#making connections where there are none that's me

[hrrtshape]

so let’s talk severance. and shifting. and briefly about loa.

because. i'm confused. this is an open forum for anyone who has ever stared into the abyss and had the abyss stare back, except the abyss is a fluorescent-lit office cubicle and the abyss is also your bedroom, and you are in both places at once, except not really.

quick recap for the uninitiated: in severance, employees undergo a procedure that splits their consciousness in two. the ‘innie’ only exists at work, the ‘outie’ only exists outside of it. neither remembers the other’s life. a clean, surgical divide. a self cleaved in two like some corporate-cooked ouroboros. make sense? no? yes? congratulations, you are alive.

now. shifting. shifting isn’t exactly that. but. isn’t it a little bit that? just a fraction? a sliver? because your dr self isn’t some blank-faced mannequin waiting for cr you to clock in and take over. they’re not a placeholder, not a consciousness-on-pause. they exist. fully. they are you in the same way you are you. and when you shift, you don’t overwrite them. you sync with them. it’s stepping into a river that was already rushing, already frothing, already carrying you forward before you even realized you were ankle-deep.

so no, your dr self doesn’t ‘know’ about shifting. until you shift. unless they were already aware of shifting. but let’s not go full inception just yet. because before that moment, they were just living, unbothered, thriving, possibly drinking a very good martini, possibly about to be hit by a cab. and now, here you are. a new awareness superimposed onto the old. which begs the question: if you can shift into them, could someone shift into you? could cr you be the outie in someone else's severance? is some other version of you sliding into place, right now, reading this, wearing your socks, stealing your morning?

let’s get messier. let's talk homework. let’s talk clones. let’s talk about whether or not i would even know if i had shifted. because. okay. say cr me is the innie. and the shifting me.....the one actively intending, scripting, affirming....is the outie. would my innie know the outie had shifted? would i know? or am i a paper doll, neatly folded into a reality i had no hand in choosing, while some other me slides into the cockpit?

because let’s discuss. people talk about clones. about leaving something behind to keep up appearances. but are they aware? do they feel it? do they have the creeping suspicion that reality is off by a fraction of a millimeter? do they ever get that thing where they walk into a room and forget why they’re there, except it’s their entire life? if shifting is severance, who's the innie and who's the outie? is cr you the outie, with full agency, only vaguely aware of the other? or is cr you the innie, there in a single slice of reality, while your dr self gets the full panoramic view? maybe it’s neither. maybe the whole premise collapses because, unlike severance, the connection is never actually severed. i think that this can be applied to manifestation too. because. if you manifest, say, a different face.....is the you with the old face aware that it worked???

maybe you are both. maybe it depends on where you stand. maybe it depends on where you shift. maybe none of us know what we’re talking about and reality is a mobius strip we’re all just scrambling across in different directions, trying to make it make sense.

anyway. thoughts? feelings? a growing sense of dread?

[strawberrynull]

──☆💋 to my valentine,

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | Nishimura Riki

──Pairing: fwb!Riki x afab!reader

──Genre: fluff, highly suggestive

──Synopsis: You weren’t expecting anything for Valentine’s Day but your friend with benefits, Riki, wanted to prove you wrong

──Warnings: fwb, eventual relationship, y/n is a VDay hater, kissing, making out, hickeys, biting, skinship, highly suggestive, proofread!!

──WC: 1.6k

──A/N: this is late but it’s whatever. I tried finishing this yesterday but I fell asleep lol

master list:

Today was February 14th. Valentine’s Day. The day where couples got all cheesy, giving gifts and posting about their super perfect relationships.

You hated it. It was like a punch to the gut. Rubbing it into your face that everyone else was in a relationship besides you. So on this day, every year, you sat in your room with a tub of ice cream, watching tv to drown your sorrows.

You weren’t expecting anything since all of your friends were busy either with their partners or hosting galentines get-togethers. None of which you wanted to go to.

Sure, Valentine’s Day wasn’t just about relationships but the fact that it was everyone’s main focus made you feel extremely lonely. You just wanted someone special to spend time with on a day like today.

You were already watching your third drama of the day when a knock came from your apartment door. Your ears perked up and you quickly paused your show. You wondered who it could be since all of your friends seemed busy today.

Peering out of the peep hole of your door, you saw only somebody’s neck and the collar of their shirt. Whoever was outside was tall. You stood back and cracked the door open. There you saw your friend, Riki. Well… you were a little more than friends but not quite… it’s complicated.

“Oh Riki, what are you doing here?” You asked, opening the door wider.

He stood there, anxiously chewing on his lip. He was clearly hiding something behind his back. “I came to give you something since it’s Valentine’s Day.”

You tilted your head at his words, confused why he would be giving you something on this specific day.

Then he slowly and carefully brought a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back. It was a beautiful assortment of red roses and small delicate white flowers. In the other hand he held a small box. “I got you these.” He mumbled shyly.

You quickly looked up at him with wide eyes filled with surprise. “These are for me?” He nodded and extended his arms toward you, wanting you to take the gifts. You took the pretty bouquet from his hands and moved your attention onto the small black box. “What’s in the box?”

“Open it” I said, nodding his head.

With flowers in one arm, you used your other hand to carefully open the small box. Inside were two silver bracelets, both with a half heart charm.

Riki reached into the box, taking out one of the bracelets. “Give me your arm” he instructed, opening the bracelet and putting it around your wrist when you extended it toward him. You smiled as his fingers grazed the skin of your wrist, carefully closing the clasp of the jewelry. Then he quickly placed the matching bracelet on his own wrist and held it up to show you.

“See. Now we match.” He smiled, holding his wrist up to yours until the magnets connected, creating a full heart.

“Riki, I love them.” You said with a pout.

His eyes flickered down to your lips.

“I’m glad. I was worried you would get mad since you don’t like Valentine’s Day” he explained, scratching the back of his neck.

“Of course I’m not mad if they’re from you.” You said with a soft chuckle that made his heart skip a few beats. “Come inside.” You moved to the side, motioning for him to enter your apartment. He stepped inside, slipping his shoes off at the door while you ran off to find a vase to display the flowers in.

Riki followed you into the kitchen with a gentle smile. “I uh… actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

You quickly stopped what you were doing to turn toward him, giving him your full attention. “What is it?”

He swallowed nervously before speaking. “Well I wanted to tell you how I’ve been feeling recently. It’s hard to explain but…” he mumbled, not completely sure how to express his emotions. “I don’t think we should be friends anymore”

“W-what?” Your smile dropped and you felt your heart begin to shatter.

“There are two ways to go about this and neither of them end in us being friends…” he said, biting his bottom lip.

Your heart sank further and further with each word he spoke. Why would he be breaking things off after giving you flowers and matching bracelets? “Riki… what are you saying?” You asked nervously.

“Y/n… ‘friends with benefits’ just isn’t working for me.” He admitted, shuffling his feet in anxiety.

“I’m sorry Riki. If I took it too far, I really didn’t mean to. We can go back to being just friends. I-“ you ranted on before he cut you off.

“I want to be with you.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. You just stared at him in pure shock while he stared at the floor, unable to look at you.

“I want to be together.” He repeated, finally lifting his head to meet your gaze.

“You… you mean you want to be in a relationship?” You asked, scrunching your eyebrows in confusion. You hadn’t expected him to want to take your… ‘situationship’ any further.

He nodded shyly, stepping toward you slowly and giving you a pleading expression that made you melt. “Please… can I be your boyfriend?”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his words. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. He really wanted to be your boyfriend? He was so hot, he could go out and pick up any girl in the world but he wanted you? You searched his eyes for any sign that he was joking but you only found sincerity and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Riki… I-“ you stuttered. You weren’t sure how to respond but your heart definitely knew the right answer.

You caught the way his eyes flickered down to your lips for a split second before coming back up to look you in the eyes. You also noticed the way he licked his lips before whispering a soft “please” one more time.

Your self control snapped and you quickly attached your lips to his in a sweet soft kiss. The kiss was short but meaningful. When you pulled away, he looked down at you with half lidded eyes, already melting from your touch. “So… you’ll be my valentine? And… let me be your boyfriend?”

You nodded “yes to both of those” you said with a grin. Your words made his cheeks flush and a soft smile spread across his face. And then you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your lips back onto his, this time in a longer, deeper kiss. He reciprocated, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling your body toward his.

“Thank you Riki” you whispered over and over again between kisses. It was sweet and gentle…

Until it wasn’t.

Riki let out a satisfactory moan, just proving how much he truly wanted this. Now spurred on, you smiled into the kiss, hands finding their way to rake through his soft hair.

The air around the two of you was already becoming thick and heavy. Your bodies were beginning to heat up and your breathing became fast and labored. Upon feeling your hands in his hair, Riki’s hands came to grip your hips harshly. His kisses became aggressive and hungry rather than tender and careful.

The tall black haired boy bit down on your lower lip, forcing your mouth to open enough for him to slip his tongue inside. His pants seemed to tighten at the way you let out a surprised yelp.

With his hands still on your hips, he pulled you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. He pulled away from the kiss, panting heavily. Looking down, he could see the way your tits pressed up against his chest from how close you were.

When he smashed his lips back onto yours, he started getting handsy. He would slide his hands down slowly to feel your backside before bringing them back up to your waist as if he hadn’t done anything. Then, he got bold. He squeezed your ass, making your back arch slightly, pressing your body onto his even more. He groaned hungrily, beginning to kneed your ass in his hands.

You pulled away from the kiss, leaving him pouting. It wasn’t for long though because you quickly dragged him to a nearby couch in the living room and pushed him backwards, forcing him to sit down. You climbed onto his lap, straddling him before starting to trail open mouth kissed from his jawline to his neck.

He groaned at the feeling of your lips on his neck. Hickeys began to form where you were sucking on his skin. Mark after mark, his chest swelled with pride. Riki was so proud to finally be yours (and to be able to show it off.) Before, when you two were just friends with benefits, you wouldn’t leave marks on him or let him leave marks on you. But now… his neck was already covered in dark purple splotches. He was sure to be questioned by all of his friends tomorrow.

Feeling more confident, he put his hands on your hips, guiding them to rock back and forth against his own.

“Even though we’re not friends anymore, do I still get those benefits?”

© strawberrynull, 2024. Do not copy my work. Please DM for permission before translating or reuploading. Thank You

[berritart]

toxic!reader x abby nsfw 18+

a/n saw a post that said we need more toxic!reader and what better way to do it is with abby mhm mhm. didnt think it would be this long but i hope u guys enjoy😇

you couldn't even count how many texts your got from abby that night. it was quite hilarious honestly. notifications kept popping up, reading along the lines of "baby what are you doing?" "saw your recent story" or "why are you with your ex?" all you posted was a selfie with your ex girlfriend at a club. yes you might still have feelings for her, and perhaps you did it for pathetic reactions from abby. and it worked.

you never made anything exclusive with abby. she was just friends with benefits. yeah you two would go out, fuck around a lot, and you maybe have a toothbrush and bra at her place, but you never agreed to being her girlfriend. you're just not ready for the commitment.

you're probably oblivious to how abby feels but she never asked you to be her girlfriend either. she never showed obvious signs either. you thought she felt the same way as you, perfectly fine with being fuck buddies. you thought that until you reached the front door of your apartment where a disheveled abby was, leaning against your door.

"abby? what are you doing here?" you question, your voice full of confusion. you were confused as fuck and that might be an understatement. abby's head shot up and faced you, her arms quickly pulling you in her embrace. "missed you...that's all." she whispered against your neck. you pulled away and looked at abby crazy. "at one o'clock in the morning abs?" you enter your front door, abby following behind you like a lost puppy.

"i saw your story and i couldn't sleep." abby admitted, tossing her jacket on the couch. "are you guys together?" you were getting distracted by her biceps and tank top clad torso. if you two wasn't in this predicament you would've been pounced on her but that doesn't matter right now sadly.

"that's none of your business. you don't have the right to pop up unannounce-"

"you always show up at my place and i don't mind. don't be a hypocrite especially right now." abby interrupted your sentence, her eyebrows furrowed from stress. you almost felt bad. and you know you would flip if she posted any other woman. maybe she was right about how she's acting. you would never admit it though.

"no i'm not abby. why do you even care anyways?" you walk closer to her, her face contorted in nothing but sadness. "are you jealous?" a smirk find it's way to your glossy lips, hands cupping her face. "you want me all to yourself huh?"

abby nodded, humming in agreement. her eyes not leaving your lips. she looked so needy, so desperate, so pathetic. and you're making her this way. talk about a ego booster. she nudged against the palm of your hands, rubbing her cheek against them. "need you..." abby whined, letting you guide her face to your lips.

her lips craved yours, almost devouring them as soon as they met. her tongue traced against the opening of your mouth, begging for permission to enter your mouth and you let her. felt like she was sucking the soul out of you, your breath weakening from the prolonged kissing. lips still connected, she picked you up, your legs wrapping around her waist.

as soon as you two entered your bedroom she threw you on your already disheveled bedspread. her hands quickly found its way to the zipper of your mini skirt. "need this pussy and i know she needs me." abby muttered under her breath, loud enough for you to hear. "she can't fuck you like i do. you only need me. say it." abby begged, her eyebrows still furrowed in need. and she's right. no one could make you cum more than 3 times a night, cater to your every need in the bedroom, only she could.

"i only need you baby just please..." you whimpered, only saying it to satisfy her. you brought her hands back to the waistband of your panties, the lacy black thong you only wore because you were seeing your ex tonight. abby wasted no time diving between your legs. she dragged her tongue against your thong, the fabric creating friction against your clit so fucking good. "fuck oh my god-" your nails scratched against abby's sensitive scalp, pulling her messy blonde hair to buck your hips even more. the moan that came out her mouth was almost guttural, only causing her her to speed up the endless torture.

you definitely had authority over abby's feelings, keeping her close with no thought in your head to start dating. but in bed, you're only reduced to a orgasming, moaning mess. abby would always come crawling back to make you feel good, even after 3 days of not messaging each other. she needed you and you sorta need her.

you felt the cold room air hit your folds, your panties getting pulled to your ankles by abby. she didn't give you a lick of time to calm down from her teasing, tongue running through your sopping cunt. she was making louder noises than you, whimpers and whines only causing vibrations to hit your clit. "taste so good angel." she moaned, her blue eyes holding you in a trance, not once breaking eye contact with you. "f-feels so good abby-" you yanked at abby's hair, causing a loud grunt from her lips.

"'m s-so close fuck abby please." you felt the heat in the pit your stomach get worse, your orgasm preparing to wash over your body. her lips latched to your clit, sucking like her life depended on it. you were so close and abby had no mercy, doing whatever it takes to make you cum all over her mouth. you thought that would be it until you felt her thick, calloused digits slip into you cunt, curling in all the right spots. "f-fuck oh my-" your back arched from the bed, grinding against her tongue and fingers. "'m c-cumming abby-" a few more seconds of sucking and fingering your orgasm rushed throughout your body, limbs shaking from the impact. abby held your hips, her tongue cleaning the rest of the juices on your folds. she pulled away to stare at the mess she caused, a grin plastered across her face.

"what else do you need me to do baby? anything you need." abby questioned, her hands exploring your torso under your tank top. "just wanna make you feel good..." your nipples we're between her thumb and pointer finger, pinching and tugging enough to elicit a loud cry from you.

"c-check my drawer." you point towards your nightstand, abby already knowing what you're hinting at. she's too good at fucking you with her strap, especially after an argument (you caused of course). she's definitely on a ten now since she has something to prove and what better way to prove you only need her by drilling you into the mattress.

abby took off her sweats, leaving her only in her tank top and boxers. your lip was between your teeth as you eyed abby as she secured the harness around her hips. not a single thought behind those eyes of yours, only lust and need.

it was a black strap with a few veins running along it's sides. a tad bit too big but it was your favorite on abby. she just knew how to use it, making sure you can feel her in your stomach. you definitely weren't going to be able to walk straight tomorrow morning.

abby positioned herself between your shaky legs, spreading them as wide as she could just so you can be on full display for her. she ran the tip through your folds, pressing it against your sensitive clit. "abby don't tease..." your begs fill the room, wanting nothing more than to have your girlfriend situationship balls deep in your cunt.

"relax baby..." abby hums. "wanna take my time with her." she slipped the tip of her strap in your cunt just to take it out once your gasp hit her ears. you couldn't take it anymore, your head fuzzy, just wanting to be stuffed. you move closer, letting the strap slip into your warm heat. your lips formed a perfect o, your eyebrows being pulled together as her strap continues to stretch your cunt slowly.

"so impatient, we need to work on that." abby shakes her head, sucking her teeth in response to you neediness. she continued slip her length inside you slowly, the stretch hurting so good. she finally bottomed out, the harness already sticky with your cum from your previous orgasm. you started rocking your pelvis area, feeling the tip of abby's strap brush against that spot but not necessarily quite. you were basically teasing yourself, only needing to feel abby fuck you. your weak movements weren't enough.

"you want me to move sweet girl?" abby smiled, her rough hands still pressing down on your legs, keeping them apart so they wont disrupt her view. you nodded repetitively, whines and borderline sobs filling the room. "p-please..."

abby pulled out slowly, only to ram back in with no warning."f-fuck oh my god-" you grabbed her forearms tightly, feeling her strap continue to pump in and out of your heat. she was so fucking deep. you think you almost felt her in your throat. "you can take it mama. i know you can." abby leaned forward, placing your nipple between her teeth, tugging softly. she began to rub her tongue against your hardening bud, still keeping the same pace she was previously terrorizing you with. "feels s'good..." you stuffed your face in the nearest pillow, muffling the noises you were making. you knew in your soul your neighbor would be putting in a noise complaint about you first thing in the morning. but having abby fuck you like she always did, after days on end of no contact, there's only so much you can do.

abby continued to pound into you relentlessly, not giving a chance to really take it in. you felt like you were going to cum any minute now, the pressure in you pelvis area growing more and more, the tip hitting your cervix with no remorse. "'m so close." you cried, looking down to see where you two met.

god it was so sloppy and messy, white painting the black silicone of abby's strap. you swore you could see how deep she was inside you, every thrust causing a bulge to appear near your pelvis. the scene was imprinted in your brain. you don't ever think you could forget how good she is fucking you.

"f-fuck me too." abby's thrusts became sloppier, the slowed friction pushing you over the edge. your whole body spasmed, hands gripping harshly on abby's biceps, leaving marks on her freckled skin. you couldn't even warn her or say you were about to come, only noises could be produced. your release coated her abs and the base of her strap, gluing you two together. your soft pants and whimpers combined with her grunts, her orgasm hitting her once you finished yours.

abby collapsed beside you, lazily taking off her strap. she immediately pulled you in to embrace you. her nose traced against your neck, hands squeezing your waist. "missed this so much..." she hummed, sleepiness washing over her.

you say there, letting the guilt wash over you. you know once she leaves tomorrow morning you ex will still be on the back burner, always there waiting when you're tired of abby. maybe when you wake up you'll have a change of heart, wanting to settle down and start building a better relationship with abby. however, you doubt that completely.

[dulcescorderitas]

he sees you again

parings: tom hanniger x reader

warnings: none

dulce's notes: first time writing for tom so fingers crossed you guys like it!

the night tom hanniger came back to harmony, the town sat in uneasy silence. he hadn’t meant to stay long—just a quick trip back to settle old ghosts, to see if the air here still smelled like iron and regret. but then he saw you.

you were standing behind the counter of your family’s coffee shop, sleeves rolled up, hair twisted back the way you always did when you were focused. the sight was enough to make something ache in him.

“you gonna order something, or just stand there looking broody?” you teased, a hint of amusement in your voice as you met his gaze.

he huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer. “didn’t know you remembered me.”

“hard to forget, tommy.” your eyes softened for a moment before you glanced away, busying yourself with a towel and an already clean counter. “been a long time.”

he hadn’t expected you to come back.

but life had a way of pulling people home. your parents had retired, and the shop needed someone to keep it alive. so here you were, pouring coffee, wiping down counters, smiling that same soft smile—but with something heavier in your gaze now. the years had changed you, just as they had changed him.

“how long you back for?” you asked, setting a fresh cup in front of him.

“not sure yet.” tom wrapped his hands around the warmth of the ceramic. “just seeing where things go.”

and then you introduced him to luke.

“this is my boyfriend, luke,” you said with a small smile, gesturing to the man who had just stepped inside. “luke, this is tom. we grew up together.”

luke extended a hand, his grip firm, practiced. “heard a lot about you, man.”

tom had to resist the way his hands curled into fists at the sight of him. tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy laugh and the kind of face that belonged on a political campaign poster. he was harmony’s golden boy—beloved, untarnished. he kissed your temple as he pulled you into his side, murmuring something that made you smile—though not quite as brightly as you used to. tom saw the cracks instantly.

“good to finally meet you,” tom said, forcing an easy nod.

and he saw even more when he followed luke that night.

the mines had long since been abandoned, but people still wandered there—kids looking for a scare, couples sneaking off into the dark.

but luke wasn’t there for a thrill.

tom watched, hidden in the shadows, as the man pressed another woman against the rusted support beams, hands roaming, lips tracing familiar paths over skin that wasn’t yours.

“you sure about this?” the woman giggled breathlessly.

luke grinned, voice dripping with smug assurance. “she won’t find out.”

something inside tom twisted.

luke didn’t deserve you.

luke didn’t deserve to live.

the coffee shop was quiet when he arrived that evening. you were locking up, exhaustion written in the lines of your face. you barely glanced up before sighing, rubbing your temples.

“luke canceled on me,” you muttered, forcing a laugh. “said something came up.”

tom hummed, stepping closer. “his loss.”

you hesitated, the pause stretching long enough for the moment to shift, for something unspoken to settle between you. and then you exhaled, shaking your head as you unlocked the door, letting him in.

the two of you sat on the old leather couch in the back, coffee in hand, warmth pressing in around you. you talked about the past, about the years lost, about the way things never seemed to turn out quite right. tom listened, nodding, offering quiet reassurances. it felt easy. natural.

as you both watch the tv, a news report flickered on, the blue light of the television casting sharp angles across the dimly lit room. the static crackled for a moment before the anchor's voice cut through, steady, detached.

“breaking news: two bodies discovered near the old mines earlier this morning. local authorities have yet to release official statements, but sources suggest a possible connection to the town’s grim past... to harry warden.”

you turned toward the screen, brows furrowing as the words sank in. two bodies. the mines. harry warden.

“oh my god...” you whispered, barely audible.

your fingers trembled against your cup. “i don’t—I don’t understand,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. your eyes flicked to tom, searching for something—reassurance, answers, anything.

“it’s probably just some idiot trying to stir up old fears,” tom said smoothly, though his pulse quickened. he reached forward, gently prying the cup from your grasp, his fingers brushing yours. “you know how this town is. people see shadows and start spinning ghost stories.”

“but harry warden is dead... isn’t he?” you asked, voice small.

tom held your gaze, forcing an easy smile. “of course he is.”

tom watched you, watched the way your lips parted, the confusion, the uncertainty. and he didn’t think. didn’t stop himself.

he cupped your face, thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned in. “hey,” he murmured, his voice low and grounding. “it’s just a story. you're safe.”

but even as he said it, he closed the distance, lips pressing against yours. it was slow at first, careful, a balm against the storm in your mind. but then you melted, sighing into him, trusting, needing, and he deepened it, tasting something he had wanted for far too long.

his hands smoothed over your cheeks, his thumb stroking your skin, grounding you in him.

“you believe me, don’t you?” tom whispered against your lips.

and you nodded, oblivious to the blood still on his hands.

you didn’t pull away.

you didn’t know the blood he had spilled for you.

and you never would.

dulce's extra-notes: let me know if it's choppy!

credits of divider @toastray

special tags: @legalmente-loca @deanspookiebear @bluemerakis @soldiersgirl (please lmk if you want to be tagged in all posts of mine or any specific character)

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

hi first of, i love your writing so much. secondly, i dont know if you take requests, and if you dont, that's totally fine. but i was wondering if you could do a peter x reader in an established relationship & living together and her brother or cousin (whatever really) unexpectedly shows up and she just calls peter a roommate. then he comes out all jealous until he realizes thats her family

a/n: this one has been in my inbox for so long, feels really nice to finally write it

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

You swiftly leapt out of the kitchen as the doorbell suddenly rang, leaving your boyfriend behind as he continued to clutch a wooden spoon and make sure your dinner didn’t burn. Though as you pulled open the front door to your apartment, the surprise on the other side nearly caused you to stumble. 

“Will!” your jaw hit the floor at the sight of none other than your brother, “what are you doing here?” 

“I was in town,” he flashed you a bright grin, holding out his arms like he was the expensive Lego set your parents never permitted you to get as a child, “what, am I not allowed to just drop by?” 

“No, of course you are,” you faintly shook your dazed head as he crossed over the threshold, “we were just about to have dinner–” 

“We?” his eyebrows cocked, “oh shit, do you have company right now?” 

“No, no, or well, it’s just Peter.”

“Peter?”

“Yeah, my boy–, roommate,” you swiftly squeaked, “he’s my roommate.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a roomie!” he smiled as he kicked off his shoes and set down his bag. 

“Uhm, yep,” you stiffly coughed, “it’s kind of a new development…” 

“Hey, darling,” Will then glanced over his shoulder after he’d hung his coat up on a hook on the hallway wall, “where’s the bathroom?” 

“Right down there,” you pointed before watching him trot down in that direction. 

Once you’d returned to the kitchen, the soft smile, that had been on Peter’s lips back when you’d left, had faded as he continued to drag the long spoon through the sautéing vegetables. 

Narrowing his gaze in your direction, he then said, “so, roomie,” his petty tone revealing how much he’d overheard through the apartment’s thin walls, “who’s Will?” he kissed his teeth, “anything you’d like come clean about?” 

“What?” your face instantly scrunched up, “ew, gross, no! Will is my brother!” 

All of Peter’s tension then promptly melted away, “oh, Will, Will! Your brother Will!” he connected the dots, then smiled widely as, “hey look, your brother’s here,” flowed out past his lips in an adorably genuine tone, as if he hadn’t just misunderstood everything. 

“Yes, you weirdo,” you light-heartedly rolled your eyes and shifted to check the timer on the things in the oven. 

“Doesn’t he already know about us?” he asked, “we have been together for two years and, oh yeah, we live together! I don’t know about you, but that’s not exactly what I’d describe as a casual relationship.” 

“No, of course, he knows about the vague idea of you,” gaze averted to the scraps left on the cutting board, you began to explain, “but he doesn’t know that we moved in together, and if he knows, then that means my parents will know, and trust me, you’re not ready for that yet.” 

“I think I can handle a couple of parents, thank you very much,” he chuckled, not yet heeding your warning. 

Finally meeting his gaze, you placed a hand on his forearm and exhaled, “honey, they would interpret us moving in together as instant wedding bells and like a trillion babies. I am doing this for your protection.” 

“Oh…” he uttered slowly, his brows raising at your words, “well, thanks for having my back then.” 

“You’re welcome,” you briefly leaned in and pressed a peck to his lips before you drew back once more and sucked in a deep breath, conjuring the strength that the rest of the night surely required, “now, do you wanna go help me give my brother a tour and rapidly come up with an answer as to why we only have one bed?”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[scarletwitchproperty]

Death as the life she fled

masterlist

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Words: 3.1k

Summary: Death has a son, but she cannot stay away. She should though, because in the end it will hurt even more when she has to let him go.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, hurt, swearing, character death

a/n: here's the agathario one shot that made me cry writing it lmao enjoy

It hurts, watching them from afar. Lurking in the shadows as a life so precious grows without knowing their other parent, her. Lady Death. 

From his conception to his birth, Death hoped against all odds that her child would come into the world free of all her burdens, healthy and vigorous as any children should be. Not sickly and so frail that her love refused to let her come near, afraid that she was going to take him away. 

Eventually, she will be forced to lead her baby boy into the afterlife, say nothing as Agatha curses her for eternity. She knows her wife well, if you could even still call her that. Knows the nightmares that plague her every night, knows the reason why she keeps on killing other witches. A simple distraction for her, keeping Rio occupied so that her heavy gaze doesn’t next fall on their precious boy. 

Even when their son is nothing but a newborn that only knows hunger and his mother’s love Rio cannot stay away. She tries to, of course. But one such night where Agatha is exhausted as any new mother is, sleep deep from exhaustion and their son’s fussing through the day, Nicky’s cries echoing in the forest, Death approaches her son. His intelligent blue eyes seem to immediately recognize her, as tiny as they are, for he reaches out for her while making noises that no entity like her should fold for. 

But she does, fall for her son every night that she comes for him. Every night she can she cradles him in her arms while his other mother is none the wiser, bonding with Nicky like any normal human mother would. She calms him in the depths of night when Agatha cannot, learns the way he likes to be rocked when something sets him off, knows he likes to listen to her voice when she speaks like he remembers her doing when he was still in her Love’s womb before his birth. 

Sometimes she stays with Nicky until the sun rises, on the rare nights where her work doesn’t urgently need her. Rio keeps her little boy safely in her arms, asleep until she puts him back in Agatha’s arms when she has to leave. As he gets older he sees her fade into the early morning shadows, and Rio knows that her son is able to see her still when she goes into her realm to evade her wife’s notice. 

It is not until the boy reaches two and a half years of age, such a sweet period filled with many milestones for any children, long after Nicky learns to walk and just starts to say a few words, that Agatha starts to get suspicious about her nightly visits. She sees the way their son looks over her shoulder, tiny blue eyes always fixed on the shadows around them, little mouth forming a pout without fail when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. 

He calls Agatha mama, their boy, and he has taken to calling her mami. Such a sweet word in the mouth of their son, but one that sheds light upon their apparent connection that shouldn’t even exist. 

There’s a plague striking the little town where Agatha chose to settle in this time, and as always people are not strong enough to fight through the sickness, so it is said that Death should come for them. Nicky is only two, unaware of what he’s done when he calls for his mami when he sees her take a poor woman’s soul in the afterlife. Rio freezes, eyes wide as she turns to her son to see him in the arms of Agatha. 

“Mami! Mami!” Nicky cries out with tears in his eyes, not comprehending why his mama won’t let go of him. He doesn’t understand why he never sees his mothers together, doesn’t know why his mama gasps in horror when it dawns on her why her little boy has taken to calling her a word that wasn’t even meant for her to begin with. “Want mami!” 

Rio tries to stop her boy but it is too late, the air shimmers around her and for the first time in as long as their son has been on earth Agatha finally lays eyes upon her. In shock she let go of Nicky who doesn’t waist time running to Rio, and as a reflex more than anything lady Death bends down to receive his tiny body in her arms. She stills has her work face on, bones and all, yet her sweet boy sees nothing but his mami as he looks into her eyes. 

“Mami me miss you! Please stay with me and mama!” Nicky continues calling out for his mami despite being reunited with her. It has been days since he last saw her, he really missed the sound of her voice, the way she would cuddle him at night when mama is asleep. He totally misses the utter fury in Agatha’s eyes as Rio cuddles him. ‘’Mama always sad, please make mama happy? I no want mama cry!’’ 

It’s Rio’s turn to cry, because she knows. She knows Agatha cries herself to sleep most night, sees it in the tear tracks visible down her pale cheeks when she comes to visit Nicky. But now, hearing it from their baby boy’s mouth…

‘’I know sweet boy, I am aware,’’ Rio admits to her son, kissing him on the forehead. Nicky presses himself as close to his mami as he can, craving her warmth. ‘’But mami cannot stay with you both, she has a job to do. I told you, do you remember mijo?’’ 

‘’Mmh, mami help people when they die, si?’’ 

‘’That’s right Nicky, I help their soul settle into the afterlife,’’ Rio continues talking, aware of Agatha approaching at her back. She wipes her tears away, slowly detangling herself from her son. ‘’You have to go back with mama now though,  mami has to work okay?’’ 

‘’Mami come back after?’’ 

This, the hopeful look on her son’s face is all it takes to break Lady Death. And so despite the open hostility in her beloved’s eyes intended for her, Rio squeezes her son tighter against her and makes him a promise that even she knows she might not be able to keep. 

‘’For you? Always mijo, I will always come back.’’ 

Nicky goes back into his mama’s arms with red eyes, hiding his little face in his mother’s chest so as not to make his mami even more sad by seeing him cry. The son of Death stays oblivious to his mothers conflicted feelings for each other, blind to the love and anger his mama feels for his mami. 

‘’How long has this been going on?’’ Agatha asks with false calm, face neutral while her eyes convey a totally different story. ‘’How long have you been seeing my son without my permission?’’ 

‘’Our son Agatha, ours. Nicky is as much mine as he is yours,’’ Rio sighs, a heavy feeling settling in her chest. She fights to keep her composure, reins in her more impulsive thoughts. ‘’You can pretend that you hate me all you want my Love, but do not deny me this one thing. I am his mother, just like you.’’ 

‘’How long?’’ 

Rio knows this is a losing battle. She sighs again, ignoring the tugging for another soul’s retrieval for this one time. 

‘’He was but three days old when I…when I started holding him in the night. I wished only to get a glimpse of our little miracle, to stay in the shadows and leave you alone, but Nicky was crying so much and you slept so profoundly I feared something was wrong so I-I appeared to him as I appeared to you when we first met,’’ Rio confesses, hands toying with a purple lily flower. ‘’He reached for me Agatha, with his tiny little hands he reached for me in the dark. Nicky stopped crying as soon as I held him, and the way he looked at me…I fell in love with our son the moment his eyes met mine. How could I not when he has his mother’s ey-‘’ 

‘’I forbid you from ever seeing him again, do you hear me?’’ 

‘’What?’’ 

Surely, Rio heard wrong. Agatha couldn’t be possibly asking her to- 

‘’You heard me right the first time, Lady Death,’’ Agatha says with fury as she turns her back on Rio. ‘’Today is the last time you’ll ever lay your eyes upon my son, Rio. Go behind my back ever again and I’ll find a way to kill you even if it’s the last thing I do.’’ 

‘’My Love, please he’s my son too-‘’ 

‘’He is mine and I won’t let you take him away from me!’’ 

‘’You know I can’t change anything Agatha!’’ Rio shouts in a desperate attempt, broken by the alarmed eyes of their baby boy peeking through his mama’s hair. She feels his distress, sees how Nicky cowers from their fight. ‘’Please my Love, I love him just as much as I do you. You cannot ask me to stay away from our son because you’re afraid I’ll take him away!’’ 

The kiss is unexpected, full of lust, love and anger.  Agatha moves against her like they’re the only people in the world, exploring Rio’s mouth with her tongue and pulling moans from her that Lady Death has no shame in letting out. Agatha bites down on her bottom lip, right hand coming up to cradle Rio’s cheek as their forehead settle against one another. 

‘’You were the only person I thought I could trust in my entire life, yet one day you’re going to take my baby away from me,’’ Agatha breathes against her lips, a lone tear running down her cheek. ‘’And the worst part of all of this is that I still love you.’’ 

‘’Agatha, please-‘’ 

‘’Goodbye, my Love.’’ 

Six months. It takes Rio six months to find them again, the days bleeding into each other as she looks for her wife and son. The killing of witches had doubled in the last six months, Agatha’s effort in distracting her dwindling down as their boy’s birthday approaches. Which is partly to blame as to why Rio manages to find them. 

Another dead coven, another job. She just barely leads the last witch into the afterlife when Rio feels tiny hands tugging at her robe. She stops, looking down into the bright blue eyes of a very special little boy. 

‘’MAMI! I found you mami!’’ 

Nicky cries as Rio hugs him, heart whole once again as her little boy is back in her arms. She looks around, expecting to find Agatha running after their son, but not even the animals in the forest make a sound. No one is here but them. 

‘’Oh mijo I missed you my little prince,’’ Rio whispers against his hair, breathing in the earthy scent of the little one in her arms. He stills smells the same, a mix of her and Agatha. ‘’But why are you on your own? Is your mama coming?’’ 

At the question her little boy bursts into tears, hiding his tiny face into her neck. 

‘’It’s their fault mami, mama was hurt because of them,’’ Nicky cries as he squeezes Rio, blind to the way his mami’s eyes darken with anger. ‘’They tried to hurt me mami, they saw the flowers I made for mama and they threw rocks at me. One lady had a knife and mama got hurt because she pushed the lady away from me.’’ 

‘’Where is she? Where is your mama?’’ 

‘’In the water, she was writing something in the dirt but then…no more.’’ 

Rio ran, she ran until she arrived at the riverbank where Agatha was bleeding out with her face down. Nicky was silent as her eyes caught on to the writings in the dirt, the symbols and letters all part of a very familiar ritual. 

‘’Oh my Love, you tried to call on me,’’ Rio cries out as she takes Agatha’s face in her hand, brushing her lips against her cheek. ‘’My smart girl, I’m right here with you. Everything’s going to be okay.’’ 

There is an imperceptible green glow to her lips as Rio brushes them against Agatha’s nose, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck and lastly her lips. There is no more bleeding by the time Rio sits back to witness Agatha’s skin turning back to its natural color, Nicky pressing into her side to see the change. 

‘’Your mama is a very smart woman mijo, never forget that,’’ Rio says, smiling when her boy cuddles deeper into her. Agatha’s eyelids flutter and her heart drops, knowing that she has to leave. ‘’Take care of your mama for me, okay Nicky?’’ 

‘’I will mami, don’t worry,’’ Nicky says with a big smile on his face. His tiny face turns sad as Rio gets up, dusting her cloak as she turns around, and that is how she completely misses Agatha opening her eyes. ‘’But mami, who will look after you?’’ 

‘’Don’t worry mijo, I’ll be fine on my own.’’ 

If only she had turned around at this very moment instead of slipping into the shadows like usual, Rio would’ve seen the yearning on Agatha’s face, the lingering regret as she let her leave without saying anything. 

The circle continues like before. Rio comes back almost every night to see Nicky, only this time Agatha is aware of her nightly visits. Sometimes she’s awake, other times not. She never says anything though, only watches in silence as Rio and Nicky bond more together each night. 

But alas their blissful time together had to come to an end, eventually. 

Nicky falls sick three days after his sixth birthday and never gets better. Everyday his tiny body is wracked by coughing fits too great for a boy his size, fever too high for someone so young. 

They try, Agatha and Rio, for months they try to find a remedy to their son’s sickness. But deep down they know nothing is to be done, that it is inevitable. 

Something to be known about Nicky is that he loves to sing, he even created a song with his mama. At this point he hasn’t used his voice for anything other than talking for months, until one day. One deceptively peaceful day, where he sings for a small crowd in a tavern as Agatha tries to con people into giving her money, old habits die hard they say. 

When Nicky finishes his little song, nausea hits him. He gets down from his stool, stumbling as he walks by tables and benches, turning around only when his mama calls for him. 

‘’I have to go now. My mother is waiting for me.’’ 

Agatha is frantic as she runs after him, knows what he meant when he said those words. Try as they might, Rio’s calling to him. That night they fall asleep in front of a dying fire, Nicky safely enveloped in his mama’s arms with a content smile on his face. 

Rio comes out of the shadows the moment they fall asleep. Her dark eyes are lined with tears, a torch in her hand as she observes her little boy opening his eyes in the dark of night. He smiles when he sees her, ever her happy boy. 

‘’Is it time mami?’’ 

Rio nods, a finger resting over her lips telling her son to stay quiet so as not to wake Agatha. Nicky almost bolt towards her immediately, but it is without counting Rio gesturing towards his mama. The little boy smiles again, turns around and bends down, kisses once, then twice his mother’s cheek. 

‘’See you later mama!’’ 

Lady Death cries as her son runs into her arms, her smart little boy ever trying to comfort her. She takes a step with him still in her arms, another tear falls. 

‘’Don’t cry mami, I’m okay,’’ Nicky says as she keeps walking. He gently pokes Rio on the nose, trying but failing to lift her spirit. ‘’It’s your turn to take care of me, right?’’ 

In front of them the veil to the afterlife opens, cold air seeping from the opening. Rio knows she’ll be able to see her son again, but Agatha never will. Unless she dies, and that she will never allow. 

Nicky jumps down from her arms, stops right as he passes a foot through the veil, and turns a sad eye onto Death. 

‘’You take care of mama okay?’’ 

The next day when Agatha awakes, she’s cold. So very cold, and so is her little boy. Her heart drops as Nicky’s face stays frozen in time when she turns him her way. She shakes him in vain, cries to the sky to bring her boy back to her, to give her more time. She only needs more time…

‘’Agatha?’’ 

Blue eyes fall upon a figure dressed in green, time stops. 

‘’Did he suffer?’’ 

‘’Of course not,’’ Rio admits, a tear leaking from her eye. ‘’He went in his sleep, didn’t feel a thing.’’ 

‘’Good.’’ 

Rio breathes, takes a step, tries to reach for Nicky but recoils as Agatha slaps her hand away.

‘’I made him kiss you goodbye,’’ Rio tries, for the last time, to connect with Agatha. It doesn’t go well, as one would imagine, and a purple glow overtakes her love’s blue irises. ‘’My Love, you know I didn’t want to do it. If I could-‘’ 

‘’Leave.’’ 

‘’What?’’ 

‘’Leave and never come back.’’ 

‘’You don’t mean that, Agatha.’’ 

‘’Yes I do. Nicky was my son and you took him,’’ Agatha screams as she stands up, purple mist wrapping around her. ‘’He was mine and you took him!’’ 

‘’HE WAS MY SON TOO! Don’t you dare take that away from me, he was my baby too!’’ Rio yells back as furious tears run down her cheeks. ‘’You’re angry well I’m angry too! I hoped everyday that he wouldn’t suffer the consequences of our actions, that Nicky wouldn’t die simply because he’s Death’s son. Don’t you think I blame myself enough for both of us? Don’t you think I would give my own life to get him back?! I would tear down the entire world to get our baby back if it meant having you back too, but I can’t. I lost him and I lost you, and there’s nothing I can fucking do about it!’’ 

Death leaves and never comes back. Not until centuries later, when a group of witches summon her onto this fake reality made by the son of the Scarlet Witch. Blue eyes meet brown as a flower is presented, love centuries old gone undetected in her eyes by everyone but her. Her Agatha. 

‘’Surprise, my Lady.’’ 

[kathlare]

we don't talk anymore

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: A brief interview response from Amelie sends shockwaves through social media, reigniting speculation about her past friendship with Lando.

Wordcount: 1.3 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

December 3rd, 2021 - Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

liked by f1wagsgossip, laneliemyship, and others

f1gossippage: Amelie’s new interview is out, and of course, that question came up… When asked about her past connection with Lando, she brushed it off with a polite smile and said, ‘We don’t talk anymore.’ 👀 This isn’t the first time either of them has confirmed they’re no longer friends—looks like that chapter is well and truly closed. 📖🚪

View all 5,482 comments

f1teaqueen: Seven months and still no contact? Damn, that fallout must’ve been BAD. 😳 → paddockmess: @f1tequeen Right?? And the fact that they were literally inseparable before? Wild.

f1fangirl23: Oof, that was cold 😬 wonder what really happened... → speedyboi44: @f1fangirl23 Fr, she didn’t even try to sugarcoat it 😂

racingfanatic88: Not sure why people are acting surprised, they’ve been distant for a while now.

racedayvibes: Why do interviewers always bring up Lando? Like, leave her alone. → formula1fan99: @recadayvibes Because they know we’re all waiting for that answer. 😂

drivetounite: Can we please stop with the ‘are they or aren’t they’ stuff? It’s clear they’re over it. → f1daredevil: @drivetounite Yup, they’re both moving on. But can’t lie, I wanna know the full story!

trackdaydreamer: Amelie’s smile said it all—‘Don’t ask me about him again.’ → speedracer77: @trackdaydreamer I feel like she’s tired of people bringing it up. Let her be.

f1fan_for_life: Can we just appreciate how calm she was in that moment, though? The self-control is real. → fasttrackkidd: @f1fan_for_life I think she just didn’t want to give anyone more fuel for the fire.

f1_queen22: I don’t get why people are so pressed. If they’re not friends anymore, so be it. 🤷‍♀️

f1obsessed: Not her just casually confirming (again) that they’re done done. 😬 → speeddemon44: @f1obsessed At this point, they remind us every few months like we might forget 😂

checkeredgossip: The way they keep confirming they’re not friends anymore makes me wonder just how bad the fallout was.

-------------

The roar of the engines in the Qatar paddock was a dull hum in the background as Lando scrolled through his phone, trying to distract himself. He was due out for practice in a few minutes, but his mind was elsewhere. Specifically, it was replaying a short interview clip he’d just seen. Amelie.

She’d been doing some press for the new season of Euphoria, and, as always, the interviewer had asked about her connection to Formula 1. Inevitably, his name had come up. Lando had braced himself. He knew it was coming. It always did.

He’d seen other interviews where she’d been asked about him. She’d always been… polite. Vague. Something along the lines of, “We were friends,” or “It was a long time ago.” Enough to shut down the conversation without being overtly hostile. He could live with that. He preferred it, actually. It was better than her airing their dirty laundry, even though he knew he was the one who screwed everything up.

But this time… this time was different. This time, there was a coldness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. A finality in her voice that made his stomach twist.

“We don’t talk anymore,” she’d said, her smile tight, almost forced. Just four words, but they hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d known, of course he’d known. They hadn’t spoken in months. But hearing her say it, so casually, so dismissive… it stung. More than he cared to admit.

—Fucking hell,— he muttered, tossing his phone onto the table. He knew he was being stupid. He knew he should just forget about it and focus on the race. But he couldn’t. Her words echoed in his head, a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

He thought back to their last conversation. Or, rather, their last argument. It had been brutal. Tears, accusations, slammed doors. He’d said some things he regretted. She’d said some things that still made his blood run cold. They’d both been angry, hurt, and probably a little bit drunk.

He’d thought, at the time, that they’d eventually get over it. That they’d find a way back to each other, like they always did. But they hadn’t. And now, hearing her say those four words, he knew they never would.

He glanced at the clock. Time to go. He grabbed his helmet and gloves, trying to shake off the thoughts that were swirling in his head. He needed to focus. He needed to push Amelie and her cold dismissal out of his mind. But it was hard. Damn hard.

—Lando, you alright?— Will, his race engineer, asked, noticing the tension in his posture.

—Yeah, fine,— Lando mumbled, pulling on his balaclava. —Just… thinking about the track.—

Will gave him a knowing look, but didn’t push it. He knew Lando. He knew when something was bothering him. —Alright. Just remember the plan. Focus on the tires, get some good data.—

Lando nodded, forcing a smile. He knew Will was right. He needed to focus. But Amelie’s words were like a barbed hook in his brain, digging deeper with every lap he drove.

He climbed into the car, the familiar scent of fuel and leather filling his nostrils. He buckled his harness, his movements automatic, his mind still replaying the interview.

“We don’t talk anymore.”

He slammed his fist on the steering wheel, a surge of anger coursing through him. —Fuck her,— he muttered under his breath. —Who cares what she says?—

But he did care. He cared a lot. He’d tried to convince himself that he was over her, that he didn’t think about her anymore. But the truth was, she was always there, in the back of his mind. A ghost of what they’d been.

He pushed the thought away, focusing on the lights on the steering wheel as they counted down. He needed to be present. He needed to be fast. He needed to prove… prove what? That he didn’t need her? That he was fine on his own?

The lights went out, and he floored the accelerator, the car leaping forward. He attacked the first corner, pushing the car to its limits, trying to channel his anger into speed. But even as he shaved milliseconds off his lap times, her words echoed in his ears.

“We don’t talk anymore.”

He knew he was driving recklessly. He could feel it. He was pushing too hard, taking unnecessary risks. But he couldn’t stop himself. He needed to prove something. To her, to himself, to the world. He just didn’t know what.

—Lando, easy there,— Will's voice crackled through the radio. —You’re pushing too hard. Bring it back a bit.—

He ignored him, his focus narrowed, his vision blurred. He was chasing something, he wasn’t sure what. But he knew he wouldn’t find it at the bottom of a champagne bottle or in another girl’s arms. He knew, deep down, that the only way to escape the ghost of Amelie was to face it. But he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

He crossed the finish line, his lap time a new personal best. But it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt hollow. Empty.

He pulled into the garage, the mechanics swarming around the car. He climbed out, feeling drained, exhausted. He knew he needed to talk to someone. Max, probably. He’d understand. He’d been there.

[queenerdloser]

i just finished dark heir

[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

[babymorte]

all these dudes keep adding me on snap through quick add and i don’t know who any of them are i literally have 5 friends and one of them is my 2nd account, i don’t sync contacts and i only have 6 contacts in my phone anyway and ive literally asked everyone cuz im socially awkward and i dont wanna ask these dudes who they are or how they know me cuz thats weird but like HOW DO YOU KNOW ME

[sforzesco]

poetry might not convince me to pay attention or care about the medici family beyond necessity, but you CAN convince me to turn the spotlights directly onto lorenzo de' medici with phrasing like this. intimately linked. even wedded, you say. and with galeazzo maria sforza's named mentioned. fascinating choice of words.

Magnifico: the Brilliant Life and Times of Lorenzo de’ Medici, Miles J. Unger

[icewindandboringhorror]

Would most people realistically use 'carry' and 'convey' as synonyms in typical speech?? Seems a slightly reaching comparison to me lol

[corys-nsp-fixation]

Due to SGCBarberian's TCD series most likely coming back it's made me semi-ill over it again.

So I'm gonna share an au concept that's on and off plaguing me. [That I think is post-inspired however I think my brain made the post up since I can't find it-]

The concept started as Redstoner Ross & Doctor Ross being the same person.

And then that gave me the idea of Doctor Ross having panic attacks every now and again bc of (what he calls) "a traumatizing hallucinational episode and or hyper realistic coma"

He'd hate whenever one came up bc in his head that's vulnerability he can't have due in the moment and almost certainly hates how he is at times because of how he is.

How could they be the same person? You may ask

Well, I somewhat have an answer. I wrote the au concept a couple days ago & just started re-thinking about it since I'm ill over both redstoner & doctor Ross.

However the current concept is some sort of cruel experimentation of sorts [maybe- idk I'm still thinking about how they could be the same place- Dr. Ross himself doesn't even fully know if it was a real experience or not so there's that-]

[thepandalion]

nothing in this world is more satisfying than watching trivia shows where, for all intents and purposes, you're not the intended audience and you are fully aware you're not gonna get anything right, and then you get something right either before the contestants do or that the contestants get entirely wrong

[fadeintolight]

pont pont vesszőcske

[moe-broey]

When designing Triandra w prominent cutouts and a low rise miniskirt, like. Esp w the body type I'm going for w her (very thin, not particularly busty, lanky almost boney). In my heart I never want Plumeria to slut shame her. Like yeah, I do think Plumeria could be cagey about it. But ultimately, ESPECIALLY as they've been interacting with mortals more in Askr, Plumeria goes, "Oh, honey. There is not a single thing you can or refuse to do, that you have or lack, that would prevent those wretched mortals from leering at you with their vile, lustful gaze." With a heavy sigh, she adds with finality, "Do whatever you want. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

LIKE... Plumeria having this understanding that no matter what you look like, there's someone out there that's into that. And regardless of how you present yourself, there will be people who'll find ways to objectify and sexualize you. Her acknowledging, it's actually not Your fault. Unfortunately she just. She has so many issues. In every single other facet of life LMFAOOOO