#Nary A Single Clue

[king-galaxius]

Nary A Single Clue

I have nary a single clue. As a result, there will be no response other than me doing the finger pointing. Because, when a secret situation blows up from going away, there is nothing that I can do. In all situations, I am the last to know. As a result, I have to keep a bag of popcorn ready. because when everyone gets mad at one another, someone is going to snitch. So, the best popcorn is…

[gibbearish]

(random words bolded for ease of reading)

the best protip i could ever give to fellow adhders (but also applies to everyone) is to always keep an eye out in conversation for people who start to say something then get talked over, and once the current conversation thread ends, swing back around to them and go "what were you about to say?"

benefits:

- that person knows they were heard and feels validated and supported

- the person who interrupted them realizes they did so in a way that doesn't publically call them out, allowing them to process it on their own without shame clogging the pipes

- you yourself are less likely to interrupt others, and the times you do are more likely to be easily forgiven bc the other person knows it wasnt because you thought what you had to say was more important, but just because Mouth Move Faster Than Brain Sometimes

- there's automatically a new topic of conversation waiting in reserve

- professional environments see this as "attention to detail" and "mindfulness" and "teambuilding skills"

- helps combat subconscious bigotries/power dynamics that lead to certain people getting talked over more than others (eg misogyny/racism/homophobia/transphobia/etc)

- ^ again may help you be more mindful of those patterns in yourself and work to unlearn them

- people who like you will want to emulate the behaviors of yours they see as good

- i know people will say "create a positive space around yourself and itll domino effect" all the time and it sounds like wishy washy hippie bullshit but genuinely i cannot emphasize enough that it really does work

- like ive watched it happen in real time, i don't think i have a single friend now that hasn't picked this up from me because They Like When I Do It, It Makes Them Feel Good

- nobody likes being interrupted and everybody gets interrupted All The Goddamn Time. like i need to really drive it home that im not exaggerting when i say you'll be a sorely needed reprieve if you make an effort to do this

- and they really will start doing it in return, likely without you even having to ask if that stresses you out

- it's a small and easy way to make the world a bit kinder for everyone

- godspeed my beloveds~

[nctjpeg]

the other morning snapchat showed me an old snap from when i was 19 and it was a photo of me with a caption complaining about how I was depressed and my life was “boring” and I just….19-year-old me had no idea AT ALL what was coming and if she did I think her head would’ve exploded…. she had no reason to worry though, she just needed to wait until she turned 20.

[vanishedinvain]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐄

—𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨��𝐮𝐞: 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader (but she doesn't show up yet, sorry lol)

summary: benedict's last moment of contentment before the storm that marooned his dreams.

warnings: very very brief mention of a gun, baby's first fic (it's me, i'm baby)

wc: 1.6k

next chapter // series masterlist

The Wiminet Art House sits just outside the limits of Mayfair, owned by the Dowager Baroness Lyra Wiminet. It is only half the size of a wing at Somerset House, and most of the artists are either anonymous or so unknown, they are as good as anonymous. It crams in an overwhelming number of pieces, barely a centimeter between each frame. It features a myriad of styles: soft landscapes, portraits, absurd finger-paintings, violent war scenes. 

When it first opened, every London newspaper dismissed it as the eccentricity of a widow, mad without a man to guide her. There was no cohesion, they said. Downright tasteless. Where was the class? The refinement? It was a laughingstock for all of two days before the ton moved on as they always did.

It was also Benedict Bridgerton’s most frequented gallery. And Eloise had no idea why.

“You have been here at least twenty times in the past year, and they have only changed a single painting,” Eloise pointed out on one of these trips. Though she did not prefer to visit the same blasted gallery with the same blasted paintings, it was more merciful than watching Daphne and their mother flit about the house searching for the perfect dress to secure a proposal from the Prussian prince.

Plus her brother promised to buy her an apricot ice afterwards.

“What could possibly be left to see?” she asked.

They were standing in front of a rather large seascape, one that spanned a quarter of the wall. Benedict turned away to look at Eloise, a grimace upon her face as she tried to see what her brother saw. It was a quality Benedict most appreciated in her; she was stubborn and quick to snark, but she never wrote off his interests as frivolous. She was attempting to understand, even if she was staring at the painting like it personally offended her.  

“Do you remember when you were eleven and Colin brought home that mystery novel for all of us? The one where an opera singer was killed in the middle of a show.”

“An Aria Most Deadly,” she recalled, smiling, “I couldn���t put it down. Col was scolded for bringing home such a—how did Mama word it?—terribly gruesome and improper book.”

He chuckled, remembering their mother’s scandalized face. As Colin was being scolded, she had set the book down on the settee. Eloise, ever nimble, snatched it and ran up to her room with nary a scuff across the floor.

“You re-read it over and over, looking for the clues, even after you’d finished it days prior. A snide comment from the stagehand that was once humorous turned dark. The author’s insistence on describing the location of the candelabra suddenly became obvious.”

“The details were so much clearer in hindsight,” she remarked.

“That is usually the privilege of hindsight.” He gestured back to the painting in front of them. “What do you see?”

She stared for a moment, tilting her head to one side to see if a change in angle would help. It was a turbulent scene, violent even, with outbursts of red and orange screaming amongst the cerulean and imposing slate clouds as the ship went down.

“A shipwreck?” Eloise answered with a shrug. “An unfortunately timed storm?”

Benedict stepped back, and grabbed Eloise by the shoulders, shifting her to the right so that she could stand in his place. “Do you see that spot of red on the ship?”

She squinted slightly. “Clearly, a fire broke out on the ship. Likely from the gunpowder catching on the wood. I mean, it says it in the title, Ship on Fire in Water,” she said, reading off the plaque underneath.

“But look closer at this spot of red at the front of the ship. Or that one by the captain’s quarters. Compare it to how the artist paints the flames,” Benedict insisted, gesturing to each area of interest. “He or she blends out the flames with orange and a bit of yellow usually. But these particular spots aren’t. They’re blended with brown. Maybe even a bit of black. That’s not fire, is it?”

Her eyebrows raised as the realization dawned on her. “It’s blood! Someone was killed. The captain, maybe?” She turned back to look at him in unbridled excitement at the newly-uncovered narrative.

Benedict smiled widely, crinkles forming around his eyes, watching his little sister finally get it, get him. “Possibly.”

“What do you think was the motive? Was it a mutiny?”

He shrugged. “That I am unsure of, dear sister. Every time I come back, I see something new. So, perhaps we need to look at it longer. Or make our rounds and come back with fresh eyes.”

Eloise had bounded off before he even finished.

They spent another two hours in the gallery, making little comments on each one, attempting to decipher a story from it. They even requested a step-ladder for the ones that had been skied because Benedict, having met Lady Wiminet, knew that there was no rhyme or reason as to the placement of each painting.

There was a most brilliant park scene about half a meter down from the ceiling. The artist did not draw a realistic, soft sunset, but a heightened one with punchy plums and a bright tangerine shade to blend. It was a bold choice that Benedict would’ve never thought of. The scene itself was of a promenade, much to Eloise’s displeasure, but she found amusement in mapping out the interpersonal relationships of the swans in the lake.

They made their way back to the bloodied, fiery ship shipwreck, standing in amicable silence before Eloise spoke.

“I understand it now. Why you've been here twenty times. Why you sketch until your fingers shake at dinner, but then use your drawings as fire kindle at night. You’re chasing greatness.”

“I want to get one of mine on these walls one day, El,” he said quietly, as if they weren’t the only people in the room. It was the first time he had admitted that ambition out loud.

“You will,” she replied, equally quiet back.

He sighed in relief. He wasn’t worried about Eloise’s reaction, though her vote of confidence was cherished. He was worried about being so unworthy that the words would refuse to roll off his tongue, lodging in his throat as a croak. But the idea was out there now, and a mirthful giddiness sprouted forth in the soil where his insecurities were rooted.

“I’d be anonymous, though,” he added after a pause.

She frowned, but neither of them made further comments on the subject. He already understood what she didn't verbalize. She dreaded living and dying in anonymity without a university degree or prolific novel attached to her name, something to outlast her that wasn’t a dullard husband or terrifying child. She could not stand the thought that the world might feel zero impact from her existence. 

Benedict, however, was far less eager to sign his name on a canvas. He could be displayed in any gallery in England if he simply asked, regardless of whether he was even good enough. Who would dare criticize a Bridgerton painting, with nine generations of viscounts breathing down their necks? If he were to ever put his name on any of his work, he wanted—needed—to be so good that everyone would be too awestruck by what was in front of them to check whose name was etched onto the little copper plaque beneath the frame.

This was one of the only points of incongruence between the second eldest Bridgerton brother and sister that couldn’t be remedied by a simple anecdote or shift to the right. Though, perhaps there was no need for one; a painter would never ask a writer to adjust her palette and a writer would never tell a painter his meter was off-tempo.

It was an afternoon well spent away from the ornery obligations of the social season, coming home with their appetites spoiled from the promised apricot ices. Benedict grabbed An Aria Most Deadly from the library, and read the first few chapters before retiring for the night. He’d finished the novel after he pried it away from Eloise years ago, so he knew it was the conductor who had killed the opera singer. This knowledge only pulled the deftly placed clues into crisp focus upon this second reading; even the first chapter was littered with hints.

Perhaps that is why when he sits in the viscount’s study, the one that was never supposed to go to him, he often thinks about the night of Granville’s party. That night began with him feeling so alive, more alive than he could ever fathom. Yet, it ended with a sinking stone of dread taking up a months-long residence in the pit of his stomach.

Were there clues he should’ve seen?

If he’d been less drunk off the wine or the women or both, he’d have noticed Daphne wasn’t wearing the necklace gifted to her by the prince, even though he clocked the ostentatious clunk of jewelry when she left for the Trowbridge Ball. Or that the hem of her dress was muddy and her face was pinched, on the verge of tears.

If he wasn’t so preoccupied with how to take advantage of his freedoms as the spare of the family, he’d have noticed the blooming violet bruises on Anthony’s knuckles as he yanked Benedict into the study with considerable force.

It wasn’t until he was rolling his shoulder, about to complain that his arm could've been popped out of its socket, when the gun box was placed on the desk with a resounding thud. 

Things only clicked into place as Anthony began frantically talking about estates and dowries and an appointment with the duke at dawn, but there were signs from the moment he walked in the door.

The details were always so much clearer in hindsight.

next chapter // series masterlist

a/n: they dropped new abc pictures last month, and i decided to make it everyone else's problem by starting this fic. now it’s bridgerton eve!!! rejoice!!!

[vegaseatsass]

My Stand-In Episode 9

I have like 10min to ejaculate some emotions before I have to run again so lmfao /types hard and fast I adore that after twisted coercive action after twisted coercive action, Ming almost almost almost had his Kinn moment where he lets Joe go. He came SO close. But he couldn't stick the landing. He's going twisted coercion to the VERY END, BABY!!! And I do think in many ways that's a clue about whether he would have been able to let Joe go when he asked in the first life, before the baseball bat, if Joe hadn't gotten the call from Sol and given Ming a justification for spiralling into delululand. I really do think he was close to hearing Joe then too, and honoring his desperate requests to let go. But "close" means letting him walk across the street and then chasing him, not actually releasing his grip. Ming will always be so very Ming <3

Wut pissed me off throughout this ENTIRE episode but I am trying not to relapse to "the NARRATIVE doesn't UNDERSTAND what it's DOING" reactions to characters with his framing and actually just take what's on the screen in good faith. And what's on the screen is a man who never truly acknowledged his own role in getting Joe killed, doomed to make all the same choices and mistakes all over again. While carrying himself with so much unearned self-righteousness and avuncular "wisdom", augh I hate him but yeah. He thinks what he did wrong in Joe's first life is like not yell at him hard enough to keep him from driving off a cliff. Not push an abused, financially desperate man into further isolation with nary a moment of considering trying to support him or even just giving him companionship for the night while he recovered from being fuckin kidnapped. So yeah, it's not surprising he's consistently making the easy choices, the "it's not REALLY my problem" choices, that put Joe back in Ming's grasp again and again. Like okay thank you as a plot device Wut (yes I am a sick and twisted hypocrite lmao), but fuck you fuck you fuck you as a human being.

However! SOL THIS EPISODE! Oh my god this is why I needed to quickly post! The duality of this character! I made FUN of Ming for thinking that Soljoe as a branded pair was any kind of threat, but episode 9 Sol was like "no actually. Audience shipping is reality if we try hard enough to make it be so." The way the lines are so blurred for him between just desperately desperately wanting to be there for Joe and desperately desperately wanting Joe to see that Ming is the wrong choice and Sol is the right choice, and I have strong doubts about how fully conscious the latter is - he knows he still wants Joe, sure, but I think he sees his (nonexistent, sorry baby) romantic eligibility as an opportunity to get Joe away from Ming. If Joe had a partner who wasn't violent and dangerous, I truly believe Sol would back off while harboring his feelings more quietly. But if Joe is single or with Ming? Sol has to try with everything he's got and cannot see the ways that that compromises his support for Joe.

And yet! EVERY time he called out Wut for facilitating Mingjoe (SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK WUT) I was cheering for him. Helping Joe with (Joe-on-Joe) crimes??? Being his lookout??? The crowd ROARED! And there's something to be said for Joe in the middle of the grieving process for his body and life, and Sol being the one who comes by to accompany him the next morning. Again, it's that duality: he is coming because they have a music video to promote, he is coming because he's giddy about selling them as a branded pair and maybe making Joe see him as a romantic option. But being very frank, I think it matters that Joe had someone who knew what happened and knew he was in the middle of grieving be there at his side that morning. I don't think he struggled to wake up when Ing shook him because he was sleepy. I think he was carrying something a lot heavier than that, and you need community to help you carry that burden. And there's nobody trying to or thinking of offering that for Joe except Sol. For partly selfish reasons, again, that's the juice of the character, that that duality is always present for him, but for ME it still matters as a kind of material support.

Lastly, the little glimpse of Yim being bitter and fucked up about Joe's death, and how that went over Joe's head, because he doesn't expect his CHILDHOOD FRIEND to remember him and grieve him. Delicious little detail.

[masterqwertster]

Aeormaton thoughts time.

I'm stupid curious about how new ones entered Aeor's society, because every single one we've met seems to automatically defer to the people around them upon boot-up. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern.

Devexian, as Charlie before he got his memories restored, just went with the Nein. He woke up under strange circumstances, looked for his associates to give him permission to go with the Mighty Nein, couldn't remember or find them, and just defaulted to following the friendly people around him. That's a blank, minimal experiences to recall aeormaton. Once the memories are back, Devexian gets more independent, though he still tries his best to be helpful to the Nein.

Fresh Cut Grass wants someone else to order them around. He doesn't know how to function without someone giving him a larger direction. And they have no memories of their life in Aeor. Once again, the blank aeormaton just looks to others to boss them around.

F.R.I.D.A. is more willful than we see Charlie!Devexian and FCG, as they do argue with the others, but they still defer to Deanna in pretty much all matters. If she asks them to do something, they'll do it. She's the 'god' of their world and they believe in her. F.R.I.D.A. also doesn't remember Aeor.

These babies just let whoever boss them around. How long does it take them to put a foot down and start being fully independent?

I also feel like that mindset says something about how they're made, seeing as it doesn't take long after a kid learns the word 'no' for them to use and abuse the hell out of it.

Or maybe it has a bit to do with the fact that they're built into existence. Which means that, to a certain extent, they must be built for a purpose. Upgrades and modifications later can allow them to overcome this, but they have to start with some sort of function in mind because they don't just happen like biological people do.

Not to mention that with as vague as Aeor's history timeline is, we have no clue if any of the aeormatons we've met are pre-citizenship or not. Which would definitely be a factor for blind subservience.

Also, D needs to take the time to flipping talk to the poor babies instead of tossing them into the world with nary a "good luck!" At least make sure they go to good homes, loser.

[nova--spark]

It’s too late you’ve already tempted fate!!!!

So you know how Arcee’s already lost two partners? After almost losing Jack as well Arcee would refuse to refuel or recharge until she finds the bot stupid enough to harm her child partner! She’d also insist on accompanying Jack everywhere once he was well enough to walk around, kinda like a personal body guard

Jack would be annoyed at the coddling but he’s far too concerned for Arcee’s well being

I am going to send you my therapy bill I swear.

But good GOD Yeah Arcee was on edge for weeks.

She has lost Tailgate to her own stubbornness, Cliffjumper to Starscream, she would not lose Jack to the enemy in this life, or any other.

Jack had lived a long and happy human life, and was gifted a second by Primus.

She would not, for anything, let a dent come across his frame, nary a scratch. She spent many hours apart from him, seeking clues about who could have targeted her young charge.

They had made a mistake, and Arcee was relentless in her search.

If they didn’t want to be found, then fine. But they would know she was always watching over Jack, as noted by how she stood on guard whenever they went out together.

Arcee had survived Airachnid several times, Shockwave, all manner of things in the war, and he should fear her in every single way.

No one would hurt him.

They would die before trying again.

This did result in many a fainting spell that would end in visits to the medbay however, with her now irregular charge cycles

[freedvmrouge]

Written for Bunnywing Bash on dreamwidth; recip elasticella

Prompt:

Dick, batfam gen after the bunnywing adventure, rabbits in the wilds of gotham/bludhaven/wherever start following dick (very good with damian adopting them all and rabbits taking over the wayne mansion)

fandom: wayne family adventures.

character(s): dick grayson, tim drake, damian wayne, bruce wayne.

word count: 688.

tags & warnings: pov dick grayson, magic shenanigans, dick is like the bunny whisperer, the wayne affliction to adoption.

It takes two weeks for Dick to realize.

Bunnies have been congregating around his feet, hopping up on his shoulders and chewing on his arms, and it still took him two weeks to realize.

It’s an embarrassingly long period of time, he knows. It won’t stop his siblings from laughing at him, but he supposes that’s just what siblings do. Tim in particular is having the time of his life.

He sighs into his hands.

“Please tell me Damian isn’t here,” he groans. “He’s going to adopt every single bunny and then Bruce is gonna yell at me, and then Alf is gonna subtly withhold cookies from me or hide my cereal or—”

“TT. Have these bunnies been fed yet? Irresponsible, Richard.”

Dick’s head snaps up and he just knows how wild and panicked his eyes look. He’s had wild bunnies popping out of the woodwork and following him around for two weeks. He’s been getting questions from civilians and coworkers alike. Even when someone else plays with them, they rush to follow Dick as soon as he leaves the room. ‘Stressed’ doesn’t even begin to cover his emotions right now.

He watches in mounting horror as Damian begins to repurpose Bat-Cow’s hay to make bunny nests. It’s an adorable sight. Dick wants to pull out his phone and record this all for posterity.

In his peripheral vision, he finds Tim doing just that from a particularly safe distance away; non-grabbing or sword-swinging distance, specifically. Tim’s holding his laughter behind a gloved hand, already so red in the face, Dick idly wonders how the boy hides anything behind his pallor. 

“Damian,” he starts. He needs to tell his kid brother that these bunnies aren’t staying and that he came here to the Batcave to call for help. Dick needs to contact Zatanna immediately to get rid of his bunny… affliction doesn’t sound right. Issue, let’s go with issue.

This has to be some side effect of that magical mishap last month. He took to being a bunny pretty easily — you kind of need to be able to quickly adapt to your situations as a vigilante — but he was always under the impression that he would return to humanoid form without too much hassle. Zatanna knew the problem and fixed it super easily after all.

The roar of the batmobile does a great job of spurring him out of his thoughts. 

He sees Bruce in all his Batman glory freeze in the safety of his vehicle. Dick can only imagine what’s going through the man’s mind. The manor has doubled as an animal sanctuary at this point. Dick still has nary a clue where Goliath the dragon bat came from. Anyone who knows the origin story treats it as some kind of taboo. Or they just get that thousand-yard stare, and frankly, that concerns him more than anything.

“You will be named Antony,” Damian says to the bunny that’s primarily white with beige coloring over its face and floppy ears. 

“Oh no,” it’s starting. 

The batmobile’s door swings open, and it appears that Bruce realized what just occurred and was likewise spurred into action. The man’s lips form around the kid’s name, and sound comes out of it… this doesn’t stop Damian from naming another three bunnies with various fur patterns.

Dick quickly realizes that each name comes from a historical ruler of some sort. Big names for small, fluffy bunnies.

Tim continues to contain his laughter— trying and failing, that is.

Dick whispers to some kind of god in a prayer for help. There’s an animal or child god somewhere, he’s pretty sure Donna’s told him before.

“We are not keeping bun— more animals in the manor, Damian.” 

Bruce sounds firm, all hidden away in the character that is Batman, the Dark Knight, but Dick watches in slow motion how one pleading look on the kid’s face changes the whole game completely.

Bruce darts a sharp look over at Dick, which hey! This is absolutely not his fault! Then he says with a voice that brokers no retaliation; “You will be informing Alfred about these new developments, Dick.”

[bthump]

„So to use the Charlotte sex scene as an example, the biggest reason I read it as consensual (if psychologically fucked up to an extent) is because that's the narrative function of the sex. A rape scene would have a different impact on the story.“ But with that logic, couldn’t it be argued that narratively this scene was meant to foreshadow Cascas rape by showing that Griffith is willing to overstep boundaries? Same with the wagon scene (I disagree with you that this wasn’t rapey)? Here’s the fact of the matter: There’s two instances that show Griffith overstepping a line of consent with women, closely followed by him raping one. All of these instances are linked to his feelings towards Guts (hatred, love, jealousy, power, control etc.). Your reasoning in how you interpret things is understandable, but with the same logic you could also argue that the narrative function of that scene with Charlotte was to establish a certain character trait of Griffith that disregards women’s consent.

Response to this post.

I get how you could make that argument wrt the Charlotte scene, and I do think it's meant to illustrate Griffith's ~inner darkness~ to some extent, mainly because of the intense eye-close-ups that tend to show up when Griffith is acting Femto-y. I don't think that's mutually exclusive with not regarding it as a rape scene though - that's basically what I meant when I said that it's meant to be psychologically fucked up lol, though I was being vague because it was beside the main point of that post. But yeah like, Griffith is acting very single-mindedly and heedless of potential consequences the way he does when in pursuing-a-goal mode, and part of the reason for Charlotte's initial protest is to remind the audience that this is a very stupid "improper" thing, and Griffith disregarding that is irrational behaviour with a certain amount of darkness behind it.

But look at it this way: the ova rewrites that scene slightly to show Griffith turning to leave until Charlotte starts crying on him, and stopping his advances when Charlotte protests until Charlotte herself moves his hand back to her tit lol. And the darker aspects have the exact same impact on the narrative, but the rest of it makes a lot more sense for both Charlotte and Griffith's narratives.

Like, Griffith disregarding Charlotte's protest isn't a significant aspect of the scene. You could definitely argue it functions as Eclipse foreshadowing, but is that theoretical foreshadowing worth depicting a rape victim as uncomplicatedly happy about her victimization with nary a narrative hint that she was victimized? It's ofc possible to depict a victim of rape who doesn't see themselves as a victim - Berserk even does it with Griffith and Gennon. But in that case there are clear context clues that show the narrative understanding that rape took place, not least of which is Griffith washing himself the next morning and calling himself dirty. We get nothing like that in Charlotte's case.

Plus in terms of Griffith's character, if we're already meant to view him as a rapist then it just totally destroys the vibe imo. The year of torture is classic tragic outcome. It's disproportionate punishment for a flaw that evokes feelings of pity in the reader and causes self-reflective enlightenment for the victim that comes too late to act upon. That flaw is Griffith valuing the dream over his friendship with Guts and not realizing how important Guts is until it's too late, which we know because Griffith gets a whole inner monologue about it. If the narrative goes "oh also Griffith is a rapist but that's not relevant to his tragic punishment" thennnn that's a little awkward lol.

And on top of that I would strongly argue that the Golden Age virtually exists to make you empathize with Griffith, root for his friendship with Guts, and eventually feel a little despair and betrayal yourself when Griffith makes the sacrifice. It's such a good story because even knowing it inevitably ends in tragedy, sacrifice, and demonhood, it gets you invested in these characters and their relationship and makes you want it to succeed despite what we know. And a huge part of Griffith's tragedy is that he views himself as worse than he is because of his guilt-complex, and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy when that attitude is part of his reasoning for becoming a demon. If Griffith already committed the demon-defining act Femto commits, his entire narrative falls flatter than a crepe.

Granted this is my own interpretation of the story, I know a lot of fans see Griffith as pure evil all along and enjoy it that way lol. But this is why I think Berserk is a good story, and the basic thrust of that story is incompatible with Griffith just kinda casually being a rapist pre-demonhood lol. From my point of view, if we view him as having raped Charlotte, the story is no longer about how the road to hell is paved with good intentions and an idealistic generally good guy ends-justifies-the-meansing himself into becoming a demon. It's about a shitty dude leveling up. And I just don't find that story compelling. If I thought that's what Berserk was about, I wouldn't be a fan.

(It's possible Miura intended him to have raped Charlotte, but also doesn't see it as a character-breaking moment that should cause a reader to lose sympathy for him or like, a big deal that ought to be addressed in some way, but I have a little more faith in Miura's writing than that. And it's inconsistent with every other use of rape in the story.)

SO yeah, tl;dr if we were meant to view the Charlotte sex scene as rape, then Berserk just kinda sucks as a story imo.

And I don't think that argument fits the wagon scene at all, because Griffith pretty pointedly stops when Casca tells him to stop. That's one of the big reasons I see it as a contrast to the Eclipse, highlighting Griffith's weakness, desperation, and vulnerability. I don't think we're meant to read this scene as Griffith overstepping a boundary, because if that was the case, Miura would not have shown Casca asserting a boundary followed by Griffith respecting it. He could have easily had the scene continue with Casca throwing Griffith off of her, or physically removing herself some other way, if we were meant to see Griffith as an attempted rapist here, rather than telling Griffith to stop and then holding him comfortingly and deciding to stay and take care of him out of pity.

Anyway yeah lol, this got a bit long but I wanted to be thorough because I do have a lot of reasons for believing the Charlotte sex scene isn't meant to be viewed as rape, and I didn't get into it thoroughly in the last post because again, it wasn't really the point. But I think it's worth explaining.

If you have a very different perspective on the story and/or Griffith's character and function in the narrative, then we may just completely disagree, and that's fine. But yeah, based on what I get from Berserk's characters, tone, and themes, Griffith raping someone as a human is incompatible with the whole of the story.

[destinyc1020]

Vanessa comes off as attention seeking. She barely spoke about Austin after the split. Not until Elvis was released and his career took off. She starts being petty and leaving emoji's about his accent, knowing people are watching. She's been in the industry a long time, she's not stupid. Two years later, Austin has another huge movie out, here she is again making comments about him. It's intentional at this point. Austin is more relevant than she is in 2024. She hates it.

You're right, she said not nary a peep for two years after their breakup until "Elvis" started having promo. 👀 I understand it's hard seeing your ex everywhere, but c'mon....

You're not the only one who's noticed this either lol. Other fans have picked up on it too lol. 😅

In fact, I was just telling another Anon just an hour or two ago that at this point, with Vanessa, I sort of feel like it's GOT to be one of three things:

1. Hurt feelings/Sour grapes/Resentment,

2. Using his name for clout or attention, OR

3. Unfinished business/Still have underlying feelings 🤷🏾‍♀️

Or, maybe it's all three at the same time ROTFL 🤣 I have no clue lol.

All I know is that when you're truly moved on from a situation, you're not having to talk about your ex all the time. In fact, it's a RED flag to me if I go out on a date with a guy, and he's talking badly about his ex gf. 👀 Even if he's saying how "oh you're sooo much better than my ex gf, because you're so understanding and loving and etc.....", my spidey senses IMMEDIATELY go up, I cross that guy off my list, and I make a mental note: "Okaaaay....sounds like YOU'RE not over your ex girlfriend!!" NEXT!!!

The point isn't that he's saying all of these nice things about you in comparison to his ex, the point is the fact that he's still needing to bring up the ex in the first place. Major red flag imo. In fact, at this point, I almost feel bad for Cole.... 👀

She can talk about Cole w/out involving Austin. But when she talks about Cole, it's almost like she's trying so harrrrd to show why he's the one, and Austin was not.

I'll never forget that time when Austin was doing his SNL show, and that SAME night that he was hosting SNL, Vanessa posted a clip from SNL to her IG stories that involved Jennifer Coolidge (Austin wasn't in that skit at all lol), but I was just like, GIRL.... lol 🤣 It does seem attention-seeking at this point.

Like I said, if she were SINGLE it would be one thing, but the fact that she's MARRIED doing this stuff makes me go, "hmmm.....". 🤔

I'd be saying this about anyone who was still triggered by or talking about their ex 4 YEARS after a breakup lol.

[definitelyimportantpost]

I made some rice in the rice cooker just two moons ago and it was cooked to utter PERFECTION and I haven't any clue as to how I managed it. There was nary a single over or undercooked grain in the entire pot! How could I have managed such a thing!

[curseweb-www]

I haven't beaten a single allegation yet. not even the crab allegations, and I have nary a fucking clue where they came from.

You really can't beat any allegations. One day you're gonna be tried for murder and found guilty

[swampstew]

𝔸𝕥 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕊𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 - 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟛

Welcome to Raven's Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Take a seat next to the log fireplace as we begin this in-progress, spicy/smutty reader insert story starring YOU (AFAB Reader) and the Kid Pirates. Powerade and snacks are provided! You can find links to the mini-series on Wattpad and AO3 at the end of the post.

Minors DNI you will be blocked - for mature audiences only. Dark themes in this one for troubled past, past trauma, dark art that vaguely discusses violence and self harm.

Nearly a month at sea had passed and Killer still knew next to nothing about Y/N, just like everyone else, Kid included much to his annoyance.

Nothing more beyond common interests and background in sailing, Y/N did not offer a single clue or provide any hint of who she really was or where she was from. Normally that type of thing wouldn't bother Killer or Kid for that matter. They had short-term flings on the ship before that always ended with their faceless lovers on a new port with nary a thought. It put them on edge a bit. Killer more so having been wary of Y/N the moment she stepped foot on the Victoria Punk.

He couldn't pinpoint the feeling but there was something peculiar about her. The way she carried herself around them, like she had something to hide. Maybe a devil fruit power of some kind. Killer couldn't be sure so he always kept his guard up around her, observing her. Not taking up Kid's offer to sleep with her to ease off the tension, Killer devoted every single free moment outside his normal routine to watching her. Waiting for her to slip. He was going to found out who she is.

Y/N was working on the lines, tightening ropes when she sat straight up on the railing and let out a sigh. "Kiiiiid he's doing it again!"

"Killer stop stalking Y/N!" the redhead barked from the helms room.

"I'm not stalking her! I'm just standing here overseeing the crew do their damn jobs!"

"Oversee a different area," Kid grumbled.

Killer threw his hands in the air and strode to the stern.

It was Kid's turn to sigh.

"Heat take over," he said, stretching his arms above his head in a stretch.

Stifling a yawn, Kid shoved arm inside captain's coat and made his way to where Y/N was sat.

"It's just weird, you get it right?" a disapproving look on his face as he watched her fingers run over the taught strands.

"No I don't. Not like you guys tell me anything about yourselves. Why do I have to spill all my beans to make you all comfortable? I'm not a threat to anyone and we vibe well so why do you people insist on digging into my past?"

"It's off-putting!"

"Deal with it," Y/C/E's regarded him cooly. "You getting tired of me?"

Kid scowled at her. He was actually.

"Look normally I toss people who annoy me overboard so consider yourself lucky I'm a decent guy. I'll leave you on a port. Or a deserted island, depending on how much you piss me off. All you gotta do is answer a few simple questions about yourself so we can square ya away and then all's good!"

Y/N returned his scowl, "Thank you very much for your generosity. My background is my business." She pushed off the rail to stand and tried to walk away.

"What's so special about you that you need to guard your secrets from people trying to get to know you in a friendly manner?" he gripped her arm to keep her in place.

"Because it's painful!" Y/N snapped, glaring at him as tears collected in the corner of her eyes. The first time he had seen anything beyond cool resolve on her face. "Friends, as I understand it, are empathetic to that type of thing. I could be wrong, all my friends have been dead for years so I wouldn't know anymore!" she ripped her arm from his grip and stomped inside the ship.

Letting the shock settle within him, he leaned against the railing she had worked on and stared out to horizon. Kid was profoundly empathetic to that kind of pain. And he felt a bit like an asshole for pushing it.

For about two weeks.

Passing through one inhabited that offered fuck all, the tension on the ship was rising again between Y/N, Killer and Kid. The tension rolled off on to the crew as well and any fragile acquaintances Y/N had made with the pirates withered away to numb acknowledgments at best.

In a desperate bid to learn more about the mysterious woman Kid had invited on the ship, the crew had created a plot to lure Y/N off the ship at the uninhibited island they found just so they could raid her things. From what the women on the crew had reported, her few possessions were mainly clothes and a few boxes she was completely private with.

On the uninhabited island, Wire, Heat, Y/N, and a small squad were sent on their goose chase. Kid and Killer posted guards around the ship as they snuck into the women's cabin to investigate. With Kid's power they were able to break into the several painted locked boxes of varying sizes.

The green painted box which was dotted with fluffy dark clouds around the surface held her money and jewels. A large, fat notebook belted to the lid underside revealed that it was an accounting book. Savings that had been built up over several years, large transactions made for transport or board whenever she stayed somewhere long-term created a map for the two to chart her previous whereabouts. This accounting book only notated the last three years to their dismay.

Re-locking the box and putting it back in its place, they picked up the red box. It was a sharp red, the kind of red that made you want to look away, to not stare too long. Nothing decorated the lid.

The underside of the lid had a single tag adhered to the frame. Y/N's name written in calligraphy. Kid's brows furrowed. Reaching into the box he plucked a large leather-bound notebook. When he opened it he realized it was artwork. Incredibly dark artwork.

Kid's eyes frozen on the illustration in black ink, it took Killer's fingers turning the page to shake Kid from the trance. The redhead had not known what to expect but it certainly wasn't crude ink strokes drawing out a body face down stuffed with swords. Ink bleeding to the edge of the page like a river of blood pooling from the corpse. In shaky fingerprint handwriting was written, "They broke me."

It was dated 17 years ago.

Different years over the pages, the book was about 75% filled with all kinds of confusing and broken artworks. All in black ink with massive splotches or pools of black ink staining the pages. As if trying to drown them with shame for looking. Artwork of death, decay, drowning, self-harm, tragic and nightmarish splashes decorated the worn papers as they observed each page.

Kid snapped the book shut and hastily put it back in the box, freezing at the moving and feathery sensation he felt. Looking inside, he missed the numerous black feather quill pens that were layered under the artbook. Pressing on them again, his fingers sunk a tiny bit. Setting the book on the floor, he pushed the feathers aside to reveal a tight-sealed bag filled with dark liquid layered the bottom of the box. It sloshed as Kid poked it repeatedly.

"Kid look," Killer pointed to small tag on the box's bottom poking from the edge. Pulling it, they heard a click and a small wooden panel popped out to lay out a small dish. Moving the gear, black ink slowly filled the reservoir and Killer hastily resealed the cap. They resettled the items inside and put the box back.

Pulling out the blue box wooden box adorned with exaggerated wooden features to make it look ancient, they found something else entirely. Several leather journals with years on the covers. Dating back 12 years. There were several journals without years so they assumed she bought them for conformity. Taking deep breaths, they each grabbed the earliest years and opened the tiny lockets that kept her secrets.

Kid growled in annoyance and Killer's head hung. The entries were written in another language.

Pulling out the cheerful yellow box, it had a single happy face on the front. It was creepy to say the least. The box's color suddenly felt like a trap. They both focused their Observation Haki to sense any traps and finding none, unlocked the box and peered inside.

It was filled with maps, charcoal and colored pencils, matches, a compass, a grand log pose, and two small journals. Killer opened the maps while Kid handled the journals. Thankfully in a language he could read, Kid's eyes scanned the pages as he realized she had written coordinates of places she had been with small notations.

'No.' 'Due East.' 'No.' 'No.' 'No.' 'Due North, look for Dimitri.' 'No.' 'No.' 'Speak to Amalia.' 'Yes.' And so on. The book he chose had locations in the New World so he checked the other notebook. It was blank and he rolled his eyes at Y/N's penchant for matching journals.

"These maps are for the New World, Fishman Island, and then I think a makeshift world map? Not sure but she mapped out the 4 Oceans and the Red Line, and it's peppered with colored dots."

"Same here," Kid sighed and began dropping the items back into the box when he noticed some gray smudges in the interior. Brushing it on his fingers, he realized it was soot. From something being burned to ash. "I think Miss Paranoia is burning her trail."

Killer exchanged the yellow box for the largest and final purple box. On the sides, small flowers bloomed from the bottoms. The two men peered closer and found that some had skulls sitting in their centers among round berries.

"Atropa Belladona," Killer hummed. Kid gave him a confused look. "Deadly nightshade."

Opening the lid, the first thing they noticed is a tag embroidered to the underside. In calligraphy was written, 'Y/N, don't lose your humanity.' Something caught in both their throats.

Inside the box was a broken cow skull, some crystal stones, a peacock feather, scattered pressed flowers, a heavily used watercolor paint set, brushes, a box of pastels, a gold pen, standard pens and pencils, a broad flat book, a spiral bound notebook, and fat leather journals. The two men sighed and began digging out the books.

Kid picked up the flat book and discovered it was another artbook. The first page had a magnificent stallion rearing up in the air. Flipping through the pages he was somewhat comforted that the art held no malice or bad vibes. In fact, it was the opposite. The paintings were made with a light touch in various styles; pastel drawings used to create magnificent objects and stills. Golden markings streaked across pages to make them pop. He found himself smirking as he came to blank pages.

Putting the book down he glanced at Killer. Killer's head tilted to look back at Kid, "You should read this."

Scooting close to the blonde, Killer held the book out as they read in silence. Y/N had written in a language they could understand. The entry was dated 5 years back.

Started thinking about Papa today. Hadn't thought about him in ages. Not even in dreams. He was telling me the same story he always told me, the one where he fell in love at first sight with Momma. He had his top 10 favorite stories to tell at any given time if you gave him the chance and he always started with this one.

He had been walking to the blacksmith shop that he was apprenticing at when he passed the national guards training academy. He stopped because he heard this guy ripping into another cadet, giving her grief over something sexist. A girl wanting to make her way to the top ranks to be laughed at during the morning training, advising her to know her place at the bottom.

Papa wanted to step in to say something but he never had the chance. Momma had rolled her eyes at the guy and pretended to walk away, like she was going to ignore him. When she suddenly struck out her fist and punched him in the throat. In seconds she had him sprawled facedown on the ground. Papa said he felt chills and excitement go through his body when she looked down at the sexist cadet and spoke, 'Look up when you speak to me, maggot.'

He said he asked her out right away and she said no. Then he would laugh and laugh and if Momma was there when he told that story, she would blush and hug him. Then they would share a kiss that I would yell out was disgusting and would run away screaming like a brat. I wasn't really disgusted. I thought it was precious that they had that and running away meant that they could have that moment for themselves; going to my room and daydreaming about the day someone would tell stories like that about me. I miss them.

The entry ended. They flipped through the pages and found more of the same introspective thoughts and memories. Never naming anyone beyond a first name or familial relationship. Like the book was serving as a reminder of the people she once knew and held a place in her heart for. It looked like she hadn't made an entry in a year.

The second journal was filled with cryptic codes in Y/N's native language. They couldn't make a lick of sense of it, all they could guess was that it held some type of guarded information and certain clues that seemed to tie to coordinates that they didn't understand or recognize.

Opening the spiral notebook, the two men sat stunned. In neat handwriting were names listed down and on the back page. 31 names – a crew or a gang of some kind they guessed. Next to all the names but one had the word Guilty next to it. The outlier had the word Innocent(?) attached to it. Next to 7 names were an X mark and a smiley face. In small script next to the smiley face was a time, or maybe a countdown of some type. Ranging between 2 to 78 minutes.

The next page in large calligraphy was written, 'Y/N don't lose your humanity.' Underneath that was scribbled, 'Humanity is an illusion. Human greed is the reality masking the show.'

In the following pages there were several writings, rantings, poems, and introspections about blood, violence, philosophy and death. Some entries sounded suspiciously like she was describing murders she committed without plainly stating so. Or maybe they were violent fantasies and delusions she wrote out for cathartic reasons. Kid nor Killer could say. What they could deduce was that the artistic woman on their ship was an enigma wrapped inside a riddle of a mystery, had a deep vendetta against people who wronged her, and might have a predilection for violence.

"I'm oddly comforted by all this," Kid admitted.

"Are you? I mean I guess I am too somewhat but I'm also left with more questions..."

"Me too but it's good to know that she's fucked up just like we are. I can roll with that."

The two put everything back in place and left the cabin as if nothing was amiss. No concern or anger was raised from Y/N and after several days, Kid and Killer felt like they had gotten away with their invasion of her privacy.

A week later, Killer braved flirting with her and invited her to his room. After having a taste of what Kid had been having for the last two months, Killer understood his best mate's fixation with her. A mysterious, quasi-psychotic woman with a great body and unbelievable flexibility. For that one night, Killer let go of his apprehensions about her as he thrusted into her tight body over and over again until Y/N convulsed on him with a vice grip and he released his tension and anxieties all over her.

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

[thesightstoshowyou]

How is my memory this terrible??

I’m reading through WIPs I have saved, desperate to motivate myself, and I literally have no clue where I was going with a few of them. Not a single inkling. Nary a clue. Not even the tiniest shred of insight.

[spoops-inliyue]

🕸 brag about something. can be some numbers you’re proud of, how long you saved for someone, a good artifact you got, whatever. just hype yourself up

🧷 who’s your least favorite character aesthetic-wise?

🦉 who was your first five star?

🪡 Who’s in your party and what roles do they fill?

🕸️ - Nari’s artifact set is so perfect I cannot put it into words, my guy had crit rate and crit damage on every single one I never have that kind of luck

🧷 - Does Baizhu count????? I can never tolerate green hair I just can’t and I’m not fond of the rest of him either but other than him if we’re talking playables then I have to say Nari but only because I can’t think of a character who’s appearance upsets me at all rn and I cannot for the life of me understand his clothes I have no fucking clue what’s going on with those

🦉- Yoimiya in a one pull after I spent 70 sm fates tryna get Kazuha’s bitch ass

🪡 - I usually have Beidou, Heizou, Kaeya and either Xingqiu or Tighnari. I wish I could say they all have separate roles but I literally just have them all as DPSs anything else they do like Beidou’s shield and Xingqiu’s healing is just a nice little bonus lmao

[nyt-crossword]

NYT Crossword Answer 10 January 2024

Across Hints

Podcasters’ needs NYT Crossword Clue

Meaty pasta sauce NYT Crossword Clue

”Hey, by the way …” NYT Crossword Clue

Apple with multiple cores NYT Crossword Clue

Eurasian river NYT Crossword Clue

Abstain from NYT Crossword Clue

*Job for a coxswain with rowdy rowers? NYT Crossword Clue

What’s tolerated by every body? NYT Crossword Clue

Natural hairstyles NYT Crossword Clue

Poorly NYT Crossword Clue

*Review for a so-so bakery? NYT Crossword Clue

2007 Michael Moore documentary about health care NYT Crossword Clue

”You’ve got ___ nerve!” NYT Crossword Clue

Melody NYT Crossword Clue

It’s often in stock NYT Crossword Clue

Chose a course NYT Crossword Clue

Dorothy Parker quality NYT Crossword Clue

*Person who assigns the order of opening presents? NYT Crossword Clue

”Yes,” in Japanese NYT Crossword Clue

Check box of last resort NYT Crossword Clue

Norse protector of humankind NYT Crossword Clue

Complain querulously NYT Crossword Clue

Kyrgyzstan mountain range NYT Crossword Clue

Extremist sects NYT Crossword Clue

*Completes a superhero transformation? NYT Crossword Clue

And others too numerous to mention NYT Crossword Clue

Nary a soul NYT Crossword Clue

Island nation whose currency is the tala NYT Crossword Clue

Preschool teacher’s mantra … or a hint to the answers to the starred clues NYT Crossword Clue

Have a nibble of NYT Crossword Clue

Brazilian berry NYT Crossword Clue

She, on the Seine NYT Crossword Clue

Expression that might accompany a mustache twirl NYT Crossword Clue

Word repeated in a 1956 Doris Day single NYT Crossword Clue

Brighter times NYT Crossword Clue

Down Hints

It’s catching NYT Crossword Clue

”Not sure yet” NYT Crossword Clue

Something to make or break NYT Crossword Clue

”Magic that works,” per Vonnegut NYT Crossword Clue

Runner on the ground? NYT Crossword Clue

Like an excited crowd NYT Crossword Clue

Social blunder NYT Crossword Clue

Marine leader? NYT Crossword Clue

Small ice cream order NYT Crossword Clue

Ad ___ NYT Crossword Clue

”Never mind what I just said!” NYT Crossword Clue

One of the Astaires NYT Crossword Clue

Caterwauls NYT Crossword Clue

Cozy corner NYT Crossword Clue

Romantic attraction, slangily, with “the” NYT Crossword Clue

Its name means “waterless place” in Mongolian NYT Crossword Clue

Hype (up) NYT Crossword Clue

Something to follow, in cards NYT Crossword Clue

”If so, then …” NYT Crossword Clue

Number of graduates in the first class at West Point (1802) NYT Crossword Clue

Poetic frequency NYT Crossword Clue

Utmost NYT Crossword Clue

Writer Umberto NYT Crossword Clue

Buds go in them NYT Crossword Clue

Dance floor flourish NYT Crossword Clue

Less sharp, as footage NYT Crossword Clue

Animal whose brain has the most gray matter of any mammal NYT Crossword Clue

They’re raised in Chi-Town NYT Crossword Clue

Found innocent NYT Crossword Clue

Part of, as a plot NYT Crossword Clue

”___-daisy!” NYT Crossword Clue

Tales of daring NYT Crossword Clue

Frome of fiction NYT Crossword Clue

Classical cover-ups NYT Crossword Clue

Chilling NYT Crossword Clue

Labor activist Chavez NYT Crossword Clue

”___ 18″ (novel by Leon Uris) NYT Crossword Clue

Exclusively NYT Crossword Clue

Wrinkles in time? NYT Crossword Clue

Its ways are numbered: Abbr. NYT Crossword Clue

O.S.S. successor NYT Crossword Clue