#hope everyone is having a good week

[obsob]

the joy of creation :3 !! (anything worth doing is worth doing badly)

[spacechalk]

Glass

            After it was all over, Aziraphale sat on the edge of a bluff and let his feet hang over the side. Rivers and farmland stretched before him. In the distance he spotted a church crouched behind a copse of trees. His heel knocked loose a pebble. He watched it tumble into empty space and wondered what it would feel like to follow.

            Behind him he heard the gentle rumble of an engine. The sound of a door slamming shut was muted, as was the crunch of boots on gravel as someone approached. He didn’t look around.

            A wine bottle was thrust before his eyes. Automatically, he noted the vintage. He must have gone to some effort for this.

            “Drink?”

            Aziraphale nodded.

            Crowley dropped beside him, sending another cascade of pebbles down the cliff. He produced two wine glasses and handed one to the angel.

            Once the wine had generously been decanted, Crowley knocked his glass against Aziraphale’s with a bright ring that vibrated through his fingers.

            “I believe congratulations are in order,” he said, taking a swig.

            “Hmm,” Aziraphale murmured. He peered into his glass. He could see his reflection along the outer rim.

            Crowley cleared his throat. “They underestimated you.” He hesitated, then made an aborted gesture with one hand. “I underestimated you.”

            Aziraphale took a long pull from his glass.

            Crowley planted his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, trying to catch Aziraphale’s eye. When the angel didn’t look up, he turned away, face etched with resignation. He kicked a heel against the cliff and watched dirt shower down.

            Aziraphale took this opportunity to eye the demon’s profile.

            “How does it work?” he asked.

            Crowley looked over his shoulder. “How does what work?”

            “No Heaven. No Hell.” The icy hand that had been stalking him the last few months seized his heart. “How do you know good from evil?” A dark void threatened to open up beneath his feet. If he put one foot wrong he would fall in and keep falling, forever. He struggled to breathe. “What if you can’t? What if there…isn’t? At all?”

            Suddenly there was a hand on his arm. He could hear his breath harsh in his ears as he looked at it. He looked up into Crowley’s yellow eyes.

            “It’s okay angel. Breathe.”

            Aziraphale could feel tears gathering in his eyes. “The sheer – arrogance,” he murmured, “to think that I – ”

            “Arrogant?” A strangled laugh struggled in the demon’s throat. “Aziraphale – you are the only person I met in all of Hell or Heaven who cared – at all – to even try to figure out what was right and wrong,” he said intently, every line of him leaning forward, eyes wide, trying to make him understand. “The arrogance to try? What about the arrogance of thinking you don’t have to?” His breath pulled rapidly in and out of his chest.

            The tears Aziraphale had been fighting spilled over.

            “I’m not sure this is going to be comforting but – I don’t think anyone knows for sure, certainly not me,” Crowley said. His grip on Aziraphale’s arm tightened. “I’m not sure that what the Almighty imparted in the garden was knowledge of good and evil so much that it was knowledge that everything is complicated and all of it matters so much. It deserves your conscience and your doubt. It deserves your best effort.”

            He tilted his head, tried to catch Aziraphale’s eyes. “I am not worried about you at all,” he said, lips quirking in an attempt at a smile. “You, who gave your sword away at the very Beginning. You’ve always had a heart for these things.”

            Aziraphale raised a hand to wipe his eyes and Crowley let go, turning to look out over the landscape below. Aziraphale immediately missed his grip; but he was still close, shoulders brushing together.

            “’Sides,” Crowley said, aiming for nonchalance and falling staggeringly short, “I’ll still be here. It’s easier together, I think.”

             Crowley looked out at the fields and Aziraphale looked at Crowley. He was swamped by the urge to put his head on Crowley’s shoulder and only just managed to resist it.

            Aziraphale looked into his glass. “About what you said – in the bookshop –” he began.

            Crowley flung up a hand to head him off. He drained the rest of his glass in one go. “We don’t need to talk about that,” he rasped.

            Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Don’t we?”

            Crowley shook his head emphatically. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I said anything. Or…” He hesitated, his eyes dropping to Aziraphale’s lips before careening away. “…did, anything. You don’t need to say…what you’re going to say. I promise I won’t do it again.” He sloppily crossed his heart and pushed himself to his feet.

            Aziraphale listened to his footsteps crunching back toward the Bentley. A kind of calm anger poured in and began filling up his chest. His face set like stone. “That’s a shame,” he said out loud.

            The footsteps paused. “What was that?”

            “I said – ” Aziraphale pushed himself to his feet and turned around. Crowley stood halfway to the car, bottle and glass in one hand, keys in the other.

            “I said,” he said, “it’s a shame that you will never again tell me that you love me; will never kiss me again.” He twisted his hands together, fingernails biting into skin. “I was rather hoping you would.”

            Crowley stared at him.

            Aziraphale moved forward until they were only inches apart. He held Crowley’s eyes.

            Crowley hesitated for a long moment, searching his face. Finally he swayed forward, almost helplessly, head tilted, and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s.

            Aziraphale inhaled sharply and leaned into the kiss. He brought one hand around to grip Crowley’s shoulder, and used the other to cup Crowley’s face. A tremor ran down Crowley’s body. Aziraphale brushed his thumb along Crowley’s jawline and deepened the kiss. That icy hand retreated and Aziraphale dared to hope he would learn how to keep it at bay. He felt like he had stepped outside in winter and found a patch of sun.

            He pulled back and smiled to himself at the dazed expression on Crowley’s face. “Do you want to get rid of…” he indicated the bottle and glass still in Crowley’s hand.

            Crowley slowly dragged his eyes away and looked at the offending objects. “Hm? Oh, right.” Unceremoniously, he tossed them away, stuffing the keys back into his pocket as he did so. His arms encircled Aziraphale and pulled him back in for another heady kiss.

            The glass hit the ground, but instead of shattering into shards, it shattered into seeds, which germinated far too rapidly, extending tender green shoots and fragile white roots until a patch of wildflowers had rooted in the gravel beside the road, an eddy of pink, red, purple, and impossible blue.

[tapakah0]

[kiwi-b0nes]

Happy Holidays ⛄ ⛄ ⛄ !

[iirulancorrino]

The Green brothers are doing effective altruism better than maybe 95% of people who identify online as effective altruists.

[deanofsam]

it just occurred to me that some of you might have missed seeing american football player joe burrow’s suit this past june during paris fashion week, and it is my personal opinion that everyone see these images at least once in their lifetime, especially those of us with a shared interest in slutty clothes on men (fictional or otherwise). so here they are.

[anewp0tat0]

it's finally time for a very late Valentines Day! :D right on the dot as always

is it love? is it belief? is it obsession? who knows. and we probably never will. but we're celebrating it anyway.

[crescentfool]

happy mochizuki monday!!!

[sneez]

two drawings inspired by sculptures (left and right, paul and virginia by alessandro puttinati and kneeling man embracing a standing woman by gustav vigeland respectively) and one inspired by a very ugly lamp my friend dj found (centre). please don’t tag as body horror or anything similar [id in alt text]

[obsob]

hmm anyway. holds u in my arms

[morangoowada]

Ishimondo week - July 20th Free day

[sluckythewizard]

these are A BIT OLD but uhhh here check out these aggio doodles i did forever ago. still VERY happy w my colors :3

[swordmaid]

i am wide awake thinking about that post canon jb au again when I should be sleeping …!!! such is the nature of the jbrainrot…

[osamusriceballs]

Kinktober Day 1 <3

Oikawa & Titfucking

Warnings: NSFW, fem reader

Words: ~ 1,2 k

Kinktober Masterlist II -> Next day

"C'mon, you need to try a bit harder, beautiful," he taunts you, his voice sweet like honey, like a soft caress on your skin.

"Can I please touch you? Please, Tooru, I need you," you try to coerce him into giving into you, but he still smiles at you pitifully, not showing the slightest attempt to let your wrists go. "I don't think that was convincing enough. Maybe I just need to make you wait a little longer."

A hiccup gets stuck in your throat and you wiggle in the tight grip of his hand while his teeth graze against the shell of your ear. "How about this? You get to touch me, and I get to fuck these pretty tits of yours? Does that sound good?" His free hand gently traces the outline of your exposed chest, and a shiver runs down your spine at the small action. Your back arches, your chest pressing tightly against his bare one, and you nod frantically, hoping to ease him into giving you more- and he finally releases your wrists, his hands softly caressing your cheek and your arms before he moves both hands down to your exposed chest. You gasp when his thumb caresses your nipples, the bubs hardening under his skillful fingers, his touch soft, yet with just the right amount of pressure to have airy breaths escape your lips.

"You can touch me wherever you want, pretty girl." The kind smile never leaves his face as he cups your tits and presses them together, making sure to "accidentally" brush his fingers over your nipples a few times again, his eyes taking in every single one of your reactions, reveling in the way your breath stocks for a second. "Sensitive here, beautiful?" At this point you think it's impossible for Oikawa to address you without a sweet nickname, and all of them seem to directly reach to your core and make your heart flutter even more.

His adjusts his position, making sure that his weight is not crushing you, but still pinning you to the bed before he finally lines up his cock at your tits. You let your now freed hands wander to his thighs, that seem even more muscular and defined ever since the Argentinian sun has shown its effect on him. The lean muscles tense under your fingers, and your breath stocks for a second when he suddenly spits down on one hand and languidly strokes his cock, right in front of your face, coating your chest with a bit of his saliva too.

You roam your hands to his abdomen, feeling him flexing at your touch, a deep breath leaving his lips, as he visibly gulps and focuses on your face while he strokes his cock. "Please, Tooru- fuck my tits, and then fuck me, please-" you whine, your hands wandering to his chest and feeling his heart pounding under your fingertips. You pause when he suddenly releases his cock, his expression changing from relaxed and understanding to determined and greedy for the first time, and he abruptly catches your wrists on his chest to bring them down to your tits. You get the hint and cup them, and he nods approvingly at the lewd sight of you, bare under him, your hands cupping your tits and your thighs clenching together, your needy and desperate expression making his breath stock for a second. He caresses your cheek gently one last time before he presses his cock against your tits, that are now dripping and glistening with his spit, one of his hands guiding the tip between them.

A low "fuuuuck" leaves his lips as he starts to buck his hips and fuck your tits, the tip of his cock hitting you chin every now and then when he thrusts his hips extra hard. Groans and whimpers leave his lips as he starts to pick up his pace, and the sounds turn you on even further, his desperate groans making the wetness pool between your legs. His eyes constantly move between your face and the way his cock moves between your tits, eager to see all of your reactions, and you blush feverishly under his intense gaze. You press your tits even further together and loll out your tongue, trying to get a taste of him whenever he thrusts hard enough, and his jaw drops at the sight- the sight of his beautiful wife begging for more. "More Tooru, use me, please-" his pace gets even faster at your words, his hips now feverishly bucking against your body as he chases his high, both of you knowing that he will finish soon. One of his hands comes to rest on your shoulder, while the other grasps the sheets, the muscles on his arms straining from the pressure, and the desperation is clear in his eyes as he fucks you with no restrain. The sheer force has your toes curing and your body aching for more- more of him. "Fuck- just like that- I'll-" broken words escape his lips, his teeth digging into his lower lip while you moan his name and lick the tip of his cock whenever you get the chance to, drool now coating your chin and dripping down to your neck. The sound of his cock fucking your wet tits is lewd enough to bring even heat to your cheeks, and you squirm under him, your walls clenching at the thought of him fucking you like this next.

You feel him tense and see how his muscles pop out when he finally cums, coating your chin and your chest in white, the feeling of it so lewd and so dirty, yet so forbidden good. You can see how he turns even more feral at the sight, his hips bucking one last time, his balls loudly smacking against the fat of your tits before his body loses all tension. He takes a few deep breaths, his brown eyes fixed on the mess he made on your chest, barely able to look away from it. "Fuck, you look so hot like that, love." His eyes roam to your face and you suppress the urge to turn away- because the intensity of his stare makes shivers run down your spine. He notices the shift in your face and he is quick to bring his hand to your chin to turn your face to him and to lean down to connect your lips with his. "I love you. You're my everything." The soft caress of his lips makes you almost explode from love but also from the aching need between your legs that he still needs to tend to. You're pretty sure that he notices the way you rub your legs together, at this point begging for any friction to ease to your needs- and Oikawa knows exactly what you need.

A mischievous smile sports his lips when he pulls back, and his thumb collects some of his cum on your chin and brings it to your mouth, forcing your tongue down and making you swallow the liquid.

"C'mon now, pretty girl. Show me how ready you are for me. Spread those legs for me, and I'll make you feel really good."

[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

[marsalta]

Take the happy Alastor