anaxustrikon1

[remlionheart]

Hello beautiful

Can I put in a request where Megumi and reader both have a partner but are fully attracted to each other and Megumi of course plays it stoic, indifferent etc. but then something happens( I haven’t figured out what event exactly, maybe they get drunk at a party?I’ll leave it up to you 🤍) and they succumb to their needs( a little coercion from Megumi oops) and Megumi is just so pussy drunk, whiny, non sensical blabbing mess and reader baby traps him 🥴🥴

I just need Megumi so bad, he plagues my mind every second of the day… I need therapy and Jesus. Thank you if u decide to go with it, love everything you do 🤍🤍🤍

Hi pretty ♡ Sorry to say - no Jesus here, but maybe this can be therapy for both of us bc I’ve been thinking about this ask heavily since I got it. And what better time to start a depraved lil drabble than at midnight on the night of a full moon? 🌙✨

((as always, all characters are aged up to 21+, if u don’t enjoy that feel free to scroll along ♡ all trigger warnings are in the request itself, lemme know whatcha think, luv u ✩࿐࿔ ))

⋆˙⟡MDNI ⋆˙⟡

Megumi’s new girlfriend was sweet, kind, cute. Always by his side no matter what and tonight was no exception.

She was smiling at you with her hand wrapped delicately over his arm, asking you how you’d met your date… who was also, at your side and wrapped around your arm. He was cluelessly bantering back and forth with her while you and Megumi exchanged the same pointed look.

It was subtle, the way his blue eyes lingered on your boyfriend’s hand placement, watching him gently squeeze your hip as he laughed at a joke that two of you had missed entirely.

You'd only been been dating this most recent fling for a few weeks - it was hardly anything to be jealous of, but the fact Megumi had noticed at all gave a sick part of you satisfaction. It was an unspoken rivalry you had with him, one that you typically found yourself on the losing end of. He’d fuck someone, so you would too. He’d date someone, so you would too. He’d show up to this stupid fucking party with a date, so you would too.

It was the same pitiful dance that you'd been doing for the last year and a half, your feelings for him always right on the tip of your tongue but never at the right time.

Watching his girlfriend rest her head on his shoulder as the four of you continued on with your mindless banter was your own personal hell and yet, you said nothing. Instead, mirroring them, clinging onto your own date harder as you pretended to care about whatever work story was being tossed around.

The night carried on like this for the next hour or so as the once small house party started to evolve into something rowdier. The music getting louder and the living room getting more and more crowded as you knocked back three more drinks.

You were dizzy, trying not to lose your balance while you excused yourself from your group to go venture upstairs in search of a bathroom. Your boyfriend had offered to come with you, but you insisted that you were alright, shooing him away with a smile as you told him to go get another drink.

He seemed to be enjoying himself and you didn’t want that to end just because of your pathetic urge to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want you back.

Your footsteps came to a clumsy pause, a small, drunken laugh escaping you as you entered the bathroom and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your red dress was shorter than you remembered it being when you left, your hair just as perfectly disheveled as your thoughts. You steadied yourself before taking a seat, letting the music from downstairs provide you with a comfortable sense of privacy.

You had just washed your hands and were in the middle of throwing your hair into a bun when the door opened unexpectedly. Your ankle almost sprained from how quickly you’d whipped around, your heart stalling in your chest as Megumi looked back at you with the sound of the lock latching behind him.

“The hell are you doing, Fushiguro?”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his arms folding over his chest as he rested his back against the door. “Since when do you date coworkers?”

You almost laughed you were so stunned, your posture straightening a bit as you continued to keep your attention focused on your reflection and not on him. “Since when do you care who I date?”

“I don’t,” he shrugged, “just don’t want to hear you complain about it later when things don’t work out.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a stupid smile at how annoyingly apathetic he had to be at all times. “And you felt it was necessary to follow me into a bathroom to let me know that?” You countered, finally turning to face him.

It was the first time all night that you’d seen his stoic demeanor start to waver.

His eyes narrowed as he raised his brow at you, letting his arms fall back to his sides. “You’re drunk.” He quipped, taking a slow step towards you. “Just because your boyfriend’s careless enough to let you go running around by yourself doesn’t mean I am.”

Your throat was suddenly dry at how close he was to you, his tidal wave eyes flooding your senses as they dragged down to your lips.

“Your girlfriend’s downstairs.” You reminded him, desperately trying to ignore the heat that was gathering at your center.

“I know,” he breathed, his hand traveling up to the back of your neck as he held you in place. “But you’re right here.”

“Megumi…” Your voice nearly trembled, your insides catching fire at the feeling of his lips grazing yours. “We can’t…”

Your protest was hardly convincing though - not with the way your body was having its own private conversation with his. Practically begging to be touched as he wedged his knee between your thighs just to see how much temptation you could withstand.

He knew you wanted this. Knew that you thought about it just as much as he did, if not more. You’d always followed him around like a lost puppy. Always mirrored whatever he did like your intentions weren’t glaringly obvious. He’d been fighting to restrain himself for the last year and a half. Did everything he could to not succumb to the carnal urges that plagued him every time you showed up to his house in the shortest sundress he’d ever seen. He kept himself busy with other girls - lied to himself and pretended that it wasn’t you he was thinking about when he closed his eyes and thrusted into them. But you were everywhere, not just tonight and not just right now, but always. A constant thought in the back of his mind. A task he couldn’t ever mark as complete. A gnawing, agonizing, need that he couldn’t fight for one more fucking second.

“I’m so tired of it always being someone else,” he said against your lips, letting out a heady little exhale at how submissively you were staring back at him. “I want it to be you.”

The coiling tension in your lower abdomen felt like it was going to snap as the firmness of his knee pushed at just the right angle, giving your clit a much-needed brush of friction while his words swirled lazily through your mind.

He was right- you must’ve been drunk because there was no way he was prompting you to grind on him. No way that he was parting your lips with his tongue. No way that his grip was tangling into your hair as your hips began to rock rhythmically against him. No way that he was helping lift your bra over your head all while a mere staircase separated the two of you from your partners.

There was simply no way any of this was real.

His mouth was warm against your skin, kissing and nipping across your collarbone while his hand palmed at your chest. “S’fucking pretty,” he praised, his gaze pointed at the way your dress had nearly hiked all the way up your hips as you kept riding his leg.

“Show me what you do when you’re alone thinking about me,” he panted, “just like that, don't fucking stop.” His voice was sinful bliss trailing back up your neck, your dress now only covering your midsection as he pulled the straps of it down over your arms so that the top half met where the bottom half had ridden up.

You were dangerously - pathetically, close to cumming, not caring at all who heard you as your nails dug into his shoulder blade. Your needy little clit still pushing and pleading into his leg. “More,” you begged, “please - this isn’t - fair.”

“It’s not fair?” You hated the moan that slipped out at the sickeningly sweet way he mocked you. “Poor thing." His mouth was warm and torturous in the shell of your ear. "You know what I don't think is fair?"

The whimper you let out was all the answer he needed though.

His fingers wrapped delicately around your neck - an odd sense of security laced into them despite the way they were cutting off your oxygen. “I don’t think it’s fair that I have to want you this bad.” His other hand suddenly roaming along the curve of your hip. “I don’t think it’s fair that I have to pretend not to care when you do dumb shit like dangle new men in front of me.” His lips returned to yours, catching all the little whines that were escaping you. “And I really don’t think it’s fair how hard I’m about to fuck you while he’s downstairs waiting for you.”

It definitely wasn't the sentence that should've brought you to your breaking point, but it did. His grip tightened on you, fingertips digging perfectly into each side of your neck making your vision blur and your center ache. Your moans were every bit as broken as your thoughts, your eyes not leaving his while he nodded back at you.

"That's it." His grasp slowly began to release, loosening up with each whine you let out for him. "Cummin’ so easily for me.”

The room was still hazy, electricity dancing along your skin as he gently helped bring you to your feet before turning you around. You watched him from the reflection in the mirror, a dizzy smile cutting across your face while you watched him slip your dress all the way off and bend you over the counter.

"Fuck," he groaned, admiring the slick glistening off of you as he undid his belt. He ran two fingers between your folds, his mouth slightly dropping open at how sensitive you were to his touch - the cute little noises he could coax out of you by barely doing anything and the way your back arched so perfectly for him.

"Look at me," he breathed, placing a firm hand on your shoulder as he lined himself up with you.

His eyes trailed back up to yours, his tip carefully prodding at your entrance while he watched the desperate little expression that had taken over your features. "God damn," he hissed, his breath hitching in his throat at how faithfully your walls were swallowing him.

You were so wet, your brain and body both completely enamored with the sight and feeling of him sinking into you. The waiting game you'd been playing was well worth reward and you were enjoying every inch of your prize.

He was stretching you so tenderly, going deeper and deeper with each thrust. Though he'd told you to look at him, he seemed to be the one having a hard time maintaining your stare. His pretty blue eyes were glazed over, his composure starting to leave him the longer he looked at you.

"Oh my god," he groaned, "why do you feel so fucking good?"

His rhythm became harsher, both his hands grabbing onto your hips as he used you to his liking. “You know how many times I've thought about doing this, huh?" You weren't sure where your moans ended and his began, the rest of the world slipping away as he continued to blissfully bully his way into you. "Look at you, so pouty and pretty. Taking me like such a good girl."

His words made you clench, your cunt nearly suffocating him as he kept letting out more incoherent praises. He was just as lost as you were, just as dazed-out and unaware of his surroundings. The only thing keeping him grounding was the sound of you whimpering his name and how it kept getting needier and louder.

He wanted people to hear. Wanted everyone in the entire house knew that he had you bent over with your tits pressed against the counter and your ass flushed firmly against him. Wanted them to know that it was his name you sang out when you came.

“Megumi -” you whined, “right there, ohmygod, right.. the - re.”

Your walls spasmed around him, little hearts and stars suddenly filling your vision as your eyes rolled back. “Please,” you begged, chasing the blinding white light of your release as far as it would go, “cum inside me, please - fuck, don’t stop.”

He knew he shouldn’t. Knew you weren’t on birth control. Knew you well enough to know how desperate you were to keep him around. He knew all the risks. Knew what a terrible fucking idea it was and yet,

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he grunted, his movements just as needy and out of control as yours. “For me to fill you up,” he was losing himself to the thought, “to go back downstairs with me dripping down your leg? Yeah, I bet you fucking would.”

It was the worst idea. Every reasonable part of him screaming at for him to stop.

“Y - es! Please, please - ah~!”

But the sound of you begging made that reasonable part of him disappear entirely, replaced by an absolutely unhinged part of him that he didn’t even know existed until that very moment.

He wanted your belly to swell, wanted everyone to look at you and know that it was him who had bred you and that it was him who would do it again and again. He was going to make the whole world know you were his and it made him fucking feral.

He groaned, chest heaving as he gave you one last punishing thrust, burying himself as deep as he could as he twitched inside you. His breath hitching in his throat, his mind only filled with you and your body only filled with him.

A beautifully damning warmth coated your walls while you shot him the prettiest, haziest smile he’d ever seen. Both of you slowly returning back to reality.

He carefully pulled out of you, watching the mess the two of you had made spill out of you as he grabbed your shoulders and turned you around to face him.

His hands were warm against the sides of your neck, thumb placed firmly under your chin to tilt your head up towards his, “Next time you decide to shove another guy in my face,” he said, “you better make sure they’re not dumb enough to leave you alone with me.”

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[drabblejester]

Ratio, Sampo, Aventurine, Jing Yuan and Mr Reca overhead reader feels about them (basically reader has a crush on them)

how VARIOUS HSR GUYS would react to OVERHEARING YOU CONFESS!

requested by: anon :3

pairings: ratio, sampo, aventurine, jing yuan, and mr. reca x gn!reader

content warnings: none!!

comments: im devouring a pizza rn as of typing this. its so good.. this one is also in bulletted list bc i didnt get any specifications sorry my liege<3

AVENTURINE:

he overhears you talking on the phone in another room, probably to your friend. he isn’t one to eavesdrop but just this once…

he acts very calm about it, totally poker-faced to the point where you think he didn’t hear for WEEKS

until one night he asks you about it, and tells you to talk to him about it more later.

you fall asleep with him, and when you wake up, you tell him as promised!!

he still has to get used to people. y’know. liking him. so he’s a bit awkward for a while, but he warms up! sadly doesn’t soften up for a LONG while though

SAMPO:

he overhears you talking to an interviewer in belobog talking about a ‘handsome blue haired man’

first of all he is FLATTERED that someone in this cold world actually likes him. second of all he registers that someone likes him about 5 seconds later and panics a bit

truly, his whimsical and silly demeanor has captivated you! but it was meant to be for lying and getting away with things, not actual flirting. so he thinks he’s screwed

but he’s NOT screwed! he makes a plan to corner you later in the night to have a bit of banter, but you end up cornering him!!

you two talk for a bit, you talk about how cool and yummy he is. he says it back and you both end up having a great night! maybe a kiss or two persnaps…

DR. RATIO:

he accidentally peeks over your shoulder at your texts (god damn curiosity) and sees you panic texting someone about the Super Duper Hot Professor Man that just so happened to pass by you. and that’s now standing behind you.

now obviously you probably freak out because oh my gods thats the guy RIGHT BEHIND YOU. you turn around and stammer for a bit

sadly ratio just gives you a dirty look (not on purpose) and tells you to seek knowledge, not him. he winds up lecturing you about feelings and professionalism for a good 20 minutes

you go home and wind down for a bit to process the lecturing, and just hang out. you start to have some second thoughts about everything

until a nice little package arrives at your door, with a nice cooked meal and a note that’s a very passive aggressive way of saying ‘take care of yourself’

JING YUAN:

he overheard you gossiping with the guards, and nothing escapes his ears. he didn’t confront you about it right away of course, since he didn’t want to freak you out or anything

so instead, he just played the waiting game. he waited for weeks upon weeks, hearing all the thoughts you thought about him, and every little thing you tried to do to court him

and he’s flattered!! very flattered actually. he decides to eventually send a guard out with a hand written letter to you, simply saying to meet him at a restaurant he found out you frequented

you two meet there, talk for a bit, but not as a general and you. you talk like strangers but in the best way possible, getting to know even more about eachother!! you eat some yummy food and chitchat the night away

and eventually he brings you back to his place, settling you down with some tea and light snacks. maybe a few long-drawn stories to help you sleep. sadly (or thankfully) he ends up asleep before you, so you have extra time to admire him :3

MR. RECA:

he finds out through social media! you broke his ‘no recording in the studio’ rule, posted a blurry video somewhere, and went absolutely crazy over him in the caption

he’s upset that you broke his rule, but at the same time. thinks its interesting. he doesn’t do much else except revisit the post once more before meeting with you

you two meet up in his office, and he immediately brings up the post. of course you apologize so so hard about breaking the rules, but he waves it off!!

eventually the conversation ends up circling around to emotions (with a bit of help from memokeepering), and you spill all your thoughts and feelings right then and there. he’s slightly shocked, but it soon turns to a smile before politely telling you to leave his office

you’re definitely nervous, but it all fades away once you find out you’ve been casted in the main role alongside him! for better or for worse though, it’s a romance production. that asshole.

im fucking up this pizza rn my lieges its so yummy

[yelenasbitch]

Death's Revival - Chapter One

Summary: Natasha's sudden and tragic ending left behind many mourning loved ones, including her wife. Yelena tracked down Clint, and now she's going to meet her sister's wife, only without her sister there to help out. Grief is a process for friends and family, especially when it ends suddenly...

Word Count: 3,541

Warnings: Grief, mentions of death/dying, weight issues, memory issues, etc.

A/N: I wrote this bc this is what happened, and that's only if you believe Thanos was real and not an anxiety induced dream sequence...

Masterlist (coming soon)

Chapter 1: Mourning Widows

You hear the elevator ding, hear the doors open, and you simply sigh inwardly, knowing who it is. Sure enough, Steve knocks lightly on the kitchen door, an absurd but nice gesture that he insists on, and then he comes in, the same kind and resigned look on his face that you see every week. 

You don’t say anything, don’t move from where you’re wrapped in a blanket and pressed against the bay window in the living room. He walks through the kitchen and comes to sit on the couch, carefully and quietly. The two of you sit there for a while in silence, and that's fine with you, you’d be happy if he stopped coming altogether. No, you think, not happy , not anymore, but satisfied seems like the right word. You’d be satisfied if he left you and your grief alone forever, for the rest of time.

“Sam and Bucky are going to stop by tomorrow,” Steve says quietly, watching your face for a glimmer of interest, a spark of excitement, anything to remind him of the vivacious and vibrant woman you had been a little over a year ago. 

You simply nod, keeping your eyes pointed out the window. He sighs, and if you could feel anything besides the numbness and all consuming heartbreak, you think you would feel guilty. He’s just trying to cheer you up, take care of you, and heaven knows that you haven’t made it easy for him. 

The months, now almost two years, since Natasha… since it happened, you’ve been a husk of a human being. You’d stayed at the compound, not wanting to leave the home you and your wife had shared, even though it was a painful reminder of what and who you had lost. The future that would never come for you, and the woman who would never come home again. Still, Steve had come by every couple days to make sure you were ok, and then after a few months, he’d come once a week. He’s concerned about you, and he has every right to feel that way. You forget to eat most days, even though he’s tasked FRIDAY to remind you at least once a day, and you don’t do anything but move from the bed to the couch to the window and back again. 

“Clint is also stopping by, said he needed to talk to you,” at this your head swivels sharply to him, your eyes locking. He looks relieved at this sign of awareness, even though he knows what's coming.

“No.” It’s simple and to the point, even though your voice is rough, speaking for the first time in—maybe since Steve was here last week, maybe longer. You can’t really remember at this point. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Not anymore.

                                                                       ~~

“Thank you for telling me everything, Clint. I know, and want you to know, that you couldn't have stopped her, not once she’d made up her mind. It’s not your fault, what happened, and she was your best friend and loved you so much. I just, well, I can’t—” you break off, tears choking you as you look away from Clint and focus on her tombstone, both of you here for the first month's anniversary.

“You can’t look at me and not hate me. I get it, trust me.” Clint gives a wry smile and a shake of his head. You hold in a sob, try and calm yourself down a bit.

“I just can’t be mad at my dead wife.” He nods, getting up from where he’s been sitting next to you on the ground.

“I’ll be here if you need me, but I won’t…I’ll keep my distance.” He gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head, and then he’s gone, into the wind, by the time your sobs have died down enough to be able to talk.

He’d kept his word, stayed away after that. You were grateful. And heartbroken.

                                                                       ~~

“You know he wouldn’t come by if it wasn't important,” Steve’s voice drags you back to the present.

You scoff at him, “nothing is important anymore.” And when he goes to talk, you keep speaking, “it’s fine. I’ll see him, all of them, tomorrow.”

He looks relieved, “thank you.” You nod in response. Or maybe you just think about nodding. You’re not sure and it doesn't matter.

There's a silence, and then: “I’m tired now,” and you stand up, unfolding yourself from the window seat and briefly wondering how long you’d been sitting there, how many hours it’s been.

Steve nods and stands as well. The two of you walk through the room and out the door, and he pulls you in for a gentle hug before he walks to the elevator. You wait until the doors close behind him and then walk to your room. Keeping the lights off, you crawl into bed and pull the covers tightly over you, arranging the pillow the way you like. You stare into the dark room as the silent tears begin making their way down your face and you try in vain to prepare yourself for tomorrow, for Clint’s arrival.

                                                                           ~~

The next day you’re back in the bay window when you hear the elevator again, and for a few seconds it’s silent, and your heart beats faster. He seems to remember then, starts making noises as he moves closer, and you curse your foolish heart for even entertaining the idea, for reminding you of Natasha’s silent footsteps whenever she moved around anywhere.

Not a great start to this encounter.

Clint comes in, not wasting any time with the foolish knocking that Steve insists upon doing every single time he comes.

You shift your head, face Clint, though you can’t quite meet his eyes. He can’t meet yours either, or the bags under them.

“I met Yelena.” He says finally, breaking the quiet tension in the air.

You blink twice, “how?” 

“She tried to kill me.” He says bluntly, and you sit there in shock for a second before you’re laughing for the first time in months. It must sound a bit hysterical, because Clint gets even more uneasy, and you quiet yourself down quickly.

“Oh?” you ask, motioning for him to take a seat, and then he tells you everything, the whole story between him and Kate Bishop and Yelena. By the end you’re moments away from crying, and Clint looks like he is too.

“I also mentioned you, and she knew who you were, although I guess she… well, she just kinda forgot about you.” He looks concerned when he says that, worried that he’s somehow hurt your feelings with this. You want to laugh again, at the absurdity that Yelena forgetting your existence would be enough to hurt you anymore, but you know it would absolutely sound hysterical again, so you just shrug.

The two of you sit there for a while, unspeaking, each lost in thought. Eventually, mostly because you want him to leave, you pluck up your courage and break the silence.

“Why are you really here, Clint?” You need to know, Steve could’ve told you about Yelena, so it isn’t that.

“I wanted to check on you,” there’s a loaded pause before he continues, “and Yelena wants to see you.” He waits for his words to sink in, your mind slow and foggy now in a way that he’s still unused to, even all these months later.

“Why?” it’s the only word that your brain can come up with, surprise flooding in; actually, your brain is also screaming ‘no’ but you have a feeling that it won’t be that easy to dismiss this, to run from it.

Clint looks at you oddly, and you realize that you’re probably not thinking clearly, not used to being around people and having human conversations anymore. It doesn't matter, he can explain it to you, remind you how normal people think. He owes it to you.

“You were her wife,” he says and you get angry, feel something other than grief and guilt and sadness, and it shocks you into moving, standing and facing him.

“I am still her wife.” Your words are venomous and Clint’s eyes go wide. And even though your wasted figure wrapped in one of Natasha’s old jackets must not cut an imposing image, he still looks shaken. Good. 

Nodding, he speaks again, “yes, of course. And that’s why Yelena wants to meet with you, to talk about…her.”

It strikes you at this moment that neither of you have said Natasha’s name out loud. It hurts to realize, and hurts even more to try and say it.

Your jaw clenches. 

The elevator dings.

“Just think about it, please.”

And then Steve, Bucky, and Sam walk into the room, finding you still standing over Clint with anger and agony written all over your face. Everyone freezes for a second, and then with one last glance at Clint, you shift focus to the others and sit back down in your usual spot at the window.

“I see we missed a party,” Sam says, and Bucky smacks the side of his head in response. You don’t smile, don’t give him a witty comeback, and it breaks his heart to remember how you would always go toe to toe with him, each one-upping the other until you were both laughing and the others were groaning and throwing things to get you two to stop.

“Have a seat anywhere,” you say, ignoring the sadness in the air, and not looking in Clint’s general direction. The sudden emotions have exhausted you, adrenaline fading away and leaving you with that tired and hollow feeling you’ve had since Clint returned alone.

The three sit down, and begin talking about what they’ve been up to since you’d last seen them. You have, of course, heard all of this from Steve’s weekly visits, but you let them talk, try and remember how it felt to be part of the world, to engage with them and their lives, to care about any of the trivial day-to-day worries. It gives you a headache.

After about thirty minutes you excuse yourself, leaving them in the living room and trudging back towards your dark bedroom. They watch you leave, making your way down the empty hallway that always feels so much bigger now. You settle yourself into bed and practice saying your dead wife’s name into the darkness.

                                                                           ~~

Back in the other room, the four men sit around the coffee table and discuss your appearance. 

“She was standing when we got here, and it looked like she was listening when we told her about stuff,” Sam says, ever the optimist.

“She only lasted half an hour, last time we came she stayed for a whole hour.” Bucky cuts in, the two glaring at each other a bit.

“Well, she was with Clint for a while,” Steve interjects, playing the peacemaker. At this they all look at Clint.

He explains what he told you, and then everyone winces as he explains the aftermath of that conversation, and why you’d been upright when they arrived. 

“Well we’ve got to do something, she looks terrible, and we all promised Nat that we’d look out for her if anything ever happened.” Sam sounds determined, but there is a tiredness in his voice that he cannot mask, not anymore.

“That’s why I’m hoping she’ll let Yelena come visit, it might do them both some good.” 

“Well, we have to do something, I visit every week but it doesn’t seem to be doing anything.” Steve looks defeated too, “maybe Nat’s sister will be enough to drag her out of her grief. Pepper at least had Morgan to focus on, maybe this will be similar.”

Everyone nods and then they stand, making their way to the elevator and going down to Steve’s floor for the rest of their visit. The sadness and grief clings to every room and every object in your home, and they all breathe in relief when the elevator doors close and cut them off from the despair that hangs in the air.

You can tell when they’re gone, and you settle back into the silence and desolation of your empty home.

                                                                           ~~

Weeks pass and you forget about Clint’s insistence that you meet Yelena and talk to her. Really, you’ve forgotten by the next day, but you’ve managed to push away the memory of Clint’s entire visit by this point. 

You’re lost in thought, eyes glazed over as you face the window, and so you don’t even register the sound of the elevator, you don’t hear the door open, but something shifts in the air and you jerk out of your stupor. 

A woman, and it can only be Yelena, your brain supplies in a moment of startling lucidity, stands in the middle of the room. She’s facing you and though she’s wearing stylish civilian clothes, the way she’s standing reminds you of the first time you saw Natasha in her Black Widow outfit as she returned from a mission. The same posture and alert eyes, the air of authority and strength. 

You can’t breathe.

Her eyes move from your face, down to your hands where you’re unthinkingly twisting your wedding ring around and around, a nervous habit you’d had since it landed on your finger all those years ago. 

She swallows heavily. 

“Yelena, hi. I didn’t know you would be…visiting, today.” You force your lips up, a ghostly version of a smile, and the best you can conjure up right now.

She moves further into the room, “Barton said to come by whenever, and Steve said that this is when he usually comes to visit, so you’d probably be in here.” Instead of in bed crying, is what he’d meant. 

“Yes, well. You’re welcome here anytime of course.” You pause for a moment, trying to figure out what to say to this stranger who you feel such a connection to, thanks to Natasha. “I’m not sure we decorated the room to your standards, though.” She looks around confused, and you’re surprised to feel a real smile tug at your lips. 

“Not this one,” you say as you stand carefully, “your bedroom.” And she follows you silently, your heart aching at that, through the hall, past your bedroom to the one at the end of the hall.

You stand and gesture towards the door, “go ahead, we spent hours decorating and arguing over everything. We wanted it to be comfortable but also stylish.” She opens the door slowly and you take this moment of privacy to wipe away the tears that have formed at the memories of you and Natasha, curled up on the couch and arguing over different bed frames, remembering how you’d picked out paint samples, finding the most ridiculous shades to make the other laugh, the carpet that had been delayed– 

Yelena makes a noise that thankfully cuts off your thoughts, and you sniff a bit, entering the room to see her looking around, tears in her eyes as well.

“This is for me?” She asks, sounding so small and desolate that you have the urge to gather her into your arms.

“Of course, sweetheart.” You say gently, continuing after a pause, “she was hoping that you would come visit, maybe even stay with us a while, and we wanted you to have your own space, to feel at home with us.”

Yelena turns around once more, taking it all in again, and this time when she turns back to you, you open your arms and step forward, though you allow her the space to come to you, not wanting to push her boundaries. Natasha had taken quite some time to be comfortable expressing emotions with you, but you’re hoping Yelena will be more receptive; nothing, after all, bonds like shared grief. She stands still for a moment, and then she’s wrapped herself around you, sobbing into your neck, and then you’re crying as well. The two of you eventually sink to the ground, grief bringing you to your knees, though you are both comforted by the other’s presence. 

Your tears dry up first; you’ve cried so much that you’re constantly surprised there’s anything left at all. You rub Yelena’s back as her own sobs quiet down, and soon she lifts her head, looking around again in wonder. You follow her gaze as it lands on various objects throughout the room, watch as she catalogs information the way your wife did, thoughts traveling too fast for you as usual, though you’re happy to wait for her to share them. 

Eventually she does, starting with a statement presented as a question.

“You haven’t moved anything, but you come in here, keep it clean?”

“Yes.” You wait.

“Why?” She turns and faces you, searching your eyes for something.

You shrug at her intent gaze, “it’s your room and she wanted you to see it this way.”

“I didn’t even know about it.” It’s somewhat accusing, and you wince a bit. “I just mean, she never told me.” Her voice is a bit softer, but the hurt in it is unmistakable. 

“She wanted to, but she was waiting for it to be perfect. And then you were…” you trail off, knowing from Clint that Natasha’s suspicions were correct, Yelena had been snapped.

“I was gone,” she finishes for you, understanding your hesitance, “and then, yes. Everything.” It goes unspoken, the thought that by the time Yelena was back, her sister was gone, dead and broken on a random planet thousands of miles from the people she loved, the world she died to save.

You stand after another few minutes and excuse yourself, leaving her to sit in her room, hoping that she can feel the love that Natasha poured into every choice she made for that room.

                                                                           ~~

“Barton says that he doesn’t usually come here, that the two of you don’t see each other.” An hour later Yelena greets you with this, walking in and settling down on the couch.

“Yes.” You don't know what else to say, how to explain your feelings regarding this man that Natasha loved like a brother, who watched as she fell to her death for him, instead of him. Leaving him, and her sister, and you to piece together a life for yourselves without her in it. You hate them both for it, and miss them even more. 

“Would you have been upset if I killed him?”

“She would’ve been furious.” Your lips quirk a bit, but Yelena shakes her head.

“That is not what I asked you.” And she waits for you to answer her, refusing to drop it.

“I don’t know what I would’ve felt. But it doesn’t really matter, does it?” you ask, shaking your head slightly. “Neither one of us is going to hurt him because she loved him and made her own choice, and would be pissed if we did.”

Yelena hums thoughtfully as she considers your words, as she considers you. She’d sat in that room, her room, and thought about what she’d been told of you. Natasha had mentioned you during their time together on the hunt for Dreykov, had droned on and on about you and Clint until Yelena wanted to knock her unconscious, jealousy and curiosity warring in her mind at the thought of these two important people that her sister so clearly loved. 

Natasha had described you as vibrant and wickedly smart, someone who could keep her on her toes and made her feel more loved and safe than she’d ever felt before. Looking at you now, Yelena sees an empty husk, your eyes are lifeless, only a brief flicker whenever you talk or think about Natasha. Clint had sounded almost as devastated about you as he had about Natasha, as though you were dead for him as well; you kind of are, she thinks. Between your emptiness and refusal to see him, he’d lost the only other connection to his best friend. She tries to feel pity for him but comes up short.

She stands and walks over towards the kitchen, begins poking around, and after a minute you look over at her, a muted expression of curiosity on your face. 

“I’m making some food, I’m hungry and you need to eat.” You don't say anything, just nod, and she hums softly to herself as she moves around the kitchen.

You sit and watch her for a moment, and then turn away when her clean and precise movements remind you too much of your missing wife. You doze a bit, lulled by the sounds and smells she’s making, the entire place feeling more alive than it has in a long time. It’s both unsettling and comforting. 

Once she’s done, the two of you eat in a silence that feels somewhat comfortable, and then you retire to your respective bedrooms, neither of you saying anything about Yelena staying the night.

                                                                           ~~

When Steve asks FRIDAY what time Yelena left, and he hears that she’s still there, he smiles to himself, and feels something like hope stirring inside his heart.

He texts Clint.

                                                                           ~~

Yelena leaves the next afternoon, but she starts coming by regularly between her various jobs. It helps both of you.

                                                                           ~~

[lovemyromance]

After I finished reading the books and the bonus chapter I thought there was a 50% chance that the next book could be about elriel and 50% it could be about gwynriel, especially when I saw how popular gwynriel was. I didn’t pick up on any of the lightsinger hints. I feel like most people don’t pick up on them the first time they read the books. Without the lightsinger theory, the bonus chapter seems to introduce gwyn as a possible love interest for az.

With everything we learn in hofas and what Sarah said in the today interview, I think she’s more likely to write elriel. But that doesn’t mean that elucien or gwynriel can’t happen, after all she said she writes based on vibes and she’s prone to change love interests.

*I don't even care if this is a troll ask I already had a draft along these lines saved so thanks for letting me use it*

Walk with me, 🚶🏽‍♀️

I mean, I agree. If I had ONLY read the bonus chapter and none of the other books, then yeah I'd say he starts the BC with Elain and ends with Gwyn. So he could go either way.

But that would be ignoring the rest of the books outside the singular, 5page bonus chapter 🤷🏻‍♀️

Though you're right, truly, SJM can take it any which way she wants. You see it as 50/50 chance between Elriel and Gwynriel, I see it as 99/1, SJM herself could be 75/25 who knows! She could do 0/0 and make Azriel end up with Eris too!

And yet - when you read that last sentence - where I claimed SJM could write Azris endgame just as likely as she could write Gwynriel or Elriel - I'm sure a part of you disagreed, didn't it?

"There's no way Azris is as likely as Gwynriel!"

You're right. It's not. You know that. I know that. And you know why we both believe it's unlikely that SJM will throw away both Elriel and Gwynriel in favor of Azris?

It's because SJM doesn't just "switch love interests" without buildup.

We all knows she can do whatever she wants - she's the author. But I think it's kind of an inaccurate statement to say "she's prone to switching love interests", point blank. She NEVER has done that without proper buildup.

SJM has two ways she "changes" a love interest:

1. A main character has a minor relationship that is summarized in a passing sentence or paragraph long thought about their ex/current lover. They might not have even been in an actual relationship just had romantic feelings at one point. Either way, it's never a focus of the story.

Ex: Hunt & Shahar, Feyre & Isaac Hale, Elain & Greyson, Mor & Azriel (and cassian ig), Bryce & Connor, Hypaxia & Ruhn

2. A main character has a full blown relationship with another main character and they fully explore all stages of falling in love, lust, breaking up, and then moving on to another character.

Ex: Tamlin/Feyre/Rhys; Dorian/Aelin/Chaol/Rowan

She does it both ways. Here's the difference though:

The first method is minor stakes. It's typically just the beginning of a relationship, or a retrospective point of view. There is very rarely any physical intimacy. It is also typically only the female's point of view.

In my opinion, it shouldn't really even count as a love interest switch up. It is so small in the scale of things and it never pans out or is given any importance in the main story. It fizzles out after the first 10 pages (not literally guys chill), basically.

Then we get to the second method of her "love interest switch". She doesnt do this one often, and it takes MULTIPLE books to cover. It is about a MAIN FEMALE character. The Feyre & Aelins, if you will.

Both of those situations were not something that was just sprung on us without adequate build up.

Feyre fell in love with Tamlin. Met Rhys. Slowly fell OUT of love with Tamlin. Then fell in love with Rhys. It took her 3 books.

They did not have a romance in ACOTAR while she was still falling for Tamlin. That would've been like if she went to Calanmai, saw Rhys, and then decided she didn't want Tamlin and only wanted Rhys from then.

Aelin & Dorian and Aelin & Chaol were two relationships that were FULLY fleshed out. She did not abruptly leave Chaol and immediately fall for Rowan. These aren't instances where anything happened abruptly in a bonus chapter or even in ONE book- these "switch ups" happened over multiple books.

Now let's look at Elain and Azriel.

In the context of the series, let's evaluate where these two stand in the two ways SJM does a love interest switch up:

1. Minor character romance switch up

- Are Azriel & Elain minor characters? ❌ no

- Did they share only one sentence or paragraph thinking about each other? ❌ no, they had multiple major scenes together

- Was it from a female POV? ❌ no

- do they only briefly show physical intimacy? Yes ✅

So clearly, Azriel and Elain don't fit into the first type of "switch up" she does. The only criteria they fit is that they have had one scene of minor physical intimacy.

2. Major character love interest switch

- Are Azriel & Elain main characters at this point? Yes ✅

- Did Azriel & Elain get a chance to fully explore their relationship and fall in love? No ❌

- Did Azriel & Elain get multiple books to cover this changing of feelings? No ❌

So clearly, Azriel and Elain don't fit into the second type of "switch up" she does either. The only criteria they fit is that they are both major characters right now.

Now what did we conclude as a result of this long ass post, if yall are still with me on this 10k hike?

Azriel & Elain have had buildup together that cannot be ignored.

They have been the main focus (Azriel's Hybern camp rescue of Elain was VERY similar to Nesta saving/willing to die for Cassain)

They have had clear romantic feelings for each other as evidenced by the bonus chapter

They have obstacles in place now (thanks Rhys).

There's foreshadowing in droves scattered throughout the bonus chapters and books.

The natural flow of the story supports Elriel

The POV before Elain's book is Azriel's not Lucien's

SJM is on the Today show talking about rejected mates

SJM has made Azriel step into the role Lucien should have been playing for Elain

If you're willing to ignore this and say "Gwynriel could have a 50/50 percent chance of happening bc of the singular bonus chapter" ... then go ahead. But don't act surprised when you get the next book in your hands and it's indeed Elriel 🤷🏻‍♀️

There is always a slight chance the author could do anything. That's like if I said "yeah - in every soccer game there's a chance the goalie could stop blocking shots and let the other team win."

Like yes. Quite literally they could do that. It's up to them.

But is it likely? No.

Will it go against everything they've set up and trained for? Yes.

SJM could write Gwynriel. She could write Azris then too, as that has equal buildup. She could write Nezris or Azquin. She could write anything. But that minuscule possibly of "anything could happen" doesn't affect typical calculations when it comes to statistics, so I don't know why it's playing a part here. SJM's plot does not defy the normal laws of physics and chance🙄

So at the end of this long walk, if you're still with me, I just want yall to know that yes SJM could do anything she wants she's the author - but Elriel is the most likely conclusion by far.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Found this lurking in a doc of random writing prompts from months back. If anyone remembers the exhausting discourse about whether or not bg3 characters would peel oranges, I apparently snapped, wrote all this for some reason, but then only ever posted the Minthara one and totally forgot all the others:

They would all peel the stupid orange you donkeys, if the point of this exercise is to complain about your non-favs being assholes that's stupid, use your brains and broad character interpretation to extrapolate HOW they peel the orange-

Like this!!!

Gale would peel the orange bc you asked and he's considerate like that, but like he's reading at the moment and doesn't want to fully be pulled away from that to do something you can obviously do yourself so he's curious why are you asking, is this some kind of gambit? a test? he's good at those, he'll pass, he'll be the best orange peeler. Gale casts mage hand, shows off an advanced level of dexterity not only in peeling the orange without direct tactile aid, but he also conjures a plate, nicely arranges the individual slices, adds a napkin and asks if you want something to drink with your snack. He is at once gracious and condescending, but everyone wins, you get a treat and he gets to show off and doesn't even get juice on his hands or the book he's reading.

Wyll won't even question it. If you walk up to him when he's doing absolutely anything at all and ask him to peek an orange, he will immediately remind you that he's a better person than you and that you should peel an orange for him---he will not do this directly, he will do it by a) being Wyllyam Ravenguard, and b) by looking pleased to see you and your orange and saying, "oh, we have oranges?" as he's already peeling said orange and licks a little juice off his thumb "that's quite nice---sweetest orange I ever had came from the grove of a family friend, same day I learned to play lance-board. We're so ready to be delighted by everything when we're young, aren't we?" And he's looking at you all sad and pensive, and you say "hold on" and leave to get another orange and now both of you are peeling and eating oranges and you've lost track of who's orange is whose, but you're laughing and chatting and it doesn't matter, you just had a nice talk with Wyll and somehow earned 20 points of approval for asking him for a favor.

Astarion would peel an orange for you because it's not hard and he's actually not nearly as much of a salty asshole as people think, it's just that he mirrors energy, so if Tav is going to sass him, he'll sass Tav back. I know it's tempting to choose the bitchy dialogue response when speaking to him, but there's also the consequences of your actions. So, you approach Astarion and ask him to peel an orange. You do it without being a bitch to him, presumably, because we all know how to put on our "asking a favor" voice, and he responds in kind. He sighs, says nothing, takes the fruit, pulls a dagger from seeming nowhere, and expertly quarters the orange, peeling each section of skin as far off as he can into the bushes. He offers you the knife to lick clean, promises he's like 90% sure it's free from the blood of his last kill. He takes a bite of one of the quarters and gives you the rest of the fruit to eat. You ask him if vampires eat normal food, he rolls his eyes and says "no" with a smirk. You spend the rest of your life wondering if he was being sarcastic or not.

Halsin initially doesn't have much of a reaction to your request beyond taking a split second to process, then he takes the orange and begins to peel it. He's deliberate, slow. Taking it in small pieces and you're sure you've seen him do this before and it didn't take so long, what's he doing? After about fifteen seconds of solid silence and too small flecks of orange skin piling up at his feet, he says, "I assume there's something more you wanted to ask me?" but you literally just came over here to ask help for this orange, didn't you? Oops, you've accidentally overshared some deep dark secret, but you know what, that's not a problem, you can generally trust Halsin with those for reasons that may or may not be related to content taken out of early access. He nods along, and you can tell he's fully focused on what you're saying now, because, acting unconsciously, he's much better at peeling the orange. He handles it gently, brushing off the dregs of the soft white interior of the skin, so that you end up with a perfect skinned but still totally intact orange, not a drop of juice escaped. He hands it to you while giving you some admittedly not very helpful advice, but you find you do actually feel better anyway to have unburdened yourself a little---and hey, now you have an orange to eat.

Minsc is probably not a good person to ask, but you did ask, and he was enthusiastic about taking on the task. He keeps getting distracted though, he's talking to you and to Boo the whole time, about what, I don't know and it doesn't matter. He's demonstrating more energy than you will have, ever again. He keeps accidentally breaking through the final soft layer of skin and squirting juice everywhere. Parts of the orange are getting mangled, but he's oblivious to it and having a great time, and you know what, so are you. Was this the best way to get your orange? Absolutely not. Was it the most entertaining? YMMV, but it was certainly unique to Minsc.

Shadowheart takes the orange from you and it almost seems as though a moment passes and she's still processing your question. "Could you peel this for me?" that's what you said. She blinks, looks at the orange, then looks back at you, demeanor changing, darkening, just a touch. She's not annoyed, not really, but she's suspicious. Is this a game? She likes games, but she likes to play them her way. "You didn't bring this over here for me? You just want me to peel it? Shall I also feed it to you a slice at a time and stroke your hair and fan the heat from the back of your neck?" she's being facetious, but also yes, yes you would like her to do all that. "No, it's ok," you manage to say, hating yourself. "I just need some help." She is at once relieved and a touch disappointed that this wasn't some game. You can tell she's thinking deeply about something as she wordlessly completes the task, somehow managing to remove the peel in one long spiraled strip without using a knife, just her hands. You want to ask what it is, but she inexplicably seems a little down. You tell her you only want half and then stay with her while the two of you eat the orange together.

Karlach is maybe the best person to peel the orange, but she doesn't know it. She's alarmed you asked. "You know I'm going to cook that thing, right?" She warns you, and you respond, "Yes. It will be delicious. Please scorch it." She thinks that's wild, but says she trusts you to know what you're about. Like Shadowheart, she also uses her nails, but it's much easier to see how efficient she is at spiraling the orange out of its slowly cooking skin, and the whole time she's excitedly reminiscing about some of the best meals she's had at her favorite places in Baldur's Gate. She's sad there's only one orange, and does in fact suggest that you peel some more, this time though, she wants you to do it too. "I'll cook them a little, and when the peel starts to get black, I give it to you to finish off, yeah?" But then she ends up doing all the work, having way too much fun with it, and also finding that yes, a slightly broiled orange is absolutely delicious. "We've got to do something with all of these---what about cake? Or wine! Do we have anything it could ferment inside of?!"

Lae'zel asks a lot of question first, "why?"/"Is this some sort of custom?"/"Am I meant to eat this as well?" and you try to answer rapidly "Hungry"/"Not really"/"You can have some if you like" her final question is "why are you asking me to do this? Is that really the best way to apply my particular skill set?" and the best response to this is to just say, "Please." She's annoyed, but she agrees and peels the orange, somehow without looking at it, and instead glaring at you the entire time. She hands you the freshly peeled fruit and demands, "go and eat." You'd better do as she asks, but definitely take a moment to look back as she tastes a bit of the juice on her fingers, looks furious with herself. Delicious, isn't it Lae'zel?

Minthara takes the orange and inexplicably rips the peel off in one fluid motion. You ask how she did that and she responds with a pitying glance that slides into a glare of disgust. "I imagine a surface dweller that cannot engage in simple hunting and gathering of the tame flora and fauna of topside could not hope to last long in the merciless wilds of the underdark. Do you ever dwell on that? On what fate would do with you, should your conveniences ever fail you? I think it would torment me day and night, to know so assuredly of my own weaknesses." You don't say anything to that, because what could you say? You look at the peeled orange in your hand, juice pooling in your palm and then back up at Minthara. "Do you want some?" and she answers "No" before you're even finished talking, but if you pass an insight check, you know she's lying. You go back to your own tent to eat the orange. It is poisoned.

Jahiera manages to peel the orange without pausing in whatever else she's doing, she also doesn't look up or hardly respond at all besides "here you go, cub," she's so practiced, you immediately recognize that she's done this 10000x. It is in her nature to peel oranges. She does it without thinking and often without remembering if there's something more important on her mind. She hasn't even considered not peeling an orange in centuries. There's always someone who needs an orange peeled, and she's perfect at it. You should leave her to what she was doing and eat your orange on the way back to your tent. An hour later, tell her "thank you for peeling my orange" she will say "you're welcome," but you can tell she has no idea what you're talking about.

[ranticore]

your centaur fashion notes are so so so delightful!!! first thing I saw when I opened my dash, amazing!

some questions bc you REALLY got the gears spinning: are there particular fabrics that centaurs prefer over others? who shaves their manes — is that a service a human barber would provide? is it a "my mom did it" informal thing? do centaurs go to a farrier for shoes or is that considered demeaning? how do summer clothes work? — eg. is there a centaur equivalent of "you can show this more skin ONLY if the weather is hot enough/you're doing heavy labor" likewise, do centaurs have special socks for colder weather?

Ough I'll try to format this ok on mobile

Fabrics: lighter fabrics are sought after. Bigger bodies need less insulation from cold temperatures. It's also a better Look to wear a blanket that isn't obviously just made to keep horses dry in rain and fabric choice helps with that. Otherwise it's personal preference

Mane shaving: I said shaving but really it's plucking I think. It is usually done at home. someone can do it themselves (awkwardly, with a mirror, though it must be noted that centaurs are flexible enough to reach any point on their body if they need to) or they can call over a specialist. time period matters here as it does for everything else (ironwall was founded in the 1200s), but the traditional way is for a mane and tail barber to come round to their house and neaten up any fluffy bits (fetlocks especially are trimmed to keep them clean). And yeah ur mom will do it for you when you're little

Farriers (such as the ones at the start of the lil story I wrote that one time) are usually centaurs themselves. They do a lot of feet care, trimming, rasping, picking, etc. Traditionally a human farrier would train with centaurs to get direct feedback about the fit of their shoes, and improve their business.

Summer clothes - large drapey clothing isn't necessarily very warm. For a big dress you can take out the petticoats or replace them with fabric with a larger weave. In modern eras the upper body can dress skimpy with low cut tops at a stretch.

Socks - yep, boots and socks are commonly worn to keep the legs and feet clean. They are taken off when entering a house. In fancy houses there'll be a dedicated stationary brush (imagine those big rollers that cows scratch themselves on) to clean mud from the feet. Other people had to deal with using a long-handled pick or floor scrubber brush.

[e-rorrim]

bruh I haven’t played/watched someone play mouthwash but from what I’ve seen it must fucking suck being curly in all that mess like what the fuck

I had top surgery in May and my family was taking care of me, and i don’t have the best relationship with my family but yk they helped me out but like would just lowkey let me rot in my bed and that shit is genuinely painful like fuck 😭😭😭 I’m all grimy, can barely move (for the first few weeks at least, and have like 0 independence. If it weren’t for the bidet I installed, I would’ve needed help wiping my ass—

I nearly got bedsores on my tailbone and back of my head (it felt like? Cause it was starting to ache so bad and I was so sore) bc I literally couldn’t really do anything except lay down which was fucking awful cause I was pretty used to doing anything and everything by myself and whatnot

I was doped up on painkillers and bc of that I got SOOOOO constipated and bloated, literally looked like I was pregnant with octuplets or smth. was painful and I hadn’t pooped in like a month.

like purely observing all these interactions happening, and having weird intimate/vulnerable moments with people who may or may not necessarily like you because you need help and can’t do it on ur own— all you can really do is think about your connections, your past interactions, life, and how much u wish u could move rn bc u are so sore and so achey and ur tailbone is really starting to hurt from just constantly laying down in one position and how awfully grimy you are and just having to lay in it

having to rely on their schedule for them to take care of you even when you ask for something to be done, u gotta hope that they remember/have time to want to care for u.. my family is a bunch of night owls that procrastinate and I am very much not that, so at one point I was literally crying to have a shower after waiting for like a few days straight and only after crying did I get that shower (no hate to them, they had a lot going on, but holy moly did it make me tweak out)

bro can barely turn his head, I know that neck is HURTING and sore as hell on top of all them injuries— plus this hooligan is running around and everyone is having a bad time and there’s nothing you can really do about it except lay there and HOPE someone remembers to clean you up and redress you and adjust your pillow into a better position because you’re uncomfortable and slipped from the original cozy position

like holy shit I feel so bad for that fool 😭😭

[mamawasatesttube]

i think martha kent should get to threaten rex leech with a shotgun tbh

[puppyeared]

learning abt friendship decay and "not reaching out to your friends for months at a time unprompted is not neurotypical behaviour" has me feeling a certain way

[defiledtomb]

hellooo, I hope you're feeling well! I was wondering however if ouroboros was still being worked on or if it's on hiatus. Hope I wasn't rude in asking

I don't feel it's rude, after all, I have been keeping the development close to my chest. It is still being worked on, edited and transferred into renpy with graphics and soundbytes galore! However, right now, since about three weeks back, I left my partner of 8 years in the middle of the night with just a change of clothes, my dog, and a laptop. I'm struggling hard but putting on a brave face-- right now I'm coming up with a concept of something else to work on until I get a proper apartment and can get my stationary PC back so I can get back to work on ouro. I'll make a proper post about it tomorrow, so keep an eye on this space!

[moeblob]

I am really tired of a situation rn.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Spider-Man India, but... where from India?

A SUPER long post featuring talks of: cultural identity, characterisation, the caste system, and what makes Spider-Man Spider-Man.

I’m prefacing this by saying that I am a second-generation immigrant. I was born in Australia, but my cultural background is from South India. My experiences with what it means to be “Indian” is going to be very different from the experiences of those who are born and brought up in India.

If you, reader, want to add anything, please reblog and add your thoughts. This is meant to be a post open for discussion — the more interaction we get, the better we become aware of these nuances.

So I made this poll asking folks to pick a region of India where I would draw Pavitr Prabhakar in their cultural wear. This idea had been on my mind for a long while now, as I had been inspired by Annie Hazarika’s Northeastern Spidey artwork in the wake of ATSV’s release, but never got the time to actually do it until now. I wanted to get a little interactive and made the poll so I could have people choose which of the different regions — North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South — to do first.

The outcome was not what I expected. As you can see, out of 83 votes:

THE RESULTS

South India takes up almost half of all votes (44.6%), followed by Northeast and Central (both 14.5%) and then East (13.3%). In all my life growing up, support towards or even just the awareness of South India was pretty low. Despite this being a very contained poll, why would nearly half of all voters pick South India in favour of other popular choices like Central or North India?

Then I thought about the layout of the poll: Title, Options, Context.

Title: "Tell us who you want to see…"

Options: North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South

Context: I want to make art of the boy again

At first I thought: ah geez. this is my fault. I didn't make the poll clear enough. do they think I want them to figure out where Pavitr came from? That's not what I wanted, maybe I should have added the context before the options.

Then I thought: ah geez. is it my fault for people not reading the entire damn thing before clicking a button? That's pretty stupid.

But regardless, the thought did prompt a line of thinking I know many of us desi folk have been considering since Spider-Man India was first conceived — or, at least, since the announcement that he was going to appear in ATSV. Hell, even I thought of it:

Where did Spider-Man India come from?

FROM A CULTURALLY DIVERSE INDIA

As we know, India is so culturally diverse, and no doubt ATSV creators had to take that into account. Because the ORIGINAL Spider-Man India came from Mumbai — most likely because Mumbai and Manhattan both started with the same letter.

But going beyond that, it’s also because Mumbai is one of the most recognisable cities in India - it’s also known as Bombay. It’s where Bollywood films are shot. It’s where superstar Hindi actors and actresses show up. Mumbai is synonymous with India in that regard, because the easiest way Western countries can interact with Indian culture is through BOLLYWOOD, through HINDI FILMS, through MUMBAI. Suddenly, India is Mumbai, India is a Hindi-only country, India is just this isolated thing we see through an infinitely narrow lens.

We’ve gotten a little better in recent years, but boy I will tell you how uncomfortable I’ve gotten when people (yes, even desi people) come up to me and tell me, Oh, you’re Indian right? Can you speak Hindi? Why don’t you speak Hindi? You’re not Indian if you don’t speak Hindi, that’s India’s national language!

I have been — still am — so afraid of telling people that I don’t speak Hindi, that I’m Tamil, that I don’t care that Hindi is India’s “national” language (it’s an administrative language, Kavin, get your fucking facts right). It’s weird, it’s isolating, and it has made me feel like I wasn’t “Indian” enough to be accepted into the group of “Indian” people.

So I am thankful that ATSV went out of their way to integrate as much variety of Indian culture into the Mumbattan sequence. Maybe that way, the younger generation of desi folk won’t feel so isolated, and that younger Western people will be more open to learning about all these cultural differences within such a vast country.

BUT WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH SPIDER-MAN INDIA?

Everything, actually. There’s a thing called supremacy. You might have heard of it. We all engaged with it at some point, and if you are Indian, no matter where you live, it is inescapable.

It happens the moment you are born — who your family is, where you are born, the language you speak, the colour of your skin; these will be bound to you for life, and it is nigh impossible to break down the stereotypes associated with them.

Certain ethnic groups will be more favourable than others (Centrals, and thus their cultures, will always be favoured over than Souths, as an example) and the same can be said for social groups (Brahmins are more likely to secure influential roles in politics or other areas like priesthood, while the lowers castes, especially Dalits, aren’t even given the decency of respect). Don’t even get me started on colourism, where obviously those of fairer skin will win the lottery while those of darker skin aren’t given the time of day. It’s even worse when morality ties into it — “lighter skinned Indians, like Brahmins, embody good qualities like justice and wisdom”, “dark skinned Indians are cunning and poor, they are untrustworthy”. It’s fucking nuts.

This means, of course, you have a billion people trying to make themselves heard in a system that tries to crush everyone who is not privileged. It only makes sense that people want to elevate themselves and break free from a society that refuses to acknowledge them. These frustrations manifest outwardly, like in protests, but other times — most times — it goes unheard, quietly shaping your way of life, your way of thinking. It becomes a fundamental part of you, and it can go unacknowledged for generations.

So when you have a character like Pavitr Prabhakar enter the scene, people immediately latch onto him and start asking questions many Western audiences don’t even consider. Who is he? What food does he eat? What does he do on Fridays? What’s his family like, his community? All these questions pop up, because, amidst all this turmoil going on in the background, you want a mainstream popular character to be like you, who knows your way of life so intimately, that he may as well be a part of your community.

BUT THAT'S THE THING — HE'S FICTIONAL

I am guilty of this. In fact, I’ve flaunted in numerous posts how I think he’s the perfect Tamil boy, how he dances bharatanatyam, how he does all these Tamil things that no one will understand except myself. All these niche things that only I, and maybe a few others, will understand.

I’ve seen other people do it, too. I’ve seen people geek out over his dark brown skin, his kalari dhoti, how he fights so effortlessly in the kalaripayattu martial arts style. I’ve seen people write him as Malayali, as Hindi, as every kind of Indian person imaginable.

I’ve also seen him be written where he’s subjected to typical Indian and broader Asian stereotypes. You know the ones I’m so fond of calling out. The thing is, I’ve seen so much of Pavitr being presented in so many different ways, and I worry how the rest of the desi folk will take it. 

You finally have a character who could be you, but now he’s someone else’s plaything. Your entire life is shaped by what you can and can’t do simply because you were born to an Indian family, and here’s the one person who could represent you now at the mercy of someone else’s whims. He’s off living a life that is so distant from yours, you can hardly recognise him.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, yeah? But, again, you’re looking at it from that infinitely narrow lens Westerners use to look at India from Bollywood.

AND PAVITR PRABHAKAR DOESN'T LIVE IN INDIA

He lives in Mumbattan. He lives in a made-up, fictional world that doesn’t follow the way of life of our world. He lives in a city where Mumbai and Manhattan got fucking squashed together. There are so many memes about colonialism right there. Mumbattan isn’t real! Spider-Man India isn’t real!! He’s just a dude!! The logic of our world doesn’t apply to him!!!

“But his surname originates from ______” okay but does that matter?

“But he’s wearing a kalari dhoti so surely he’s ______” okay but does that matter?

“But his skin colour is darker so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?

“But he lives in Mumbai so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?

I sound insensitive and brash and annoying and it looks like I’m yapping just for the sake of riling you up, so direct that little burst of anger you got there at me, and keep reading.

Listen. I’m going to ask you a question that I’ve asked myself a million times over. I want you to answer honestly. I want you to ask this question to yourself and answer honestly:

Are you trying to convince me on who Pavitr Prabhakar should be?

... but why shouldn't i?

I’ll tell you this again — I did the same thing. You’re not at fault for this, but I want you to just...have a little think over. Just a little moment of self-reflection, to think about why you are so intent on boxing this guy.

It took me a while to reorganise my thinking and how to best approach a character like Pavitr, so I will give you all the time you need as well as a little springboard to focus your thoughts on.

SPIDER-MAN (INDIA) IS JUST A MASK

“What I like about the costume is that anybody reading Spider-Man in any part of the world can imagine that they themselves are under the costume. And that’s a good thing.”

Stan Lee said that. Remember how he was so intent on making sure that everybody got the idea that Spider-Man as an entity is fundamentally broken without Peter Parker there to put on the suit and save the day? That ultimately it was the person beneath the mask, no matter who they were, that mattered most?

Spider-Man India is no less different. You can argue with me that Peter Parker!Spidey is supposed to represent working class struggles in the face of leering corporate entities who endanger the regular folk like us, and so Pavitr Prabhakar should also function the same way. Pavitr should also be a working class guy of this specific social standing fighting people of this other social standing.

But that takes away the authenticity of Spider-Man India. Looking at him through the Peter Parker lens forces you to look at him through the Western lens, and it significantly lessens what you can do with the character — suddenly, it’s a fight to be heard, to be seen, to be recognised. It’s yelling over each other that Pavitr Prabhakar is this ethnicity, is that caste, this or that, this or that, this or that.

There’s a reason why he’s called Spider-Man India, infuriatingly vague as it is. And that’s the point — the vagueness of his identity fulfils Lee’s purpose for a character that could theoretically be embodied by anyone. If he had been called “Spider-Man Mumbai”, you cut out a majority of the population (and in capitalist terms, you cut out a good chunk of the market).

And in the case of Spider-Man India? Whew — you’ve got about a billion people imagining a billion different versions of him.

Whoever you are, whatever you see in Pavitr, that is what is personal to you, and there is nothing wrong with that, and I will not fault you for it. I will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from Central due to the origins of his last name. I also will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from South due to him practising kalaripayattu. I also will not fault you for saying he is not Hindu. I also will not fault you for saying he is a particular ethnicity without any proof.

What I will fault you for is trying to convince me and the others around you that Pavitr Prabhakar should be this particular ethnicity/have this cultural background because of some specific reason. I literally don’t care and it is fundamentally going against his character, going against the “anyone can wear the mask” sentiment of Spider-Man. By doing this, you are strengthening the walls that first divided us. You’re feeding the stratification and segmentation of our cultures — something that is actually not present in the fictional world of Mumbattan.

Like I said before: Mumbattan isn’t real, so the divides between ethnicities and cultural backgrounds are practically nonexistent. The best thing is that it is visually there for all to see. My favourite piece of evidence is this:

It’s a marquee for a cinema in the Mumbattan sequence, in the “Quick tour: this is where the traffic is” section. It has four titles; the first two are written in Hindi. The third title is written in Bengali*, and the fourth title is written in Tamil. You go to Mumbai and you won’t see a single shred of Bengali nor Tamil there, much less any other language that's not common in Maharashtra (Western India). Seeing this for the first time, you know what went through my head?

Wow, the numerous cultures of India are so intermingled here in Mumbattan! Everyone and everything is welcome!

I was happy, not just because of Tamil representation, but because of the fact that the plethora of Indian cultures are showcased coexisting in such a short sequence. This is India embracing all the little parts that make up its grander identity. This scene literally opened my eyes seeing such beauty in all the diverse cultures thriving together. In a place where language and cultural backgrounds blend so easily, each one complementing one another.

It is so easy to believe that, from this colourful palette of a setting, Pavitr Prabhakar truly is Spider-Man India, no matter where he comes from.

It’s easy to believe that Pavitr can come from any part of India, and I won’t call you out if the origin you have for him is different from the origin I have. You don’t need to stake out territory and stand your ground — you’re entitled to that opinion, and I respect it. In fact, I encourage it!!!

Because there’s only so much you can show in a ten minute segment of a film about a country that has such a vast history and even greater number of cultures. I want to see all of it — I want him to be a Malayali boy, a Hindi boy, a Bengali boy, a Telugu boy, an Urdu boy, whatever!! I want you to write him or draw him immersed in your culture, so that I can see the beauty of your background, the wonderful little things that make your culture unique and different from mine!

And, as many friends have said, it’s so common for Indian folks to be migrating around within our own country. A person with a Maharashtrian surname might end up living in Punjab, and no one really minds that. I’m actually from Karnataka, my family speaks Kannada, but somewhere down the line my ancestors moved to Tamil Nadu and settled down and lived very fulfilling lives. So I don’t actually have the “pure Tamil” upbringing, contrary to popular belief; I’ve gotten a mix of both Kannada and Tamil lifestyles, and it’s made my life that much richer. 

So it’s common for people to “not” look like their surname, if that’s what you’re really afraid about. In fact, it just adds to that layer of nuance, that even despite these rigid identities between ethnicities we as Indian people still intermingle with one another, bringing slivers of our cultures to share with others. Pavitr could just as well have been born in one state and moved around the country, and he happens to live in Mumbattan now. It’s entirely possible and there’s nothing to disprove that.

We don’t need to clamber over one another declaring that only one ethnicity is the “right” ethnicity, because, again, you will be looking at Pavitr and the rest of India in that narrow Western lens — a country with such rich cultural variety reduced to a homogenous restrictive way of life.

THE POLL: REINTERPRETED

This whole thing started because I was wondering why my little poll was so skewed — I thought people assumed I was asking them where he came from, then paired his physical appearance with the most logical options available. I thought it was my fault, that I had somehow influenced this outcome without knowing.

Truth is, I will never really know. But I will be thankful for it, because it gave me the opportunity to finally broach this topic, something that many of us desi folk are hesitant to talk about. I hope you have learned something from this, whether you are desi or a casual Spider-Man fan or someone who just so happened to stumble upon this. 

So just…be a little more open. Recognise that India, like many many countries and nations, is made up of a plethora of smaller cultures. And remember, if you’re trying to convince Pavitr that he’s a particular ethnicity, he’s going to wave his hand at you and say, “Ha, me? No, I’m one of the people that live here in the best Indian city! I’m Spider-Man India, dost!”

(Regardless, he still considers you a friend, because to him, the people matter more to him than you trying to box him into something he’s not.)

*Note: thank you dear anon for letting me know that the third title was Bengali, twas my mistake for literally completely forgetting

[danothan]

tough pill i have to swallow is realizing that “getting better” doesn’t mean “getting to do more things,” getting better for me means taking better initiative in protecting myself. and THAT means making sure i do LESS things

[figofswords]

the post grad why did i get an art degree what am i even doing what do i want in life where am i going crisis has finally hit i want to. lie down in the dirt. or something

[quietlyblooms]

it really does feel like one thing after another sometimes and i’m just

[pollen]

i've been diving a lot deeper into adhd symptoms and comorbidities and misdiagnoses and whenever i tell my boyfriend something i learned that sounds like me he responds with something like