#peter exposite

[headbandsandflats]

okay but is there any explanation whatsoever for why neal was just at peter’s house helping him get dressed before he went undercover as the auditor?? like, they’re not even discussing the case really, just talking hypotheticals about if peter never became an FBI agent while neal tends to his dressing like a royal valet???

[intricate-ritualz]

SMASH that like button if u feel personally victimized by the time skip in your friendly neighborhood spider-man!!! 💯🙋‍♀️🙏🙏

[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

[chlcavalier]

[awhoreintheory]

Welcome to the Circus

check tags / ch1 / here / ch3 / ch4 /

ao3

The computers in the library were big and clunky, and honestly reminded Peter of the computers from his elementary school. Different brand, though. 

Peter pursed his lips, because… How is that name pronounced? Wayne? Like… Like Kanye? With a “W”? Way-an-ae? This is a terrible name. Why doesn’t this place have any Stark computers? They are way more efficient, plus a bunch of the older models just went on a huge sale.

Peter sighed, going to run his hand through his hair, but was immediately caught in all the tangles. He grimaced. He’ll definitely need to find somewhere to shower— and a change of clothes. And some shoes. Peter swallowed his groan of annoyance. While hygiene was, in fact, very important, Peter needed to figure out where specifically in Jersey he was first, and then where the hell Doctor Strange was. And then get Karen back up and online. 

Peter fidgeted anxiously as the computer booted up, the outdated fan spinning with all its might. Peter twitched at the squeak, the sound of someone grinding their teeth in front of him, and someone licking their fingers before turning the page of their book. Peter almost preferred the loudness of outside— at least then he wouldn’t hear every individual person's movement or annoying quirk in excruciating detail. It all blended together. Kind of. Fucking teeth grinders, Peter is looking at you. 

Peter’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance, the green only fueling his irritation. 

The computer lit up with the guest login, and Peter didn’t hesitate to open… Safari? Nobody uses Safari, what? And why did everything look so damn… Old? Jesus, Peter knew that Jersey sucked, but was their funding that bad? 

Glancing down at the bottom right corner, Peter got the time. It was twenty past one, and it was… February third? 2015? That can’t be right. It was December. Christmas was right around the corner. Not to mention, it was 2023, last Peter checked. Were the computers broken, or something? They need to put a sign up for that, honestly. If the date wasn’t even correct, was the time? 

Glancing up at the clock hung on the wall across the library proved that, yes, it was indeed the right time. His spidey-sense tingled lightly. 

Safari loaded up— after taking its sweet, sweet time— and Peter didn’t hesitate to type in; 

current location|

Several results popped up, all about Gotham, New Jersey. Bingo! Peter was in Jersey! He knew a damn Jersey accent when he heard one. That’s right, Peter’s that good. (Peter was bullied by a kid from New Jersey in the fourth grade. Screw you, Joshua Lopez.) 

Peter had never heard of Gotham, but he also could not tell you where Illinois was on the map if you put a gun to his head. Peter missed most of his geography classes while out Spider-Manning, so his chances were dashed right from the start. (Still passed with a B-, though.)

Feeling a little lighter now that he’d answered one of the many questions swirling in his mind, Peter typed out his next query:

dr strange current location|

[no search results were found] 

Peter frowned as the search yielded no results. He tried again, typing more carefully this time.

dr strange last sighting|

[no search results were found]

Still, the search came up empty. Peter's frustration grew. Where was Doctor Strange? He was supposed to be there, helping Peter figure out what had happened and how to fix it.

Right, fix it… They were fixing something. That’s why Peter was with Dr. Strange. 

What… What were they fixing? 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed even deeper. That’s, like, super weird. The internet keeps better tabs on superheroes than S.H.I.E.L.D half the time. There should’ve been thousands of results, even with this clunky computer. 

Maybe his last fight wasn’t recorded. Maybe that would help. They could’ve just not gotten a hold of the most recent fight. Maybe it hasn't been long enough yet. 

spider-man last sighting|

[no search results found] 

No search results found…

What? 

What the fuck? 

That’s not possible. Spider-Man hadn’t been out of the spotlight in years. 

Peter’s heart thundered in his chest as his fingers flew across the bulky keyboard. His fingers kept accidentally sticking in his panic, ripping keys off in his haste. 

peter parker| 

Peter let out a small breath as the search went through, multiple links popping up. He expected to see his meme accounts, maybe May’s facebook page filled with pictures of Peter, Ben, and her, maybe even some stuff about how he interned with Tony Stark, Savior of the Universe, and… There was more. Peter should’ve been all over the internet. For some reason.  

Instead, the first thing that popped up was a news article by someone named Vicki Vale. 

“Child Abduction Epidemic in Gotham: When Will Batman Step In?” 

Questions swirled as green festered. Child abduction? And who the hell was Batman? A new vigilante on the scene? A furry? 

Peter had never read through something faster. 

This was… What? 

It was a pitifully short article, considering the severity and implications, but it seemed there was barely any information to even write about. It just addressed the surge in child disappearances, questioning when this “Batman” would step up and solve the case, before ending with a list of possible victims. That’s where Peter’s name was. Number twenty-seven of fifty-two. Peter clicked the link on his name, leading him to a separate site. 

There was a picture of him. Except it wasn’t him. 

It featured a dully smiling tween, with black hair and big brown eyes, decently tan and wearing baggy clothes. He had Peter’s same dimples and freckles, the same jawline and face shape, and wild curly hair, but his coloring was all wrong. His age was wrong. This was an eleven-year-old from foster care named Peter Benjamin Parker, but he wasn’t Peter Benjamin Parker. 

Opening a new tab, Peter had a new search. 

Clicking on anything relating to this doppelganger, the more Peter read, the more queasy he felt. 

Orphaned at five. Not from both parents, but rather from a single mother. No father in the picture, then. Instead of Peter’s dad and uncle being brothers, it was… Gotham Peter’s mom and aunt. May got custody of Peter after Mary’s death, and they moved from New York to New Jersey for Thor knows what reasons. This Aunt May never married, there wasn’t even a mention of Uncle Ben.

Peter pursed his lips in discomfort. What the hell kind of sick game was this?  

Clicking on the highlighted name of Maybelle Parker, Peter was disheartened when it led to her obituary. 

 May died in a building that exploded because of the Green Goblin— no, someone named… The Joker? 

Who the hell was letting a clown run around murdering people? And how had he not heard of a new up-and-rising supervillain? Peter would like to think, coupled with Karen and FRIDAY, that he kept well informed on the villain area. 

Peter clicked on the search bar again with a trembling hand. 

tony stark| 

[no search results found] 

stark industries| 

[no reach results found] 

the avengers|

[no search results found] 

thanos|

[no search results found] 

no search results found. 

nosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfoundnosearchresultsfound—

Oh. 

No search results found.

Peter’s throat was dry, eyes wide in disbelief as those damned four words taunted him. No search results found. Nothing familiar to Peter was here. It was like he was on an alien planet— 

Oh. 

Bile rose as Peter thought about those implications. 

Peter wasn’t just in a different state, he was in a different world. 

And, considering the likelihood of a planet existing, holding the exact same likeness to Earth, just missing a few key players, plus nothing on the blip and Thanos, Peter had a pretty good deduction of where he was. 

An alternate universe. 

Peter was in an alternate universe. 

The date wasn’t wrong. Peter was in an alternate universe, one whose timeline was behind his own. That’s why this body was eleven and not seventeen (and apparently dead). Because this timeline was six years behind his own. 

Which explains his father’s and Uncle Ben’s apparent absence in Gotham Peter’s life. A little weird, as Peter would’ve assumed that his life story would’ve stayed consistent. The other Peters’ had an Uncle Ben, and powers, and lived in New York. They didn’t have a Tony Stark, though. Or an Avengers. Peter #3 had a weird romance going on with someone named Death Pool or something, and Peter #2 had literally bonded with an alien symbiote-suit thing, so differences between Peter Parkers weren’t new news. 

 Although, who is he to say, out of the trillions of possibilities in the supposed multiverse, that his story would be the baseline? The standard for Peter Parkers across the multiverse? He had, what? Three Peter Parkers out of a trillion, statistics-wise? For all he knew, Peter could be the multiversal outlier. 

Peter looked down at his tan hands. Young, small, but still calloused. Still sticky with his powers. 

The longer Peter looked, the more differences he spotted. Was he even in his own body? Did he fucking… body snatch this kid’s body? What the hell? How would that even work? He’d need, like, magic or something. 

Hold on. Magic? 

Doctor Strange… 

Doctor Strange? 

Doctor Strange.

Holy shit. 

Doctor Strange had sent him here, to an alternate universe. 

Doctor Strange had sent Peter to an alternate universe because he made a mistake and now he can never, ever go home. 

Going home would rip the multiverse apart.

Going home would kill everyone and everything he loved. Everything Mr. Stark— everything everyone fought so hard to protect; Peter would ruin it all. If he went home, Ned, MJ, Harley Happy, Pepper, Morgan— everyone left, they’d all die. 

At least Doctor Strange hadn’t left anything of Peter behind for them to mourn.

Peter Parker was dead back home too, it seemed. 

Man, Schrodinger would’ve loved Peter. He’s the real-life version of Schrodinger’s cat. (A quick search showed that it was actually Schrodinger’s dog here, so there’s that.) 

Peter leaned back slowly, staring up at the ceiling. He counted all the dips and bumps from an uneven paint job. 

It’s wild to think the multiverse was just a theory a week ago. It really did exist. With alternate versions of heroes, new heroes, and some completely gone. They had names like Batman and Superman, similar to Back Widow and Captain America, but with so many differences. Peter wasn’t sure if he found solace in their similarities or their differences. It would’ve been amazing, 

Too bad this proof came at the cost of his home. 

The keys unstuck from his fingertips, clattering to the carpeted ground. Huh. 

The confusion, disbelief, hurt, disappointment, and anger all swirled together, leaving Peter feeling hollow and numb. Peter wasn’t sure if that was better than feeling everything he otherwise would be feeling. 

He needed to leave. 

Peter needed to clear the computer's search history thoroughly, first. He was in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar villains and heroes. He didn’t want to chance anyone finding out about his dimension-hopping dilemma before he even had a meal and a nap. 

He glanced at the mutilated keys on the floor and counter. At least he was still sticky. If he had lost his home, his body and his powers to top it all off? Peter would’ve had a mental breakdown to rival The Greats. (Like that time Clint and Sam decided to prank everyone by replacing all the sugar in the Tower with salt. The chaos that followed was legendary—Bruce’s smoothie exploded, Tony’s coffee tasted like the ocean, and Steve, bless him, tried to be polite about his "salt pancakes" until he couldn’t take it anymore and quietly passed out in the gym. Clint and Sam were on dish duty for a month.)

Accessing the computer's operating system, his mind working absently to navigate through the system's files and directories. He bypassed any security measures with a series of deft keystrokes. 

As he delved deeper into the computer's system, Peter located the browser history files. With a few more commands, he selected the searches about anything from his reality, things that looked out of place, and deleted it.

But Peter didn't just want to delete the history; he wanted to ensure that it was completely erased, with no trace left behind. He wrote a custom script to overwrite the history files multiple times, effectively scrubbing them from the computer's memory.

With a blank stare, Peter executed the script, watching as the computer's screen filled with lines of code cascading down the monitor. He didn’t stick around to make sure it finished; he knew it would. Mr. Stark had taught him almost everything he knew about hacking. (sans Ned’s impromptu lessons, but Mr. Stark.) 

Peter stumbled out of the library absent. Unthinking. Detached. 

Where was he going? 

He wasn’t sure.

It wasn’t home, though. That was for sure. 

He’d never be able to go home again. 

Well, one friend. He looked down at the metal bands on his wrists meaningfully, heart swelling with emotions. He rubbed the deactivated bracelets, trying to find an iota of comfort in them. Peter isn’t sure what he’d do if he couldn’t get Karen back online. The green promised something bad, though. 

Would he ever get another home?

He was a presumed-dead eleven-year-old in a crime-ridden city with no family or friends. 

He’d go back to the library another time. Peter would figure it out— he always does, doesn’t he? He’d just— he couldn’t, not right now. He needed to leave; to collect himself. If he’d stayed there…

The streets grew darker as the people dissipated. How long had he been stuck in front of that computer? 

Looking around, Peter was unsurprised to find he had absolutely no clue where he was. He could, however, feel the stares from people. Not the curious kind, either. Predatory. Which, fair. They didn’t know a full-force punch from Peter packed more heat than most locally sold guns. 

Peter could literally crush a grown man's head with his bare hands. 

Not that he would! He abstains from excessive violence. 

But he could. 

A couple of dudes across the street, all of whom had very rapey vibes if you asked Peter, oriented their body in his direction.  

Ducking into an alleyway, Peter, feet still bloody and shoeless, walked up the side of the wall. It seems, even here, the safest place was in May’s arms on a rooftop. 

Perching himself on the edge of the building, Peter let his abused feet dangle off the edge. The roof was slightly damp— it had probably rained recently. It’d likely rain again tonight, judging by the smell and clouds. 

Looking out, Peter caught as the last of sunlight left the city's sky, ducking below the horizon. Huh. That’s it? No sunset? Just— there’s light, then suddenly there’s not? 

Distaste, longing, and irritation rose up, thick and green. New York was dirty, but Gotham was downright disgusting. The sunset sucked, the architecture was old and outdated by at least a century, and it was so heavily polluted even the sun hid itself away behind clouds and smog. 

Peter clenched his fists, taking a chunk of concrete with him. He threw it as far as he could. It hit a billboard— something about Way-an-ae Enterprises— going straight through. 

Fat tears rolled down Peter’s cheeks. He felt bad, now. Someone was going to have to come up and fix the hole he made. They didn’t deserve that.

Once they started, Peter couldn’t stop them. 

Before long, tears turned into silent sobs that wracked Peter's body, his shoulders trembling with each heave of his chest. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, tracing crooked paths over the contours of his face as they mingled with the blood, sweat and grime that clung to his skin. His chest felt tight, as if a warehouse was on top of him, crushing him, squeezing out every last drop of his sorrow and despair. 

He was stuck in an alternate dimension. His home dimension’s memory of him, of Peter Benjamin Parker, was completely wiped. It wasn’t even wiped with all of the people he loved still alive. Ben and May and even Mr. Stark couldn’t escape the curse of “all-Peter’s-parental-figures-will-meet-a-premature-demise-one-way-or-another”. Honestly, Pepper is lucky he left when he did; she was next on the curse’s chopping block. 

Pepper and Morgan, Ned, MJ and Harley, too, they were alive. Alive, with no clue someone named Peter Parker was even a part of their life. Maybe it was better that way. At least now they were more likely to live. Get into MIT. Have successful careers, even start a family, without the stress of being involved with some stupid, teenage vigilante. 

Just being a part of Peter’s life can cut down an individual’s life expectancy by more than half. 

The longer you’re around him, the more death lurks.

Peter gasped for air, clawing at his stolen ripped, and bloodied shirt. 

It’s why his parents died. It’s why Uncle Ben died. It’s why Aunt May died. It’s why Mr. Stark, Iron Man, genius of the century, Savior Of The Universe, died.

Dead. 

They’re all dead. 

And Peter was alive. He was their killer; their casket. 

And yet, he walked. 

Every day he woke up, and every day they remained dead. 

Every day, he breathed, while they remained silent, their voices forever silenced by the cruel hand of fate. Peter carried the weight of their absence like a burden upon his soul, a constant reminder of the lives lost and the emptiness that filled his heart.

Their memories haunted him, their faces etched into his mind like a ghostly tableau of the past. He replayed their final moments over and over again, wondering if there was anything he could have done to save them. Perhaps, if he had simply never existed in the first place, they would have been spared. 

But the past remained immutable, a cold and unforgiving master. Peter was left to navigate a world devoid of their presence, a world that felt colder and darker than his ever had before. 

Here, they had existed, but not as Peter remembered them. Peter couldn’t reminisce with a stranger in a coffee line about the amazing Tony Stark; he didn’t even exist here. May never ran F.E.A.S.T. Ben had been a firefighter instead of a police officer here. Not to mention his father wasn’t even in the picture. 

Peter alone held the flickering torch of his loved one’s memories here.

Peter looked out into the night, eyes trailing down toward the empty street below him.

But there were plenty back home who did.  

It was a shitty, horrible, and downright cowardly thought. 

Peter didn’t deserve that kind of peace. 

But, oh, how he longed for it. 

How he longed for May’s warm embrace. Ben’s comforting and wise words. Mr. Stark’s playful banter. His Star Wars nights with Ned. Watching MJ draw. Seeing who could make the dumbest invention with Harley. Morgen coming home from school and giving Peter three new glitter-filled art pieces of her favorite hero; Spider-Man. Pepper’s successor lessons and their quiet moments of reminiscing about Mr. Stark and May. He wouldn’t get to graduate with all his friends and remaining family present. Never get into MIT, like Mr. Stark. Like his Dad. 

He missed it all so, so much. 

Why did his stupid Parker Luck have to ruin it all? 

[mariocki]

New Scotland Yard: We Do What We Can (2.11, LWT, 1972)

"I have to be careful."

"You're big and ugly enough to look after yourself."

"Not with this little firm I'm not."

"Which firm?"

"Jimmy Sutton's. He don't believe in straighteners. Goes in for surgery."

"Surgery?"

"Amputation with a sawn-off shotgun."

"Ah. Well, you can always apply for a claim at the Criminal Injuries Board."

"I wouldn't have a leg to stand on, would I?"

[whats-in-a-sentence]

"(...) We sat down and drank and we yarned about the old times, but the more he drank the less I liked the look on his face. (...)"

"The Illustrated Sherlock Holmes Treasury" - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

[oh-dear-so-queer]

"(...) Now I'll tell you the queerest part of the whole story. (...)"

"The Illustrated Sherlock Holmes Treasury" - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

[0oooi]

first chapter UP!

[c0rpsedemon]

the thing abt dysmas's design is that while i like to joke abt them being peak bc i don't have to deal with the accursed color and get to stay in my b&w sweetspot ultimately they are held back by the fact that you could make them in every picrew ever

[writiers-room]

So, I think I have OCD? this isn't a new thing, just some background for the content of this post. I get thoughts that distress me but I can't get rid of, and I get compulsions to do things with this feeling that I am in active danger if I don't do them.

The way this manifests in my innerworld (or the source of my outerworld symptoms, depending on how you look at it) is that... there's this entity up here (that I would like to name but I am getting The Feeling when I think about doing so) who brings with it an intense feeling of Dread, like I am About To Die. It creeps towards the control room, and when it gets in there I don't know what happens but I know that things get Very Very Bad. I can't see back there when it happens and trying to view it on "security cameras" (a way I can kind of see past events) is very fuzzy.

Peter is the writer who is mostly in charge of dealing with The Dread. He lets me and us know what things need to be done to keep The Dread away, and warns us when it is coming. He can also be a bit jumpy and overcautious, but I think that's very fair and expected of someone with his job. He's definitely a protector, to put it in common system language, though not a typical one I think.

This post doesn't really have much point besides exposition. I've been so stressed recently that the Dread has broken out again after a long time without it, and so this concept is probably going to be relevant to some future posts.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Relating to this post, if animorphs was greenlit for an 8 episode PJO style series, and you weren’t sure if more seasons would come up, what books would you adapt? Would Ax even be there? I would probably introduce him in episode 2 but I know less about animorphs.

To answer the second question: Ax would indeed be hard to solve. I think all undersea adventures would be off the table for budgetary reasons, even today, but you wouldn't want it to look like AniTV's thing where Ax just stands around in the woods yelling "Help!" until Cassie wanders by.

I'd solve this by simply having Ax be on the fighter with Elfangor when he crash-lands. Two issues I foresee here:

It makes the fact that Elfangor should morph to escape glaringly obvious.

It begs the question of how Jake ends up leader if Ax has more yeerk-fighting expertise.

For #1, I think the most interesting resolution would be if Elfangor's shot dead by a yeerk sniper midway through explaining the invasion. The scene would have to engineer a reason for him to be apart from the kids at the time — maybe he steps back into his fighter to return the morphing cube, and then a Bug Fighter shoots it from overhead? — but any exposition he doesn't cover could be taken up by Ax.

For #2, I think you could do a little humor and characterization with Jake and Ax playing hot-potato over responsibility for the team. Maybe Jake speaks for everyone when it's just the humans, but once Elfangor dies he starts asking Ax what to do, and they go back and forth for a while with "I thought YOU knew what to do!" "No, I thought YOU knew!" before Marco or Tobias suggests a vote and Jake gets elected to lead.

To answer the first question: I'd make the following 8 episodes:

Roughly the events of #1 (AKA Jake's story): Elfangor lands, the kids learn to morph, they infiltrate The Sharing, they fail to rescue Tom, Tobias gets stuck.

Parts of #7, MM1, and #17 (AKA Rachel's story): The kids learn about the ground-based kandrona and destroy it, but there are all kinds of downstream consequences. Rachel gets injured during the battle and wanders off with no memory, Ax recruits disgruntled yeerks to help him contact his dad, Jake gets his hopes up about Tom, and a whole bunch of yeerks end up dead or addicted to oatmeal.

Combo of #13 and #23 (AKA Tobias's story) (AKA all of AniTV's good ideas): Tobias stumbles on a group of escaped former human-controllers, who help him plan a mission to break into the yeerk pool and free some hork-bajir. While going through their files, Tobias finds intel about Elfangor's hirac dilest. He saves Jara and Ket, retrieves Elfangor's CD, and discovers it has some kind of baked-in genetic override that restores his morphing power. With Ax, he reads Elfangor's life story.

Some of #19 with most of #29 (AKA Cassie's story): The team falls ill with an alien virus, forcing Cassie to venture into the yeerk pool alone in search of a cure. She ends up trapped in (the woods? a back room? a quicksand pit?) with Aftran and Karen for a few days, long enough for them to become friends and reconcile their differences. Aftran helps Cassie escape with intel that will save Ax before she herself returns to the pool sans host.

Mostly #30 and #45 (AKA Marco's story): Marco is out in public when he spots his dead mom, and follows her as a bug long enough to realize she's controlled by Visser One who is plotting an attack on the hork-bajir valley. Through letting Visser Three in on her plot, Marco discredits her and gets her charged with treason. As Visser One is about to be executed, the Animorphs grab Eva and drag her off to starve out the yeerk. The last scene is Eva and Marco telling a very surprised Peter that they need to talk.

Parts of #37, #46, and #51 (AKA Ax's story): Eva, Peter, and Ax build a radio that will let them talk to the Andalite Navy. Ax learns that a mission is already on Earth — he finds Gonrod et al. and offers to help them, with most of that plot playing out. Ax prevents Estrid from using the quantum virus by threatening to drop a nuclear bomb on the yeerk pool with her crew inside. Estrid reveals that the virus was a last-ditch attempt to save humanity, and that after this the andalites are writing off Earth entirely.

Combo of #49, #50, and #51 (AKA The End): The Animorphs' human DNA gets discovered, probably matching Jake to Tom for simplicity's sake. They evacuate Cassie's and Rachel's families, and start to notify the authorities. At a key moment, Ax reveals that he stole a morphing cube from Gonrod. Jake suggests making more Animorphs, but is acting reckless about it in the aftermath of losing his family — sure enough, after recruiting James et al., Jake walks into a trap and Tom's yeerk gets the morphing cube. The episode ends with Tom's yeerk popping up in the hork-bajir valley, offering to make a deal.

Mostly #54 (AKA The Beginning): Rachel dies, the Blade ship escapes, Cassie becomes the alien-human ambassador, Marco gets famous, Tobias lives in a tree, Jake teaches the next generation how to morph, and Ax hunts the Blade ship. To give a little more resolution than we get in canon, maybe Ax himself comes back to Earth and recruits the boys to help him battle The One in the outer reaches of space.

A lot would need to get cut, for the sake of taking 63 stories down to 8 — no Ellimist, no David, no Loren, no Crayak, no Toby, probably no taxxons or chee. But I think that my version preserves most of the overall story, while still being (hopefully) easy enough to follow for people who haven't read the books.

[sunllghtt]

Honestly I genuinely think gotg knows how to be extremely emotional and intimate. They give us the bantering, the characters' routine, they show us how it's like to live with them and the struggles of getting along with each other, but they always protect one another when they have to. I love how it doesn't verbally tell you things explicitly (cuz they're all scared of vulnerability so they end up showing it through their actions or wording it in weird ways), it doesn't over explain anything or make things overly dramatic and obvious. It's how you'd talk to a friend. I really really like how delicate and raw it can be cuz it also adds a lot to these characters' arc.

Hi are you up for a messy scene analysis thing

Ofc it's this scene who do you think I am

I've been wanting to do this for God knows how long but I never had the balls and neither the words to (still don't) but I wanna try to properly talk about this scene. My primal instinct is to sit here and tell you how much this 30 second scene changed the trajectory of these characters in the next movies, how it made their friendship grow and develop and how much of a storytelling lesson it is (oh the so so deep understanding you need to have of your characters to have them say things so vaguely and still express exactly what they mean). I could also go down the emotional and subjective road and ramble about how much it means to me and how I resonate with it, but I've done that at least 837382 times and I think everyone knows it by now 😭 so!!! Let's get to the real thing

(I'm trying to keep it as analytical and straightforward as possible but please note that this is my favorite scene that's ever existed so neutrality is not really a possibility)

Rocket is a brat. He's restless, he's loud, he's always puffing up his chest and yelling at someone and picking fights with the wind cuz it was blowing in a way he didn't like and he's just an overall bastard. In this scene, though, we see him inside out. His head is low, his shoulders are slumped, he has his tail between his knees and he looks tired. He speaks quietly (curiously like he doesn't want anybody else to hear him), he's not deliberately insulting anyone and he's just..... defeated??

Up until that point I don't think we ever got to see Rocket like that. From what the movies have shown us he'd never had to. But in the past few days that led to this, Rocket had stolen batteries for no apparent reason (which we'll later learn why💀), ruined their ship, got literally kidnapped by Ravagers, blew up a creepy planet-guy-thing and oh my god attended his friend's dad's funeral. At least half of these things were directly or indirectly his fault and he knows it.

I don't think he ever doubted it was (we see it earlier in the movie when the Guardians leave to "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac and Rocket scowls and winces like he either stepped in a pile of shit or got hit in the face by regret), but he still argued with Peter even knowing he was in the wrong just to keep up apparences or hold on to a little thread of pride when he was already feeling ashamed for being caught red-handed stealing shit he didn't need AND destroying their ship etc etc, and he just kinda fucked up big time. And I think that's (besides the general exhaustion of parenting a tree and fighting a planet and Yondu's death) is what got him so devastated in that scene.

Ofc Yondu played an extremely important role in that. He was the one to open Rocket's eyes, to give him some sort of reality check and show him the only thing isolation is ever gonna bring him is regret and bitterness (or, in other words, Yondu). Rocket is most of all hopeless and tired and just sad like that because he knows he hurt his friends. He knows he's chasing them away, that he yells at them, that he's always mean and that he steals batteries he doesn't need. He knows he's not awesome to put up with and seeing what happened to Yondu and his former friends probably made him terrified it'd happen to him and the Guardians too. He's stuck in this cycle of pushing them away with everything he can (and we could get into all his trauma regarding betrayal and death and literally endless other things but it's all very clear at this point) and he knows patience doesn't last forever. He's just scared, he feels bad and he's tired.

Now on the other hand we have Quill. He's also destroyed, he lost two fathers (3 if you count what Ego could've been, what he wanted him to be), basically relived his mother's death and had to watch literally every single one of them die. He's also scared and tired, yes, but all he has left is this unstable family of weird idiots who are learning how to show care and he's... pretty much fine with it. He wants it.

And when what Rocket's saying clicks, when he realizes who he's talking about, Quill, who's usually all smirks and teasing and bickering and name-calling, looks at his best friend like this,

because

(From vol 2 script!! Won't even try to comment on that last part before Quill's last line but I also really like that Peter just "shakes his head" over and over like he's just barely listening until he realizes what Rocket really means cuz it also shows a lot about his character. He's naturally a little slow and downright stupid when it comes to this kind of hidden emotional thing and he's also exhausted and depressed from everything that happened and STILL he stops and just. Sees Rocket, and sees Yondu.)

He's not doing well. He's probably sore and hurt and sad and miserable and yet he takes his sweet time to look down at Rocket, let go of his resentment from before and see right through him. In order to understand this scene it's important to remember he most likely doesn't know what Yondu told Rocket at all, he doesn't know anything they said to each other and how Yondu showed him they're mirrors. He doesn't know any of that. He just knows his best friend and his father and how much they resemble each other. He puts up with Rocket's bullshit because he knows how to deal with Yondu.

He could've just ignored him or pretended he didn't know what he was talking about. He could've made Rocket swallow his pride and "teach him a lesson" by making him say what he means without hiding behind metaphors and vague self-deprecation, because Rocket was probably vulnerable and defeated enough to be honest in that moment. And yet, he just looks at his friend, who's usually a loud and mean and restless brat, and is now staring at the floor with his ears droopy and his tail between his knees, and just says, as a form of reassurance and tenderness that's just as subtle and shy as Rocket's insecurities, "Well, of course not."

(The kind and soft and sweet DETERMINATION on his face tho like no!!! No we're not ditching you even though you suck I'm!!! Serious!!!!)

[chlcavalier]

[mariocki]

The Human Factor (1975)

"How does this put Mr. Kinsdale in difficulty?"

"He's found his killers. And he doesn't want them in jail. And neither the machine nor I know just how successful he's going to be."