#i hope i'm wrong bc...

[ravens-words]

I won't deny that the episode was amazing. I loved it, and there were so many great lines, and Rafa and Ronen's acting was PHENOMENAL, but I can't help but feel that something was missing, especially after Carlos woke up.

[tippenfunkaport]

You know, it would be amazing if Hollywood learned the right lesson from the success of Nimona. Something like "Hey, maybe don't throw out a nearly done movie as a tax write off" or "people want queer stories" or even "don't be afraid to take some storytelling risks and be original" but you just know they're going to come away with some absolutely batshit takeaway like, "next time delete all the evidence and burn it to the ground so the gays can't make us look bad!"

[heybaetae]

maknae line + gestures of love 🫰🏼💋🫶🏼🌹🤟🏼 happy birthday @jkvjimin! ♡

[kentopedia]

ᡣ𐭩 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈 . . . the french are glad to die for love

after a night performing, you meet with the duke, but he's not anything like you'd been expecting.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. ft. sanji ! f!reader, moulin rouge au, alcohol, smoking, romance, prostitution, burlesque/cabaret dancers, humor, very very brief mention of suicidal ideation, suggestive content. 8.7k words.

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, i'm very nervous to post this so pls be kind to me ‪‪❤︎‬ if you aren't familiar with moulin rouge, the writing's a bit silly / eccentric at times, which is a little outside my comfort zone. so if you hate it... say nothing lol ><

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈 .˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊

Paris was the city of lovers, as they said. Romantic and doused in shades of red, painted with hearts for stars and a dazzling galaxy complete of past romances. 

Red, yes, was the color of Paris. But it came from not from dalliances, but from blood and tears, the scarlet hues mixed in shades of pain and misfortune. Nothing you had expected when you’d first stepped foot in the city with a half-developed mind, just off the boat from your own country. You’d had a suitcase filled with your finest clothes, which truly weren’t much, and a few necessities. But you’d been leaving from nothing, and you’d go on to have nothing, finding yourself in yet another desperate situation. 

In the wake of revolutions, Paris was supposed to be a place of rebirth, to start fresh and finally live out your dream as an actress. But things never turned out the way they were planned — such had been the case since the beginning of time. 

Instead of finding your way into the Palais Garnier, on the stage in beautiful velvet gowns, laced with glittering diamonds and rubies, you found yourself on the streets, singing for anyone who would listen. Then, you were acquired by a man who promised you a life of luxury and an opportunity to be a star. 

And who were you to refuse such an offer? 

Thus concluding the simple, albeit melancholy tale of how you found yourself at the Moulin Rouge, part-time singer, part-time dancer, and full-time actor. A cliché story of ambition and lost dreams, of aspirations that had never come to fruition.

Still, you had your moments of stepping into the role of the glittering ruby, the dazzling diamond. There were even times when you felt that, maybe, you were shaping up to be the prima donna you’d dreamed of becoming. That you had already taken that role on and made it your own, not in a golden opera house, but on a stage of darker colors, crafted for those that crept in the shadows, rather than the heavens. 

But what being an actor at the Moulin Rouge meant was forgetting what it was to be yourself. Each evening, you put on a mask of beauty that you didn’t feel to your core, shrouded in cheap jewels that had become meaningless in the face of giving up your real dream. No matter how many times you told yourself this was right, a stepping stone to the path of greatness, it still felt like a lie.

But the years carried on, and the pain subsided. You got used to the sharpened eyes of hungry men, of people that would never want you for any longer than an evening. They were charming, sure, and they paid a pretty penny for a night — if you were willing to give it to them. 

It was enough. It had to be. 

Things weren’t so bad, you supposed. You’d left your home like you’d always planned to, even while this shapeless existence was hardly any better.

Still, returning to your house of cards, of rags and dirtied floors, seemed like an even bigger failure. Perhaps not to your family, who would’ve deemed your life as a courtesan the greatest shame of them all. To you, though, the greatest shame would have been to admit that you were wrong. 

Your fifth year of working at the Moulin Rouge set into motion the beginning of the end. There was nothing different about the evening that tipped the first domino… Not that you could recall, at least. 

As always, an array of stars glittered over Montmartre, a beautiful Parisian night, lit up with red. From the streets, the Moulin Rouge glowed like a beacon, combating even the loveliest parts of the French skyline, outlandishly bright, but mystical all the same. It wasn’t often that you saw the outside of the cabaret, not the way your patrons did. Sometimes, you wondered what it was like for them, to walk in for the first time and see the beautiful stars, dancing just for them on the candlelit stage. 

The very stage you were soon to find yourself on.

A necklace of rubies — undoubtably fake — hung heavy on your chest, weighing you down just like a cough in your lungs did. From beyond your four walls, you could hear the crowd that had formed in the intimate hall, already wet with anticipation of the dancers. And while some, perhaps, were doubtful, here for the first time, you knew they would leave with an itch to return, if only to see the star of the Moulin Rouge.

You.

Staring into the mirror, you listened to the heels of your friends click across the stage, getting into position for their first number. It was comforting, almost, how the simple sound was there for your every night, alerting you of just how much time you had before your final act. 

You smeared rouge across your cheeks, sporting a grim smile, and made sure the color was bright enough to combat the lights that would illuminate you. 

Then, you inhaled, and stood from your chair, to get dressed before your number began. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t get far, already crowded by the chest of your keeper, the flashy owner of the Moulin Rouge. Buggy. 

He was dressed as he always was — to the nines, and impeccably lively. Much livelier than you would ever be outside of the glittering nightclub. Sometimes, you wondered just how much of his persona was an act, and how much of it was every bit the extravagance he’d been born with.

“There’s my star,” Buggy said, dragging a finger across your cheek, eyes lit up by his pale makeup. “I’ve been looking for you.” Your name left his lips cheerfully, and you smiled, thinly plastering on enthusiasm. 

“Well,” you answered, batting your eyelashes heavily. “Here I am. Where I’ve been for the past five years, every night, at this very time.”

He threw an arm over your shoulder as he always did, like the two of you were old friends, and the air of professionalism you tried to keep between you was needless. “Yes, yes,” he responded, waving off the slight bit of sarcasm. “Listen. I have a manner of business to discuss.” 

Your smile quickly fell. You knew what that meant. “Buggy,” you said, unreeling yourself from his embrace, his hot palm dropping from your shoulders. “It’s hardly been a day since the last one. You promised me I wouldn’t have to take on any more.” 

Not that you’d believed him when he’d said that, but… There were only so many men you were willing to seduce, especially when the other dancers would have gladly accepted the work. You weren’t the only courtesan at the club, and just because you were the star, didn't mean you would put the others out of a job. 

“I did, I did, and I’ll keep that promise… After this last time.” Buggy’s words were on the edge of charisma, but they weren’t able to reach that delivery. Full of a dramatic flair, sure, but nothing further. His smile was thin, desperate, and though you wanted to ask his true intentions about this particular meeting, you wouldn’t. You already knew the answer.

You held his gaze sharply, eyes narrowing before you relented, a heavy sigh leaving your lungs. 

There had been talk about the finances, only recently, and just through the grapevine. Claims that the Moulin Rouge was going bankrupt, and there was only one person with enough beauty and charm to save it.

A heavy burden to bear, indeed.

And while you were hopeful, devastatingly so, that the claims weren’t true, you weren’t blind to the dwindling waitstaff, the decreasingly lavish decorations. One of your dancers had even left in the last week, a young girl who didn’t bring much to the table, but didn’t deserve to be tossed back onto the streets either. 

You’d be a fool not to notice that there was trouble… Trouble Buggy had convinced you not to worry about, but that concerned you all the same. 

With a frown, you bowed your gaze, then perked back up with a smile. As if holding a tiara high on your head, you straightened, erasing the depressing dimness from your eyes, hoping you shone as brightly as he wanted you to. “Alright,” you hummed, softening your voice, “What do I need to do?” 

Buggy grinned, face revealing perfect showmanship, and pinched your cheek. “There’s my star.” 

The man you were to seduce on the stage tonight was a duke. 

He wasn’t from Paris, wasn’t from France at all, but instead, from some intriguing land further East, hailing a vast amount of wealth and a large wallet that could easily bankroll the entire nightclub. Salaries, performances, food and so on. That alone told you all you needed to know. 

Just one night. That would be enough to convince him that you were a dazzling diamond, and you deserved a place on the stage. A different stage. It would be enough to get him to put his money on the table, entranced enough by the energy of the evening to invest in the Moulin Rouge. Enough to intrigue him, even if he was a difficult man to please. 

One night might not turn out be just one, you knew that. But you’d do anything, anything it took to achieve you dreams. Not just for yourself, not for Buggy… but for all of the others that you called your friends. You deserved an opportunity to be a real actress, and they deserved a place to live, a place to work. 

Besides, you were getting older, already closer to thirty than your early teenage years, and those of the underworld did not want an aged woman, so much as they sought the delicate features of a barely turned adult. It was a disgusting, filthy world you lived in, but it kept you alive, and sometimes, that was all you could ask for. 

“Remember,” Buggy’s words echoed in your ears, sharp and desperate to be heard, even over the drowning noises of the orchestra. “He’ll be in the back booth. There’s a group of men with him, they’ll all have drinks. Just catch his eye, sometime during the dance. But don’t worry too much about that, otherwise you’ll lose your focus.” 

What you got from that was: You should try extra hard to catch the eye of an impressive man, but you should not seem like you were trying at all. 

A somewhat daunting task, but it would be simple enough. There hadn't been a man yet at the Moulin Rouge who hadn’t stumbled over himself when you gave him your brilliant smile.

You breathed, a deep inhale that cleared out the anxiety lingering in your chest. Then, you blew it out, and the curtain rose, blinding you with overwhelming yellows and reds from the lights, ones that ignited the jewels on your neck, outlining your chest, drawing everyone’s attention to you.

It was hard to see anything at all, but you could feel all their eyes on you — a hundred or so pairs that scoured you like a piece of meat.

And when you got to the floor, close enough that you could feel the hot breaths of your favorite clients, they threw bills at you until you could no longer hold them in the tight lines of your bodice. 

You smiled at every individual like you’d never smile at anyone again, patted their cheeks until they passed out with red, swooning faces. Then you left them, still reeling from your touch, eyes glued to you with the focus of a tortured scholar.

Performing had always been a rush to you, left you lively and with an energy that you’d never found in anything else. But sometimes, performing like this, exploiting no one but yourself and your magnetic charm, left you empty at the end of the day. You left the stage cold, drained of every ounce of warmth that had been dragged into you from the spotlight. 

It was invigorating to be wanted, but it could never compete with the crushing loneliness that came with being used.

And that warmth you got from the stage, the rush of devotion and adrenaline that came with incessant adoration? Well, you’d never felt anything like that, never been able to replicate it either, until a set of eyes landed on you from a distant booth, where the Duke was said to be sitting. 

You felt the heat before you saw him, the candy-red color of desire bleeding into you. It dragged across your back, digging into your shoulder-blades like a needle, piercing, but only lightly. There was something soft around the harsh edges of want, and when you turned to meet that stark desire, you almost faltered in surprise. 

He wasn’t what you’d been expecting.

Just as Buggy had said, the corner-most booth held a man, surrounded by many others. The table was littered with glasses — both empty and full of alcohol, and a cloud of smoke hovered around them. All of the men leaned over the table, eyeing you with awe-struck eyes, as you sparingly gave them your sweetest smile. 

But it was the innermost man that you honed in on, one being jostled around by the wealthy others in his booth. Blonde, blue eyes alight with a conflicted sort of desire, wearing a suit tailored to fit him perfectly. 

The Duke. 

Allegedly. 

From what you’d been told, there were enough clues to convince you that this dazzled man was the one you were looking for. Surrounding him were older patrons, ones that were familiar with Buggy, and nearly all of the dancers. Rich men that would have gladly accompanied a foreign noble, shown him the beauty of Montmartre before the sun rose and they were back to respectable conversation. 

Yet, he seemed… 

Well, he didn’t seem very lordly. 

That, though, was not a question you wanted to linger on for too long. Your mind would spin into uncertainties, and you would fuck this up before you could fuck him. 

Instead, you sharpened your smile, lowered your eyes seductively, and continued your performance, painting more attention onto that side of the room. 

Which raised another red flag that you were all too happy to ignore. Far opposite of what Buggy had sad, the duke did not seem like a difficult man to please. Rather, all you could think was that he would be an easy catch, with the way his cigarette dangled from his lips, parted in awe. His irises might as well have shaped into hearts as he watched you, tracing your every movement without so much as blinking. 

You brightened. For some reason, his adoration gave you much greater satisfaction than you would have liked to admit. 

Riding on the elation that your prey, the source of your future, was in the palm of your hand, you wrapped up the rest of your performance perfectly, tying it up with a beautiful scarlet ribbon. Buggy was standing on the edge of the stage as you made your way down, bowing dramatically, knowing that you had succeeded in every goal he’d set for you. 

“Do you think I lured him in?” you asked softly, accepting the robe given to you by one of the stage-hands, a man just on the cusp of his twenties. 

Buggy smiled, his red-painted lips spreading across crooked teeth. “I don’t call you the diamond for nothing, do I, my dear?” he said, pinching your cheek. 

The rouge came off between his fingers, and your eyebrows crinkled, before releasing, as you remembered all the ways you could keep yourself from looking older. You swatted your friend-not-friend’s hand away before wrapping yourself tighter in the robe, feeling so much smaller and younger than you truly were. 

Despite all the men you’d taken to bed, all the nights you’d shared in throes of passion (their’s, of course, never your own), you still felt the scared, hardly-adult you’d been when you first set foot in Paris. 

Buggy noticed the change in your demeanor, as you tried to gear yourself up for an encounter with the Duke. The charming, blonde noble seemed kind enough, softer around the edges than many of the men you’d seduced over the years. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. 

Never, though, would it be something that you wanted to do.

“What’s the matter, my gem?” Buggy asked, not quite in a way that was kind, but enough to show concern. His eyes were gentler than the rest of his appearance, and you weren’t sure you were grateful for it.

You curled away from his hands, sniffing back the onslaught of doubt and self-loathing that always came upon you when you used your body in such a way. It was something that you’d been taught to feel disgusted by, even though it kept a roof over your head, and the heads of the people that you’d come to call your family. 

“It’s nothing,” you said, because it was the truth. It was nothing new. The same blur of feelings that had haunted you since the first day you’d sold yourself to another still lingered. You’d always thought it would get easier… but it hadn’t. It still ended with you wanting to tear your skin from your body, but never following through with a slide of poison down your throat. 

Because that was the easy way, wasn’t it? A quick way to end your torment, without knowing if you’d ever see the other side. And, perhaps you weren’t as brave as you wanted to believe, but you wanted to see if there was another side. If there was a brighter end, a brighter future, where you could shine on the stage of the Palais Garnier as a real actress, and not just in the glittering scarlet lights of the Moulin Rouge. 

Buggy eyed you skeptically, any kindness in his irises now gone as his lips turned into a thin line. “It better be nothing,” he said, guiding you across the stage, before reaching a doorway that would send you up into the Elephant Room.

Which was the most private area of the Moulin Rouge, one saved for the most illicit affairs. It was your room, and only those patrons that were willing to pay the highest price were allowed entry. 

“Remember, I’ll send him up to you, and all you have to do is give him a night he won’t forget, alright?” Buggy stood in front of you, gripping your shoulders in a warning. “Now, show me that dazzling smile, diamond.”

Reluctantly, but with all the passion you had gathered in your chest, you smiled, knowing that it was real enough to set something alight in his own. The reaction — just a small quirk of his lips in return — was enough to let you know he was satisfied with the show you’d put on.

“There she is. We’ll have a new investor soon enough.” 

You were certain of that. You had to be certain of that, or your livelihood would be down the drain, and a future of shimmering lights and diamond-encrusted gowns would be out of the question. 

On the walk up the stairs, you spoke soft words in your head, hummed the same tune you did for every show. It reminded you of who you were — at least, who you were to them. The ones who would have sold an arm and leg for a chance to win your heart, even though, after all the years that passed, you didn’t think you had one to give anymore. 

The stage was all the love you had to offer. Perhaps, the only type of love you believed in, anymore. 

You made your way up the spiraling staircase to the Elephant Room, and opened the door with a sigh, letting your weight rest against the doorknob. For a moment, you deflated in the threshold like a woman in a Shakespearian tragedy, exhaling the tension that had wrought in your shoulders. 

Until you felt eyes slide across to you, unexpectedly, and you found you weren’t alone in the Elephant Room. 

Without pretense, the Duke was waiting for you, his eyes dancing along the interior, taking a moment to gaze at every corner of the room. There was interest in his irises, as he searched for other secrets of your life through your belongings

Then, the door slammed shut behind you, and the spell was broken. The Duke turned to face you, eyes widening with alarm, as your back went straight as a wire.

He wasn’t supposed to be there already.

A second slipped by, and you gawked at each other, your own mouth dry with the confusion and surprise of his ill-timed appearance. Surely Buggy hadn’t sent him to the Elephant Room already? You’d only just parted.

Well, you supposed it didn’t matter now anyway.  La vie continue.

Smoothly, you recovered, raising your shoulders to release an air of confidence, and smiled brightly. You twisted your hair across your collarbone, hoping it would highlight the smooth planes of your chest, where the ruby necklace had already been removed. “Ah, my apologies, monsieur. I wasn’t aware you were waiting for me.”

The Duke blinked as you strutted past him, taking the two quick steps to your vanity. Just enough to brush against him, feel the desire rolling off of him in waves. 

Pointedly, he tried hard not to let his eyes drift lower, tracing just along your hips before snapping back up to to the back of your head. “How would you have known?” His words came out thick, as if something was lodged deep in his chest. “I haven’t even introduced myself.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” you said over your shoulder, lowering your voice huskily. “I’ve heard so much about you. I trust your visit to the Moulin Rouge has been pleasant?” 

He met your gaze through the mirror, seemingly enraptured, and cleared his throat as he calculated a response. “Très agréable, mademoiselle.” 

You smiled, humming through an affirmative, before continuing. “Wonderful. I’ll be ready in just one moment.” Imperceptibly, you sprayed perfume, hoping it would mask the sweat that had gathered from your performance. Then, you made your way over to a cart, sifting through expensive bottles of alcohol. “Drink?” you said, speaking softly to yourself. “I have champagne or…” You shook each of the bottles, realizing they were all empty. Not a drop left. “Well. I have champagne.” 

“I’m alright, madame. Merci.”

You began to pour your own glass, which you would certainly be needing, when it dawned upon you that his accent was rather Parisian, and absolutely not as foreign as Buggy would have had you believe. Your champagne slipped, nearly spilling over the edges of the cup, before you turned to eye the blonde with what you hoped with a sultry grin. 

“Ah. Your French is very beautiful,” you said, smiling over the edge of your glass as you sipped at it, wondering if your eyes were as alluring as you believed. “You’re a quick learner.”

He stared at you, lines creasing his features as his lips parted, obvious skepticism weaved within his posture. Then, without another word, he ignited the cigarette he had slipped between his lips, the end glowing before he inhaled. A long drag was taken from it, settling in his lungs. “Je suis désolé, mademoiselle. I’m not sure how to answer that,” he said, exhale releasing a cloud of smoke into the air. 

You laughed, a high-pitched giggle that turned you back to face him, his free hand stuffed in his pocket like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “Usually people answer compliments with another thank you, but it’s no matter.” You forced another small sound up out of you, suddenly unsure exactly what to do next. 

He was… not what you’d been expecting, and the usual turn of events wasn’t progressing as it should have been. The Duke was supposed to be an intimidating man, one who knew what he wanted and would take it without question. That's what you'd heard, anyway. You were starting to wonder if what Buggy had told you were nothing but rumors. 

Waving the comment off, you made your way back to the vanity, checking that your scarlet lipstick had not smeared. His lingering gaze still traced against every curve of your body, and you stuck your hips out further, leaning towards the mirror with a small grin. “I apologize I didn’t have time to change. I wasn’t expecting you here so soon.”

The Duke nodded, only slowly processing your words before tapping on the cigarette. “Oh, there’s… no need.” Then, he shook his head, blinking, as if cringing internally. “Unless you’re uncomfortable. In that case, I’ll um… turn around.” 

You laughed, hiccuping as the quick gulps of champagne came bubbling up inside of you. “Well, it’s no matter, really. I’m sure they’ll come off soon enough.” The comment was meant to be a simple segue into the rather normal routine of your work, low and seductive. 

Instead, his eyes went wide, cheeks flushed as he looked, quite pointedly, anywhere but you. “No,” his voice rang at a higher pitch as you stalked towards him, your glass of champagne drained and discarded. “No, I’d really rather you keep them on, actually.”

You blinked, a bit puzzled by that. But it wasn’t the strangest request you’d ever gotten, and you were determined to please him, just as Buggy had requested. “Alright. Whatever you want, amour.” 

Like a cat, you crept up to the Duke, splaying your hands across his chest. A small sound left his throat, cheeks turning a darker shade as he took a step back, grasping for words. Your hand fisted his tie, satisfied by his reaction as you followed his stumbling lead back towards the bed. 

“How would you prefer to start?” you whispered, as his knees hit the edge of the heart-shaped mattress, legs buckling until he was flat on his back, gawking up at you from the bed. “I admit you are a hard one to read. Just say the word, I can be whatever you want.”

You scrambled on top of his thighs, dress hiked up to reveal the smoothness of your own legs, which quickly caught his attention.

“I-I’m not sure that we’re on the same page here,” he said, swallowing, though watching every one of your movements with rapt attention. 

You plucked the cigarette from his lips, and took a long drag, smiling down at him. 

The smoke filled your lungs, calming your nerves marginally. They were cheap cigarettes — not those usually desired by the nobility, but who were you to judge for odd preferences? He’d found his way here to you, after all. 

“No?” you answered softly, taking one more long inhale of the cigarette before you leaned forward, placing it into the ashtray, still burning. There was a long streak of red from your lipstick, staining the thin cylinder of white. “Then what is it that you’re here for?”  

He exhaled, fingers reaching up along your thighs, the touch so featherlight that you almost weren’t sure it was even there. For a moment, he seemed to have forgotten the question entirely, jaw slackened as he stared at you above him, before he swallowed, and sat up on his forearms. 

The movement brought your faces even closer together, his nose just centimeters from brushing your own. It was then you realized just how blue his eyes were, the color illuminated by the dim candlelight, deep hues of turquoise and navy swirling together to create a stormy sea. His thick, blonde eyelashes fluttered closed as he blinked at you, and the movement alone brought you out of your stupor, his voice raspy upon each syllable.  

“I’m here for the play…?” 

You drew back, needing a moment to breathe as you squinted your eyes to study him. It was rare for you to get a client like him, wealthy, but so uncertain, a charm about him that you couldn’t quite pin. They were never as handsome either, most far older than you, willing to throw cash at a younger, beautiful woman. 

Questions raised at the back of your mind, desperate to be asked, but you ignored them, beaming as you angled your head. “Ah. Of course. The play.” Your voice was saccharine, octaves higher than your usual volume. “What is my role, then?” you asked, tugging off his tie as you leaned into him, your lips just barely brushing his own. His breath was hot against your mouth, a hint of cheap alcohol still lingering on his breath. “I’m far too used to being the seductress, but I can be the damsel in distress, if you’d prefer that.” 

“Your role…” It was said more to himself than anything, not stopping you as your fingers began to unbutton his starched white shirt. You tilted your head forward, noses brushing together as you rested your forehead against his. 

The air grew warm between you, and for a moment, a beautiful, fleeting second, you lost yourself. Your grip on his top grew slack, fingertips caressing the warm expanse of his chest. He breathed into your mouth, and your eyes fell shut, letting him connect his lips to your own, the moment exploding in a rush of beautiful, ruby fireworks. 

And you were keen, then, to let him do whatever he would have wanted, his touch so featherlight and gentle, you wondered if you could have fallen in love with him. How quickly your heart, coated in steel and another layer of iron, betrayed you, dropping from your own chest right into the palms of the man that you needed as a savior.

But the moment did not last so long, and your vulnerability evaporated as quickly as the layer of dew beyond la Seine. As if coming back to himself, he choked, pulled away from your lips and pushed you back by the shoulders, staring at you with wide eyes and warm, tinted cheeks. 

You paused, watching as he rushed to his feet like he couldn’t get up fast enough. How easily the mood had soured, even as he muttered one apology after another, unable to meet your gaze. 

The Duke’s hands were shaky as he held the cigarette to his mouth, eyes fixated on the ceiling. He had plucked the same one back up from the ashtray, the streak of your bold, crimson lipstick imprinted on the end of it.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, hoping the worry wasn’t obvious in your words. If there was a problem, you were desperate to fix it. You couldn’t afford to ruin this, not when so many things were at stake.

He hesitated, another cloud of smoke leaving his mouth as he waved his hand around, ash falling from the cigarette. “I’m sorry — I’m sorry. I can’t focus when you’re,” he swallowed, cheeks burning, despite the hardness very obvious in his pants, “looking at me like that.” 

“Focus?” you said in gentle confusion, eyebrows pinched tighter, as the beginnings of a dreadful realization dawned upon on you. 

Feeling discarded on the bed, you sat and watched as he pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, straightening like it was an important doctrine, before clearing his throat, and reciting a beautifully composed poem. 

The words were horrifically romantic, each line strung into another as if they had been pieced together by his very own heartstrings. And though you had not processed a single word, it had still struck a cord down deep in your weathered heart, and you continued to stare, sick with your own shame. 

It was beautiful — hauntingly so — a poem of love that could rival even the greatest of French writers. But, all you could think about was the pounding in the back of your mind, the panic steadily rising up within you.  

“You’re here for a play. An actual play,” you said stupidly, gaping back at him, your entire body going rigid with embarrassment. “You’re serious.” No longer was your tone beautifully high-pitched, innocent despite your sensuality. It had lowered in horror, your eyes going wide as you realized that all of this was a terrible, terrible misunderstanding.

Which seemed a lackluster reaction to whatever he was looking for, and he frowned, tilted his head back before heavily inhaling another puff of smoke. “Well, I suppose I would prefer that sort of reaction to hearing that my writing is awful. The play wasn’t my idea, just for the record.” 

“Writer?” you screeched, scrambling to your feet. “You’re not a Duke? Not the Duke?” 

His eyebrows lifted, searching your face for any hint of a joke, and when he found none, he laughed, face splitting beautifully with a smile. He gestured to himself like he was amazed you would even think so, his suit hardly of the latest fashions, the cufflinks a dulling silver. 

Which, in hindsight, was truly a marvelous mistake. 

“No, I am not a duke.” His forehead wrinkled, and he, finally, stamped the cigarette out on the ashtray, subtly putting the stub back into his pocket. “Is that why you thought I couldn’t speak French? Je viens de Paris. I thought that was obvious.” Once more, he laughed, smiling in a manner that was far too out of place for the situation. Then, just as dramatically, his face fell, eyes going wide with concern. “Hold on. Did you not know that I would be here?” 

“No!” you exclaimed, putting your finger to his chest as you shot forward, glaring with the heat of a thousand suns. Your features morphed into something horrible, though you doubted it was as intimidating as you hoped. “No, I have been waiting on a Duke, not some amateur, impoverished writer from this dreadful city I regret ever stepping foot in. And if you tell me that you’re another one of Luffy’s tragic bohemian protégés—”

He smiled sheepishly, tilting his head before you could even finish your sentence. “Well. First of all, I wouldn’t say I’m an amateur.”

Your hands flew to your mouth, a sound leaving your throat in dismay as another voice — the exact voice you were hoping not to hear — called out from the window. 

“Sanji!” Luffy said, a headful of black hair falling over the side, grinning at both of you. “How’s it going? Have you convinced her yet?” 

“No!” you shouted, already rushing towards the window, shooing Luffy away. Over and over you repeated the word, Luffy merely swinging back and forth from whatever rope he’d tied himself to, more amused than anything “Get out of here, Luffy! I should’ve known it was you that put him up to this.” 

For years, Luffy had been trying to recruit you, hoping you'd be an actress in one of his performances, and that the Moulin Rouge would be the place that funded it.

With his endless confidence, Luffy was certain that one day, he would create the best production in the history of Paris. But you were certainly skeptical of his ideas ever taking off, Buggy even more-so, and he refused to put even a single franc towards funding any of Luffy's productions.

Despite the rejection, you continued to get pestered, Luffy somehow convinced that he could help you become an established actress quicker than your current occupation could.

Luffy laughed, still with the audacity to ask if you liked Sanji’s writing, and you pushed his head back out the window, muttering profanities to yourself. 

“Who’s with you? Usopp? Zoro? I’m going to kill all three of you!” 

You yelled that last bit louder, just to be sure the two men you knew were up on the roof could hear you as well. And, just as expected, a muttered string of words escaped Zoro, and a much louder, panicked sound came from Usopp. 

They peeked their heads into the window with Luffy. 

“I tried to stop him,” Usopp said, wailing as Zoro hushed him, his dark eyes clouded with regret. “I knew it was a horrible plan, I’m so sorry.” 

Your lips drew into a thin line, unconvinced, despite all the theatrics. “I want you all out! Get back up there before—” 

Footsteps started up the stairs, and your eyes went wide, panicked as the voices of Buggy and the Duke, the real duke, started up the stairs. 

“Leave!” you hissed, shoving Luffy and Usopp back out the window, before turning to face Sanji, who was rather uselessly standing in the middle of the floor. Groaning, you gripped him by the arm, pulling him across the room as you scanned for a good hiding spot. “Hide. I need you to hide. He can’t see you.”  

“What’s going on?” Sanji asked. “Luffy told me—”

You released a sharp laugh, rolling your eyes. “Oh, I’m certain Luffy told you a lot of things,” you huffed, letting your hand slip down into his own as you dragged him into a corner of the room. “Unfortunately, Luffy’s plans are sometimes too grand, and he needs someone to bring him down to Earth. Which you, clearly, did not do and now—”

Your name was called out from behind the door, and you cursed, pushing Sanji into the corner of the room, near the vanity. “Stay there. Just… hide under something!” 

“Where?” 

But the door was already opening, and you scrambled into a chair, running your fingers across your hair to make sure you seemed somewhat presentable. You brought your legs up under you, lowering your gaze to bat your eyelashes as the Duke and Buggy entered the room, both staring at you with intrigue. 

“Here she is,” Buggy said, gesturing towards you with a curious look in his eye, a dark smile forming on his painted face. There was a warning there, one that you were not foolish enough to ignore. “My beautiful diamond. Hopefully just as lovely as she was up on the stage tonight.” 

The Duke’s regard for you was hardly passionate, though you could see a sliver of desire under all the layers of intimidation. He was a tall man, dark hair falling to his shoulders in thick strands. A long scar ran across his cheekbones, over the bridge of his nose, and he looked down at you, studying every piece of you like you were nothing more than a decoration to admire. 

You waited for him to say something, but it was clear he was waiting for the same, and you stood, perhaps too rapidly, and made your way over to him. 

“Monsieur, what a pleasure it is to meet you,” you smiled, if only to ease the anxiety strung through your body. Dipping your head, you looked back up at him with siren eyes, “Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to visit.”

The Duke paused for another moment, studying you before taking your hand, and kissing it softly. It was a soothing gesture, despite the intensity of his eyes. Tension seeped gradually from your shoulders. 

“The pleasure is mine, my dear,” he said, his voice deep, raspy. “And there’s no need for such pleasantries when we’ll be acquainted soon enough.” His thumb ran across your cheek, before his hand fell back to his side. “I’d prefer Crocodile.”

Buggy, just feet behind the Duke, began to back away, exhaling in relief. “Well, I will leave you to it, then. And—”

That was all he could get out, as the scene shattered. 

Before Buggy could make his escape, a sound came from the window, a yelp, then an echoing shout, as Luffy, Usopp and Zoro fell down from the window, swinging into the room from the dangling rope. They landed in a somersaulting heap, just inches from where Sanji had been hiding, and your jaw slackened, before your entire body stiffened once more. 

Not a word rang through the room as you stared at the three of them, Crocodile sliding his gaze over to you for an explanation. The silence was tangible, heavy with uncertainty. 

A nervous laugh left Buggy, but it was quickly cut off as Usopp pulled both Zoro and Luffy up by their coats, and exclaimed, “Are you ready for rehearsal?” 

“Rehearsal…” you muttered, and at the same time, Crocodile posed the words as a question, his eyes narrowed, unamused.

“I wasn’t aware that there were other things going on this evening,” he said.

“Ah,” you continued, keeping yourself composed as you moved to stand in front of him. “Non, there’s nothing going on we just…” Internally you cursed, over and over, glancing at Buggy, who was near to shouting at Luffy, the two of them locked in a stand-off. There would be no help from any of them it seemed, as they waited for your reaction.

You placed a gentle hand on the shoulder of Crocodile, softening your expression into one of expectation. “Well, I know this isn’t what you had in mind, monsieur, but we thought now would be a good time to introduce you to our new production… Right, Buggy? While we’re all here together, of course. A once in a while opportunity.” 

You smiled, eyes narrowing exaggeratedly at Buggy, before the obvious question became clear to him. 

“Oh,” he nodded slowly, before bursting into the same smile he always used for your shows. “Right. Of course. Our new show—”

“Which, we have written specifically for you, Sir, if you would be so keen on investing.” You took Crocodile’s arm gently, leading him past the chair where Sanji was hiding, hopeful he would reacquaint himself with the rest of the troupe. And, as if reading your mind, Sanji scrambled to his feet, standing alongside Zoro and Usopp like he’d been there all along.

You exhaled softly, continuing to the Duke, “It was going to be a surprise, but we supposed it would be best for you to see it now, before we started any production. You are so wise with your investments, we didn’t want to be presumptuous.” 

Crocodile gave you an odd look, and for a moment, you weren’t sure he believed you. Then, you flashed him a hopeful smile, naive under all the great bravado, and he relented, amused by your earnestness. 

“Well, I am not usually interested in investing in such small ordeals, but…” He waved a hand, before running the other down the breadth of your spine, a touch that was near possessive. “If it stars our lovely diamond, it is sure to be a hit, no?” 

You relaxed, making a show of leaning into his advances. 

“Of course,” Buggy proclaimed, far too intense for your liking, as he tried to ease the Duke back out of the Elephant Room. “Would you like to get started on paperwork? How about we work out the details, and we’ll find another evening for you and—”

Crocodile raised a hand, the room swiftly silenced. “I need to know the story first, before we handle business. Not even the most beautiful of stars can carry a dying universe, I’m afraid.” He turned to you, his eyes so intense it was hard to muster up the courage to speak.

“Story?” You blinked, your smile falling. “Yes. Right. The story. Well, that’s an excellent question, and you would be certain to ask that, of course…” You looked to Buggy, then Usopp, who seemed all too happy to blend in with the shadows. Then to Zoro, who stood stiffly, and shrugged. Finally, your eyes landed on Luffy, who was grinning wildly and pushing Sanji forward, far too excited that this was all taking place.

“Here’s our writer,” Luffy proclaimed, patting Sanji on the back before taking a step away and crossing his arms. “Go on and tell them.” 

Which was a way to say the play hasn’t been written yet, and we’re making this all up as we go, in less obvious words. 

You wanted to melt into the floor, curl away from the hot palm that still rested on the small of your back, as you stared at Sanji helplessly, begging him to come up with an answer. 

And while the time seem to pass far too slowly for your liking, he didn’t even fumble for words as he nodded to you, dragging his eyes across the audience that was watching him expectantly. 

“It’s about love,” he said smoothly, confidence seemingly regained now that you weren’t the only person in the room. “It’s about love overcoming all obstacles.”

His eyes met yours once again, so deeply blue and beautiful. Against your better judgment, your heart surged out of your chest. 

“Yes! And it’s set in Switzerland!” Luffy exclaimed, laughing with delight. 

“No, no,” Sanji snapped, before recovering his story, mind working rapidly as he thought up a tale that would be imaginative enough to spark the interest of the Duke. “It’s set on the seas!” Then he lowered his overexcited voice, the words softening with adoration. “And there’s a courtesan. The most beautiful courtesan in the world.” 

Sanji's gaze fixed on you, and you blinked away, hating that awful feeling that bloomed in your heart. Still, a small smile tugged at your lips, one that you hid from everyone else. 

“But,” he said, tearing his attention away from you. “Her city’s been invaded by an evil pirate Warlord. Now, in order to save her kingdom, she has to seduce the evil Warlord. But, on the night of her seduction, she mistakes a penniless… A penniless…” He looked around helplessly, licking his lips. “A penniless cook, and she falls in love with him. He wasn’t trying to trick her, but he was dressed as a prince because… well… he was trying to infiltrate the Warlord’s headquarters.” 

“And I will play the captain of the crew that the cook works on!” Usopp interjected, taking a step in front of Sanji, his arms raised high with excitement, far too proud of himself. 

You coughed down a laugh as Crocodile regarded him with an impatient look. “Alright... What happens next?”

Sanji spared a quick scowl to Usopp, before regaining the attention of everyone in the room, weaving each word with precision. “Well, the cook and the courtesan, they are to hide their love from the evil Warlord—”

“With the help of their actual Captain, who has magical powers where he’s made out of rubber!” Luffy, this time, decided to add his own artistic storytelling, which silenced the entire room from skepticism.

Sanji blinked, hesitant. “Yes, well, that part’s still in the works,” he promised Crocodile, waving his hand dismissively. “There’ll be a crew, with a swordsman and a navigator… and of course the Warlord will have his own set of pirates working for him. It’s a grand production, the embodiment of the Bohemian ideals…” 

Sanji continued the story, crafting a plot of truth, beauty, freedom and love. But you were focused only on him, the passion with which he spun the tale, softening at the tragic romance that would take place between the courtesan and the cook. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and you would smile, if only slightly, with encouragement, enough to keep up his unwavering confidence until the end. 

"The finale hasn't been written yet,” he admitted, wrapping up his summary of the unfinished play, as the rest of you huddled around Crocodile for a reaction, his face dreadfully unreadable. “But—”

“We would love to get you involved artistically,” Buggy interrupted, excited by the prospects of the thrilling production and an investor. “If you have any suggestions.” 

A tense ten seconds passed, as Crocodile regarded each one of you, thoughtful. “The story could use some work,” he mused. “But, generally I like it.” 

An eruption of cheers burst out from each of you, and you smiled, giggling as you leaned into the Duke, hopeful that your gratitude was evident. Across the room, Sanji relaxed, lighting up another cigarette, and Buggy gestured forward, talking at such a rapid speed you were certain his words were slurring together. 

“Come, come with me,” he said, ushering Crocodile out of the room. “We’ll talk business.” 

Crocodile followed, but spared one last moment for you, as you followed the two men to the door, guiding him out. 

“I apologize that our evening together was different than anticipated,” you said, as genuinely as you could, tracing a hand down his chest. “Perhaps another night would be best for us to talk.” 

“Perhaps.” He hummed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his smile widening crookedly. “I still need to get acquainted with our star. Fame will suit you, my dear.” 

You smiled, a surge of pride overcoming you, one so strong that you couldn’t even wallow in the discomfort of his touch. “I look forward to it.” 

The two of you parted, the moment evaporating as Crocodile followed Buggy out the door. And, when it finally slammed shut behind the two of them, you exhaled, all of the anxiety leaving your body in a flush. 

The four other men went silent as you whirled on them, expressions dour as they waited for you to be the first to speak. Sanji’s jaw was tight as he looked away from the door, back to you, regarding you with an unreadable expression.

But, you were still reeling on your success, too excited to care about the anger you’d felt earlier. You broke into a cheerful grin, rushing to throw your arms around the young ring-leader. “Luffy,” you said, close to weeping. Things weren’t over yet, but there was a parting in the clouds, a sun shining through, as the hope of a future, a better one, became real. “Thank you. For the first time, one of your ridiculous plans actually worked. I’m very grateful.” 

He smiled like it was nothing, and your laughter became infectious, bubbling out of you in an effort to keep down your tears. You turned to the other two, both watching you curiously. 

“Usopp, thank you for that wonderful recovery. I’m not sure what we would have done if you’d not planned an emergency rehearsal.” 

He grinned wide, puffing his chest out. “Ah, well, I knew someone had to act fast.” 

Lastly, you turned to the green-haired man, and his name sooner died on your lips, when you realized he had contributed very little. “Zoro. You were useless actually.” 

Sanji snorted, and though Zoro’s face twitched, he didn’t bother saying anything to the writer. “You looked like you had it handled.” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Well. I suppose we did.” You rolled your eyes, your mood suddenly deflating. The high of panic and elation had worn on you, leaving you with an ache in the back of your head, your hands still jittery. “Anyway, I’ve just about had all the fun I can handle for one night—”

“Uh-huh,” Zoro scoffed, a jab at your rather unconventional occupation.

You ignored him, pushing them all towards the door. “—I am very grateful for your help in getting our new investor, but we’ve got a busy week ahead, and I would like some rest. So, leave.” 

They all held their hands up in surrender, and while Sanji hadn’t been a part of the group you’d been addressing, he slowly followed when Luffy called out to him. There was talk of throwing a party across the street, at the dingy apartment complex that all the Bohemians lived in, despite it being late already.

The four of them made to leave, waving enthusiastically as they rushed down the stairs, far too worked up to be quiet. Sanji lagged behind them, giving you a kind smile before making his exit, a soft bonne nuit, escaping his lips.

“Sanji…” You called out, just before he closed the door behind him, his hand resting on the frame. Sanji turned, glancing over his shoulder, bright eyes pinning you right where you stood. “I’m sorry. So very sorry for the misunderstanding.” You waved your hand, drawing your fingers across your face to rest on your cheeks, already warm with shame. “I feel horrible.”

He paused, before a a grin split his face, irises burning with soft intensity. “Don’t,” he said, exhaling a laugh. “I enjoyed it, actually.” 

thank u so much for reading and for all the endless support!! i appreciate you all so very much ♡(˃͈ દ ˂͈ ༶ )

tagging those who rb'd / commented <3 pls let me know if you'd like to be added !

@cerberels / @keeper-of-my-heart / @chuuminn / @eussstasss / @mncxbe / @tetzoro / @msheds0519 / @awealuc / @akuma-coffee / @stunie / @chositooo / @piichuu

[accirax]

Danganronpa: Despair Time Chapter 2 Episode 13 Dissection

Jesus CHRIST, the hits keep on coming (/pos). I don't think anyone could have predicted everything that came to light in this episode. But, hey, at least we're finally cooking on the murder method a bit more...?

SPOILERS for Danganronpa: Despair Time though Chapter 2 Episode 13! Also, CW: discussions of suicide.

Similarly to last time, I tried not to look at too many other people's major reactions/theories as to not influence my opinions as they were when I watched the episode. (Although I think I failed to do that more than last week...) Here's what this episode got me thinking about!

Genocide Jack, Junko, Mukuro, Peko, and Korekiyo:

On that note, though, this is... debatably relevant lore about Hope's Peak as it exists in DRDT? We know from Chapter 2 Episode 2 that Veronika (and likely all of the non-Terukos as well) don't remember Trigger Happy Havoc, and, based on this, it's likely that they don't remember much of the history of the old HPA either. Ace being so adamant that HPA wouldn't scout a murderer implies that the new HPA has fully regained its spotless reputation, potentially even more than the Tokyo school ever had.

I want you all to know that I tried to write out a little theory about whether or not Levi could have killed any plot-relevant characters here, but I came to a dead end at every venture. Levi killed Mai? No, he has no motive, and the murder happened before everyone attended Hope's Peak. Levi killed Elliot? No, Ellie was probably killed by dogs, and the timing is all wrong. Levi killed someone at the North C and Chariton incident? That didn't even happen. I was just getting that confused with my theories about what Xander might have done at that incident in FF's DRDT Milgram AU. Not even what actually happened in the AU. Just my theories on what might happen.

The only option I couldn't fully rule out was the idea that Levi killed some of the ~5 missing members of the altDRDT cast, but, holy shit, can you imagine how funny that would be? Teacher and the gang get to the sixth Class Trial and ask all dramatically, "so, what happened to the rest of our class that didn't make it to the killing game...?" and Monowhatever is just like "actually, Levi Fontana just straight up merced those dudes years ago." Hilarious.

Anyways. That goes to show that I do think these were just random guys, and the only specific relevance they would have is in the realm of Levi's backstory specifically.

RIP to the "Levi used to be an assassin" theory. I actually kinda liked that one myself.

(Also, hijacking this image to point out the background music here. You hear the ticking clock motif? Very suspicious indeed...)

Yup, even more confirmation that HPA highly valued having an incredibly pure and righteous image. Of course this HPA was also corrupt. Is it even possible to make an HPA without some level of corruption?

(Levi. My guy. I need you to use a different sprite; the quadruple image combo is starting to look ridiculous.)

What I find really interesting here is that, even in the realm of forgetting about murders, Levi remembers the three random guys before his father. Like, I know that Levi says that he kinda equally doesn't care about everyone (and I believe him to be telling the truth on that), but you would think that, just by virtue of having spent more time with his dad or the people around him's reactions, Levi would have remembered killing his father before offing three random thugs.

I don't know if this is meant to A) really drive the point home that Levi sees no difference between those he "knows" and those he doesn't; B) imply that Levi might have sustained some greater amount of trauma from killing his father that caused him to block that memory out more; C) suggest that killing the guys was more recent than killing his dad, which might lead him to remember it with more clarity; or D) some combination of the former three. However, I think it's an interesting detail to note.

The foils are foiling........

This was hilarious. And lowkey evidence that Nico was the one who tried to kill Ace.

You know, I actually almost made a theory once that the clauses "you're a murderer" and "you have no remorse" could be read as two separate secret statements! Not to say that Levi didn't have no remorse for the killing part, but that having no remorse was a state of being not solely tied to the murdering.

Alsoooo... just gonna say, Levi on Drawing Pins is looking better and better all the time...

Eden: But you're a good person. Why are you saying these things when it's clearly not true? You're so kind to everyone. You're always helping others out, even when it'd be easier not to. Like that time Ace almost died. You kept trying to help him, even if he always pushed you away. Isn't that what "a good person" does?

WE ARE BACK AT IT AGAIN!!! "GOOD PERSON" SPECIFICALLY IN THE LEVI/EDEN CONTEXT AAAAAAAAA

Beyond the further "good person" jumpscare, I found this line interesting due to how Eden describes Ace. Someone who "always pushed [Levi] away." Sounds a lot like Arei, huh? In fact, a lot of it sounds like Eden is applying it to herself.

"But I'm a good person. Why am I thinking these things when it's clearly not true? I'm so kind to everyone. I'm always helping others out, even when it'd be easier not to. Like that time Arei yelled at me. I kept trying to help her, even if she always pushed me away. Isn't that what "a good person" does?"

Obviously, I'm reading into this in the "Eden is the blackened" context, but I think that it's still an interesting read of Eden's mental state even if she isn't the blackened. We know that, to some extent, Eden blames herself for both Min and Arei's deaths. Therefore, despite likely feeling like she's fucked up, she wants to cling onto the idea that she's a good person so she doesn't lose faith in herself.

That leads into some super interesting parallels when it comes to this speech versus what Arei said, but I'll talk about that more once we get to the Arei monologue.

This week, acevi shippers take the L. Really, Levi x anyone shippers, but I think acevi shippers got the worst of it.

Except, they also took the W. "Ace lowkey confirms he once had feelings for Levi" was NOT on my bingo card. Or Star's.

(Also I LOVE this new sprite)

I saw some people talking about Ace's friend (Taylor?) but I do not remember and cannot find any information about this character (so I can't even tell if they're just fanmade :( ). If anyone knows what I'm talking about and has a link, please send it to me. Anyways, "insult to his memory" definitely makes it sound like Ace's friend is dead. I wonder if the way in which he died has anything to do with Ace's fear of horses/cowardice in general.

I want to see more Levi and Veronika interactions so bad. It's no surprise that Veronika was the first to pick up what Levi was putting down. Both of them don't have the "normal" way of processing their feelings and interacting with others, but while Levi has decided to try to be what society deems as "good" anyways, Veronika has decided to fully live by her own creed. I wonder if Levi could be at all convinced by Veronika to go back to his old ways.

Veronika: You're always guessing as to what a normal human would do in your situation. You're so awkward in social settings because you can't tell what other people want.

I'm excited to see Levi and Nico interact too, obviously. I suppose Nico is kinda like the midpoint of Veronika and Levi-- doesn't understand people and wants the world to work the way they perceive it, but also has been bullied enough to feel forced to play along with how others want them to be. Characters like these have become some of my favorite archetypes to discuss. I'm so glad that DRDT has so many of them!!!

The foils are foiling AGAIN...

Why the fuck are you so pressed about the secrets now??? I thought you were all about privacy?????

Well, thank you for "confirming" that swap, ladies! This talk of a pact is very interesting, though. I guess Hu must have gone to Veronika pretty early to ensure that her secret wouldn't get out-- makes sense, as without that there's a good chance Hu could believe that Veronika would reveal her secret at the most unflattering time to create drama.

It does slightly recontextualize Veronika's "A little mystery makes this Trial more exciting, don't you think?", though. I wonder if that was just straight up a lie, or if that was the rationale Hu used to appeal to Veronika. I doubt we'll get a flashback of this scene now that this moment's passed, but I'd love to see it. FTEs...? 👀

David you have to stop this right now or you're going to become my new favorite character. Dude's been dying to don the mantle of the comic relief character, apparently.

Is The Motive Scoreboard Accurate?

I'm including this because I've seen some other people say that it is, specifically on Teruko's front. I strongly believe that this motive board is incorrect, and Teruko and Xander's secrets are swapped.

The blaming yourself secret mentions parentS and siblingS. Back in Chapter 1 Episode 4, Teruko says that she never knew her parents (and therefore may even just be assuming that she has two), and she only had one biological brother. Furthermore, she has no idea if they're dead or not. On the parents front, she could assume that being sent to an orphanage is confirmation enough that her parents are dead instead of just not wanting her. Being sent there with her older biological brother is a further implication of that.

However, Teruko specifically says that her brother "left with some other family." She makes no mention of believing he's dead at all. Therefore, for Teruko to have the secret she claims to have, Teruko would have to be constantly mourning parents and an additional sibling that she never knew, and to believe that all of them are dead despite having no reason to believe that her known brother died.

Obviously, all of these things were said aloud to Charles and Whit, so there is a possibility that Teruko lied about or concealed parts of her past to keep her walls up around those two. However, what does this face from David mean if not "I've caught you in my trap?"

(DRDT sprites are SO GOOD--)

To me, this sprite clearly indicates that David knows that Teruko is lying about something, but has chosen not to bring it up to save it for later purposes. I don't know if he has something specific in mind or just wants to hold the potential blackmail over her head, but I strongly suspect that we'll come back to this someday-- either in later daily life or a post-Trial scene in this chapter.

It's also interesting to note that, while David knows that this is Teruko's for sure, Charles and Whit also have the opportunity to recognize the discrepancy. I definitely wouldn't be surprised if Charles kept notes about what he knows about everyone somewhere. We'll have to see if either of them ask her about it down the road as well.

Eden: I know that she's dead!! I know that she's dead and that she's never coming back. I know that I'll never be able to talk to her ever again. But even then... I have to know that when she was alive, she was still trying to become a good person. That if she lived, then maybe there'd be a world in which we would both be friends. If you really say that you lied about making Arei kill herself, then tell me the truth. Tell me that you didn't make her lose hope. Please! Tell me what happened last night between you and Arei!

Oh boy.

Can Eden Still Be the Culprit?

Look. I understand if you look at this and believe that Eden couldn't possibly be the culprit-- or at least, not without being a completely different character than we know her to be. Because I almost did. Zel's performance did a really good job of selling Eden's heartbreak in a way that makes it feel like she couldn't have possibly been the one to end Arei's life. However, upon further review, I do think that Eden's words could be that of the killer, with minimal levels of intentional manipulation thrown in.

If it would cause you emotional distress to listen to me continue to accuse Eden, I'll write the rest of this section in purple so that you can skip it if you'd like. I don't want to make anyone sad, so I fully understand if you want to avoid these bad vibes. However, for those of you who are still on the fence, and those who have stuck with Eden!culprit all along, here's my justification. I think it'll be easiest to break it down block by block.

Eden: I know that she's dead!!

Okay, well, maybe skipping this section a bit. More points for Arei truly being the one who's dead, I guess?

Eden: I know that she's dead and that she's never coming back. I know that I'll never be able to talk to her ever again.

Alright, so, this can fairly easily be read as the same thing as what Eden was doing back when she was talking to Levi: reassuring herself.

Well, maybe "reassuring" is the wrong word. Basically, she's repeating the same mantra that she told herself when she was trying to justify her decision to kill Arei. When making the decision to kill anyone, the killer (if they care) has to process that they will have to kill every other person in the game if they want to escape for themselves. Therefore, if Eden is the killer, she already had to grapple with the fact that she can't turn back time. ("You can't go back, no matter how hard you try.")

I think that Eden might have it in her head that, even if it wouldn't fully erase her wrongdoings, as long as she doesn't just forgive and forget the whole affair, it makes things slightly better. That's why she was yelling things like "You forgot about all the things you did just because you didn't face any consequences for them? That's incredibly selfish!" at Levi.

Feeling bad about things is her punishment to make sure that Arei is never fully forgotten. She knows that, if she goes through with killing, she'll never be able to talk with any of these people again. However, if there's something more important to her than these 13 lives that she has to escape the killing game to reach, it's a consequence she'll have to accept. She knows it's selfish-- but she at least won't be so selfish as to also forget everyone else's sacrifice.

Eden: But even then... I have to know that when she was alive, she was still trying to become a good person. That if she lived, then maybe there'd be a world in which we would both be friends.

This is probably the part that feels the most damning. Why would Eden care about whether or not Arei was trying to become a good person if Eden is the one who killed her? Wouldn't it be better for Eden if she wasn't?

Well, that's what Eden is trying to figure out, too. In Venus' Narrative Defense of Eden Culprit Theory, Venus says that Eden didn't believe that Arei actually changed and wanted to be her friend. And, it really makes complete sense if she didn't-- Eden had no idea that David and Teruko continued to talk so seriously with Arei after her departure, and Arei saving Eden from Arturo literally happened the same day that Arei had her breakdown. It had probably been, like, 4 hours since Arei chewed her out for her worldview being stupid, and then Arei's suddenly turning around and declaring that she wants to protect Eden at all costs. Of course Eden might just believe that Arei was setting her up for a fall! (Murder pun not intended.)

Venus also adds that, at this point in the Trial, David knew something that Eden didn't: namely, that Arei actually wanted to change, and saw Eden as her inspiration for doing so. Under the assumption that that revelation has been bothering Eden the whole time, it makes perfect sense that Eden would want to know more about what David knew about Arei. She needs to know exactly how terrible she needs to feel for doing this terrible thing.

I think the quote becomes a lot less defendable if you just swap out the "that" for an "if."

"But even then... I have to know if when she was alive, she was still trying to become a good person. That if she lived, then maybe there'd be a world in which we would both be friends."

Now, obviously, you could say that this is an unfair point-- Eden didn't say "if," she said, "that"! How can you excuse Eden based off of evidence that isn't actually real?

My point is that, even if DRDTdev didn't have Eden phrase it that way, it would be an incredibly easy swap to make. Thus, the only way in which Eden would have to be lying is to swap out one word. With that one word, "if," we see how she's still doubting whether Arei really was trying to be a good person, and can read into why she's bringing that up at this time. To disguise it, all Eden has to do is trade "if" for "that"-- she doesn't have to be some masterful lying manipulator to pull off a quick exchange that makes her look more innocent.

Eden: If you really say that you lied about making Arei kill herself, then tell me the truth. Tell me that you didn't make her lose hope.

Eden needs the truth so that she can know how despicable she actually is (in her opinion). She needs to know how bad she needs to feel for taking Arei's life, so that she won't wind up as "inhuman" as Levi.

I also think that "tell me that you didn't make Arei lose hope" could be interpreted in a killer-ish way. There is a rhetorical device in English that sorta turns words like that on their head. Like, if I said, "don't tell me you spoiled DRDT for all of your followers!," it's often interpreted as "I know that you did spoil DRDT for all of your followers, but I don't want to hear it." In this case, Eden might not want David to tell her that he made Arei lose hope because she doesn't want to believe that Arei had any hope in the first place. It's better than if Eden was the one to directly crush those hopes, sure, but if Arei approached David talking about wanting to be a better person mere hours before her death, that still means that Eden was killing a hopeful Arei. She doesn't want David to confirm her worst fears.

I don't know if I phrased that section exactly how I imagined it in my mind, but hopefully you understand what I'm getting at.

Eden: Please! Tell me what happened last night between you and Arei!

In the end, though, Eden knows that she has to face the music to figure out how she wants to proceed with this trial, whether that's sinking the cost of her fallacy or owning up to her crime. And that's how I think you can justify this outburst of Eden's within the context of her being the blackened, without having to fully corrupt her character.

What Arei Meant

This part isn't a theory, exactly; it's more of an analysis of the point I think Arei was trying to convey in this section. I've seen some people be sad about the new note that Arei's character is "going out" on, but I actually think that this is a pretty realistic, thematic ending for where Arei's story and the themes of the chapter are headed. Time to praise DRDTdev's writing for a bit!

Arei: I'm a manipulative, two-faced bitch. I pretend to be cute so that I can treat others like trash. I only care about myself, and I always hurt others for selfish and stupid reasons. Of course I wanted to change myself. [...] Still, for the longest time, I thought it was stupid to even try. I'm rotten to the core, and I might as well be a different species from saints like you and Eden. [...] No matter what, I'll never be a good person. And yet, despite all that... David, you... It turns out that you might be a total piece of shit after all. If even a perfect inspirational speaker like you turns out to be an asshole, then there's no such thing as "a good person." [...] And that makes me relieved, because it means I'm not too far gone. It's okay that I'll never be a good person, because no one else can be either.

I don't think that Arei is saying that the world is a lost cause.

Instead, she's saying that no one is a lost cause. She's applying that Syndrome logic: "if everyone is a bad person, no one will be." Arei thought that, because of her upbringing, there was no possibility that she could ever Be Good, because she'd already done too much wrong. Good People are perfect, unerring gods who do nothing but help others and reach out to wayward souls. However, David's manipulations proved that that wasn't true.

Good People fuck up. Good People do good things for bad reasons, and bad things for good reasons, and, hell, if David is a Good Person, then Good People do bad things for bad reasons sometimes, too! Arei confessed to us that she felt like her life was over because she was given an unfair start. However, now she knows that the bar has been lowered, and that being a good person can be done by anyone, anywhere, at any time. Perfection doesn't exist. Now that she knows that there was never any need to be perfect, the chance she sought for so long has finally been granted.

(Dipping back into purple for a sec to talk about Eden culprit stuff)

After this, I feel like the theme of this chapter has to be about deconstructing the myth of "The Good Person." You think that Nico is just a soft and shy bullying victim? No, they're just as willing to kill as anyone else. You think that Hu is a gracious motherly figure? No, she has an angry streak and talks over other people. You think that Levi is a softhearted giant who just struggles with what to say sometimes? His kill count is higher than everyone who's died to the killing game so far, and he doesn't really care that that's the case. You think that Whit is just a silly guy who cares about others? Fuck, even he's willing to stall out the trial in an attempt to fulfill his own agenda.

The main person who hasn't yet been proven so be not as good as they seem so far is Eden, who in this episode has been clinging to the idea of being a good person harder than ever. I know that some people believe that Eden needs to survive to fulfill the role of the optimist, but I feel like this episode proves that that isn't true. We don't need A Hopeful Person because anyone can step up to the plate and believe in hope if they want to do so. Eden isn't A Good Person, but a real person, who's just as capable of laughing and crying and living and dying as anyone else.

A good person is not gold. That's why everyone who tried to cling to the idea that they were being A Good Person-- Xander, David, Levi-- has always wound up hurting others in the end. Xander believed his actions were morally justified, and thus decided to kill Teruko, causing Min's death and lots of anguish for Teruko. David wanted to follow in his footsteps, and beyond his inspirational speaker persona causing damage to himself, he was also about to kill everyone else to do "what's right." Levi (Arei pending) hasn't killed anyone since trying to become A Good Person, but pretending to follow those guidelines without actually wanting to change anything about himself emotionally hurt Ace, who was set up with false expectations.

If Eden is so convinced that she's a good person, she's only blinding herself to the ways that she's inevitably not.

Back to Arei, while it is sad that her development was cut off just as she made this revelation, I believe that clarifying this additional bit of content is a way to allow her to rest in peace. Even if she didn't get to transform as much as she wanted to, she at least got to die knowing that she wasn't as wretched as she convinced herself that she was all these years, and having done at least one good thing-- saving Eden from Arturo-- before she passed. It's an amazing character arc to squeeze in for your second victim.

Phew, finally, a chance to talk about objective lore instead of heavy and divisive character themes! Except, uh...

WHAT THE FUCK???

Remember when, at the beginning, I said that no one could have predicted everything that came to light in this episode? This was the main point I was talking about. I don't think anyone saw this reveal coming, especially in this moment.

For starters, even though this CG does appear in David's memories, I don't think that he or Arei actually remembers whatever this was taking place. Beyond me attempting to debunk the idea that David had additional memories of Hope's Peak last week, Arei or David specifically referring to this moment means that they had to... be there? When whatever this was happened?

I say "whatever this was" to briefly create suspense before connecting the dots everyone's already talked about: that Eden was probably the one to scratch out Xander's eye. This would make Eden the "she" that Xander (er, I mean, "the guy with the bloody hands") talks about in the intro scene.

It also gives some more context to the clock with the fork stabbed into it depicted in LGI.

I don't know if "non-functional" and "I didn't expect her to" mean that Eden could have been brainwashed or otherwise broken down into not acting like herself when this happened, but it certainly seems out of character for what we know of Eden. Even her facial expression seems to suggest that she might not have wanted or intended to attack anyone with that fork.

Anyways, for Arei or David to know about the contents of that CG, they would've had to both be there when Eden attacked Xander and then also have regained/had their memories of it, which seems unlikely given how both of them treat Eden. Like, even if Arei is sure that Eden "did something to hurt someone in the past," this seems a bit extreme, and David probably wouldn't be so neutral on her if he knew that she attacked his man.

Another really clever point that I saw someone make (AND THEN COULDN'T TRACK DOWN WHO OR IN WHICH POST IT WAS--) was that Eden is wearing her current outfit in this CG. Interestingly, I looked back at A History of Hope's Peak and Visiting Graves to see what Min and Xander were wearing, and while Min was wearing her typical killing game uniform, Xander was wearing something different. Given that Min's scene takes place in HPA and Xander's doesn't, this could imply that Min was wearing the HPA uniform? That's fitting, for her.

We also know that the DRDT cast were all wearing these outfits believing that they were headed for the HPA entrance ceremony. Therefore, we know that Eden would wear this getup to school, but we don't know if she'd wear it elsewhere. Once again, assuming it was Xander who got forked, we can place this CG some time between Visiting Graves and the start of the killing game. I have a hunch that Visiting Graves might have taken place during HPA's spring break-- in A History, Min and Mai (er, I mean, "Unnamed Student") are at school studying for a test with "Spring Break next week" on the chalkboard, while in Visiting Graves, Mai and Xander have traveled elsewhere-- but that's not confirmed, so we can't lock it down.

Maybe we can get more information about this in Eden's bonus episode! Because, well, I at least do think that most of the mysteries of this CG could be solved within a bonus episode and/or other characters talking about her posthumously in later chapters. Again, I understand if you want to use this CG as evidence that Eden is important enough to need to stick around, though.

AREI I MISS YOUUUUUUUUUU

Also, I didn't catch this at all, but credit to everyone who noticed how similar this scene is to the "Diana Chiem" scene in LGI! Fascinating implications that I have no additional thoughts on at the moment. Mostly because we don't know shit about Diana, if that even is her who's portrayed in that CG. I'm sure I'll come back to this someday, just not right now.

Oh, and I don't think you can really argue that Ace made up this conversation anymore. Idk how much of it he stuck around to listen to, though.

See like why is she so pressed about it???

I'd like to say that this is a win for Whit not being the mastermind (because he doesn't seem to know what MonoTV is talking about), but he could probably just be going "why are you saying that at this time?" or something like that. Sigh (/j)

Why Does Whit Know So Much About Hanging?

Alright, so, obviously, this could be a super-suspect hint that Whit knows all of this stuff about hanging and therefore decided to use that knowledge to kill Arei. But, I don't care about that! What I don't understand is how Whit came to know all of this in the first place!

Well, after a quick review, there's one option that stands out more than all the others: Whit's mom was killed by hanging, likely self-inflicted. The only thing we "know" about Whit's mom dying (assuming that secret really is his) is that she is dead, and Whit omits it. It's phrased pretty vaguely. We also know that Whit thinks his mom is awesome, but that doesn't tell us anything about how she saw herself. Sadly, I think this lines up all too well.

Whit's main character flaw, as we've seen throughout the story so far, is ignoring things that stress him out or make him sad. He represses, and chooses not to get involved in others' fights because it's "not his business." It would make sense if the same extended to what he was like before the killing game. If Whit always chooses to ignore things that worry him, there's a possibility he blames himself for his mom's death via not paying enough attention to any warning signs that her mental state might have gotten so dire. Of course, if repression runs in the family, she might have been doing her best to not make it obvious as well.

So, even though he hates himself for not giving his mom enough support in her darkest hour, he still can't (yet) make any changes in his life because ignorance is the only way he knows how to cope. Yet, he still won't let himself pass up on helping another soul in clear need of support, like Charles panicking over the blood, or Eden suffering over seeing Arei's body. He can push himself to help others that are sad, as long as he never focuses on himself.

Or, he's the time loop mastermind who's heard Class Trials discuss hanging a billion times before. You never know with this guy.

CONGRATS TO FF AND BADJOE FOR BEING THE SMARTEST PEOPLE IN THE WORLD!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉 Man, even seeing Teruko explain this mechanism as the truth, I still don't know if I would've been able to come up with it myself. This fandom is so smart :D

(Also, why was Whit a dog? Goddammit, is this more MonoTV coding?! /lh)

FUCK YES, WE'RE ACTUALLY GOING TO GET ANSWERS ABOUT THE GYM MURDER IN THIS TRIAL? HALLELUJAH! IT'S ABOUT TO BE T A P E T I M E, MOTHERFUCKERS! (/j)

Phew, barely squeaked it within 30 images! I'm impressed and amazed that DRDTdev keeps managing to make such gripping episodes week after week.

Get it? Gripping? Like grippy tape?

I'd apologize, but you're almost certainly going to hear more of that from me next week. Until then!

[ineed-to-sleep]

*me immediately after going through a terrifying and traumatic experience* haha yeah I guess it was rough but I'm fine now like I'm totally chill. It was kinda funny actually if you think about it

[rythyme]

really not a fan of boston very explicitly saying "I want to be exclusive romantically but not sexually" only to be told "You're lying to yourself. I think you should be alone."

[luna-lovegreat]

Sky vs Hyrule post is coming along great 👍

[zuckergussprinzessin]

Honestly Mina is so cute though she's like heehee gonna pull a lil prank :3 and then immediately gets embarassed like oh no that was so rude please don't hate me ;_; meanwhile van Helsing thinks it was the funniest shit and is already willing to die for her before he's even read any of the information she's assembled

[kitkatsgalore]

you have my soul, you have my heart ♡

[catcze]

Hello Catte !

Do you think Wriothesley would date someone who is asexual ? (Someone who feels little to no sexual attraction or desire to have sex) I kinda have the feeling that he wouldn’t as an asexual myself 😭 What do you think ?

I hope you have a great day/evening and are feeling well ! (Don’t feel pressured to write this, if you don’t feel comfortable with it and if you do, I can wait for as long as you need, since I adore your writing and characterisation of Wriothesley ^^)

Hi sweetheart !! Honestly? The way I interpret Wrio's character is someone who is just so genuinely enamored with you and is eager to show that to you in whatever form you're comfortable with, you know? If you feel no desire to have sex, that's a-okay with him. Wriothesley is the kind of guy who makes sure that he knows your boundaries and how far you're willing to go, and will always always always respect those.

Elaborating on that a lil but in a relationship, Wrio would be so communicative, yk??!? Like, this guy is not embarrassed about the things that he wants, and right now all he wants is to make you the happiest person in the world, and make sure that you'd be comfortable in a relationship with him. He definitely definitely does some research beforehand and he comes to you with a list of questions that he wants to ask to make sure that he's messing up as little as possible. It's so cute, because he lists them on a little notepad and everything hjadkjn He has a couple of questions, such as where on the asexuality spectrum you fall on, any hard boundaries that you want to establish, what you are and aren't comfortable with, and all that. He gives you his whole attention without a single ounce of judgement, and for the things that he deems particularly important, he writes those down too. SIde note, but when he's flipping through his notepad, you swear that you see a page where he's listed down things that you like, such as your favorite drinks, food, and colors, and it kinda makes your heart melt a little ♡

And !!!!! he always makes sure that you know that he'll listen to you ?!?!? like wtf he's such an absolute green flag HAHHAHA If you ever feel uncomfortable with anythingggg ever he will always listen to you. If you're in a situation with him and things are veering in a direction that you don't really like, you literally just have to say the word and he'll do everything in his power to make the circumstances more comfortable for you !! Just;;; listen listen listen i just love him so much and i genuinely believe that if you get in a relationship with this man, he just wants to make you as happy as can be. If your relationship has little or even no sex, it doesn't impact him in any way— all he cares about is that you're safe and comfy with him, and as long as he's fulfilled that, then Wriothesley is as happy as can be.

[moonhze]

light rays in the break room.

[mintjeru]

if i don't hear myla's singing voice again by the end of this game istg i'm gonna have A Talk with team cherry (no spoilers please, i'm playing hollow knight blind!!)

open for better quality | no reposts

[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

[pepperuni]

Just started the 5th ep of tua s4 and idk if this is controversial for some but I just came to here to say i do NOT support five x lila!!!! can writers please stop going "well, if 2 people spend an extended amount of time with just each other, OF COURSE they'll fall in love"!!!! lila is still married and also an adult!!! five is aroace and in a minor's body (or close to, idk his exact age atp)!!!

(Please don't take this too seriously i beg)

[kentopedia]

it makes me so happy to see more people are starting to write multi chap / series fics on here again