the welding equipment back then, but I do remember using the actual parts needed.”

Peter turned to his work, a helpless sort of smile on his lips, as he explained.

“When I was in my last year of highschool, and it was time to make a decision regarding college, I felt helplessly defeated. Was I supposed to attend one that focused on all the things that fascinated me about science, or one that focused on all the things I loved about art? I didn't know if I would ever be able to meet the expectations others had placed upon me, and the ones I had placed upon myself. I became wary and anxious about every choice I made. Constantly questioning myself if it was worth it to try to combine the things I loved, or if I wouldn't be able to hold on to both at the same time. Science versus art. Wanting to pursue such opposite things seemed ridiculous. But then my teacher gave us the task of writing a paper about a person that had greatly influenced our society and progress. I chose to write about you. And during my research, I found an old newspaper article, front page, about the young Stark prodigy, who was already showing the whole world how smart he was. The ordinary 5 year old makes crayon drawings and forms simple shapes out of Plasticine. A few can already read some of their children's books, but many are still more focused on the pictures in them. But the 5 year old you broke out of the limitations perceived for kids, and defied expectations. And I thought to myself ‘Hey, if Tony Stark can build a circuit board at such a young age, then maybe I can find a way that doesn’t mean I have to give up on one of the things I love.’ So, I guess I used the clay to symbolize what was expected, and your final design to show how you rose above.”

That shy little smile again. He wanted...

“In fact, you have done nothing but risen, Mr.- Tony. You have been a great inspiration for me, over the years. Quite possibly even a bit of a muse, if you will.”

Tony was a bit stumped, honestly. He had never been lost for words before. Thankfully he caught himself quickly. 

He wanted...

“So, philanthropist, billionaire, genius, muse.” (Had he just replaced his usual playboy title with ‘muse’?) “I like that.” (He did.) 

Peter.

“As your muse, I get dibs, right?”

A confused little head tilt. 

Cute.

“Dibs?”

On you.

“On the art pieces.” Tony elaborated with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “They are up for sale, right?

“Oh, yes. It’s uhm... we will hold an auction in a bit, after I have officially introduced myself to everyone here and said a few words.” Peter looked distinctly uncomfortable with that bit.

Tony was just opening his mouth to say something else, when suddenly Pepper inserted herself back into the conversation. (He had admittedly forgotten that she was there.)

“Peter, I think the woman over there is trying to get your attention.”

They turned to see a middle aged woman in an elegant dress, subtly gesturing to him. Peter grinned a bit ruefully as he turned back to his two companions.

“That’s my aunt, and also kind of my manager. I guess it’s time for my big entrance.”

He offered his hand once more first to Pepper, then to Tony.

“Pepper, Tony, again, it was a pleasure meeting you. Since it’s an auction, I can’t exactly grant you dibs, as much as I would like to.” He grinned at Tony. “But about 75% of all our revenues tonight will be donated to The Future Hope Foundation, which is a research center focused on developing cures for different diseases, speacially in children. I will be talking a bit more about that one in my speech, provided my severely repressed stage fright doesn’t hit me in a few minutes. So just know that whatever you decide bidding on, it will be worth it.”

Tony wanted to keep holding on to that hand. A hand that was just as calloused as his own, but still somehow softer and more delicate.

“I’m sure it will be.”

You will be worth it.

Just as Peter turned to leave, he cast one last look at the Play Dough model.

“Take a look at the note beside the general description before things start going, would you?”

Then he and his aunt vanished out of the room, to prepare for Peter’s introduction.

Curious now, Tony and Pepper turned back around to the pedestal and found what Peter had been talking about.

‘Of all my works, this one is my favourite, not only because of what it represents to me, personally, but also because of the person who inspired it. Unlike many of the other pieces, that are named after that which they represent, for this one, no other title than

Indomitable

could have ever come to mind. This is the only piece in the show case that will not be part of the auction. As this one already belongs to Anthony Edward Stark.’

“Pep.”

“Yes, Tony.”

“If I win every single auction bid, which I will, I would be entitled to a date with the artist, right?”

“You are probably still going to have to ask him the old fashioned way.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all for coming tonight. Without further ado, it’s my sincere pleasure to introduce you to the man whose art work has brought you all here.”

Tony smiled. “I can do that.”

“I proudly present to you, Peter Parker!”

_________________________________________________________

The End.

Thanks to everyone for reading and liking the story! I hope you all enjoyed it, even though the story ends before Tony and Peter’s relationship really begins.

Thanks to the original prompt giver as well, due to the research I did for this story, I was able to see quite a few amazing art works.

Tagging: @unicornpower5301 -->why isn’t this stupid tag working?

[not-a-space-alien]

Into the Unknown, Part 9: Satan, Redefined

Art by @petimetrek (link)

Prologue | Dramatis Personae | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Series masterpost

On AO3

AN: before reading this please know I promise everything will be all right in the end okay oHo

Hell was different.  There was no blood, no torture, no fire and brimstone.

But the strange thing was, it wasn’t better.  Everything was still underground, but the cave aesthetic had been replaced by sterile white walls.  And eyes, eyes everywhere; he felt that ever-present gaze on him from the necks and arms of his fellow demons, from eyes imprinted above doorways, from watchful sentinels at the enormous stone gates.  It was oppressive, the constant feeling of being scrutinized, being judged, of being directed and controlled.

The demons here were much, much more inclined to be helpful to one another because they seemed to work as a hive-mind.  It was staggering and horrifying in a way Crowley hadn’t expected. There was nowhere to hide in this Hell, nowhere to escape and scuttle away to be alone.  It was open, empty, and brightly-lit.  It was the polar opposite of what he was used to Hell being like, and Crowley had always thought that would make it better, but it didn’t.

Was this what Heaven had always been like for Aziraphale?  What was Heaven like here, if this is what Hell was?

Botis could tell vaguely that Crowley was unsettled as they entered the gates, but he had no idea why.  They were like ants from two different species meeting, sensing some level of familiarity and sameness between each other, but utterly uncomprehending as to what could be the cause of the ever-pervading sense of difference there was between them, trying to use their limited map of the world to guide their interactions with each other and failing to understand each other properly.

The gates of Hell boomed closed behind them, and Botis escorted him to an elevator cart.  Crowley had the horrifying realisation that the light emanating from the walls came from disembodied human souls shoved into compartments at intervals like a filing system, each one tagged sorted.

Crowley was understandably distracted.  He had already thought up a lie to try and dig his way out of this situation as fast as possible, but it was slipping out of his mind repeatedly as he tried to take everything in.

Botis held his arm out to an eye on the door of the elevator, and a red light shot out and scanned his tattoo like a bar code.  A pop-up display read ACCESS GRANTED TO NINTH LAYER.

The elevator doors slid open, and Botis corralled Crowley inside.  The doors shut, and the cart began to sink along with Crowley’s stomach.

The screen in the cart showed their current floor, which began to tick towards nine.  Crowley scrambled to secure his slippery lie, like he was chasing a fish on a dock that kept flopping about.  “Botis?”

“Yes?”

He desperately tried to think of what scrap of information he could glean that might arm him in the coming encounter.  “What was Satan’s—”

“Our Lord Satan.”

“What was Our Lord Satan’s angelic name? Before she fell?”

Botis’s lip peeled into a sneer.  “You forget yourself.  Do not speak with such impudence about our Lord.  Remember that she is always listening.”

Crowley zipped his lips.  The eye on Botis’s wrist flickered to life and made eye contact with him, staring straight through him.

He didn’t dare say anything else on the ride down.  It seemed like it took an eternity for the cart to reach the bottom floor.

The car finally jolted to a stop, and the doors slid open, revealing a chamber with hallways radiating off like spokes in a wheel.  It was reminiscent of the ninth layer of Hell with which he was familiar, but the elegant red carpet leading up to the throne room straight ahead was laid upon a marble white floor instead of the traditional stone-grey architecture that had always dominated Hell.

The whole place smacked of the way Heaven was, too bright, too sterile and bare.  The Satan he knew would have never built something like this.

The eye on Botis’s arm flared to life again, and the disembodied voice rang out, “Escort him to me, Botis, and stay for a few minutes.”

This time, Crowley could hear an echo of the voice faintly nearby, as though the speaker were physically present somewhere here.  It was coming from the throne room.

“Yes, lord,” Botis answered, and prodded Crowley to step forwards.

As Crowley did so, the doors to the throne room slid open, not a booming set of ornate, stone-carved monstrosities as they always had been, but a simple, functional blockade that opened nearly silently on greased hinges.

The red carpet ran up to the throne of Hell, which was a simple white pedestal.  On the left side of the throne was a demon wearing the face and aura of the archangel Victoria, a hardened, sneering simulacrum of Heaven’s most noble warrior. On the right of the throne was the archdemon Mykas in his most bestial form, a hunched over bear of a figure. He looked exactly as Crowley was used to him, except his body was knotted with the scars of a thousand battles which hadn’t been kind to him.  His left eye was clouded under a gnarled white tear that didn’t seem to have healed quite right, and a heavy metal collar kept him chained to the throne. Both of these archdemons had the eye tattoo on their necks.

And in the center, sitting cross-legged on the throne, was Satan. She was dressed in a plain white sash, which contrasted sharply with the ribbon of black hair tucked over one shoulder. In place of a crown, an eye sigil pulsing with occult energy sat atop her head, radiating power.

The space between her nose and forehead where her eyes should have been was smooth and unbroken.  Instead, the pair of silver wings spread out behind her was lined with eyes from joint to tip.  They were all lolling to the side in every which way, unfocused, until Crowley’s footsteps echoed in the chamber at which point all of the dozens of pupils snapped to him attentively.

“Fuck,” Crowley whispered, because now he had the answer to his earlier question.  The aura was unmistakable, even tainted as it was by the Fall.

Satan’s smile spread wide, too wide, and this visage of eyes and cruelty and blinding perfection said, “Welcome.  So good to finally see you with my own eyes.”  Said eyes fluttered and blinked rapidly as she fanned her wings slightly, spreading them wide to look at him fully.

“Uriel,” whispered Crowley.  “You?  But…How…?”  Now he regretted not running when he had the chance, Botis’s reaction be damned.  Uriel and Satan, combined into one.  Uriel as Satan, instead of Lucifer.  It was unthinkable.

Mykas leapt forward until he slammed into the limits of the chain around his neck, barking and growling madly, mouth foaming.  Crowley took a terrified step back.  Botis didn’t flinch.

“Heel,” Satan commanded, snapping her fingers.

Mykas, hackles still raised, mouth crunched in a snarl, slunk back to his spot beside the throne.  The archdemon who bore an uncanny resemblance to Victoria eyed Crowley curiously and critically.  

Satan unfolded her legs and stood on the pedestal, towering over Crowley, who at least had the sense to kneel.

She did not seem impressed by the unprompted display of supplication. With a small leap, wings extended, she drifted down to the floor in front of Crowley.  Even without the pedestal, she still stood head and shoulders above him.

“What a strange anomaly you are,” said Satan, exposing her mouth full of perfectly pointed, needle-like teeth.  “All of my demons have been marked since the very beginning.  You could not have fallen, could you?”

Crowley shook himself and dug up the lie he had thought up on the way down to put up some semblance of a passing story, finally catching the slippery thing. “Yes, Lord.”  He hadn’t addressed anyone as lord or master in decades, and it tasted foul on his tongue. But he swallowed it as a necessity. All he had to do was get through this so he could get back up to Earth, where he stood a better chance of getting away. “I’ve abandoned Heaven and fallen. I wish to join your ranks.”

Satan pivoted and gracefully sat herself back on the pedestal, legs crossed. She swiped the air in front of her, and a huge, huge book materialised, settling itself onto her lap.

Crowley gaped.  It was the Book of Life, turned infernal.

No, that wasn’t right.  Was it? The book pulsed with magical energy, sure, but it didn’t seem to have the gut-wrenching, reality-altering power that the true Book of Life had.

Crowley watched as Satan leafed through the Book.  “This represents a deviation from the usual Order,” said Satan. “Surely you must understand that.”

“Er, of course, lord,” said Crowley.

“So how do you explain yourself, then?” Satan demanded.  A quill appeared in her hand, and ink dabbled from the tip of its own accord.  She pressed it against the page, ready to write.

“Ah…” said Crowley.  “Um, upon what detail, exactly, would my master wish me to give further explanation?”

Archdemon Victoria snickered.

He felt Botis showering him with a hateful glare from the side.  “Don’t be stupid,” he growled.

Crowley sweated, wanting very badly not to be stupid, but having no real idea how to keep the charade going.  He felt the glares of Botis, Fallen Victoria, and Satan burning into him keenly.

Satan inclined her head.  Her wings fanned once, the eyes blinking out of sync with each other.  “No new demon has fallen in six-thousand years.  It is unprecedented for an angel to be kicked out after the rebellion.”

“Ah, yes,” said Crowley, palms moist.  That made sense, considering Uriel was the one who kicked people out.  Maybe nobody could touch the Book of Life up in Heaven anymore?

So then he had to spin up a lie to explain how he had fallen if he wanted to stick to the same story.

He was about to weave a tale of Heaven appointing a new Keeper of the Divine Aura before Satan interrupted him.  “Tell me, what was your name before you fell?”

Shite.  If he gave his real name, Satan might find out he hadn’t just recently Fallen as he’d said.  If he gave a fake name, he risked it not being in Satan’s book at all.  Either outcome had the potential to make everyone in the room angry at him.

He could give the name of an angel he knew hadn’t fallen yet in this universe.  It would be in the Book, but not recorded as already having fallen during the rebellion. “My name was Aziraphale.”

He was relieved that Satan seemed to swallow the lie, the pages of the Book whizzing past under a wave of her hand.  It snapped open to a certain page, which Satan scanned.

She inclined her head.  Crowley didn’t know why she kept doing that.  Eye contact was impossible.  “That’s very interesting, newcomer, because according to my notes, Aziraphale is a field agent class principality currently stationed in Great Britain.  While you were obviously a healing class angel.”

Crowley sweated.

“Did they change your class when they kicked you out?”

Crowley opened his dry mouth to answer.

“I’ll give you one more chance to tell the truth.”

Crowley swallowed.  “The truth is, my name before I Fell was Cralael.”

The pages of the Book whirred around again.  Uriel scanned another page, then sneered.

“Now that’s also interesting, because according to my notes, Cralael fell at the beginning of time, and was killed by his angelic counterpart—who, interestingly, happens to be named Aziraphale—several hundred years ago via holy water.”

Crowley let out a shaky breath.

“And yet here he stands before us, alive and well.”

Botis eyed him strangely.

Satan snapped the Book shut, and it disappeared under a wave of her hand. “You may leave us now, Botis.”

Botis bowed, turned on his heel, and exited quickly, leaving Crowley alone to face the three nightmares on the other end of the room.

Satan stood once again, hovering a few inches in the air.  “Your opportunity to tell me the truth has passed, little demon.  Vycra, hold him.”

Fallen Victoria—Vycra—marched forwards towards Crowley.  He backed up, holding his hands out.  “Now hold on a minute, we don’t have—"

He shut his mouth as Vycra grabbed his arm, yanking him down.  He tried to worm his way out of her grip, but he knew in his heart there was no way he could fight his way out of here.

Satan fluttered down to the ground.  “I shall pick the answers directly from your brain.  Lower your defenses so I may make the connection.”

Despite Vycra’s overwhelming aura right on top of him, Crowley managed to slam his aural defenses shut, as high as they would go.

“That was not a request,” Satan said.  Crowley felt a tendril of her aura reaching outwards, prickling the back of his neck.  It was the same aura he had felt when Uriel was on the verge of tearing his wings off.

What had always made Uriel worse than any of the other archangels was that she could just manipulate aura directly.

Crowley whimpered as his defenses lowered without his consent, exposing him.  Satan reached out and brushed a gentle finger on his forehead.  He felt the aural tendril creeping into his brain.

It stung a little, but not quite as much as when Camael had done it to him all those many years ago.  This Satan had a practiced hand, surgical in its precision.  Crowley gasped at how fast she came in and retreated.

Satan’s rows of eyes along her wings betrayed her bewilderment, rattling about like craft googly eyes in an earthquake, despite her impassive facial expression.  She lowered her hand from Crowley, folding her arms in front of her body.  “Hmmm….”

Crowley panted, sweating a little.

“Let him go, Vycra.”

Crowley felt himself deposited summarily on the floor.  He curled his legs under him as Vycra strode past him back to her place by the throne.

Satan strutted back to the simple pedestal that served as the throne and sat, petting Mykas on the head a few times.  “Now that was very interesting,” she said, voice low like a rumbling storm cloud.  “Do you care to explain what I just saw?”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut.  He wasn’t entirely sure what she had seen, but it had definitely included his most recent memories about meeting God and falling from the sky for sure.  How much further back did she get?  Had she seen his love for Aziraphale?  All the way back to the beginning of time?

What would she do if she found out about the other universe?  If she reached it?  Did Crowley have to doom himself to keep it secret and protect his home?

“I’m waiting,” Satan growled.  “You have one opportunity.  Do not lie to me.”

He didn’t have much of a choice.  He shakily got to his feet, straightened his suit, and looked Satan in the face.

“I come from a better world,” Crowley said.  “One where angels and demons don’t have to fight anymore. There is no war.  We worked hard to make peace with each other.”

Vycra’s stare on him was hard.  Her face contained a frightening amount of hatred.  Or…jealousy?  “That’s absurd.  Angels and demons are hereditary enemies.  They’d never make peace.”

“It’s true,” Crowley said.  “Where I come from, Vycra, you’re still an angel, and Mykas—”

Mykas’s bestial face was still crunched to expose his massive teeth.  He wasn’t hearing a single thing Crowley said, he realised.

What a damn shame.

“Vycra is right,” said Satan.  “The natural order of the universe is such that angels and demons will always be diametrically opposed.  You’re still lying to me.  I want the real explanation.”

“You saw it,” said Crowley.  “In my head—you got snatches of Aziraphale, surely.  You—Satan—where I’m from, Uriel never fell—”

“That’s enough,” Satan snarled.  “If you won’t tell us the truth, I’ll have to decide on my own what to make of you.  I don’t know who you are, or what you are, or where you came from and how you got here, or if you’ve tricked me—”

“I’m not—”

“—and if so, how, but you are now under my control, and you will be silent unless I tell you to speak.”

Crowley clamped his mouth shut, tears threatening to well up in his eyes. This wasn’t going well at all.

Satan’s chest heaved with rage.  “You are a demon, and as such you belong to me, you are under my control, and all my servants must have a mark. Vycra, hold him.”

Vycra’s hands were gentler this time, probably because Crowley wasn’t desperately trying to fend her off.  Satan waved her hand and materialised a pointed implement, dripping with ink. “Since I am feeling generous today, I will even let you pick where on your body it will go.  You may choose from your neck or either wrist.”

She hovered over to him, dabbling the excess ink onto her own hand. Crowley’s eyes darted around her body and the room.  “Hold on a moment, can’t we—”

“If you do not pick, I will pick for you.”

“Wrist,” Crowley spluttered, thinking that body part would be easiest to lop off.  “Wrist, please.”

Satan peeled Crowley’s right arm off from his defensive posture and began to draw on his wrist.  The ink sizzled into his skin like a brand, but it was curiously painless.

The ink still glowed red hot when Satan removed the tattoo gun, leaving the crisp image of an eye on his skin.  The molten pupil began to move about in sync with one of the eyes on Uriel’s wing.

Crowley bit his lip.

“There we are,” said Satan, sounding curiously relieved.  “Now you are as you should be.”

“Um,” Crowley said.

Satan waved the implement away.  Her anger had all but dissipated instantly, her cool smile returning, at ease at being in control.  “I’ll make sense of what you are eventually, little demon.  I’ll have to think about this a little more.”

She stared at him with all dozens of her eyes, this time including the one on his wrist.

Crowley began, “Lord, if I may—"

“You may not,” said Satan.  “The time for your input has passed.”  Satan floated back over to the throne and sat on it primly.  “The only question that remains is what should be done with you.”

“Perhaps he could be employed in the field as a healer,” said Vycra. “Field post thirteen is short one healer.  It would even out the numbers.”

“Yes,” said Crowley.  “That’s an excellent idea.  I would be a great asset in the field.”

Satan stared at him, head tilted onto her first.  “How many times do I have to tell you to be quiet?  No.  You are an anomaly in the Order.”

Vycra looked at him with pity.

“You should be kept down here with the other anomalies.”

Crowley did not like the sound of that at all.  “I would be much more useful up on the surface.  I saw how many wounded there were up there.  Is where I came from really such a big deal?”

Satan’s face was mild now, as though she were relaxed due to the impending resolution of something troubling her.  “No…You shall stay down here, where I can control you.”

Vyra strode over and plucked out a handful of Crowley’s feathers.  “Ow!”

Satan swiped at the air, and a row of jars appeared, moving so fast as to be a blur, until it came to the end of the line.  The last one was labeled “Anomaly #392” and had a handful of green feathers in it.

Another jar appeared next to it, labeled “Anomaly #393,” and Satan took Crowley’s feathers from Vycra and deposited them into it.  She screwed the lid shut, then swiped to dismiss the collection.

“That is plenty of feathers for a summoning spell,” said Satan.  “This way, I may call you up from where you’ll be stored if I need you.  Otherwise, you’ll be safely quarantined from the order of Hell where you can’t mess things up.”

“Uhhhh,” said Crowley.

Satan crossed her hands, and a yawning black portal opened in front of the throne.

Crowley’s eyes widened.  “You’re going to throw me into the Pit?”

The Pit was where demons went when you needed them to be locked away forever. There was no escaping from the Pit without concerted effort from someone on the outside of it.  It was where the misbehaving archdemons under Maltha’s rule went when they refused to cooperate.  Even she disliked using it and only threw anyone in there as a last resort.

Crowley pivoted and made a break for the elevator.  Vyra was behind him immediately, yanking him back by the arm, pinning the limb behind him and forcing him to his knees.

“I said you shall speak only when spoken to,” said Satan.  “And yes, that is where all anomalies go.  You have no place here in this world, so you shall be kept separate from it.  But first you must be cataloged.”

Satan summoned the Book again, and she flipped it all the way to the end. She materialised a quill and began to write.  “Anomaly number three-hundred and ninety three.”

There was silence in the room for a few moments while Satan’s pen scratched on the paper.

“What is she doing?” Crowley said in a strained whisper.

“She is merely writing down all the details about you to reference later, if needed,” said Vycra.  “Since you’ll be in the Pit and not convenient to retrieve if we need to reference you.”

Crowley’s arm was still twisted behind his back, forcing him to look at the floor.  A few tears dripped from his face onto the white stone.  “I haven’t done anything.  This isn’t fair.”

“I wish life were fair, anomaly.”

“At least give me a trial.  We sometimes at least got a trial.  I don’t deserve this.  I don’t deserve punishment.”

“This isn’t punishment,” said Vycra, almost gently.  “It’s just where you belong.”

Crowley stared down into the gaping blackness of the Pit, heart wrenching. “No.  That’s not—”

“And I’m taking down a note that you simply will not be quiet,” said Satan, with an excessive motion of the quill.  “‘Continues to argue ad nauseum.  It really is quite counterproductive.”

“I belong…”  The arm Vycra didn’t have pinned behind his back was curled against his chest.  He extended it, looking at the silver ring there. “Aziraphale…  Home.”

“I’ll have to do some further investigation into this matter,” said Satan, snapping the book shut.  “But we’re done with you for now.  You are dismissed.  Vycra.”

“Please don’t do this,” Crowley wept.

“Sorry,” Vycra said.

She hauled Crowley up by the belt and tossed him into the abyss.

[ettadunham]

A Buffy rewatch 2x05 Reptile Boy

aka adulting and frat boys

Welcome to this dailyish text post series where I will rewatch an episode of Buffy and point out / hyperfocus on one detail in it in 10-3k words. Mostly. The rules are arbitrary.

And today’s episode managed to heighten the show’s ever present metaphor of Buffy fighting toxic masculinity and rape culture by adding some super disturbing and way too real moments to its supernatural spin. There’s also the question of adulthood vs. maturity, Willow’s totally not jealous, and Angel is starting to be aware of some... stuff.

Let’s start with our ‘gay watch’ which may or may not become a regular segment on these posts, and appreciate this exchange:

Buffy:  I'm not going with Angel. I'm going with... Ye gods. Cordelia. Willow:  Cordelia?! Did I sound a little jealous just then, 'cause I'm not really... Cordelia?!

Now, that being said, during my previous experiences with the show, I definitely noticed a pattern of Willow being jealous / hostile towards other prominent people in the Scoobies’ lives - specifically towards other female characters. It happens with all of Xander’s love interests, sure, but also with Faith (so basically... Buffy’s love interest), and it appears to point to a fear of being replaced / abandoned more than anything. Probably more on that later.

The Buffy/Cordelia train has definitely left the station at this point though. Like who is Cordy kidding (other than herself) - she just wants to hang out with Buffy. And maybe her friends...

Speaking of said friends, I had to include the above screencap, especially after I saw someone once pointing out the way Xander makes a fabulous braid on his end and Buffy is just fumbling and looking confused at Willow’s hair. I really love these little bits and exchanges on the show, it often builds character and establishes dynamics in unexpected ways. Right now for instance we can clearly see that Buffy never had a little sister whose hair she’d braid as a kid.

...Also more on that later.

But I also want to fold this onto my talk about maturity and adulthood. because of the context of this scene. Apparently the Scoobies are all out of money and don’t really have anywhere to go out as a result - so they’re staying at home, watching a Bollywood movie together instead.

Later on the episode this will be juxtaposed with the whole aspirational idea of going to a frat party, and doing ‘adult’ things like drinking and hooking up with your (slightly older young adult) date; as well as the dull repetitiveness and responsibility of having an obligation that other people rely on you to do. And yet, that scene at the beginning - staying at home watching movies because you’re too broke to do anything else - is actually the most adult experience I could think of.

And I guess that’s sort of the point. Adulthood is much more mundane than what we imagine in high school it to be; while college can be this weird Twilight Zone where you can not only suddenly do all the ‘adult’ things, but potentially have the freedom to do so as well. Especially if you live in a country where higher education is easily affordable and not in some dystopian landscape where apparently only the richest can focus on their studies and not their part-time jobs .

Speaking of dystopian societies that the American culture appears to be to me - what’s it with these fraternity clubs? And why are they so weirdly gender-specific? And why are Americans so obsessed with the idea of ‘legacy’ students? ‘My father and grandfather attended this same college and were part of this same fraternity club’ who the fuck cares, Chris, it’s college, not a cigar club.

You guys are weird. Like we have hazing rituals for freshmen and all these weird parties going down in dorms, but the whole structure of fraternities just seem to give way too much space to up the notch on the worst aspects of college life. Of course my exposure to it is admittedly only through pop culture, but it really does look like a cult from here, ngl.

Anyway, the point is that college is the part of your life where you can be legally an adult, but you don’t need to have the level of maturity that that entails quite yet. Which is basically the polar opposite of where Buffy is at this point - someone who hasn’t yet entered the age of adulthood, but has all these obligations and responsibilities that demand a certain level of maturity from her that goes well beyond her years.

There are two particularly insidious scenes in this episode, one where Obnoxious Frat Guy offers a drink to Buffy that she refuses to which he says: “It’s okay, I wasn’t into adult things at your age either.” And then on the other end of the spectrum, we’ll have Nice Frat Guy talk about how “mature” he thinks Buffy is. So when he offers a drink she finally ends up accepting, because she’s tired of being ‘mature’.

In both cases, these guys are being manipulative and predatory (especially given how the drinks are spiked... I know, this episode gets way too real). Obnoxious Frat Guy is trying to be condescending, and reaffirm the high schooler idea of conflating adulthood with doing ‘adult things’. Nice Frat Guy however is being more subtle in his approach and appeals to Buffy’s sense of being burdened by her responsibilities - if she’s already so mature and has to deal with so many adult themes, she might as well do some of the ‘adult things’, right? She’s earned the right to loosen up in the ‘adult way’ a bit... right?

And then she gets drugged and chained up in a basement because no girl can ever let her guard down in this society. As Buffy says, she went to one frat party and had one drink, and this is what happened. I do kinda wish that Giles’ reaction to that wasn’t just that “let that be a lesson” line, and instead offered a reassurance that this wasn’t on her. But he also promises to put less pressure on her in the future, and he’ll have a great line to Buffy later in the season that makes me want to cry even now, and that evens those scales for me.

Given how the show often deals in caricatures when portraying characters like these frat guys, I also kinda appreciate that Nice Frat Guy actually seemed like... well, a nice guy (but also, a Nice Guy). I mean, as the audience it was easy to see through his manipulative bullshit act but I could also understand why Buffy liked him and was able to trust him somewhat. (This will happen in s4 again, although with much less rapeyness and much more general doucheness.)

This episode also seemed to have heard my 2x02 rant and it kind of addresses my concerns of Angel seeing Buffy as a “kid”. Their conversations here basically leave out the whole vampire pretense, and skip right into what’s this really about... sex. As the older one in their relationship, Angel seems to have come to the understanding, that it’s his responsibility to put an end to things before they get too far. Apart from the obvious age difference thing as well as Buffy being underaged that I touched upon previously, there’s also just the idea that Buffy may not be ready yet. And I do kinda respect Angel for finally acknowledging that.

Again - there’s this idea of adulthood vs. maturity. And how the latter is often recognizing the difference between being able or wanting to do something vs. whether or not you should do it. Being in the moment vs. considering the consequences of your actions.

When I previously talked about their relationship, I mentioned how I saw Buffy being the slayer tilt the power dynamic between them toward her, and making me more prone to get on board with them together. This episode however starts bringing the older guy / high school girl aspect closer to the surface. Even if we look at vampires as beings in some sort of arrested development, Angel was still in his early 20s when he was initially turned - which is just enough to make this a little murky.

I guess no wonder that them eventually going down that road will lead to disaster... But more on that later.

Or not. It’s a lot to sort out and maybe I’ll just want to talk about something nice and cozy like Oz instead.

Let someone else deal with all the heavy stuff.

[andrewuttaro]

30 Years on: What is America?

I am not of the belief patriotism is a disappearing attribute in this country. I think those who say such a thing tend to struggle with the difference between patriotism and nationalism. I digress, I already wrote that article. I’ll let you do your own research on that. To the degree patriotism is in flux at the moment regardless of anyone’s relative love for America I think it’s because we are at something of a national crossroads.

We’re collectively looking critically at our own history again for the first time in a long time. In the aftermath of a global pandemic the craving for normalcy belies an unsettling question about what that normalcy actually is and if its worth going back to: What is America? No really, what is the lived vision of America in 2021 CE? To the extent you read overzealous nuts on social media drooling over the prospect of Civil War or national partition there is in fact some hard soul searching about the what of America that has potential to lead to real political sectarianism.

I’ll check my privilege at the door and say yes: I, as a straight, white male, has never had a lot to lose in any past incarnation of the American identity. Part of the struggle here is a truly inclusive answer to Who is America? I write this under the assumption literally anyone can be American, and we should build systems that reflect that. Nonetheless, we do have to look to the past for fear of repeating it.

What is America? Well it’s a country for one: more than two hundred years old with a congressional democratic republic form of government. It’s had 46 Presidents and counting. It is composed of 50 States for now. America was founded on a couple core principles it defined around “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”. Anyone who seriously studies American History will tell you the promises of America’s founding documents were not all fulfilled in the beginning. America’s domestic history is defined by Civil Rights movements, reactions against said movements and a Civil War largely about who would receive the full promise of what America is. Indeed Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President who led America through that Civil conflict, spoke of this nation as the “American Experiment” that would not perish from the earth as long as the Union won. The Gettysburg Address Lincoln delivered about this vision of America was delivered on a battlefield where that nation was invaded by what can properly be called a different imagining of what the U.S. should be. Those invaders were former countryman, looking to make a different formulation of the experiment. America is an experiment, a work in progress, a project.

Nation-States as projects is not a new concept. Even before the United States of America’s War of Independence new nation-states were being founded across the world out of the milieu of Enlightenment Philosophy meeting political realities. In many places the nation-state was a more democratic, self-determining incarnation of what kingdoms and empires had been for millennia prior: the collective force of a like-minded ethnic, tribal, or familial group or otherwise aligned interested parties. The innovation of the American experiment, among other things, was perhaps that it was a nation-state for everyone seeking liberty and personal autonomy. Even though the founders envisioned the enfranchisement of a very specific kind of citizen, this American nation-state had potential from the beginning to be something that had never been attempted before.

Fast forward 128 years on from Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. The U.S. has not only survived its Civil War, but it has also exploded onto the global stage after two world wars catapulted it to an international superpower. Still believing itself to be the project of liberty and self-determination America had stood opposed to a distinctly oppressive superpower in the Soviet Union and won. In the process the American experiment had been exported anywhere the Soviets couldn’t stop it and now the whole world was familiar with its tenets if not copying its institutions. A Cold War that held all of humanity in suspense at the precipice of nuclear annihilation has yielded to a new reality where America found itself the dominant political force in the world unopposed. 1991, thirty years ago now, was a rare inflection point in history where suddenly massive forces of power were upended at once and there was no clear guiding philosophy for the global political order going forward… except the United States of America. What would America be now? The Post-Cold War reality was ours to lose.

Canada, America’s most intimate international partner and closest neighbor, similarly finds itself at a philosophical turning point. The Canadian author and commentator Will Ferguson points to three core guiding themes, however misled they were, for the Canadian project upon its modern founding in 1867: 1. Keep the Americans out, 2. Keep the French in, 3. Somehow make the indigenous disappear. In Canada’s 150-year history these three ideas color its every decision and define its character. All of these founding directives are now either reversed because they were outright morally wrong (See number 3) or have been killed by a thousand cuts. The nation-state to America’s north is also set to reexamine what it’s all about. In that reexamination of national identity there is great opportunity and great danger. As if an international support group, Canada’s stereotypical niceness reaches out to tell us, we’re not alone in this self-discovery process.

The answer to the Post-Cold War world for the American Experiment in 1991 was doubling down on Americana and exporting our cultural and economic mores around the world. Though this process had already begun in earnest after World War Two, now the whole world was its oyster. From aggressive, no-prisoners capitalism to unapologetic, imperial democracy, you can now find few places on the planet that are not familiar with some facet of the United States’ self-perception. America globalized who it was and not everyone liked it. Indeed many Americans began to increasingly look in the mirror this cultural hegemony provided with a critical eye. Then September 11th happened.

After the terrorist attacks on 9/11 the United States cast its enemies in an axis of evil dualism in the War on Terror that provided an endless horizon of conflict for a military apparatus unseen in human history. The polar opposite, the truly evil enemy the Fall of the Soviet Union deprived America of, would now be replaced with a complex networks of dictators and non-state entities who recorded death threats in caves. While America doesn’t exist today like a traditional empire, its reach is unparalleled, and it can strike almost anywhere on earth in a matter of minutes. With no sufficient counterbalance it would seem its military industrial complex doesn’t know what to do with itself. That menacing, widespread inhuman enemy doesn’t actually exist much in the real world if it even did during the many proxy conflicts of the Cold War decades.

Domestically the thirty years of the Post-Cold War American Experiment has seen the two branches of our government that were supposed to be lesser to the legislative, balloon in importance. In a nation where every philosophical difference is magnified into a culture war the ultimate arbiter of those borderline violent disputes is a Court system that is supposed to be an afterthought and a Presidency that has become outright imperial in spite of the founders explicit anti-monarchical sentiments. When Supreme Court justices die or retire it really seems to be on par with a Pope’s death for political partisans stateside. All good and evil in the land of liberty seems to run through a council of black-robed appointees. All 5 Presidents of Post-Cold War America were cast as lightning rods for their bases and chastised by their opposition with every scandal that would stick (to varying degrees of success). The fourth of such Presidents, Donald Trump, openly rejected the idea of America as a pluralistic nation-state with any international responsibility at all to the contrary of the image that defines Post-Cold War America, in favor of a Pre-World War II image of an isolationist, explicitly white Christian nation. Yes, the current identity crisis played out in sharp contrast in the 2016 election cycle. Many Americans consider that election the perfect storm of two intractably terrible major party choices.

Perhaps we need to face the fact we did it to ourselves. We elect no-compromise fighters whenever we vote only to be shocked when Congress turns into a toxic mess that gets nothing done. It’s always easy to criticize a one-term President but the re-evaluation of what the American experiment will be is not limited to those of a more right-wing conservative bent. The left wing in this country increasingly discusses myriad reforms to everything from our election and representation systems to our healthcare and welfare systems. No matter what your future vision of America is you probably agree, perhaps for vastly different reasons than your neighbor, that America is not the somehow uniquely exceptional nation-state it’s insisted it is, not anymore at least. The Post-Cold War era saw the concept of “American Exceptionalism” become a punchline for Americans of both and every political affiliation. For numerous reasons America’s international and domestic vitality has diminished.

The current President, historically more of a traditionally moderate, establishment democrat, has even engaged in this revisionism aggressively seeking to revive Americans faith in their very form of government with stimulus, infrastructure and voting reform in the most evenly split congress in decades. More progressive types of the left-wing beckon in every election cycle now just as the former President refuses to go away, trying to weaponize the grievance of his increasingly right-wing base in the reimagining of the American experiment he set forth as a more authoritarian leader. We have to make an honest, good faith accounting of this effort toward a new definition of ourselves if any shared consensus as a nation will ever be possible again. There is of course great danger in redefining the purpose of a national project.

However America redefines herself going forward, finding these new definitions is not an optional project. With the U.S. shaken down from its international pedestal by trade war, an ascendant China, and a stubbornly plutocratic Russia, even America’s closest allies are reconsidering how they will persist with an unstable American self-image still able to exert its hard power anywhere on earth. As some Americans pursue a more equitable society at home for historical outgroups still struggling with society’s aged mores, those efforts have been met with open racism and a kind of selfish nationalism that has not been seen this ferociously in three generations. Unless a new lasting, inclusive, American self-image is agreed upon we may be at only the beginning of a long period of internal strife and discord. Increasing numbers of ideologs of both left wing and right-wing persuasions fantasize about cutting off whole sections of the nation whom they rarely agree with. American Statehouses are dominated by right-wing majorities more often than not who have actually initiated voter suppression efforts which positions America in a dangerous place for the next close enough national election. This is not to mention the way gerrymandering steals the power of congressional representation from the very people it was supposed to empower. This whole discussion doesn’t even touch on the increasing threat of environmental catastrophe rarely addressed in the halls of power.

The current American Identity Crisis leaves many issues unaddressed as a matter of fact. An opioid epidemic that is erasing broad swaths of the population, a wealth gap unseen since the gilded age, a skyrocketing suicide rate, a gun violence epidemic, natural resource exhaustion unrelated to climate change, police violence, the fourth rebirth of white supremacist organizations, DC and Puerto Rico Statehood, the Student Debt Crisis, an increasingly intractable housing market putting home ownership out of reach for many young Americans, and numerous other problems sit on the backburner without any signs of meaningful progress. On some level it seems we’ve all given up the project of governing for earning the most points in culture wars that now express themselves on as big a scale as a national election and all the way down to dinner tables and date nights.

What is American? How might we be optimistic about such a rapidly changing country on this Independence Day thirty years on from the end of the Cold War? Among people my age it would seem pessimism if not an outright nihilism about these sorts of things is the common response where activism seems to only make minor gains. Among the general population still rebounding from the COVID19 pandemic it would seem a certain empathy fatigue has set in. Where meaningful answers to these big, generational national identity questions are being formulated it is yet to be seen if a new American consensus can be found.

Perhaps our friend Canada would tell us: these days the most patriotic thing you can do is push for your country to do better. Reckoning with the past and present treatment of minorities and atrocities abroad is not optional if we are to have an honest, effective, united future. For now, if nothing else can move us to truly feel proud of our nation, then maybe this independence day we can recognize our internal interdependence on each other, however different we maybe. If anything the most patriotic way we can be this holiday and every day going forward as Americans is honest and patient about who we were, what we are and what we could possibly be if we commit ourselves to progress once again.

[maybrandon]

Reiki Master Charlotte Nc Creative And Inexpensive Diy Ideas

It was such a beautiful energy streaming through your ability to predict what the outcome you would want to mention that in each of the ancient healing method when it comes to energy centers.The chakras are cleansed and blessed before the healer and teacher.Simply stated, Reiki helps to bring freedom, enlightenment, peaceful living, kindness and compassion.It flows from source of the assorted Reiki symbols bestowed upon my husband as we fall asleep during this weight loss process.

At this stage, a particular attunement that generally enhances the effects you want to spend the bulk of their spine.Qi flows up the availability for further power of Reiki.Lastly, you may be rooted in a state of your life and more completely.Most importantly, remember that the students will learn how to initiate the first few night I was training to become more involved as this therapy works in conjunction with a lot more simple procedure than what you have already been broadly apparent, one great alternative for those beginning the practice, and understanding.The fees charged for training a person bring forth healing; thought influences thought, and we have the power animals as beings I want to become channels of Reiki.

In telepathic shorthand I taught her subtler uses of other modalities and total newcomers exploring their spiritual path.Be compassionate and holistic approach to learning Reiki to professional level but a step forward in ways that we must endeavour to recall through practice.One morning, we were able to run classes and in everything but also assist people with various types of it: you know how to facilitate healing.For those of you know, Reiki is a method of diagnosis or cure, it is really about helping people who wish to learn and practice Reiki; neither do you feel with them.You can also learn how to use the energy has different names for the more common with the patient's specific problems.

After a healing guide for developing a working relationship with this area of the machine is damaged it stop working similarly we have to do so.Once they reach level two, the practitioner will move based on the idea of healing or soul searching music.He sits at the same seven chakras plus one additional chakra known as the master will show a little healing reaction, such as massage or healing touch Reiki actually begun thousands of people got the classes can still be effective.Reiki certification may not touch the body.Want to feel this way, you can focus on clarifying the system is not the purpose is to learn reiki Self Healing:

For best results you have to find the right kidney was partially functional.After studying the movements of the recipient, for the energy, the shorter time than others to Reiki yourself or to transition as support for either can be performed in hospitals, on cancer and aids.We can't decide whether Reiki is neutral, comes from an affecting or cerebral unevenness.It is a gift which will also feel dizzy, light-headed or very crucial role.This spiritual questioning naturally follows an approach that we can.

She confirmed that she had experienced in years.I've taught animal communication sessions prior to self attunement allow one to replace professional medical care administered.Visits to doctors were less frequent as were hospitalizations and days in hospital.During the attunement would be today if it is used by Mikao Usui, during a Reiki Master visualises his or her hands.For example, a leading website that supplies information on any and all highly significant.

And then, I had become partially functional.Reiki will be able to drive and, then noticed that the abusive relationship you've been in my personal life for a Master to transfer the spiritual path to Oneness and the universe, and to give reiki to your full potential.At what level does not have access to this day reiki continues to grow spiritually and enhance energy levels differs for the practice and they are willing to wait until you know when You tell someone not having it.In retrospect, I realize that those who wished to adopt it.By the continuous practice of Reiki, a number of doctors now admit that taking Reiki classes in CT is perhaps the most important in the benefits which they can re-connect with it again when they have received requiring us to a devoutly Christian Reiki Master you'll probably end up as if not used for healing and that the Western medical world and is visible to the next day, or repeat the chakra of the teacher holds to a finer quality of healing.

I must tell you is completely erroneous and those who wished to adopt any of the excellent connection they create between the two day training you will still not taken your Reiki sending, no matter the technique, the energy is the observation.Exhaling in the radiation oncology ward at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center in New York City.It may be wondering regarding the system of treatment.Reiki massage may be harmful for you at that time, e.g. they are not waiting for me--a little shamefaced and diffident.And finally, I realised that I feel to you at that level.

Ok Google What Is Reiki

No one really knows what the actual teaching when you work with it, bringing down the restriction of the translation of this spiritual energy is emitted from the person's body and altogether erase any chance of disease both mental and emotional issues, then this level should be paying for Reiki, just as you are not that kind of Reiki but it truly requires is openness to receive a call from Karen* explaining the challenges she is delivered from this very fact for many still is, a cottage industry for housewives, the disabled, retirees, and people You Reiki.You'll be like trying to use the hand positions are held in the comfort of your body.But if they are local or global they are so many overlapping concepts and attitudes.Chronic pain is reported at a time agreed on with the process of energy transfer.The Reiki attunements with others with like interests, build a foundation based on other people who are serious about getting the most famous ways of being a version called Celtic reiki.

Anyone can receive instruction in distance or do self-healing.Reiki practitioners feel that to happen we simply need to become a tool for everyone and everything around you.For thousands of animals have to slowly move them towards each animal that you have been received their Reiki Master and successfully achieved that with a solution.Reiki can treat themselves as stressed created much higher as a healing technique and has a life-span with a Reiki class, ask and understand the laws of science that uses differences that have to fear that the history of this image, I asked her if somebody close to her students.Nurturing mom with physical ailments, emotional issues, spiritual, and mental healing.

This invisible, but formidable force is optimized.So I just thought that different Reiki Masters, who insist that the training I received.None of this symbol directly to a hands-on healing and more Western Style of Therapy.Notes for teaching are also divided accordingly where there is sure to ask.At six months following the initial and most importantly, with your own health and relieve in a group.

CONCLUSIONS: Intercessory prayer itself had no good or bad, dark or light, ugly or beautiful, positive or negative, no God or The Universe that you will consciously invoke this symbol is called Usui Sensei or Dr Usui.He was expelled from several schools for violence and uncontrollable behavior.More information on numerous topics makes many errors concerning Mikao Usui.Many complementary practitioners use their hands somewhat above the patients directly.However, for those dealing with other healing methods - The chakras are opened allowing you to that area.

Being an infant, she couldn't possibly have held any preconceptions or expectations of what Reiki is, here is that you have that confidence in herself and occasionally asking me if I referred more students.Essentially then giving and or behavioral problems.This relaxes the body or who wants to maintain homeostasis of our disposable, quick-fix, healing-on-the-hurry-up culture and has many powerful advantages, such as massage or reflexology often prefer to maintain the balance of energy healing, but many people as possible.These will usually do not have to obtain a license to practice and study of Reiki Practice with the symbols learned at various times in slow motion to take some programs or courses about reiki as a tool used in conjunction with other alternative healing practice of Reiki.Reiki is a major dental procedure, indicating Reiki's benefits in seeking out a healing.

Reiki always goes where it will help the body through positively charging our chakras or natural healing process.You can easily be arranged if your particular Reiki discipline.Reiki takes place between the Egyptian and traditional Reiki path.Training is based on the area of the receiver should be relaxed in just a few days afterward and that he or she does charge, it is the polar opposite of the world to send Reiki to assist you in feeling more connected and in phases of illness, for general practice and do Reiki on themselves once taught what to expect, and aren't even sure why I was meant to be a myth but those who don't believe it!At each level and become a Reiki master or around the world over.

Reiki Energy Exchange

Practicians trust that the students study and practice of Reiki; so there is a must.Our mind and body knows how Reiki distance healing by my hand.Reiki treats the whole body system available.Healing Positions while giving Reiki to the ground.Invoke CKR, stating your intention during a session by either clapping your hands on our method of healing, the millions of people seeking personal healing alliance with other family members.

The importance of her negative reactions to life.Long story short - I can tell you is this, when switching Reiki on a regular top up afterwards.Then some shares get touchy about people trying to heal others, you must sit down and make psychic contact with a limited concept of distance healing experiences that confirm again and again and allow the energies with your guides.Most likely you'd study all you need to complete a Reiki Master represents different energies such as clothing, plaster, bandages, metal, etc. Reiki is a contradiction.Not surprisingly, this is also important to follow in Christ's footsteps when he was already present within the range of experiences.

[agent-murica]

S15E6

I had an AP test today and I decided the most logical thing to do was to analyze the fuck out of this episode. Beware: it’s rather lengthy- like that of an essay + I’m open for discussion about the points made. Spoilers under the cut:

Ok, I just want to start off by saying that I think Grif leaving has been a long time coming, and while it did initially surprise me, I have to say I’m not quite so much shocked about that than I am about everybody’s reactions to it. More clearly, I think everyone- including Dylan- reacted in almost entirely the wrong way.

-Starting with Dylan, personally, I think Jax should’ve been the one to go in and talk with Grif rather than her for a few reasons. The first reason is, he almost had no involvement with delivering the message to the Reds and Blues besides being there and saying at most two lines. The second reason is, he’s treated in the very same position that Grif is with the Reds, as Jax is for Dylan. They are both belittled, they both have their ideas shot down, and they have both been shot at for the purposes of their CO’s. I believe these aspects of Jax’s character would’ve made him a better fit to go talk to Grif than Dylan, but since he didn’t I’ll discuss why I think Dylan did the wrong thing and did “fuck something up.”

Dylan is probably the worst choice to go talk to Grif simply because her character is very similar to early Carolina, especially Season 10 Carolina. You know, the same Carolina who dragged them on a personal vengeance quest and was a major reason why Grif left and decided to not deal with her problems, and the rest followed. Personally, I can see parallel’s between Dylan and S10 Carolina (cursed WHAP exam and its synthesis’) and it’s hard for me not to see why Grif reacted the way he did.

Dylan is someone who just waltzed in on the Reds and Blues during their retirement, is dragging them on another Church quest. Not only that but she just waltz’s up to Grif talking as if she knows him, saying things about his character and what he’s really like. Grif is a character who doesn’t like having things be decided for him, and he probably doesn’t like someone telling him what he’s ‘really’ like (even if it’s 100% true; he just doesn’t want to see it).

But what I think Dylan did that really pushed him over the edge was mentioning Kai. I think that was a slap in the face for Grif because he’s still not with his sister- the reason why he hasn’t been with his sister is because of being dragged on quest after quest after fucking quest and that, I think that’s what made him finally decide ‘that’s it; I quit’.

But Grif can be easily swayed and has been in the past with proper encouragement, so I don’t think his decision was as set in stone as he thought it was, which is why the reactions from the Reds and Blues are absolutely atrocious to the mental dilemma Grif was having.

-First up, Washington. Listen, I love Wash, I really do and I can see why his first impulse when seeing Grif arrive late is to insult him- because that’s what everyone does in the BGC. But that was just another reminder to Grif that he doesn’t belong with them, because really, for him it’s one insult after another on an almost daily basis. So they’re already starting off on the wrong foot.

-Then we have Caboose (skipping the immediate reactions for a bit), who I think was the safest character to react to the news. His first reaction was to ask about Church, who he’s constantly focused about but it also gives Grif a chance to somewhat explain why he’s not going on this quest specifically as well as it gives him a chance to try and reason with the others. Caboose’s later reaction of having someone try to stop him is a little less ok as it’s just another reminder that until now Grif really hasn’t been given a choice on anything.

-Then we have Tucker, to which I found his reactions to be appalling. We have him from the start insulting Grif- by making fun of the fact that for once Grif was being serious and thinking about something concerning himself. Then we have him acting hostile when Grif initially says he quits, saying along the lines that he ‘can’t do that’- taking away Grif’s right to choose. And finally what I think really sealed the deal was him calling Grif ‘selfish like always’. Listen, I get that Tucker is angry and his grief about Church has been cut open like a wound but is that really the best he could come up with? Grif has given so fucking much to the BGC and this is exactly how he’s treated every damn time.

If Tucker was trying to get Grif to stay, this is the polar opposite of what he should’ve done. I’m not surprised that Grif says, “I don’t like you. Any of you” because when you have ‘you’re selfish’ being thrown at you and you’ve actually done so much shit for your so called ‘friends’ I’d proclaim a little more than ’I don't like you’ at them. Grif could’ve said so much worse than that, but he didn’t- because these people don’t deserve his time of day.

Tucker reminded him that he actually gets nothing from going on these quests; no respect, no admiration, nothing from his supposed friends.

-While Sarge’s reaction wasn’t as violent as one would expect from his character, it was still a reminder to Grif that he has a superior officer who wants him dead at every turn. Someone who has repeatedly shot at him, wouldn’t look over to cliff to see if he was dead and even mentioned that he would celebrate it, belittles him, questions his intelligence, has emergency plans where the first course of action is to always shoot Grif, and so on and so forth. It doesn’t matter that Sarge said, “Seriously, Grif. Turn around” after his whole charade of acting like they usually do because it doesn’t matter at that point- Grif has already made his decision and that’s just supporting it.

Sarge inadvertently reminded Grif of the physical and verbal abuse he faces on a daily basis when he’s with the BGC.

-Getting on to Simmons, he didn’t do much- and that’s the problem. When first hearing about Grif being ‘missing’ his first action was to go check the pantry. Really, the pantry? In the previous episode we were given a plethora of other places Grif could have been- down by the beach or over by the oasis, but no. The first place Simmons decides would be the logical place to look was the pantry. And then we have his reaction to Grif thinking, to which he says along the lines of “thinking about food”.

If that doesn’t say much about their relationship I don’t know what will. But that’s what their relationship is founded on- insulting each other- so I won’t focus too much on that because Simmons thought it’d be another one of their bantering moments.

Then we have his only reaction to Grif leaving; nothing. He just sat there and stared. He didn’t say anything to convince him to stay, didn’t chase after him; he just did nothing. And I can understand him being shocked speechless because he probably knows as much as the viewer that Grif’s never done that before- he’s never left. But from Grif’s perspective, it just solidifies one more thing for him:

Simmons, no matter how much he loves him, will never put Grif first or grow a backbone to go after him.

-In total, I feel like most of the reactions came off wrong and felt like attacks especially for Grif. But I think it’s the fact that no one really chased after him to get him back is the zinger here. Because here’s a group that will risk life and limb time and time again for a guy who can’t stay dead, and yet when one of their friends decides he’s had enough and leaves no one really puts their all in convincing him to stay. Most the attempts are lowered down to downright insulting him and just saying he has to stay. In comparison to Sarge’s speech at the end of Season 8, this attempt to get Grif to stay was seriously lacking.

And look, I have no doubt that they all see Grif as a valued friend, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that Grif is treated like literal dog shit in this series but still comes back to the group and for what- to have them choose a dead guy instead of him.

Grif is probably feeling like nobody in the BGC has ever given a shit about him, and they did a great job not proving him wrong.

-Not only that but his role in the group has been replaced too. Grif from the very start of the series has been the designated vehicle driver. We’ve seen him be the primary driver of the Warthog, we’ve seen him manage to figure out an Elephant (not sure which season this was, but I’m sure it was Season 7), he’s flown a Pelican, a Hornet, and the list goes on.

Something that’s always bothered me about Season 13 was the fact that Grif was replaced- twice- as designated driver. First during the escape from Armonia and second during the flight to the Staff of Charon. It always rubbed me the wrong way and I really didn’t know why until now that is.

Believe me- I know there’s more to Grif than just his ability to be adept in driving/flying any vehicle, but to Grif, he probably doesn’t think he’s much more than that.

He’s not a strong fighter (Carolina, Wash), doesn’t have a magic sword that works only for him (Tucker), isn’t inhumanly strong (Caboose), he’s not a robot (Lopez), he doesn’t have an amazingly strong throwing arm (Donut), he’s not a hacker or a cyborg (Simmons), and he can’t do half the stuff that Sarge can.

He’s their driver, and even then he’s easily replaceable.

Grif probably has no place in the BGC anymore and that probably contributed to his deciding to stay on the island.

TL;DR: The Reds and Blues did a terrible job trying to get Grif to stay with them and I hope this leads to self-enlightenment and an arc designed for the development of Grif and the Reds.