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demigod-of-the-agni · 1 month

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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 three are written in Hindi. The fourth title is written in Tamil. You go to Mumbai and you won’t see a single shred of Tamil there, much less any other South Indian language. 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.)

#long post + more tags that kinda spiral away BUT expand on the points above AND kinda puts everything together concisely #BROS THIS IS AN HONEST TO GOD ESSAY #THAT HAS BEEN COOKING IN MY HEART FOR A WHILE NOW. SIMMERING FOR MONTHS BEFORE FINALLY BOILING OVER IN THE LAST WEEK #genuinely hope you read MOST of it because yes it has Quite A Lot Of Exposition but it all matters nonetheless #put in a lot of thought into this so i expect you to do your part and challenge your thoughts as well #you see how i'm not asking for you to listen to me. but to actually Think. i want you to cook your thoughts and add some spice and flavour #and give it a good mix so you can come out of this a little more wiser than before #because!!! yeah!!!! spider man india is just that!! he's indian!!!!! we don't need to collectively agree on where he comes from #bc it gets rid of that relatability factor of spider man. at the most basic level #think of it as a schrodinger's. he is every single culture and none of them at the same time. therefore none of us are wrong!! sick!!!!#pavitr's first priority is making sure HIS PEOPLE are safe. that's probably as far as we can go that relates him back to peter parker spide #he loves his people and working in the name of justice to FIGHT for HIS PEOPLE is just the duty/responsibility he takes up #it makes sense that he loves everyone and every culture he engages with bc that's the nature of spider man i suppose #if peter parker spidey acts as the guardian for the regular folk.. then in my mind pavitr spidey stands as the bridge uniting the people #because society as its core is very fragmented. and having pavitr act as a connection to other folks.... mmmmm beautiful #that's what i'm talking abouttttt !!!#anyways guys this is literally 3001 words on my document EXCLUDING THE TITLE. THAT'S 7 PAGES AT 11pt FONT. i'm literally cryingggg wtf #pavitr prabhakar #spider man #spider man india #desi #desiblr #atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv pavitr #indian culture #india #desi tumblr #what the fuck do i tag this as #agnirambles

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knivestothroats · 4 months

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ITWS/ProVic Crossover Event Of The Century (part 1)

This is a crossover of In The Woods Somewhere by me and Professional//Victim by @victimeyez. Part 2 is here. Content warnings: Captivity, discussion of torture, discussion of sex trafficking, drug and alcohol use

Fletcher owned one suit. It lived in the back of their closet next to their old lucky leather jacket. They figured they used up all the luck when they took a bullet to the chest and didn’t die, so it had been cleaned of blood and retired.

The suit only came out for dinner parties Fletcher grudgingly attended for networking purposes. This one was a business mixer someone had rented out a ballroom at a hotel for. Almost a two hour drive for Fletcher, but it’s not like events were being hosted in the woods.

They combed back their hair neatly. But they couldn’t stand to look at their reflection, so they tousled it again. Stylishly.

Fletcher scanned the room for familiar faces when they walked in. Not wanting to make an immediate beeline for the bar, they walked to it casually instead and ordered an old fashioned. Something to hold and sip would help them look and feel more at ease, less awkward and out of place. They leaned against the bar for a moment, surveying the crowd again. Still, no one they knew. That meant it was time for cold introductions.

It was what these events were for, but… ugh.

Fletcher’s eyes landed on an intriguing pair. One was on the taller side. He was wearing a blazer over a turtleneck, silver wire-frame glasses, and his hair in a half pony. One hand held a cocktail, and the other was planted firmly on the shoulder of a slightly shorter man. He had dark curls falling around a gaunt but pretty face. Shadows clung under his eyes, which drifted nervously around the room before returning to the floor. He was dressed in black slacks, a white button-down shirt that hung a bit loosely on his frame, and most notably, a red leather collar with gold details.

If nothing else, they were the most interesting.

Fletcher approached the pair. They held their hand out to the taller man.

“The name’s Fletcher, nice to meet you.”

He took it gladly, with a firm but non-threatening grip. "I’m Caius, and my friend here is Tommy."

Fletcher managed to refrain from cringing at the name. They glanced in his direction in time to catch Tommy looking at them nervously before turning his head away. Fletcher hadn’t intended to offer their hand to him - the power dynamics were clear here - but now they barely wanted to look at him.

It wasn’t an uncommon name, but it still struck a chord every time they heard it.

"What business venture are you two representing?" Fletcher asked, shifting their attention back towards Caius.

With practiced ease, Caius pulled a business card from his jacket pocket and held it out to Fletcher between two fingers. "We make dreams come true."

Oh, Jesus. Fletcher raised their eyebrows just briefly as they took the card. An almost velvety texture, sharp edges, silvery print. “Personalized entertainment,” followed by a phone number. Fletcher flipped it over to a blank back.

"How very enlightening," they said dryly.

"You'll have to forgive me for being discreet. Tommy works for us as a private entertainer, of the torture fantasy variety. He's very responsive to direction, and… stimulus. He's less of a call boy, there are a lot of rules if you want to fuck him." Caius smirked on the word "fuck." He spoke with an even, telemarketer tone throughout.

Tommy wasn't facing Fletcher head-on, but his eyes were focused on them just to the side. He squinted slightly, as if trying to think of something.

"Hm." Responded Fletcher flatly. "So, torture is a free for all, but sex has conditions."

"We have ways of fixing most things, but penicillin can only do so much.” Caius said. “We have a state-of-the-art lab for flash healing and scar-free recoveries. He's a blank slate every time."

To the side, Tommy's gaze lowered, filtered by long eyelashes. Fletcher turned their sights back on him, sizing him up from a new perspective. He was pretty, in a frail way. Timid, most likely beaten into submission. Collared, but not leashed; that meant he could be trusted to follow orders, at least to some extent. He had the allure of a prey animal to a predator like themself. Caius had chosen well. Or molded him well.

“Which do you get more requests for?” Fletcher asked, returning their attention to Caius. “Torture or sex?”

Caius grinned wolfishly. "Torture - sex is cheaper from anyone else." He tipped back his drink for another sip, but did not take his eyes off of Fletcher for one long gulp. It was weird. He made it weird. "I'm sure customers like you get it for free."

"Customers like me?" Fletcher echoed. "What makes me so special?"

Caius cocked his head, shifting gears. "You tell me. Who are you, sharp stranger?"

Ok, so definitely the type who thinks flirting with customers will help him close deals. Fletcher answered unaffected. "I run a training operation. People send me new recruits or nepo babies that aren't living up to expectations and I teach them the skills to be productive members of criminal society. Mercs, mobs, murderers of all kinds. Done work with a lot of families and guilds, hoping to make some more connections tonight."

"Aren't we all." Caius looked around the room briefly. "We will be doing a demonstration later, hoping to drum up some noise for our service." Tommy was a statue at his side, staring off into space like he had drifted from his body. At least for now, while he didn’t have pain to pin him in place. "Maybe you could help me out - you see, I don't want to get this blazer stained... and you could use a bit of color."

"Mm," Fletcher took a sip of their drink. "People usually pay me for that kind of service. I come highly requested. Or I did, when that was my game."

"People usually pay me for that kind of service. Or at least… providing the body. But look at us - we could be here, right now, making a connection."

He was laying it on thick. Fletcher tried to retake control of the direction the conversation was heading. "Not sure if I should be surprised that there’s a market for it. Obviously this is a more major industry than people realize,” they gestured around the room, “but in my experience, not everyone wants to get their hands dirty. Not that dirty, anyway. Not everyone has the stomach for it, let alone the appetite. What's the going rate for something like this?"

"It depends on what you have in mind. Time, tools, location, severity. You could get a quote from my associate over there," Caius said, pointing to a neatly groomed salesman with short, ginger hair. The gesture caught the attention of said associate, whose eyes widened upon seeing Caius talking to a potential client. He rushed over, trying not to look panicked.

"Hi, hello, I'm Rory." Slightly out of breath, he stuck out his hand for Fletcher. "I see you've...met Caius."

Fletcher shook his hand. "Fletcher. Pleasure. You handle the finances for this operation, then?"

He gave a short, biting laugh. His chill, easygoing sales persona was slightly tight on him at the moment. "Yes, I do, you don't have to give Caius any money, all the payments are processed through me."

Fletcher chuckled. "Caius wasn't trying to shake me down. I was just wondering what you charge for this sort of service. Although it sounds like it varies. You have a ballpark, or a range?”

"Well, it depends on a few factors, yeah. Tools, time, location, severity. But if you can tell me a little about what you have in mind, I can get you one right away." Rory flashed a winning smile. "And if I may, you might be interested in a special contraption my associate has made, which we'll also be demonstrating later today. Maximum pain for minimal effort sort of thing, if you don't want to get your hands dirty. Or if you do." He raised a conspiratorial eyebrow, leading the upsell with practiced charm.

"Mostly just asking out of curiosity," Fletcher said. "What's the contraption?"

"The Cradle," Caius easily volunteered. "Michelle is making toys now, and they're just so inspired." Whatever the contraption was, the mention of it seemed to snap Tommy out of his reverie. He promptly switched to a more refined look of abject misery.

Fletcher caught the change in demeanor. "It rocks them gently to sleep, I take it?"

"Something like that. You'll have to catch the whole spiel when we do the demonstration. Then maybe you can do a demonstration for me."

Fletcher had been trying to be diplomatic, but that was a bit much. "Ok, slow your roll, bud. You’re laying it on way too thick right now and I’m gonna need you to tone it down.”

Rory very firmly stepped on Caius's foot, and he dropped his smile suddenly to a more neutral expression. "One hour, ballroom stage. See it for yourself. Come and join the fun, or don't."

He spoke matter-of-factly, betraying no emotion if he was insulted by Fletcher's rebuke. Rory gave Fletcher a tight smile and moved to pull Caius away by his arm. "Caius, come get a drink with me."

Sweat was beginning to form on the ginger salesman’s forehead. Bags forming under his eyes, slight jitters in his hands - probably due for another bump. Caius resisted for a moment, seeming to consider. Tommy moved in to Caius's other side and subtly touched the sleeve by the man's relaxed arm. Caius turned at the touch and they met eyes, exchanging something wordless shared with just a look. Caius walked away amicably with Rory, but Tommy stood there, staring at Fletcher. Studying their face for a moment before telling them, with a defeated voice, "I know what you want."

Fletcher raised their eyebrows. "And what is that?"

Tommy did not keep a prideful look, he just looked experienced. Performing an unpleasant role that had long become old hat to him. "You like it when they squirm."

Fletcher smiled, flashing teeth. They took a step closer to Tommy. "How long have you been... doing this?"

"A while. Around five years, as far as I can tell. They don't let me put tallies on the walls."

Fletcher folded one arm across their chest and left the other loose to swirl their glass. They thought of a number of questions, but weren't sure if they wanted to know the answers. There was a certain level of detachment that made everything easier. Asking how he ended up in his position may be tempting, but hearing his story could create sympathetic feelings that Fletcher would inevitably have to smash down when they left him at the end of the night. Because they sure as fuck weren't going to rescue him like an abused dog. He could have been an enemy who crossed them and lost, he could be a random victim picked up off the street. It didn't make a difference.

"Caius said you fulfill fantasies. You've gotten good at figuring out what people want, then."

"I had to."

"You're better at it than your owner." Fletcher glanced over their shoulder to the bar. Rory was leaning in a little too close to Caius and talking fast while Caius glowered at him. They turned back to Tommy. "Five years, huh? When did you give up?"

"Handler,” Tommy corrected. “I guess...it doesn't really matter." There was a low table off to the side of the crowd, flanked by two plush chairs. Tommy took a few deliberate steps towards it to check if Fletcher followed, and then eagerly claimed one of the seats. He seemed to enjoy sitting down in such luxury like a child might enjoy playing in a pool. Scant pleasures abound for him.

Fletcher pushed out the other chair with their foot and sat, somewhat poised on the edge as if they’d have to jump up at a moment’s notice.

"It's hard to place an exact moment, but...I would say, whenever it was when they had to reattach my hand." He smiled numbly.

Fletcher put their drink down on the table and studied his face. He seemed too aware of his situation to tell an easily refutable lie if he didn't need to. Still, Fletcher had been around the block, and that was extreme. They didn't want to seem gullible. "Are you fucking with me?"

"I'm five years in and just - just look at me," he gestured vaguely to himself. "No scars, no bumps. Experimental stuff. They gambled on the right guy. I say guy, because he's not a doctor any more."

Fletcher did look Tommy over. He was right. This was a person who had accepted his place in Hell, which means he'd been there long enough to get through all the stages of grief. He should be covered in scars. He should have a crooked nose and fingers. He should be in pain when he walks. All he really had to show was a sunken face and dead eyes. Fletcher leaned back in their chair and glanced over to Caius and Rory and again. There was a third person with them now, and they all seemed like they were trying not to make it obvious they were arguing. "Any chance your not-doctor is here tonight?"

Tommy opens his mouth with a wry grin and then seems to think better of it, closing his mouth to chew over his answer again. "No, he's not. I'm not sure Caius would share. That information."

"I saw the smirk,” Fletcher said playfully. “You have something you want to tell me."

Tommy chewed on his lip as he thought about it. "You're going to get me in trouble."

Fletcher put their hands up innocently. "How am I going to get you in trouble?"

"You almost talk to me like a person," Tommy said.

God, he was so pathetic. Part of Fletcher wanted to be nice to him and part of them wanted to grab his face and smash it into the table. Either could get a fun reaction. "Look," they leaned in conspiratorially. "This is your chance to get it all out. You probably don't get to talk shit with customers, right?"

Tommy's face was slightly flushed. He was practically bursting at the seams, but he swallowed down the desire and sat back, sinking into the seat. "You think you're the first to try this?"

Fletcher blew out a breath and rested their chin on their hand. "You are a professional, huh?" they said with a smile. "I may not convince you, but... I like you better than your handler, so far. I think it would be fun to know something he doesn't."

Tommy sighed and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a long moment. "You're the type that needs a reaction. You like being feared. You've been doing the 'lone wolf' thing for a while now." He removes his hands from his face and his eyes stare at them in his lap. "You've convinced yourself you're comfortable with it."

The smile faded from Fletcher's face. They paused for a long time, staring Tommy down. He wouldn't look up to meet their gaze. "I wasn't asking for information about myself," they said coldly. "Look at me."

"I don't - I don't know why I said that." He kept his eyes down.

Fletcher reached out, put two fingers under Tommy's chin, and tilted his head up. They fixed him with a hard stare for a moment. Studying his face, thinking, but also... he wasn't wrong before. They wanted him to squirm. "That's quite a skill. I don't know if you're wasted in this role or if you're perfect for it."

Tommy closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them again they met Fletcher's with focus and clarity.

"I'm perfect for it."

Fletcher put their chin back in their hand. They drummed their fingers against their lower lip. "I haven't talked to anyone else here yet," they said. "But I think you're probably the most interesting person in the room."

Tommy sat up suddenly, turning as Caius, Rory, and a third man joined them. Caius wore a grim smile. "Has he told you I'm evil yet? Made you sympathetic to his cause?"

"Um, no, but I can figure that out," Fletcher said. "We’re all at the evil convention." They finished off their drink and pointed to the newcomer. "Michelle, I take it?"

"You may take it," The other man said with a nervous laugh. His hair was divided into twists that nearly touched his shoulders. "And you're Fletcher in the Rye?"

Fletcher laughed. "That's pretty good." They stood to shake his hand. "You're the inventor?"

"Oh, more like tinkerer, but I suppose. Are you looking for any new toys for your collection?"

"Well, your associates keep alluding to your 'cradle,' trying to create an air of suspense to keep me interested, I'm sure. But, it's working enough that I want to know what it is."

He laughed. "Yeah, they're the ones that know how to sell. It's a curved brace that connects into nerves along the spine. Are you sticking around for the little demonstration we have planned?"

Rory stood by as if waiting for one of the others to say something he would have to try to make up for, but held fast for now. Caius leaned over Tommy's chair and cupped his boy’s face with one hand, his thumb pressed to his lips while his other fingers supported underneath his chin. A peculiar touch, and an almost casual gesture, but some meaning was hidden there. He was touching Tommy where Fletcher had, in order to tip his head up. Caius dug his fingers into the hollows of his cheeks in an almost teasing squeeze before letting go.

Fletcher watched the interaction carefully, studying both their faces. "I'll stick around," they said. "I should work the room more, anyway. And I need another drink." They picked up their empty glass and raised it in a salute. "Gentlemen."

Rory and Michelle gave small, appropriate nods. Caius flashed them one last winning smile before turning suddenly and leaning into Tommy's space to whisper something in his ear.

Fletcher returned to the bar and opted for a whisky sour this time.

“I’d prefer honey, if you have it,” they said as the bartender set to work. They glanced over their shoulder to scope out perspectives to chat up, but ended up turning back to the bartender.

“So, do you work for the hotel, or do you work for the host of the event?” Fletcher asked.

“I’m employed by Ms. Hannowitz,” he said, referring to the host.

Fletcher nodded. “Okay, so you know what’s going on.”

“Indeed I do,” he said, setting Fletcher’s drink on the bar in front of them.

“Thanks.” They took a sip. “It’s great, thank you.”

They turned towards the crowd… then back to the bartender.

“So how does that work - are you solely employed as a bartender for Hannowitz, or do you do other stuff for her, or is there like a catering company specifically for illegal events?”

A pair of women approached the other end of the bar and waved the bartender over.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said to Fletcher before walking away.

“Oh, sure, sure,” Fletcher muttered. Taking another sip of their drink, they surveyed the crowd. Finally, they saw someone they recognized - a capo in a family they’d done work for in the past, and trained a couple foot soldiers for. He was talking to a couple people Fletcher didn’t know; perfect opportunity for introductions. They made their way over.

The troupe doesn't make a spectacle of it when they make their way to the stage. Caius and Rory each clasp a hand around Tommy's wrists and rush him up to prevent a last-minute escape attempt. Caius had slipped him a little something earlier, which was not pain meds as Tommy had hoped but instead a muscle relaxant. He wasn't running off anywhere any time soon.

Backstage, Michelle opened the suitcase they had loaded in earlier and started to fit together pieces stored inside. Rods interlocked into a surprisingly sturdy frame, and the suitcase was detached from the wheeled base. With a few turns of an allen wrench, the base unfolded into a longer, thinner platform that the metal frame fit into. It resembled a rolling clothing rack, but unusually tall and wide.

Tommy was watching the construction, his stomach tight with fear. It had been a long time since he cried before the torture even started, but his eyes were prickling with unchecked emotion. Beside him, Caius fussed at the backstage vanity. He had pulled out a little doggy bag of cocaine and poured some onto the chalky desk. He dug in his wallet for a credit card and a crumpled receipt, which he smoothed out and rolled with ease. He cut the ivory with his credit card into two lines before wiping one off the edge into a vial.

"Head back," He instructed Tommy, and when he didn't respond fast enough Caius wrenched his head back by his hair. He pressed the vial under his nose and tapped it gently, emptying the coke into Tommy's sinuses before pinching his nose shut. "If you sneeze, I'll leave you up for them all to use. Don't waste my shit."

Tommy's eyes watered at the pain triggered all the way down his throat, but managed to nod. Caius let go and let him wipe his nose while he took the other line for himself.

"Ready?" Michelle had a hand on one of the supporting polls, wheeling the rack along.

Caius coughed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "Where's Rory?"

"He's already out there, setting up the table."

Caius sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, alright, let's do it."

Tommy wondered what coke was like for Caius. He seemed energetic and focused and jolly. For Tommy, it just made his nervous heart pound harder. He felt like trapped prey, with an overwhelming urge to run, but nowhere to go. Mixed with the muscle relaxant, he felt caged inside of his weakened body.

They walked on stage to see a sizable crowd already waiting for them - enough people had noticed the set-up begin, and plenty others had been invited to attend personally by a member of the team. Caius slunk off to go about some nefarious business while Michelle positioned the rack facing out towards the audience. He stopped at each of the four wheels to press a trigger down with his foot, the wheels locking stubbornly onto the stage with a rubber seal as each was fastened. Rory was laying the finishing touches on a folding table to the side, covered in a variety of implements to inflict pain. In the middle layed a long black piece of metal, curved and thin with an appearance reminiscent of a xenomorph's detached spine. Tommy’s heart hammered in his chest looking at it, and he took one step back towards the stairs.

"Hey," a friendly voice said, as a hand gripped him by the arm. He turned and Michelle was looking at him with a curious smile. "Come here, this way." He was led towards the frame by Michelle's push, who gentled him like a wild animal backed into a corner. "Stand here, just like that, good. Strip down to your underwear, please." Tommy gave an anxious glance at the crowd formed in front of them. "Don't be shy. Here, I'll help."

Tommy didn't resist as Michelle helped him undress, cooperating slowly in a daze. None of this felt real. His head throbbed in time with his heart. A moment later he was strung up to the frame, pulled taut up on the balls of his feet by his wrists chained above him. Michelle took his clothes, and Caius reappeared at his side, one cold hand spreading over his lower back.

"Let's get started."

In another life Caius was some shithead Shakespearean actor. At least, he knew how to project to the room.

"Friends among us, we are here to demonstrate a new and original design from our labs." He did not have to clap his hands or ring a bell, the people were intrigued enough by Tommy's public binding that the dull roar simmered to a quiet murmur among the crowd. Michelle stepped up to center stage and took a deep breath.

"Pain is not evil. It is not inherently a punishment from our bodies. It is a part of our natural homeostasis system, our bodies' need to maintain good, working order. Our body tells us what we need through these systems. We feel thirst when we need water, tired when we need sleep, hot when we are overheating, cold when our body temperature is low. We even crave foods that satisfy nutritional needs - red meat when we are low on iron, maybe some popcorn when we need the salt." It got a very modest chuckle from the crowd. "We have built-in sensors throughout our bodies that tell us when we are injured or wounded. All of our sensitive nerves are there to alert us when the body has been damaged. The signal we receive that holds that information, is how we sense pain.

"Common methods of interrogation - or just play - manipulate the body to create pain. But sometimes, we need to generate a lot of pain without causing a lot of bodily harm. What if we used these nerves, these sensors, directly, to cause pain without unnecessary damage?"

Caius fetched the Cradle from the table and brought it to Michelle, who held it up to the audience.

“We are here today to introduce the Cradle, a device for not only generating pain, but immobilizing the subject by it, too. No more handcuff keys to lose. The Cradle conforms to the human spine, and when lined up correctly, slides pins directly into the shallow bundles of nerves along the subject's back. With physical damage no worse than a few pinpricks, you can latch this into a person's spine with an incapacitating amount of pain. The Cradle then locks in place with a simple mechanism that the victim physically cannot reach to unlock. "

There is an excited murmuring through the audience, and Michelle is received well when he holds it aloft.

"As I began the build and manufacture process, I realized the Cradle could accomplish much more than I had planned. By wiring electrodes into the crest of the artificial spine and running copper filament through the pins, the Cradle is able to directly stimulate the nerves with electricity from the rechargeable battery pack located at the small of the back. Each charge is good for 250 hours of consecutive use, and can be stored without charge degradation nearly indefinitely. "

Caius and Michelle moved to Tommy then. He didn’t even register that Caius was telling him to turn around, but they guided him into it, twisting the rope suspending him so his back faced the audience. He felt distant from his body and his hands were already numb.

"By lining the dial up with the top vertebrae, which you can feel at the base of the neck here - " A firm few fingers felt along the back of his neck for a moment before circling a low spot. "-minor adjustment to account for varying heights-" Something cold was pressed to his back, and then there was an intense pressure as the pins there threatened to pierce his skin. "-clamp to insert the pins at an angle, and lock in with a further series of hooks to secure the mechanism-"

Almost as soon as it breached his skin, the pain was unbearable. His back seized with the intrusion and he screamed until he had no air left. Dragging in another deep breath agitated the creature biting hard into his spine and he struggled to collect air.

They let him go and he was slowly turned back with the unwinding of the twisted cord. He was forced to face the audience as he trembled and seized, muscles clenching up into painful cramps, only driving the pins deeper. He kept waiting for the pain to plateau, to break, but it seemed to only heighten more and more. He dry heaved and his legs shuddered, his body spasming in some attempt to relieve the pain it only stoked. They let him dangle there, the monster on his back crushing his spine in shocking agony as he screamed himself hoarse.

"As you can see, it is quite effective at its original purpose. The Cradle has two forms of charge to create different reactions."

Fletcher watched intently. Tommy clearly knew what was coming. His movements were sluggish - either doped up or disassociating. Maybe both. The moment the device kicked on was clear. His face contorted and his legs gave out, bending awkwardly beneath him as his restraints kept him from collapsing. The screaming was loud, and long, interrupted only by gagging breaths. Michelle explained different settings for pain and immobilization. Fletcher figured they could adjust the settings to make it impossible to scream, hitting that sweet spot where the pain takes the breath from your body. At the very least, cause his muscles to seize enough that he can’t open his mouth, and the cries seep through muffled and broken. But these men were showing off - they wanted the screams.

It looked like a good device. Sure, there were tasers and jumper cables that could cause similar effects. Paralytics, nerve agents. But the Cradle seemed more fine tuned, most versatile. Portability was a question - does it fold up? Still beats a car battery, but not the other options. And they’d be interested to see if it left any marks on his back when they were done.

Michelle turned the device off. Tommy hung limp, jerking with aftershocks. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but he didn’t sob. Just moaned with pain. Fletcher had wondered if they were going to feel conflicted about watching the demonstration. After all, they had enjoyed talking to Tommy more than they had any of his owners. But they ate up every moment.

Tommy really was good at it - or good for it. Not much participation was required on his part. Maybe if he had gotten a chance to beg. He was probably really good at begging. Hell, he reads people so well, he probably had it down to a science.

He would probably look good bleeding, too. The contrast of his pale skin and dark hair would pair so well with the rich red of fresh blood.

The troupe on stage took a few more questions. Blah blah blah warranty, blah blah blah voltage, blah blah blah tetanus. One older woman up front piped up.

"What is the lasting damage remaining after use? Have you studied the extent of the nerve damage left?"

"Why don't we ask him?" Michelle and Rory had been fielding most of the questions, but Caius stepped up to address that one. He crossed over to Tommy, who was starting to recover enough to just barely keep himself up. Caius took his face between his hands and lifted his head to speak directly to him. They had a low, murmured conversation for a moment, before Caius dropped his head and turned again to face the crowd.

"As you can see here, there is some bleeding from the punctures." Caius addressed the woman while he used Tommy's back like a prop, gesturing to his various parts like a ranger teaching children about some animal captured for their wildlife display. "The bleeding is little more than the amount shed for removing a simple IV, as the needles are only a wider gauge by two or three times. Immediate after-effects can include tingling, numbness of the extremities, muscle spasms, cramps, and a low-grade fever. Tommy here is doing quite well for having undergone our trials, though he has reported continuing nerve pain for up to three months at a time."

Caius gripped Tommy's arm suddenly and pushed, spinning him around on his suspension a few times while he struggled to get his feet to support him. He slowed to a stop facing out to the audience. His dark curls stuck to his forehead with a thin sheen of sweat from the pain, and his eyes were red from crying. He still had little drops of his tears down his chest, and he cowered in his near-nudity before the excited audience. Caius ran his fingers through Tommy's hair, smoothing his hair away from his face and adjusting his curls with a few sharp tugs.

"I'm afraid we did not properly introduce him before, but this is Tommy, and he's a very important part of our business. He's not just here to model Michelle's wicked inventions. See, he is our most requested product by far." Caius put a possessive hand on his clammy lower back, pushing Tommy slightly forwards towards the audience.

Michelle and Rory stepped to the side to let Caius do his song and dance as they moved into a different part of their show-and-tell. Rory seemed to have given up on directing Caius, mollified by his drugs. The same drugs that kept Tommy awake as he already trembled from the strain.

"What would you do if you had him to yourself for a few hours?” Caius asked the crowd. “Anyone?"

There was some nervous shuffling before a young man called out, "Bull whip!"

Caius cracked a grin. "Whipping, certainly. I'm partial to the cane, myself. What else?"

“I'd make him walk on nails!" Another enthusiast called. More people were getting intrigued.

“I'd use him like a punching bag."

“I'll make him beg for his life."

“I'd skin him to the bone."

“He could clean my house in a thong."

“I could use a car battery to make him dance."

“I'd make him dig his own grave."

Talk amongst the crowd grew as people began to brainstorm, and then to one-up each other. Caius laughed with mirth and called them off with the lazy wave of a hand.

"So many good ideas! We use top of the line medical procedures that can't be found outside our labs to keep Tommy fresh for his next date. If you can host, we can come. Tommy is responsive, vocal, and sensitive."

Caius turned and punched Tommy in the stomach. The wind was knocked out of him immediately with the well-placed strike and he struggled to curl in on himself as he wheezed. He could not shield himself with his arms tied above him, and he looked exceptionally vulnerable as he struggled. Mostly nude, strung up in front of a crowd eager to devour him. He had no recourse as Caius dug his fingernails into the tender flesh of his side, raking them across diaphragm and leaving angry red lines in their wake. Tommy flinched and wriggled, a fish caught upon a hook.

"To demonstrate his uses tonight, Ladies and Gentlemen, we will invite a very special guest on stage. Please give a round of applause for Fletcher!"

[continued]

@victimeyez @lonesome--hunter @desert-dyke @coldresolve @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @suspicious-whumping-egg @whatwasmyprevioususername @whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump @thatsthewhump @aqua-blogging @utopian819 @bloodinthemud @pretty-face-breaker @cursedandtired @morning-star-whump If you changed your url or don't want to be in the taglist anymore lmk

#we wrote this mostly rp style #god even splitting into parts is long #pt1 is 11 pages and pt 2 is gonna be 7 #in the woods somewhere #professional//victim #hm when i link part two the post title says part 1 in the url so #hopefully it works #writings #original

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