#wilfullness

[pearlsforthesoul]

KING of the HILL GAME (you rule) NOW WHAT?

Think: winning or having without meaning. Consider the King of the Hill game where a person, (usually a child?), gains an upper ground & others try to throw that person from it thus becoming the new “king” of the hill. This goes on & on until every calls it quits. The one who could not be dethroned or brought down wins/won but what? AS A CHILD’S GAME This is packed with fun, daring, adventure &…

[normalbrothers]

TOMMY: The stag is to remember him. We eat and then we forget him.

No need to forgive him. Agreed?

[khattikeri]

kind of impressive how lan xichen manages to still be perceived as a smart but tragically kindhearted and righteous man when he consistently, easily, and very intentionally turns a blind eye to wrongdoing from people (jin guangyao) or groups (gusu lan, the jianghu in general) whom he tells himself "have a good reason" to do violent and immoral things. he's not dumb and he wasn't sadly misled by one bad apple. he was just an enabler who didn't want to examine or challenge his perception of them as good people.

[mojaves]

is this why people are so stupid lately. like a significant increase in stupidity.... no one can google things anymore

[supermacaquecool]

Finally got to the conclusion Knd is indeed my fav

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

There were shades of Black Mirror in ‘.world’,

given the surreal horror that people inside the dome refused to see.

[citizenshipsolutions]

Schwarzbaum - Willfulness In A Civil FBAR Penalty vs. Willfulness In A Criminal FBAR Penalty

Two kinds of “willful” FBAR penalties: Generally both “civil” and “criminal” FBAR penalties can be asserted. Conviction of a “criminal FBAR penalty” an result in incarceration. Willful FBAR Penalty 1 – The Civil Willful Penalty – 31 U.S.C. 5321(a)(5)(c) 31 U.S. Code § 5321 – Civil penalties (C) Willful violations.—In the case of any person willfully violating, or willfully causing any violation…

[alicentsgf]

actually does genuinely upset me how lotties treated in the teen timeline tho. shes a figurehead. shes a symbol. she barely even gets to be a person, let alone a scared child like the rest of them. she doesnt even really have any friends, just followers. like who checks in with her? truly? they're all looking to her for answers all the time and she feels like she should have them. when they need her they use her to alleviate their guilt and pain, they let her comfort them, and then shes alone again. like yes they're scared kids just trying to believe in something, but lotties a scared kid too and you cant tell me there isnt at least a slight amount of wilfull ignorance involved here. a lot of them deep down KNOW lotties struggling with something, they just cant allow themselves to fully realise it because then they'd have to question the belief system thats giving them hope and purpose. lottie ends up sacrificed on the alter of everyone elses sanity.

[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ BEAUTIFUL TORMENT ꒱ OKKOTSU YUUTA X READER

warnings ⟢ dead dove: do not eat. minors, blank blogs, and ageless blogs do not interact—i will block you! yandere. captivity. stockholm syndrome. mental unwellness. dub/noncon. pet play. omorashi + piss play. cunnilingus. butt plug mention. food mentions. afab + gn reader. pet names are: bunny, my love, baby, sweetness. reader refers to yuuta as “yuuta-sama.”

word count ⟢ 2.3k

notes ⟢ this is my (incredibly belated) birthday present to yuuta! it was a massive undertaking to write; what initially began as a tiny drabble spiraled into...well, this. please heed the warnings before reading! and if you do read, be sure to let me know what you think! mwah <3

It’s impossible to tell the time of day in a room with neither clocks nor windows—not that you need to worry your precious little head with keeping time.

Time is not your master, after all.

Your existence is split in two—not unlike that of the earth: ever rotating on its axis, kissed by sunbeams from dawn until dusk, then solemnly accepting the moon’s company. Waiting for your master’s light to cut through the shadowy pitch of night is lonely; basking in his presence during the day is suffocating. You are either with or without him, for he is the extent of your life.

There is nothing else.

Lifetimes ago, you resented him. Aimless yet headstrong, you were a feral stray to others and yourself. You spat in the face of his kindness, biting his hand with all the strength you could muster—a wilfull thing, he affectionately called you, unphased by the bloody rivulets coursing down his forearm. His was the only hand that ever deigned to feed you, but compassion was foreign to your frozen heart. It made your chest ache uncomfortably.

(He still dons the scars you gifted him; memento vivere. Sometimes, when you cling to the euphoria of being cradled as he slumbers, you lick each gnarled patch of tissue—repentant before your sins.)

While your spirit was difficult for your master to forge, he recast your body with ease. Quickly, your nerves memorized the savage shock of pain and the satisfying hum of pleasure. Even though there was a disconnect with your unyielding mind, your body was obedient when you faltered; honest when you lied; meek when you resisted. It was a steep adjustment—melting down and fitting into the mold he created for you.

But you now bear the invisible marks of his torment beautifully.

Reflecting on your past cruelty and ignorance is excruciating. While you’ve done your best to forget, memories claw at your psyche when you’re swathed in starlight, solitary and susceptible. Though you know you belong with him—at his feet or by his side, whatever he deems fit, until death do you part—your subconscious is less convinced.

Dreams are never a reprieve; they haunt you. Remnants of your hatred linger on, your shadow self gnawing on the thought of ripping him to shreds when he’s at his most vulnerable, hair falling across his closed eyes—a picture of soft, boyish innocence. It’s an exhausting ordeal, feeling as though you’re at war in your sleep, never able to relax. Once you awaken, your lungs burn. Something within you cracks open and yawns.

Do you not deserve peace?

Curled up in your bed, half-delirious and longing for daylight, your ears perk at the thump, thump, thump of footsteps descending the staircase.

You would recognize the distinct vibrations of his footfalls even if you were deaf; the reverberations resonate in your bones, thrumming from your crown to your toes. Each muffled thud sets your dormant body alight, kindling the snuffed embers in your core—Pavlov’s tinkling bell. If you had a tail, it would be twitching in anticipation. Your weary heart beats only for him.

My sun.

My sun my sun my sun.

One by one, the chain lock, deadbolt, knob lock, and padlock that keep you sheltered and secure click and clink into place. The doorknob twists as the door creaks open, gingerly shutting seconds later.

“How’s my bunny?” Yuuta’s mellow voice rings out.

Approaching you, he soaks in your huddled figure with a distressed frown. On the nightstand, he notes your empty snack plate and drained water jug.

(When he first takes you in, you outright refuse sustenance, launching a hunger strike. You fail spectacularly, of course. Yuuta pivots with finesse; he makes you taste the bitter dehumanization of being strapped down and force-fed.

Afterward—though you do eat of your own volition—you exercise what little willpower you have, pitching fits during mealtimes.

Secretly, he finds it endearing.

“It’s important that you’re healthy and strong; I want us to spend the rest of our long, happy lives together,” he implores as you eye the food suspiciously.

Fresh apple, carrot, and celery—all sliced into small, bite-sized cubes. It’s how you would prepare food for a toddler to prevent them from choking.

Indignantly, you turn your nose up at his offering, the sight of it making you nauseous. “This is rabbit food,” you spit. “And I’m not your fucking child. I don’t even want to be here.”

“You don’t mean that,” he states with finality.

Refusing to ask for the thousandth time why it has to be you sitting here in his care, you dejectedly open your mouth, allowing him to feed you a tiny piece of carrot.

As you crunch and grind the morsel into a pulp, the sweet, earthy flavor coats your tastebuds. You can’t help but wonder: What good will all these vegetables do if I never see the light of day again?)

Yuuta leans over the bedside, chilly fingertips unfurling around your neck. He slowly brings his lips to your forehead and pauses, testing your temperature—normal.

After he leans back, he speaks. “What are these tears for, my love? They hurt my heart.”

Tender lips sweep away a dewdrop that slides down your cheek; you hadn’t realized you were crying. Under his intense appraisal, you feel small. You feel fragile. You feel safe.

“I missed you, Yuuta-sama,” is all you manage to utter.

At your admission, the fingers on your neck tighten imperceptibly. His thumb strokes your jugular—featherlight. “Oh, my poor bunny,” he sighs, dropping his head to nuzzle the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “I’ve made you suffer.”

Wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, you protest, “Please don’t say that, Yuuta-sama. It’s my fault…I’m too needy.”

I missed my sun.

Looking up at you from beneath a curtain of ink, he tsks, nose skating along the curve of your jaw. “No, you aren’t. You’re perfect. My precious—” you gasp when he nips at your pulse point “—most perfect love. There’s nothing I’d rather do than be with you all day every day, endlessly adoring you.”

With a pout, you mumble, “Then why don’t you?”

“You know I have to work to protect you.”

Every bit his spoiled pet, your voice wobbles. “I wish you never had to leave.”

“One day I won’t,” he soothes, dotting a kiss to your cupid’s bow. “But until then, we have to enjoy every moment we have together—right?”

“Mhmm.”

For a few breaths, you lapse into syrupy silence. Your fingers weave through the hair at his nape; his head tucks beneath your chin, his balmy exhales tethering you to the present.

When he withdraws, something like a promise glints in his eyes. Your stomach flips. “Will you allow me to help you feel better?”

Sniffling, you nod, and sit up. The blanket slips down your shoulders, revealing the swell of your breasts. While your room is always an optimal temperature, you’re warmer now that you have relished Yuuta’s sunlight—revitalized.

He sweeps a hand through your hair, and you lean into the calming pressure of his touch. His lips curl into a fond smile. “Up, bunny.”

Without hesitation, you obey, leaving the cosy nest of your bed to stand on the cold concrete. No longer wrapped in linens, your nude form is on display. Yuuta’s lapis gaze sweeps over every sliver of your flesh, ears to soles.

Once, his inspections—both visual and physical—made you cower in humiliation and bristle with anger. Now you preen, your lovely features a placid lake. But a storm stirs the glassy surface as you shuffle awkwardly, suddenly aware of how overfull your bladder is.

Seemingly omnipotent, Yuuta’s hand grazes your belly. “Do you have to pee? You had a lot of water to drink while I was away.”

You grimace. “I do, Yuuta-sama.”

“Let’s get you taken care of.”

Reaching out to grasp your hand, he leads you straight to the bathroom, a pristine pee pad already laid out on the tile. While you know what comes next, you await his orders like an obedient pet, fidgety with expectation.

He caresses your head. “Situate yourself, okay?”

Wordlessly, you drop to the floor. Embarrassment prickles your flesh as you lean back on the palms of your hands, balancing on your tiptoes, legs spread wide apart. Your hips jut out, presenting your slick, needy cunt to Yuuta. He towers above you in this position, irises an oil spill—unfathomable in their iridescent depths.

Shame leaves you in waves and lust takes its place, blurring the edges of all your senses. You look up at his handsome face through drooping eyelashes and swallow the urge to whimper; your clit throbs in wanton need. A sparkling bead of desire drips from your hole, rolling down the cleft of your ass.

Returning to your side, he kneels behind you. His gravity is reassuring. You nearly dribble when he hums, encouraging, “Go on, bunny.”

The dam bursts.

A small stream shoots out of you, experimentally, before a steady jet arcs through the air and hotly puddles on the pad. Head cottony with clouds of relief, your limbs feel heavy yet unmoored—a bee drowning in its own honey. Unbidden, a gasp escapes you, luring Yuuta’s pointer and middle fingers to your petal-soft lips. A flash of slick pink, you accept them inside with a sloppy, wet suck, diligently laving each digit.

Perhaps you could survive on the salt of his skin.

“Such a good bunny,” he coos.

You frown when his fingers pop out of your mouth, but your pathetic whine turns into a shriek as he begins to rub slippery circles on your swollen clit, your piss spraying everywhere. While your flow ebbs to a trickle, the insistent pressure on your bundle of nerves continues. A flower scorched by the sun’s rays, you wilt against Yuuta, inhaling the familiar smell of his detergent.

“Y-Yuu—tah—s…s-ama!” Buzzing like a live wire, a jolt of electricity skitters down your spine.

“Gonna cum? Let go, sweetness. Show me how pretty you are when you just let go.”

A beast of an orgasm ravages your body, tearing its way out of your lungs and core, clear liquid spurting out of you. Only the whites of your eyes are visible as you scream, hips wildly bucking. You soon crumple beneath the weight of your climax onto the sodden pad, the aftershocks tingling through your extremeties, pussy unbearably empty.

Beaming, Yuuta proceeds to suck his dripping fingers clean, his groan stoking your pride. “You did so well.”

Pulse thundering in your ears from the intensity of your high, you shudder, twisting your fists into the fabric of his slacks—an attempt to ground yourself.

“May I have a taste?” Yuuta asks sweetly, maneuvering around you before your leaden tongue can string together a response. He lies between your quivering, piss-splattered thighs, uncaring of the urine that seeps through his dress shirt and pants.

“You’re so messy, bunny,” he teases, breath curling deliciously against your heat; you warble, clenching in anticipation. “Don’t worry—I’ll clean you up.”

He fondles your pubic hair with both hands, smearing a kiss on your mons. Thumbs gliding down, he gently spreads your labia, exposing your still-aching clit. The tip of his nose grazes the delicate tissue, forcing a squeal from you. But it’s as though your reactions don’t reach him—he’s so entranced. He sniffs deeply.

“Beautiful…” he whispers, ardent as a prayer.

Unhurried, he licks a searing stripe from your ass to your tender bud. The sound you make is premature—guttural and half-formed, a hideous thing. But it’s Yuuta’s favorite hymn.

After repeating the silken motion until he has thoroughly savored the tang of your cunt, he settles in and laves at your drooling hole, lapping up your juices. Never keen on making you suffer, though, he soon kisses his way up to where you need him most, bumping his nose against your clit before latching on with a firm suck.

The simmering warmth in both your bladder and your womb rekindle into roaring flames, the smoke signaling your inevitable climax. You thrash and wail and yank at Yuuta’s hair, speech reduced to nonsensical babbles as he switches between suckling your clit and tugging your folds. In a final act of torment, he slides two lithe digits inside you, crooking them upward, plucking the pleasure from your innermost place.

“G—otta, n-nngh…go,” is all the warning you manage before you crest.

You piss again, hurtling right into your second orgasm. Yuuta suctions his mouth to your sex, greedily guzzling the mixture of fluids—cum, slick, and urine—until you’re dry. As he parts from your pussy, a silvery thread still connects you; it pulls taut, then snaps. Yuuta’s smile and praise lulls you to sleep.

The sun is smiling at me.

It takes nearly half an hour for you to regain consciousness.

Ever efficient, Yuuta cleans the bathroom and washes you both before you rouse. When you wake, your limbs are entwined with his, face buried in his strong chest. Despite feeling physically and emotionally drained, you purr, bathing in his attention.

“There’s my bunny. Will you sit up for me?” Without waiting for you to move, he pulls you onto his lap so that you face him; you try to ignore the way his bare cock rubs against you. “We need to get you hydrated—yeah, that’s it, baby. Drink it all. Good, good.” He holds the glass for you as you chug its contents, stray droplets dribbling down your chin. Keen on pleasing him, you finish it without complaint, ignoring your stomach’s protests. “Perfect.”

He wipes the excess water away, a mother tidying her child. No longer able to neglect the hardening length against your ass, you rock your hips, pulling an airy laugh from Yuuta.

“So greedy,” he murmurs, massaging the fat of your thighs. “Does my bunny need their tail?”

Shyly, you nod, lips parting as a single fingertip grazes your tight rim.

Yuuta doesn’t need to ask for permission. You would do anything for him, even if it meant your ruin. He’s your savior—your everlasting sun; simply being in his presence is more than enough.

And if you’re bound to get burned? At least you’ll be eternally his.

[elainsgirl]

Hold up.. Have people seriously misunderstood acosf so badly that when Sarah said the crumbs have been scattered and that she was looking forward to her friend reading Azriel's bc, they think she is NOT talking about Azriel's secret, his obsession with Elain that is scattered all through his entire subplot in acosf and then is completely exposed in the BC. No, she's talking about... Gwyn? ....???? It is such wilfull misinterpretation I don't know why anyone would set themselves up for such disappointment. Come on people! It is not difficult! Azriel's "secret" scattered all over acosf, completely exposed in the BC! I give up with these people...

RIGHT? Like - Az has been everyone’s most anticipated love interest for a long time, I think Mass was giddy over giving us pining, wanting to beg on his knees freak Azriel. I cannot see her being excited over…a mundane conversation between two characters. We finally get some Azriel action that Mass has been wanting to give for years.

Misinterpretation or willful ignorance/delusion ? Thats the true question.

It rlly isn’t difficult.

Az has some secret in acosf which Nesta finds out (Mass mentioned it too in an interview) -> we find out he has developed feelings for Elain. THATS his secret. He literally says it outright why he was by the door - something Nesta understood. You cannot get more clearer then character themselves spelling it out for you.

Everyone has given up with them, unfortunately they’re like brycerials. You just can’t get rid of them with canon.

[pearlsforthesoul]

THE HEART-DRIVEN JOURNEY (full life)

Ambition unleashed or the heart-driven life? Do we apply a will, focus & then become unrelenting helping to achieve the subject? Called “goals” as in reaching your personal endeavor, while functional & necessary, do not confuse this with the heart-driven life where your wants & needs are known (& waiting), but now become your heart’s desire. Take “heart” for the heart is more powerful than your…

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

Ok, I'm going to say this as a 19 y/o, but I think we as a society give wayyyyy to much grace to teenagers. I mean, yeah, our brains aren't fully developed, but we still understand the difference between right and wrong. Like, we understand how the world works to an extent. Excusing ignorance, selfishness, and cruelty because "they're literally a teenager" is very infantilizing and enabling.

Yes, our emotions get the best of us, we have bad coping skills, and we don't have the best critical thinking skills. However, the expectation shouldn't be that we're inept, naive, and frankly stupid things. I think there should be grace and understanding extended to teenagers and teenaged characters, but not the extent I see people give.

For instance, Sansa Stark is given wayyyyy to much grace for her wilfull ignorance regarding Littlefinger's plans. Yes, it's excusable to and extent in AGOT, she was a sheltered girl who saw the world in a very whitewashed way. However, by the point of AFFC, she knows the world is harsh, she knows Littlefinger has no issues killing to get his way. She chooses to ignore this truth.

Now, I'm not saying Sansa is evil and irredeemable. Her wilfull ignorance is a character flaw, one she will develop out of. She's a gray character, just like every other character in ASOIAF. (I also have a lot to say about her bullying of Arya, but I won't talk about that here).

Alicent also receives the same treatment a lot. I think some of her choices in the first few episodes of season 1 do fit with the excuse. However, her choices throughout the show, her very stupid and cruel decisions, are so often excused long after her teenage years. This is a whole ass 30 y/o and her stans are treating her like she's fucking 15.

With Dany, I see the opposite applied. I've seen people say that she's foolish and naive, is too young to understand how the world works. They say she throws temper tantrums and expects the world to fall in line for her. This isn't the case. Rather than excuse her actions and flaws because "she's just a teenager", people create stereotypical flaws of teenage girls in her story.

Dany is known to be extremely wise for her age and she displays amazing self control and emotional regulation that I don't have now, let alone when I was 13. Dany is compassionate, self-sacrificing, and displays great foresight. She's someone who was forced to learn the harsh realities of the world young. She's not a stupid child, she shouldn't be infantilized, especially since it's always done maliciously.

I think (show) Rhaenyra gets the same treatment, but to a lesser extent. Her rightful reactions (ie to Criston asking her to run away) are misconstrued as the choices of a spoiled teenager. And yeah, that does come through sometimes, I guess; however, not nearly to the extent her antis accuse her of.

Rhaenyra wanting to change the cultural misogyny isn't her being spoiled, it's a fair goal. She's going to be the most powerful person in the kingdom, it's more immature, I think, for her to not have any plans or ambitions. Rhaenyra not wanting to run away to a life of poverty isn't being spoiled; it'd be naive of her to do that with a dude she had a drunken one night stand with.

These are just some examples of this teenager excuse being misapplied. Each time this happens, as a teenager, I feel insulted. We are not simply naive idiots; we are not just overemotional or selfish. We have brains, treat us like we do. Expect teenagers to understand at least the basics of morality and the world. This enabling behavior encourages teenagers to act selfish and be unthoughtful.

[nqueso-lies]

They're so obsessed with subtext that doesn't exist that they're wilfulling ignoring what's right in front of their faces.

HEY, YOU TURDS, IT AIN'T THAT DEEP. THEY DECIDED THEY DON'T WANT YOUR PRECIOUS SHIP TO BE CANON. DEAL WITH IT.

TURDS 😭

[applepie2523]

"S01E08 of story issues that not only make the episode feel *off* the more you think about it, but some of the episode's story points have very negative consequences for the narrative quality of the show later on.

1. Alicent's character falls apart in the middle of S01E08 and never recovers, she sees Rhaenyra smile at her during dinner and decides to become her #1 fan. This is the woman who plotted against Rhaenyra for 20 years and now watched a man get executed for telling a truth that's against Rhaenyra's interests, and she reacted to all this by shrugging and wanting to become best friends again. Thus began the gradual process of turning Alicent from a fierce and protective matriarch to a schizo who cares more about a long-ended childhood friendship than her own family and children.

2. It reverses how the Throne treats Viserys. In the book originally the Driftmark succession trial is a very important moment: Viserys becomes overzealous while defending Rhaenyra's transgressions, and the Throne 'punishes' him for it. The second he calls Vaemond's accusations lies, the Throne cuts him so deeply that he never sits on it again. In S01E08 this is completely changed into Viserys finally finding strength and sitting the throne without issue in order to defend Rhaenyra. The everpresent symbol of monarchy undercutting the King in the eyes of the entire court was supposed to be a crucial moment in this story but it got completely removed, reversed even.

3. Rhaenyra is toned down at the moment when she's supposed to be really fierce and ambitious. In the book Rhaenyra kills Vaemond and feeds his body to her dragon, and wants the throne because she believes it is her right: she is the future queen and shows no mercy to the traitors who defy her. In HOTD however she's a shocked bystander when Daemon beheads Vaemond (who all but begs to be executed) and she only seeks the throne because a prophecy about saving the world requires her to be queen. This prophecy stuff would continue to haunt the narrative and take away agency and wilfullness from characters.

4. Viserys would forgive Rhaenyra for almost anything but perhaps the only thing that could lead to her being disinherited is to marry Daemon. So surely once that happens there should be serious consequences for her relationship with Viserys, right? Or at least it should be addressed in some way? Oops, TIMESKIP! And it continues when Viserys is too frail and incoherent to care anymore, so looks like we're not getting anything! S1 of HOTD likes using timeskips to avoid answering some hard questions but this is probably the most egregious example.

5. The whole framing of what the Blacks are doing in this episode is misaligned with what is actually transpiring on screen. The Blacks left Viserys to rot in the clutches of their political rivals for years without ever being there for him, and only came crawling back because they desperately needed his help to absolve Rhaenyra of her irresponsibilities catching up to her. Then they got him off his medication and dragged him out of his deathbed for that favor, and left that same evening once their plan worked. Then once news of his death reached them, they reacted to it by saying he was murdered even though they knew he was a walking corpse. The show framing all this as wholesome and uplifting, a family finally reconciling, I'll be honest watching this episode felt like my television was gaslighting me.

6. Alicent misinterpreting the king's deathbed words in order to give Aegon a claim to the throne. This is ridiculous because Aegon already *has* a claim. The Dance was always meant to be about the Targaryens spitting their own succession claim in two, between preferred claimant (Rhaenyra) and lawful claimant (Aegon), which spirals into a succession crisis. When the show rooted Aegon's ascension in a lie/misunderstanding it completely destroyed his claim in the eyes of the audience, because now whenever a character says "Viserys made Aegon king" the audience will of course respond with "no he didn't." So now the Dance into a tale of true heir chosen by the gods vs fraud, which completely misses the mark and ignores the cultural and political basis of Aegon's claim.

7. While the first seven episodes of S1 maintained a decent balance of right vs wrong, it completely threw that away with episode 8. Suddenly Alicent is a religious conservative nutcase who gives footjobs to a sleazy spymaster, adult Aegon's on-screen introduction is through a weeping girl telling the audience he raped her, the whole Green faction are psychopathic towards each other even when there's little narrative cause for it. Helaena's scene of visiting Viserys with her children in tow? It's actually given to Rhaenyra who is turned into a near-saint in this episode, she doesn't want the throne and is heavily burdened by the prophecy. After episode 8, any semblance of "both sides have a point" is completely gone from HOTD and turns it into a good guys vs bad guys show.

There's more but I think this is enough to go on."

[thesobsister]

Three images of Lucretia by Artemisia Gentileschi.

(CW: SA) Lucretia, say Roman historians, was a virtuous married woman, who lived ca. 500 BCE. She was violated by Sextus Tarquinius, a son of what would be the last king of Rome, Lucius Tarquinius Superbus. Lucretia, reportedly, then called in her father and husband with witnesses, told them of this act of violence, and stabbed herself.

Her husband, seeing his beloved wife dead, took the bloody knife and swore the following oath on it, passing it to the other men to likewise swear:

"By this blood—most pure before the outrage wrought by the king's son—I swear, and you, O gods, I call to witness that I will drive hence Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, together with his cursed wife and his whole blood, with fire and sword and every means in my power, and I will not suffer them or anyone else to reign in Rome."

(per hunc castissimum ante regiam iniuriam sanguinem iuro, vosque, di, testes facio, me L. Tarquinium Superbum cum scelerata coniuge et omni liberorum stirpe ferro, igni, quacumque denique vi possim, exsecuturum nec illos nec alium quemquam regnare Romae passurum)

In the resulting revolution, Tarquinius was overthrown, his rapist son hunted down and killed, and the Roman Republic established. While considered part of Rome's mythohistory, the story of Lucretia resonated for centuries after its telling, most notably in William Shakespeare's extended poem-drama, The Rape of Lucrece, excerpted here:

"What could he see but mightily he noted? What did he note, but strongly he desired? What he beheld, on that he firmely doted, And in his will his wilfull eye he tyred. With more then admiration he admired Her azure vaines, her alablaster skinne, Her corall lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.

As the grim Lion fawneth ore his pray, Sharpe hunger by the conquest satisfied: So ore this sleeping soule doth TARQVIN stay, His rage of lust by gazing qualified; Slakt, not supprest, for standing by her side, His eye which late this mutiny restraines, Vnto a greater vprore tempts his vaines.

And they like stragling slaues for pillage fighting, Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting, In bloudy death and rauishment delighting; Nor childrens tears nor mothers grones respecting, Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting: Anon his beating heart allarum striking, Giues the hot charge, & bids thē do their liking."

The story, painted three times by Gentileschi, must have resonated with her, who was, herself, the victim of sexual assault by her teacher when she was 17 in a case that was tried, lasted seven very difficult months for her—including, in what has to be one of the low points of victim-blaming in Western civilization, being tortured to ensure the veracity of her testimoney, and ended in his exile, which was never enforced, and the conviction had no impact on his life or career.

One might have hoped that Lucretia (and Artemisia) had been able to take a page from another of Gentileschi's subjects:

Giuditta che decapita Oloferne (Judith Beheading Holofernes) (ca. 1620)

[tyazz]

If you want to stare ignorance and complete and utter futility in the face just look at your average Anti-German. You won't find much life going on behind those eyes but you'll know the face of wilfull ignorance