#everything is connected to me and makes sense. fight me

[snowysosturn]

Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo Part 15

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Pairing : Y/n x Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : MDNI, mentions of drugs, mentions of selling drugs, angst, cursing, mentions of death, use of knife, attempted stabbing, physical fight, mentions of blood

Chris' POV

The docks were eerily quiet, saved for the occasional rustle of the wind and the soft lapping of water against the boats. I pulled in, parking beside Vince’s car. The headlights of my car cut across his figure as he leaned against the frame of the smallest cargo warehouse, a cigarette glowing faintly in his hand. He didn’t move, just stood there, watching me approach like a predator sizing up its prey.

As I stepped out, the salty breeze hit my face, carrying with it the distinct smell of oil and decay. I wrapped my green bandana around the lower half of my face, always precautionary, but now more than ever with Y/n in my life. Vince flicked the cigarette to the ground as I closed the car door, crushing it beneath his boot with a deliberate twist. His sharp eyes pinned me as I approached, the silence stretching thin.

“You’re late.” he said, his tone clipped but calm, which somehow made it worse.

“I had something come up” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. The last thing I needed was for him to sense my nerves.

Vince’s lips twitched into a humorless smirk. “Yeah? Well, let’s hope that ‘something’ doesn’t make you useless to me.” He turned on his heel, motioning for me to follow as he strode toward the warehouse.

I fell in step behind him, every muscle in my body tense. This wasn’t the first time I’d been summoned to the docks, but something about tonight felt different. Off.

The place was usually locked up tight, with Vince and the higher ups all with a key to get in, its interior full of shelves and crates, all meticulously organized to hide the cartel’s stash. Tonight, though, the door was ajar, the faint beam of a flashlight was darting across the rows of supplies.

I stopped dead in my tracks, Vince, however, just stood there, arms crossed, watching with an infuriating calm as the figure inside turned toward us.

The flashlight’s beam swung toward my face, and in the moment of blinding light, I caught sight of him, a man, mid 20s, with a lean build and a face I recognized instantly. He wasn’t one of ours.

“Shit” I muttered under my breath, my fists clenching.

The guy didn’t run. He stood his ground, his hand reaching into his jacket – a knife. That simple motion sent a bolt of adrenaline through me. This wasn’t just some idiot who’d stumbled onto cartel territory. He was H Block. And he was here to steal from us.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a rat,” Vince tilted his head, his gaze flicking to me. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he said, his tone almost bored. “Handle it.”

Handle it.

My chest tightened as the words sank in. But before I could think, the guy lunged at me, his knife glinting in the dim light. I barely dodged in time, stumbling back as the blade sliced through the air inches from my chest.

Instinct took over. I swung at him, my fist connecting with his jaw in a sharp crack. He staggered but didn’t go down. Instead, he came at me again, his movements wild and fueled by desperation.

The fight quickly devolved into chaos, our grunts and curses echoing off the walls of the warehouse. My fists were a blur, every punch landing with a sickening thud, but he was no amateur. He fought dirty, landing a blow to my ribs that knocked the wind out of me.

“Come on, Kid!” Vince’s voice rang out behind me, sharp and taunting. “Show him who he’s messing with!”

The guy swung at me with his unarmed fist, splitting my lip in the process, luckily, he wouldn’t get the luxury of seeing it through my bandana. The sting of the cut sent a surge of anger through me. I grabbed his wrist, twisting until the knife clattered to the floor, and then slammed him against the wall.

For a moment, it was just raw instinct, as I continuously hit him, adrenaline coursing through my veins like fire.

When it was over, he was slumped against the wall, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. I stepped back, my chest heaving, my knuckles throbbing from the fight.

Vince walked up beside me, his expression unreadable. He crouched down, grabbing the guy’s face and tilting it to the light.

“H Block scum” he muttered, letting the guy’s head drop. He stood, brushing off his hands as if the encounter had dirtied him. “Good work, kid. That’s the kind of fire we need in this crew.”

I didn’t feel victorious. My hands were trembling, the adrenaline beginning to fade and leaving only the weight of what I’d just done.

“What do you want to do with him?” I asked, my voice hollow.

Vince waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got people for that. You’ve got a run to make.” He handed me a slip of paper with the drop off location, his tone cold and business like.

I didn’t argue. I didn’t ask what would happen to the guy slumped against the wall, or how he’d even found this place. I just turned and walked out of the warehouse, my footsteps heavy.

The air outside was cold, but it did nothing to clear my head. I climbed into my car, gripping the steering wheel tightly as the reality of the fight set in.

This wasn’t me. It couldn’t be me.

But as I glanced down at my bloodied knuckles, the coppery tang lingering in my mouth from a split lip, the truth stared back at me.

Y/n’s POV

The sound of the kitchen faucet trickled down to silence as I placed the last clean plate on the drying rack. The house was quiet now, except for the faint hum of the dishwasher. I wiped my hands on a towel, glancing toward the living room where Dad was still passed out on the couch, his head tilted back in a food coma, and Mom was flipping through a book on her tablet.

Chris leaving early hadn’t gone unnoticed, but I’d managed to brush it off with a small joke about him being a lightweight when it came to a big dinner. Mom had smiled politely, but I could tell she had questions. I sighed, deciding not to dwell on it as I headed upstairs to my room.

The moment I stepped inside, I was hit with a wave of exhaustion. The day had been a whirlwind, from preparing dinner to Chris meeting my parents to.. everything else. I grabbed my towel and a pair of pyjamas from my dresser and made my way to the ensuite bathroom, craving a shower to wash the thoughts away.

The hot water cascaded over me, soothing my muscles and easing some of the tension in my chest. My mind, however, didn’t stop racing. I replayed the evening over and over -- the small talk, the laughter at the dinner table, the way Chris had seemed to fit in so effortlessly with my parents. But then there was the undercurrent, the subtle tension I’d felt from him, like he was carrying something he wasn’t ready to share.

I sighed, pressing my forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall. Maybe I was overthinking it. Chris had been through a lot today. Losing someone, even someone distant, could dredge up all sorts of emotions. And knowing Chris, he probably didn’t want to burden me with any of it. But I wished he would.

It wasn’t about prying or needing to know every little detail—it was about letting him know I was there for him. That he didn’t have to carry everything on his own. He was my boyfriend, after all, and I wanted to be a part of his life, even the parts that were messy and complicated.

Once I finished washing up, I stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around myself and walking into my room. The warm glow of my bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the walls as I slipped into a comfortable pair of pyjamas. My wet hair hung loosely over my shoulders, and I felt a little lighter, even if my thoughts were still swirling.

“Relax, Y/n” I muttered to myself.

Once my hair was dry, I climbed into bed, tucking myself under the covers. My phone sat on the nightstand, and I picked it up, hesitating for a moment before unlocking it.

I typed out a quick message to Chris, keeping it simple.

Hey, I hope you’re feeling better now. I really enjoyed having you over tonight. It meant a lot to me.

I stared at the screen for a moment before hitting send, hoping he’d know how much I meant it.

Sliding under the covers, I propped myself up against the pillows, my phone still clutched in my hand. The house was quiet now, my parents likely dozing off in the living room, and the stillness gave me too much room to think.

I tried not to let my mind spiral. Chris cared about me – I knew that. The fact that he’d come tonight at all, even after everything he’d been through, proved that much. And if he needed space to deal with his own stuff, I’d give it to him.

Still, I hoped he’d let me in eventually. Maybe not tonight, or even tomorrow, but someday. Because for as much as I wanted to be there for him, I wanted him to trust me enough to let me.

I placed my phone on the nightstand and turned off the lamp, letting the darkness settle over the room. As I closed my eyes, the thought of Chris lingered, a mix of worry and affection that I couldn’t shake. But for now, all I could do was wait, I needed a good night's sleep as I had another shadow trial tomorrow – college was demanding, and shadowing trials left little room for rest. My bed felt impossibly soft as I curled up under the covers, letting the day slip away, my thoughts gently fading into the haze of sleep.

Until a light pierced through the dark.

It flickered through my eyelids, breaking my peace and pulling me back to consciousness. A tap followed, soft but insistent, on my balcony door. I shot up in bed, my heart racing as I tried to process what was happening.

It took a moment, but then it clicked. Chris.

I glanced toward the balcony and saw the faint glow coming from the treehouse outside. My mind raced for a split second, but the sight of a familiar figure standing in the shadows confirmed it was him.

Stepping out of bed, I shuffled across the room to the door, opening it cautiously. Before I could say a word, Chris burst in, wrapping his arms around me in a tight, almost desperate hug. His warmth and the way his chest heaved against mine told me he was upset before he even spoke.

“I’m so sorry for leaving so soon earlier” he murmured into my hair, his voice heavy with guilt. “I feel awful.”

I placed my hands on each side of his head, trying to ease his tension as I pulled back to look at him properly. His face, shadowed by the dim light of my room, came into focus – and that’s when I noticed it.

“Chris” I gasped, my fingers grazing his bottom lip. A fresh cut marred the soft skin, the edges slightly swollen. “Your lip? What happened?!”

He hesitated, his gaze shifting away from mine like he couldn’t bear to see my reaction. “Oh.. uh..” He rubbed the back of his neck, stalling. “I met Nate not too long ago. We had.. a disagreement. Kinda got into it with each other.”

“What?” I said, shocked. “You and Nate fought?”

“Yeah” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s been on edge all day. I-I don’t know. Things just got heated.”

I softened, my hands moving to cup his face gently, urging him to look at me. “Chris.. it’s been hard for him lately. For both of you.. I know it was Danny’s funeral today too. Tensions are bound to run high.” I paused, my thumbs brushing lightly against his cheekbones. “I’d say Nate didn’t mean to lash out like that.”

Chris sighed, leaning into my touch as if it was the only thing grounding him. “I just.. I hate how things went. And I hate how I left you earlier. It’s been eating me up.”

I smiled softly, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to his forehead, then his lips, careful of the cut. “It’s okay, Chris” I said quietly, pulling him close again. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

But the weight in my chest didn’t entirely lift. “I just wish you told me about the funeral, though” I added, my voice laced with a mix of sadness and understanding. “I would’ve been there for you, even if just to listen.”

He held me tighter, resting his chin on my shoulder. “I know I should’ve.. But when you mentioned meeting your parents I wanted to prove to you I was serious about it. About you. I didn’t want to burden you with it or for it to be a big deal. Today was.. Complicated, and I most definitely didn’t want you to think you had to show your face there for me either.”

I let out a soft sigh, my fingers running through the back of his hair. “You’re my boyfriend, Chris. It’s not a burden. I’m here for you, okay? No matter what.”

For a moment, we stood there in silence, the sounds of the night filtering through the open balcony door. The glow from the treehouse outside cast faint shadows across the room, a quiet reminder of the world still turning outside our bubble.

“I’m sorry” Chris said again, his voice softer this time.

I kissed his temple, holding him close. “It’s okay” I whispered. “We’ll get through this.”

I pulled back slightly from our embrace, looking up at Chris with a soft smile. “Do you want to stay the night?” I asked gently, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “I mean, I’m up early for another shadow trial tomorrow, but I don’t mind. You can stay if you want.”

Chris shook his head slowly, his lips curving into a faint, appreciative smile. “I’ll let you get your rest” he said. “I don’t want to get in the way of your morning. I just.. needed to see you. To be around you for a bit.”

His words hit me deeply, and I couldn’t help but reach up to touch his cheek again. “You’re not in the way, you know. Ever.” I said softly, hoping he felt the weight of my sincerity.

Chris’s hand came up to cover mine, holding it there for a moment. “I know” he murmured, his voice tinged with something unspoken, something heavy. ��But I should get out of your hair. You’ve got enough on your plate without me barging in.”

I frowned slightly but didn’t push. I could see in his eyes that tonight, what he needed most wasn’t necessarily to stay, it was just this moment. “Okay” I said finally, lowering my hand but keeping close to him. “But next time, don’t hesitate, okay? If you need me, I’m here.”

Chris nodded, leaning down to press a tender kiss to my forehead. “I know” he whispered.

We lingered for a moment, standing in the quiet of my room, before he let out a small sigh and stepped back. I walked him to the balcony door, the cool night air brushing against us as I slid it open.

“You’ll text me when you’re home?” I asked softly, leaning against the doorframe.

“Always” he said, turning to give me one last look. “And, Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that held more emotion than he could probably put into words. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Anytime” I replied, watching as he climbed down the ladder to the yard below. The glow from the treehouse cast long shadows over him as he walked away, his figure disappearing into the night.

I stood there for a moment, the chill of the night air brushing against me, before I closed the door and leaned against it with a soft sigh.

Chris was carrying so much, but I knew he didn’t have to carry it alone. Not as long as I was here.

Chris’ POV

I climbed into my car, the cold leather seat pressing against my back as I closed the door. My hands gripped the steering wheel, but they trembled slightly, betraying how shaken I still actually was. The image of that guy’s face, the H Block mother fucker from the dock, flashed through my mind. The fight replayed over and over in my head, each punch, every word Vince spat at me.

I exhaled sharply, running a hand over my face. My lip stung from the touch, and I winced. I hadn’t even thought about it when I showed up at Y/n’s balcony. All I knew was that I needed her. Her calm, her warmth, it was the only thing grounding me tonight.

But I hated that I had to lie to her. That I told her it was Nate who’d roughed me up instead of the truth. What was I supposed to say? That I got into a brawl with a rival gang member over stolen supplies? She’d never let it slide, and honestly, I didn’t blame her. Y/n deserved better than this mess. Better than me.

Still, I couldn’t let her freak out. The guy from the dock didn’t see my face fully, and Vince had handled the rest. It wasn’t a clean situation, but for now, it was over. At least, I hoped it was.

I turned the key in the ignition, the low rumble of the engine filling the silence. The drive to Uncle Jerry’s was short because of how clear the streets were, but the road stretched out like a void. My thoughts swirled with everything I’d been avoiding – Danny’s funeral, the whispers of the hit, the escalating tension with H Block, and Vince’s expectations of me.

When I pulled up to Uncle Jerry’s place, I sat in the car for a moment, staring at the familiar, run down house. The porch light flickered, casting an uneven glow on the driveway. Jerry’s place was far from perfect, but it was home when I had nowhere else to go.

I stepped inside, the scent of stale smoke and takeout wrapping around me like an old coat that badly needed a wash. “Jerry?” I called out, shutting the door behind me.

“In here” came his gruff voice from the living room.

I walked in and found him slouched on the couch, a half finished beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other. A muted action movie played on the screen, explosions lighting up the dim room.

Jerry glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. “You look like shit, kid.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, dropping into the armchair across from him. “Want to split a J?”

Jerry smirked, setting his beer down on the table. “Always. What’s got you so wound up?”

I shrugged, not ready to unpack the night just yet. “Just need to take the edge off, you know?”

He nodded knowingly, pulling out his stash and starting to roll. “Rough day?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Something like that.”

As I lit the joint, I leaned back in the chair, taking a long drag. The tension in my chest eased slightly, the haze dulling the sharp edges of my thoughts.

But even as the calm washed over me, the weight of everything lingered in the background. The dock, the fight, the lies – I couldn’t escape it. Not tonight.

I needed something, anything, to pull me out of this downward spiral. Positive things, better things. Y/n’s face flashed in my mind, her smile, the way her voice softened when she said my name. She’d quickly become my anchor, the light cutting through all the dark corners of my life.

I pulled out my phone, opening our messages. The sight of her name on the screen was enough to slow my racing thoughts, if only for a moment. Her phone was on Do Not Disturb, I could see the little moon icon next to her name. Typical Y/n, always mindful of getting her rest. It was one of the things I admired about her, how she took care of herself in ways I never really knew how to.

I smiled faintly as I typed out a message:

"Home now. Pick you up after you’re finished with court tomorrow? We can get food and park at the beach? Hope you’re having a good sleep x."

I hit send, knowing the notification wouldn’t wake her. I just hoped that when she saw it, it’d bring a smile to her face. She deserved that, something simple, something good.

After setting my phone down on the table, I leaned back into the chair, closing my eyes. The room was quiet except for the hum of the TV in the background. I needed tomorrow to be better. For her, and for me.

a/n: im still shadow banned so i appreciate everyones interactions still 🥲🥲 CANT WAIT FROM THEM TO BE ALL CUTE NEXT PART EEEEE

taglist: @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @lvrsturniolo @bernardsbunny @spaghetti835928383 @marrykisskilled @sturnsxplr-25 @bxtchboy69 @vickytaa @anikaistg @matts-girlfriend @lvrsturniolo @sophand4n4 @ilovepurpledragons @mattsside @riasturns @mattsredgaphoodie

[normal-enderman]

My interpretations of people in the Life Series, as someone who is a very casual viewer and has no emotional investment in the series and barely knows any of the fandom knowledge below surface level.

Jimmy - stupid. so stupid. he barely has two braincells to rub together. but unfortunately for me i find it adorable. hes also blonde and young and pretty and im a basic idiot who likes young pretty twinks. he also has a really pretty smile. but hes so stupid. he sucks at minecraft. he dies all the time. his editing is also mid.

Joel - my second favourite after Jimmy. did I mention Jimmy's my favourite? no I didn't. im not basic. shut up. Joel is really cool. he's very funny and i love the overly-aggressive persona he puts on, he's one of the people who gets the most into roleplaying (it's basically his default for whenever he's on camera, he has a very defined cc persona that he never breaks out of), so it's easy to get immersed watching him. his editing is also seamless and brilliant. and he has good music taste. just a cool guy. i like the green streak in his mc skin.

Lizzie - usually when people call women quirky, they're being cringe incels who want a manic pixie dream girl. but i swear i mean it in the most sincere, old-fashioned use of the word way when i say Lizzie is quirky and i fucking love it. her aesthetic is cutesy pink kawaii, but the more you watch her the more you realise there's something delightfully strange about her. she's also incredibly fucking funny. the way she delivers lines just cracks me up. the way she speaks and phrases things and approaches the situations she finds herself in in general is awesome. despite her cutesy aesthetic, she's surprisingly tough as well. her editing is also a seamless, immersive delight.

Scott - master manipulator who gets violently mischaracterised by the entire fandom. he's definitely one of the smartest members of the Life Series SMP, he's always planning everything out, he always has a backup plan, he always seems to be three steps ahead. And again, a master of maximising his income of social capital. He's an expert at utilising his connections with the people around him, and always seems to be able to use his relationships to manouvre himself into an advantageous position. i don't understand why people make soft flower husbands art because Scott just seemed like he was taking advantage of Jimmy to me. in fact I dont understand why yall make scott soft in general, he's one of the most ruthless players from what I've seen. bit weird to mischaracterise "the gay one" as the soft guy, no? also why do you draw him as thin when he is chubby. why is his intro so fucking loud.

Bdubs - i have never watched this guy's POV because his editing is bad but he's always appearing in the corner of other player's POVs being adorable. he's like a little bug. he's always yelling and it's so incredibly unthreatening. why is his face all beat up like that what happened to the little guy.

Etho - he's friends with Bdubs and he's Canadian and he lives in the woods and fights moose and he's good at redstone and also some sort of cryptid. i have heard this. i have, however, not watched this because i have ADHD and the way he edits (or rather doesnt edit) his videos is so boring that i cannot watch them for longer than five minutes. which annoyed me because i really like his chill badass vibe and would like to see more of him, but alas. get better at editing etho. i also love the fan designs people make for him very much, especially when they make him into some sort of wolf or beast. makes sense since he's hunting all those moose.

Grian - HOT TAKE HERE. I'm not the biggest fan of Grian. His POVs are not very interesting. I guess people like him so much because he has a mad killer instinct and watching him hunt people down and get kills is fun. And this is true! I also like watching this! However, before it gets to the killing spree part, he's very self-contained and doesn't take much interest in what the people around him are doing (unless he is managing / leading them), which is boring for me because i'm interested in people's interactions with each other. Grian is actually far more interesting from other people's POVs, because from there you can see how his self-contained nature, tendancy to lead and thirst for blood and chaos affect everything around him, something which he himself seems to not notice because he is too focused on only dealing with the stuff that's immediately relevant to him.

Scar - what a charming man. oh my god. holy shit. sir. sir. what the fuck. he's also so funny. and has a little bit of the nature of a wet cat surrounding him. why does he love roleplaying being some form of scam artist so much that he choses to do it literally every single season. its like he cant stop himself. he has a scam artist disease. he also likes Starwars also one time he mentioned that he can't stand on twitter and everyone yelled his name. actually he does stuff that makes people yell his name in shock/exasperation a lot and its like a greek chorus. i also love the way he speaks in his voiceovers, his voice is very smooth.

Pearl - she has wolves apparently. this is a thing that i have heard about that has happened at some point. yes.

Cleo - they speak in a mocking tone and it makes me feel like i am being bullied in secondary school so i do not like them.

Impulse - this person does, in fact, exist, and may have done things at some point.

Geminitay - people draw her with antlers and that is cool

BigB - i have never seen this guy a single time in anyone's POV but apparently he is there! he keeps to the shadows.

Ren - there is a larper in this SMP. which is not a bad thing at all! I love hardcore minecraft roleplay! i am a Dream SMP fan, incidentally. which is related to nothing. The way he roleplays so intensely and in such a distinct style is a bit of a weird clash with the almost zero roleplay from everyone else, though. You have to all be into the roleplay and outputting the same amount of commitment to the bit, or it doesn't work and i just get secondhand embarassment watching. But I appreciate it nonetheless!

Other people who i've forgotten because i dont care about them - they sure do exist and are doing cool things yep

Thank you for reading my useless list, from a "fan" who isn't really invested enough to be a proper fan. I love minecraft men kissing. peace.

[ccaptain]

while this is an headcanon of mine that was related to my big period of ''KAEYA HAS THE CURSE'', I will be adapting it to fit a more neutral narrative about it:

Kaeya suffers from a mild case of photosensibility.

He discovered it when he was brought to the surface of Teyvat and left at the Dawn Winery when he was just a kid: the abrupt change from mild light underground to intense sunlight caused him to have a startingly debilitating migraine that greatly worried Crepus and the winery staff, until an healer managed to be called and give him a potion to keep the worst of it at bay until his body adapted to the change. Thankfully, Kaeya adapted quickly to it, but the potion's recipe was also given to Albedo to prepare for him ''just in case''.

Kaeya's black and gold eye became 80% blind upon Diluc's attack on him, and the constant motion of shadows mixing with his normal, unimpaired sight could sometimes be a trigger for a migraine, hence why his decision to keep it covered. 

While this got better as he kept growing, sometimes the problem resurfaces when there's an abrupt change as he moves environments a bit too suddendly. In my verse with @daybreakrising's Wrio, the shift between the surface and Meropide did ended up causing him quite an inconveniencing migraine that, thankfully, only lasted a few days thanks to him bringing the soothing potion with him and Wriothesley's stellar care of him.

With time, his eyes got used to the change, and Kaeya no longer had this problem, as he considers the Fortress a cozy place to stay and Wriothesley's quarters with soffused lights a good place to take a nap.

[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

[thepersonperson]

I think JJK going on break after the last chapter is a bit cruel. This is nerve-wracking. We still have 3 chapters left and so many things can happen there. 268 feels too good to be true and the title is weird.

I'm not sure what is the right translation and I don't have access to raws. Right now, it's 268 title is "Finale" or "Conclusion" but I heard from someone that it can be also be read as "Curtains".

If it can be read as "Curtains", then it could be a reference to "final curtains". The problem is JJK has its own version of "Curtains", right? Idk what to think.

Gosh I wish it was “Curtains”. The chapter title is 決着 (Kecchaku) which means settlement/conclusion/end.

For example, at the end of an extremely brutal fight in Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, Jolyne screams “Kechakuuuuuuu!” (決着ゥゥーーーッ!!) (It's actually a small Jojo meme in the JP fandom.) This got translated as "Game set!"

I love the localization they used for this since that entire battle was like struggling in arcade mode for a fighting game.

Anyways, in the context of JJK, especially since this has been a literal Sukuna Gauntlet and the previous chapter had the “Ringing the bell on a long fight.” editor’s comment, I don’t think there’s an ambiguous way to read Kecchaku. The Curtain/Veil kanji in JJK is 帳 (Tobari). (Though if there’s some fancy wordplay I’m missing please let me know.)

However…I would kneel before Gege if this was an elaborate trick by Sukuna—him giving Yuji delusions of a happy ending only to yank it away last second. It’s very hard to make characters feel familiar but slightly off on purpose for misdirection. That kind of tonal control is something I praise Umineko for. (Dungeon Meshi does it excellently for the shapeshifter scene.)

But that is pure copium I think. Sometimes otherwise good media just fumbles the endings. (Not an example of good media, but I was around for the Secret BBC Sherlock Season 4 Ending meltdown so I’m not too hopeful about a turnaround.) I personally blame the JP work culture/crunch since a lot of modern mangas have rushed endings due to burnout/unfair contracts.

I think the most heartbreaking examples of this phenomenon for me are The Owl House and Moral Orel. Those shows still stick the landing imo, but the creators are very open about how studio interference forced them to condense everything. You can feel that suffocation in the final episodes. Everything is just slightly off and you know it would be better if the creators were allowed their breathing room.

[hexxter]

Rewatching Disney worlds parts cause I love the friendship the player get with the characters.. SEPHIROTH???

I didn’t remember that part ever happening…

Am I overthinking it to think its actually means something for the future lore? Its probably just gameplay stuff lol like boss battle

But I can’t help it cause its fits my little headcanon version of khux and Player

[alexcabotgf]

not to be true crime posting on main but i think i'm falling down the wm3 rabbit hole again

[feline-evil]

Aoetic desecration and S.O.S both having this rising section of guitar, but in AD it ends after just a few rounds whereas in S.O.S it just keeps climbing and climbing and climbing higher and higher; and the way that section version of that guitar section puts me in mind of the visuals of Nathan climbing that hill during Knubbler's training, making it feel as if S.O.S is triumphant not effortlessly but with great effort and exertion to keep rising and not falling- because failing or giving up is easier sometimes but that doesn't make it the right thing to do, same as sometimes persevering and succeeding and doing the right thing is sometimes hard fucking work but that doesn't make it worthless or not something you should do.

This isn't a hidden theme, its just textual it's literally what Nathan's arc entails, i'm not saying anything big nor smart lol- but i do just like how narratively the instrumentals of the movies music drive the movies themes home too in this way! It adds so much more to feel and sink your teeth into when it comes to this plotline about him having to put the effort in to be a better person and to grow and do the right thing instead of just resorting to giving up or falling back on old habits and what he knows and does best!!

[fruityumbrella]

sorry but everyone saying the egghead fight animation is the Best So Far is so.....girl have you forgotten raid on onigashima so fast? fr?

[cinnabeat]

i have beef with the concept of data in kh but anytime i see someone talk shit about it i get so mad

[yoonstudios]

.

[inazuma-fulgur]

I will also defend trans men here, I see vitriol about both just by different people.

Men, and women keeping proximity to men in media/political circles, target trans women for being predators and for mutilating themselves

Same for trans men actually, just by women and men keeping a proximity to those women. This one is a little weird though, because trans men post transition are predators and trans men pre transition are always victims who are tricked into mutilating themselves.

This isn't just on tv, this is stuff my neighbors and coworkers tell me. Austensibly, in my experience, cis women are negative towards trans men and largely neutral or positive towards trans women, whereass cis men are negative towards both

Non binary people don't even exist because they don't touch on the framework people use to understand themselves, so they can just be denied and don't require any arguments beyond "lmao silly"

[jewishvitya]

A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.

So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.

Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.

When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.

One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"

He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."

And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.

I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.

So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.

Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.

But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?

All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.

I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.

This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.

In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.

One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.

Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.

Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."

In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.

On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.

In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.

[irndad]

won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man. 

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one. 

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk. 

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership. 

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you. 

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself. 

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning. 

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks. 

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection. 

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone. 

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation. 

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically. 

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this. 

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting. 

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth. 

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips. 

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic. 

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?) 

[amu-says-hav-says]

I can’t believe I went through all of Season 2 assuming Nina was the stand-in for Crowley when you actually pay attention it’s so CLEAR that she’s Aziraphale. I was tricked by her spiky, sarcastic, cynical outer shell and lulled into a false sense of security by Maggie’s bubbly optimism and wholesome goodness, because on the surface they reflect the ineffable husbands perfectly, in their personalities, their aesthetics, even many of their actions and morals. but not, and this is the real key, when it comes to their “relationship”. but those first impressions really had me damn fooled. 

I missed the blatantness of Nina’s “we’re just friends. actually we’re not friends. we barely know each other.” the same thing Aziraphale said in season 1.  the way he still struggles to quantify their friendship when Nina asks. Nina’s sarcasm when Crowley asks about rain and awnings because it worked for him (we all know it LMAO). hell, that whole convo the girls have in the rain is so AziraCrow (“I know. I’m not your type” “...You have no idea” hits so much harder the second time, help meeeee.) “Lindsay” maybe being symbolic of Heaven and Aziraphale’s toxic relationship with them and their abuse? (the handwritten text messages in red pen make me think of angry notes on paperwork, anyone else?) because Crowley has never actually cared about what Hell thinks of him, just not getting into trouble (or him or Aziraphale getting hurt). Maggie is always chasing Nina. NINA NEVER GOES IN THE RECORD STORE. Just like Crowley always goes to the bookstore, to Aziraphale, Zira NEVER WENT TO THE FLAT (apart from The Swap but that doesn’t count imo). Crowley has always chased Zira, not the other way around. Always there to rescue him, always going to him for company, always relying on their shared connection, always US. OUR SIDE. All through season one, he comes to Zira every time to work together, never trying to work alongside Hell in any way that isn’t to save their skins or Earth, while Zira hides things from Crowley because he STILL thinks Heaven is ultimately good and will do the right thing if he can just show them. fix it from the inside. 

Maggie working up the courage to finally say something, to put herself out there, while Nina is utterly oblivious and then when she does realise Maggie has feelings, becoming standoffish, putting up that barrier, fighting it, denying it, ITS SO CROWLEY AND AZIRAPHALE IN THAT ORDER. the way I was fooled into thinking Nina’s trust issues are Crowley because he does have trust issues ofc he does BUT Crowley has ALWAYS TRUSTED AZIRAPHALE. has always relied on him. has always been hurt when Aziraphale doesn’t immediately reciprocate the way he expects (the holy water request, the bandstand, the “off in the stars” etc). he’s always the one putting himself forward. Aziraphale has always been the one to second guess everything, to fight their connection, their similarities, their friendship. the girls really made me think it was going to be okay when they sat Crowley down, even as my inner sirens were going haywire about Metatron interfering, they were telling Crowley he just needs to open up and it’ll all work out BUT HE’S ALREADY AT THAT POINT. he may not say it, and by gosh is that part of their damn problem, but he’s always SHOWN IT. he’s not Nina who needs time to heal and recover from her broken trust, he’s always been Maggie believing it doesn’t matter, they’ll end up together in the end anyway AND I WALKED RIGHT INTO THE TRAP THAT THIS MEANT THEY WERE GOING TO BE OKAYYYYYYYYYYY

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic - tw: pregnancy Simon Riley / female reader

"Happy Birthday Orion, happy birthday to you!"

Everyone claps and your baby, no, your one year old, beams, enamored by the attention as his dad leans over and points at the candles. "Can you blow? Like this," he mimics, only to receive a giggle instead, Orion's eyes turning serious as he watches his dad blow the candles out in one short breath, his fists crashing into the cake and then smashing it on Simon's nose.

Your hand settles over your stomach subconsciously.

Everyone laughs. Kyle practically howls, Johnny bending over at the waist. The reaction makes Orion giggle like mad, and you lean against the door frame, soaking it in.

You already sent a million pictures to your family, hoping to alleviate their guilt about not being able to make it, their absence missed but not to a point where you feel it sharply.

Things are just different now.

You've built a life, this life, with Simon and Orion. With Cami, and Kyle, Ellie and John, even Johnny. It's a life you're happy in, a life you love, tucked up in this quiet town, nestled in the hills. The three of you, the wives, formed a friendship, a connection, leaning on each for support, building camaraderie over the long weeks and months of being alone.

Simon clears his throat at your side. "Where are you?"

"Nowhere." You lay your head on him. "I can't believe we have a one year old."

"I know. It's going too fast." He wraps his arms around your shoulders, tucking you close. "Cute bugger though." Orion is half eating his cake, half smashing into onto Johnny's face. He swats your ass. "C'mon. Don't you want a picture?"

Later, when everyone is gone, and the kitchen is clean, and the windows are open to let in the breeze, you teeter at the edge of the room while Simon puts Orion down. "Stop growing up, big guy." He traces two fingers down his cheek, careful not wake him. "Love you." Your heart skips.

"He asleep?" He doesn't even turn. He knew you were there, he always knows where you are in the house, like he can hear your breathing, or sense you.

"He is." You reach for him.

"Come on, let's go to bed."

Simon coaxed your initial agreement to have another baby out when he was holding you on the edge, cock nestled inside you, his uniform scraping against your skin. It was a heat of the moment thing, a 'please make me come' thing, but afterwards-

Afterwards, you sat with it. You sat with it for months. You tossed it back and forth, wavering, walking the tightrope of the decision.

You knew, in your heart, all along.

There was no decision to make.

You curl into him, mangled and mashed against his body, legs twisted together, an arm anchoring your thigh. "You've been thinkin' all day, honey. Don't think I haven't seen ya."

"I have." Your voice is gentle in the dark, soft as a whisper, breathy on his chest. He tenses.

"What is it?" He doesn't like this, you know. Doesn't like when you slip into your own mind. Since the incident, it's been harder, harder for him to feel comfortable, harder for him to push back against his anxiety. He worries, too much. Far too much.

"Everything's fine," you assure quickly, "Everything is okay, Si. I promise." It's building up inside you, a storm destroying everything in its path, fighting its way forward until there's no choice left except to let it out.

"Tell me, mama. Whatever it is, I-"

"I'm pregnant." He freezes.

"What?"

"I'm pregnant, Simon." You're rolled onto your back immediately, arms caging you in, thighs spread and bracketing yours.

"Tell me again." He demands, and you laugh, tangling your fingertips in his hair, tugging on his arm to drag his hand across your lower belly.

"We're having another baby." There's a look in his eye, heavy and wild, rich unending depths, one you're familiar with now, the instinctual, possessive, insane look he gets when you catch him staring at you. He doesn't speak, the silence sparking unease in the back of your mind. "Say something." He shakes his head, rolling down your body until he's nestled between your knees, mouth hot beneath your belly button.

"I'm gonna take care of you, of both of you," he pants the oath, inscribing it, branding you. "I'm gonna take such good care o' you, mama."

"I know Si, I know."

"I'm gonna be here, I'll take leave, text Price right now-"

"Okay, slow down," you knead his shoulders, "we've got a ways to go until you'll need to take leave, okay? Don't worry." His forehead rests on your stomach, and you can't resist the urge to poke at him a bit. "So... you're happy about it then?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm... I'm very happy." The words are thick, and he keeps his face turned down so you can't see. They sound wet. "I love you. You're everything to me. Orion, you, this baby- I... love you."

"I love you too." He tugs, pulling you close.

"I hope it's a girl. A little piece of you, with your eyes." You smile, stroking his hair.

"We'll have to wait and see."