#wife self immolate

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“WIFE SLAYER BECOMES TORCH,” The Province (Vancouver). March 16, 1931. Page 5. --- Alberta Man Leaps Into Flaming Strawstack and Burns to Death. --- TOTS CARRY NOTE --- EDMONTON, March 16. - Sending his children into Vegreville with a note in which he signified his intentions, Steve Yknitski, farmer, killed his wife with an axe in his stable at Royal Park near Vegreville this morning and then leaped into a flaming straw stack where he was burned to death.

At noon Alberta provincial police officers and residents were busy battling the flames in an attempt to get the body from the straw pile. The body of the woman remained in the stable, and no examination had been made at that time. The children, aged 8 and 4 years, were instructed by the father to take the note to his brother-in-law. The latter read it, notified Corporal Heacock of the Alberta provincial police detachment, and then rushed out to the farm, where he found the body of the woman, and could see that of the man enveloped by the flames in the straw stack.

Corporal Heacock and residents were making desperate efforts to quench the flames to get the body of the man out before it was entirely consumed, but the intense heat beat them away.

[g1rlken]

too sweet 11

Rupert Campbell black x fem!reader, godfather!tony

— part 1 here

summary: Rupert comes forth with a proposal to help the Baddingham family out of bankruptcy

warnings: arranged marriage, mild swearing

word count: 6.4k words

-

That could not possibly be. Kissing, Rupert. Rupert. Of all people, that man. How could she be so devoid of self awareness like this. Deprive herself of proper principles kissing him back this time. She didn’t even reminisce to the sweetness of the kiss, if one would call it that. Agitated out of her mind she huffed returning back to the paperwork at the end for the bankruptcy which did not seem to have any viable result. Meeting one dead end after another over and over. She had the feeling of being a traitor, kissing the enemy, not being a useful asset to the war at hand and then she realise it wasn’t the 18th hundreds; she had to stop flipping about. Mistakes happen. They happen. Rupert happened.

Following that week she avoided Rupert as if the proximity he was present in was about to go through a disastrous calamity, like a virus, which he was which everyone said. She wasn’t married enough to catch him like that. The prospect in her mind was funny, had she befriended any people in this godforsaken town to joke about she would do so. But as of now she did not have the time nor the correct people. Imagine telling Bas that she’d kissed Rupert. She would much rather self immolate than have that conversation.

The days were so ghastly she was met with such guilt filled anguish about the kiss and the knife of bankruptcy lingering over, loosing solutions and seeing her uncle’s turmoil. It could not get worse than this. Scratching, crossing and throwing papers in her home office upstairs she barely adhered someone at the door, when the bell rang. But it was evening and nobody important visited at the time. At least not for her. Others were probably anyways home to answer the door.

Tony’s face fell when he saw who was at the door and he did not even try to pick it up because there was so much to his displeasure already, “Good evening.” Rupert, dressed in a well pressed suit and flowers in his hand. “Bas is not here.” Tony answered for the man wanting to be done with this interaction with lightening speed. Sending him off right as he came.

“I am not here for him.” Rupert answered, climbing a step on the well marbled entrance stairs to the Baddingham mansion. “May I?” He said, politely allowing himself inside even though Tony felt like being ambushed.

Very uncharacteristic for Rupert to be this way towards their house. Flowers and suits and may-I-small talk. Rupert found his way to tony’s sitting area and he followed behind the man. Both men sat in arm chairs across each other, Tony observed with a distasteful raised brow as Rupert sat on the edge of his seat. Trying to feign respect? Poise? Tony couldn’t figure it out but he was vexed regardless. “So what is it?” Tony inquired letting out a sigh.

“Is Mrs. Baddingham home?” Rupert asked as he kept clutching on to the bouquet of flowers he’d brought for god knows what reason. Nobody had died, Tony thought to himself. Well not yet anyways.

Wanting to get this antics of his over with as soon as possible Tony nodded and called for his wife who was already coming in with a glass of water for supposed guest she’d heard come in when the bell rang. “Rupert!” She exclaimed setting the tray on the coffee table. “Didn’t know you were coming in.”

“I am very fond of the look of surprise.” Rupert amused keeping it light hearted for the conversation upcoming, then he drank half the glass of water she’d brought him. “Sit, please.” He gestured to the arm chair next to Tony.

Just as confused as lord baddingham, keeping her grace and politeness up the lady sat anyways. With her positive smile, “I’m sorry to disappoint but I don’t think Bas is here.” She said assuming the same reason as Tony.

“He is not here for Bas.” Tony answered for Rupert flatly, absolutely underprepared for the curveball that was about to hit him.

“That is right I’m not.” Rupert agreed as he put the flowers forth and then sat back in his seat, clasping his hands together with a deep breath. “It is no secret, you are struggling with certain finances at the moment. Despite of our differences I want you to know I am not here to gloat nor empathise…I have a solution. I just want you to be patient and hear me out once.”

“I have one of the best and most educated people working on it. It isn’t even that big of a problem to begin with” Tony scoffed, it was the biggest problem yet but why would he mention that to Campbell Black? Most definitely here to gloat.

“Are you not nearly bankrupt?” Rupert inquired knowing the answer he just wanted Tony to realise the gravity of his mess.

“Are you not intruding the matter?” Tony snapped back, his patience no longer ran thin it had vanished. The might of this man was unbelievable, he came all the way to his house unannounced to meddle in his business.

“I am not. Like I said I have a solution.” Rupert said with a guarded, bordering polite tone which he never used with Tony as long as he could recall.

Lady Baddingham sought to excuse herself from this conversation since she did not handle business nor finances, “I believe I must excuse you gentlemen to this not being my subject. I could send y/n in, she is working upstairs anyways.”

Before Tony could refuse that, not to disturb y/n, someone who was actually working on the matter instead of this time waste of a man, “No no-“ Rupert said, rather immediate to stop her leave when she didn’t even attempt to stand up. “Don’t send her in.” He emphasised as though wanting her to be the last person for this conversation. “You ought to be here for this, please stay.”

“Oh alright…” she trailed off with an awkward attempt to laugh and make the direly situation lesser.

“I could help you with your situation, waver the tax fine off. It is merely a write off with the minister’s letter and your debt, I could fund that as an investment…if I were to transfer the money directly to my supposed familial-” he paused extremely hesitant to continue but did not let his confidence falter “wife’s account. Wife which I don’t have, but I could.”

Tony let a moment pass, just staring at the man with scrutiny and joined eyebrows as if he were solving some arithmetic in his head. “What?” He spoke finally with a huff, “a wife?” Zero situational awareness as to where Rupert was headed with this.

“If it is an account of your own family, you could easily pay off the debts it wouldn’t even be an additional loan. Even from me.” Rupert shrugged just beating around the bush explaining him the dynamics but not intent.

“Suppose yes.” Tony said turning business with this but he knew there was a score at the end of his deal which would shatter the land beneath his feet, “but you don’t have a wife and due to my deplorable luck l can’t marry you.” Tony scoffed looking away in disregard at his ridiculous offer.

“Ah Lord Baddingham!” Rupert exclaimed laughing as if he actually found that funny, “always so quick with his jokes.” He said pointing it to the man’s lady wife who flashed a small smile at the interaction. “No I don’t mean you…I happen to not have a wife, like I said.” Clearing his throat he shifted in his seat for the third time “and you happen to have someone in your family who could be courted, nudged towards marriage. Your niece-“ he could have paraphrased even more and more but the scrutiny was getting somewhat worse as he realised his point did go across.

The point went across Lord Baddingham like a knife to chest, he contemplated so silently and expressionless the under-reaction was a horror brewing. Even the ever chattery lady wife of his had nothing to say to lighten the tension. “You mean y/n?” Tony asked, as if to confirm.

The calm and guarded voice of his question almost made Rupert wanted to refuse that but he weighed heavy on confidence and answered “Yes.”

Tony nodded, taking in a deep breath bringing his hands together as he stood up slowly “Give me a moment.” He said casually and exited the room with slow strides.

Leaving Lady Monica with him in the wake of the tension of the proposal. “It is rather a generous offer, your kindness and charitable nature baffles me!” She spoke and her usual merry and forever unfazed expression was actually taken aback this time. The gesture and the guts. “As in truly baffles me.” Flabbergasted even.

Rupert just smiled at her words with a nod acknowledging that with modesty but as the time seemed to pass slow on Tony’s absence from the room he couldn’t help but feel anxious. He wasn’t someone who felt anxious often, worrying is for losers. His worry ceased to alarm as he looked up to Tony returning the room with his hunting rifle. “Woah woah now hang on a minute-“

“How dare you!” Lord baddingam enraged pacing across the room as he hastily loaded the rifle in his hands causing his wife to stand from her seat. “You think?! You think I will marry my only niece to someone as vile as you?!” He had added the bullets to the empty load box aiming the edge of it towards Rupert who know stood behind his seat. “I would never disdain the memory of my brother by wedding her to YOU!”

“He was my friend too. My good, honest friend I saw him as a mentor and I too wish to do this for your family on his memory this is beyond our rifts-“Rupert began a hasty explanation. Monica’s hands on Tony’s shoulders were a feeble attempt to hold him back as he fired it in his direction but went to his slant and missed Rupert. “Have you lost your mind?! You could have shot me!” Rupert exclaimed having easily dodged the poor aim he did not believe the man would actually shoot, forced to think against it as he was reloading the rifle again.

“I do intend to shoot you.” Tony parroted aggressively trying to add another bullet into his hunting gun.

“We can have a rational conversation on the subject getting hostile!” Rupert retaliated as Monica got Tony’s gun to lower its shooting end yet not completely out of his grasp.

“On the subject?” He huffed at the underplay of words Rupert used. “Marrying my godchild to a fucking cunt like you would be an atrocity!”

“It would just be one in name, arranged and completely transactional. Had I wanted to swoon her I wouldn’t be having this conversation of asking her hand in marriage with her uncle and aunt.” Rupert tried to explain how he referred to the situation in his point of view.

But it was no use to the offended Lord Baddingham, “You wouldn’t be able to swoon her in your next eight rebirths.” Tony said pointing to him with his gun again which was now taken away finally by Monica, shaking her head.

“Murder is the last thing we need on our plate at this point darling.” She told her husband and set the rifle aside with a heavy sigh.

“Get out.” Tony said approaching Rupert grabbing him by the collar of his blazer, “Get the fuck out of my house-!”

“Alright but you and I both know that even with your debts off, that tax fine is a number nowhere near all of your fortune.” Rupert said treading dangerous waters with practicality and the only language Tony understood, money. “The bank debts, I will transaction them off not as a loan. You wouldn’t have to pay me back. And the letter for tax fine. Think about it you know you need this.” He spoke on the border of his way out before heading out, Tony threw a glass on the wall he was behind, his direction which finally made him leave in a hurry.

There was no possible way Tony would even think of it. Gruffly he scoffed running up the stairs. In a bit y/n herself came downstairs but did not seem to find her uncle anywhere, “Is everything alright? I think I heard gunshots.” She asked her aunt leaning against the kitchen entrance.

“Don’t worry about it, it was nothing.” Monica assured her with a smile as her children settled for dinner. “Come I’ll set your plate.”

“Are you sure it was nothing?” Y/n asked because from the current state of life her uncle was very much in a position to shoot somebody or worse, himself even.

“Yes…” Lady Monica trailed off with a sigh as she ran a motherly hand through her hair, “don’t you worry, alright?” She always had this grounding way about herself who treated y/n the same as her own children.

There was so much left to interpretation but at this point y/n didn’t know what other problem she could tackle so she let it be taking her aunt’s word. Tony came downstairs rushing and dismissed the dinner call, grabbing his coat and running off out. It left the rest of them rather confused but his antics weren’t unseen of.

Tony spent hours with his accountants going through the dynamics of Rupert’s hypothetical plan. Wanting to see if that viper had a double side to this arrangement, that is, if he even thinks about it. The affidavit assurance he spoke of did make it solid. The accountants were very, very positive to go through this deal but he hadn’t told them the anguish of him yet.

He came home and discussed the matter over again with Lady Monica, “the accountants call it a golden deal but, Rupert?! I mean come on-“ he scoffed as he narrated it. “He’d marry her just to spite me. The intent, the motive it all seems so ghastly.”

“If the accounts have reassured you, I suggest you think this over rationally and not emotionally.” Lady Monica advised him from her seat, she loved y/n as much as Tony if not more but the stakes were rather unaffordable this time “Blessings in disguise don’t just come knocking at your door.”

“Rupert is no blessing.” Tony corrected her as his posture stiffened, his money and the post may just be so but himself was nowhere close to it.

“He doesn’t live that far” Lady Monica said with the undertone of considering the proposal, trying to give her husband silver linings.

“What does that have to do with anything?” He asked confused brows raising up at the implication.

“She wouldn’t be that far from us should you consider the prospect.” She explained meekly hoping it would get through without being offended. He did not get so, but he was still dismissal of the silver lining. “She is a smart girl. Why don’t you talk this over with her?”

“And tell her what? I am offered fortune of a dowry for her?” He scoffed shaking his head, he eventually would have to but he did not like that confrontation nor the subject.

“Tell her we are offered a way out, like the accountants said…a golden deal. She would understand.” Lady Monica said lastly as she bid him farewell and good night. He probably didn’t sleep the whole night that night with the information he had to relay on his niece the following morning.

The sunrise had never seemed so very dreadful before as it rose with the household. Tony had to put forth the happenings of yesterday and he hated it already, the sense of upcoming heartache. “You called for me?” Y/n’s knock on his home office door pulled Tony out of his trance as he nodded and gestured her to sit. She followed as she sat on the teal arm chair. “I have to go submit the appealing papers for an extension on the tax notice today did you look at the papers?”

Tony had long forgotten about those papers he had to go through previous night and they just rang a bell as of now. “Oh? Yes, the papers” he spoke paying less mind to it and then with a heavy sigh he sat slant to her on the sofa. “There is something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

The somber yet serious pitch of his tone was new these days, “what is it?” She asked placing her file on the desk to listen to him attentively.

“Rupert, came here last night and he has told us something that might change things.” Tony briefed her in vaguely even though he had thought about it the entire time last night he couldn’t find the right words to relay the information on her now that she was right in front of him.

“Rupert” she repeated trying to undermine the anxious paranoia rising within her. The fright she felt as to what he could have told him, the kiss? He wouldn’t stoop that low would he. It was a mistake. “What did he have to say?” She asked trying her best to maintain a level proper tone and not let the obvious anxiety show.

As he narrated about the proposal the colour on her face drained bit by bit, her uncle explained her only the dynamics of his money oriented offer and only lastly added “…that is, if you are to marry him.”

Y/n just started at him for a moment zoning out in the tense silence and then her shoulders relaxed as she gathered Rupert didn’t tell him about the kiss. “Marry him?” She let out a huff, “How dare he?! Has he gone mental to even think he can come into our house and bait us-“

“No no listen” Tony interrupted her before she was about to mirror the exact reaction he had from when he first found out about it. “I went to the accountants last night and they went through it. The dynamics of it—they said it is a golden deal.”

Oh. The fact that he was taking this in consideration and not ridicule and offence just sinked in. But she could not fathom it, “Are you asking…” the proposition was so ghastly to even say it in a sentence she just tailed off in implication.

“I don’t know if I am.” Tony said honestly because he had the same feelings on saying that out loud. Asking her to marry Rupert Campbell Black? “It’s a bad way out of this, it seems to be our only one.”

“What are you saying-?!” She exclaimed as she stood up from her seat in shock and disgust, “are you serious uncle? Rupert? Rupert?! Of all people? Rupert Campbell Black?” She scoffed speaking out her distress all in one breath “That man?”

“There is no need to panic like this I wouldn’t force you to even breathe in his direction let alone marry him if you don’t want to.” Tony assured her standing up with her and he walked across the space to get her a glass of water. “You have worked on this, you know what’s at stake and what else are our options.”

She took the water he offered her and gulped the full glass all at once to ease the nerves, “I know, I understand I know we don’t have time even, but” she let out a heavy breath even repeating that man’s name again felt like saying a slur. “This is-this is ridiculous!”

“You my darling are the first born of this family.” He told her putting a hand on her shoulder reassuringly “I would never want you to marry someone you don’t want to let alone that swine. You are worth a fortune for me alright? I have never asked anything of you all your life and I’m not even asking for this. I just want you to be open to it”

“But he’s Rupert!” She let out an exasperated sigh and moved away from him, pacing back and forth “If I marry him I’d never be able to show my face anywhere” she said considering that ugly life.

“This pains me more than it does you but he is not, not-reputable” he briefed her trying to provide whatever consolation.

"I don’t mean here" she said with an exasperated sigh running a hand through her hair. "I have friends everywhere but this place, honest, educated people. They would look down upon me if I was Mrs Campbell Black." It was more than a horror to loose even more people she could call her own. The city colleagues, people she trained with, went to university with. Forward minded new deal politics people would discontinue friendship with the conservative MP's wife.

"You will always have us though and you do have friends here, work, Corinium, you do have plenty." Tony explained, what seemed to be a big concern for her wasn't as dreadful for him. After all she had never given him a reason to think she considered countryside to be a small pond.

"It’s nowhere close" she muttered well aware she would not be able to get this point across.Besides she did have lots of other concerns to dwell upon "He is infuriating, a deceit, a hedonist and he is so much older!' She did not intend to let that come out as a whine.

"You do not have to clarify that to me, I have spent more years loathing him than you have seen winters." The godfather in him anguished more than he empathised with her. It was beyond understandable that it was only his disdain which had seeped through her due to all the right reasons which would make this even harder for her.

“My life would be over." Words couldn't put front just how much of dread occupied her heart and mind to even consider this.

"You know this doesn't have to be permanent. At all." He plotted in a low tone providing her actual theory to look forward to "Two years and you can divorce him. Our funds would be steady, the new earnings would be consistent and we can drop him like dead meat."

With a sharp intake of breath she thought his words over, that could be so. Knowing Rupert his own whim wouldn't last that long. "Two years maximum?" She asked for reassurance as she sat back down on the chair.

"Maximum." He confirmed positively mirroring her seating. "Consider him a means to an end. Two years is all I ask from you and then you can always marry a boy of your choice again!" All I ask from you y/n, his words echoes with the same blend of plea and demand of his tone.

She had felt this undertone of owing her godfather woven fragments in the tapestry of her life. He had raised her, like her own, it is only fair she repays it with her life however she can. Most days he felt hyperaware of the debt in her emotions, her unsaid obligation he did not feel like putting out like a house fire but raising more like a forest fire. She had started to feel this weight as she grew more sentient and emotionally mature, the weight grew more and he never bothered to tell her otherwise. A price for a parental figure she felt like paying for, pursuing careers he told her to, leading a life he asked her to. Neither him nor Monica ever made her feel a void in place for a childhood. She could say it was blissful and healthy despite of the tragedy. Tony articulated sense of purpose for her, she abided. Always. Forever bound to gratitude. "Ultimately this is your choice, if you refuse to the marriage we wont have this conversation again. You have my word."

You can always get another degree of your choice! You can always marry a boy of your choice again! Over and over and over twice the time for twice the decisions because she had to live it up for two people. Herself and her godfather. It was barely an illusion of choice, her uncle was not a level heeded man when cornered. If not today, next week when, if not then when the third notice comes in, that is when he would loose his composure and she knew him well enough to see that.

With a day or two to her demise and battling against the circumstance, there wasn’t even any other road to not be taken. The universe had put forth one and only one way out of this and it was an incomprehensible burden to carry. A simple, “Alright then, Rupert it is.” And the wedding bells rang like an alarm in a troubled country. Tony rushed to inform Rupert of it in the very same day not even an hour of time difference since she agreed. To have a second thought himself or offer her more guidance and a space to change her mind which she so desperately wanted to. There was no time, they had more than just wedding to make arrangements for.

Her godfather had asked y/n if she were to join him in informing Rupert of her acceptance but she abruptly refused. Which was understandable, why would she endure the man in optional settings. Tony didn’t force her on attending for now anyways, she was doing a lot in retrospect.

However the exchange left Rupert with an unsure and skeptical attitude to the lady’s willingness when she did not come with her uncle to relay her answer. It felt rather strange and knowing Tony he would most definitely answer for his niece and then force her to the outcome he wanted. So he decided to take matters into his own hands to cross check.

Somewhat late in the night post dinner as the countryside fell quiet to the crickets and nightly mist. Easily making his way through the estates he calculated exact space to her room by standing right below it. Unaware that a heartbroken y/n was lying in bed listening to her vinyls trying to angst out the gradual foreseen depression with music. She missed the pebbles clashing on her balcony door. It was only when their amount grew and the feeble sounds became frequent that she was pulled out of her horror-dreaming trance of envisioning her upcoming life. She pulled the needle off the vinyl and turned away from the record player to inspect over the balcony. Hugging her cardigan closer to herself as she was exposed to the chill November air outside of her room. She lowered her gaze to inspect where the direction of the small stones that lay around her balcony. That is when she saw Rupert halfway through the tree adjoining her balcony. “What are you doing?” She asked as her eyes widened and her face fell at its sight. He was rather swift with his movements and study grip over the old tree and then he jumped off to the side, then the pipe, a bit too much of sturdy gymnastics and she was more freaked out than concerned or amazed. “Have you lost your mind-?!” She was whisper yelling as she looked back to her room to see if someone was there to interrupt this madness.

He managed to climb up to her balcony. Leaning on the railing from the outside as she distance herself, catching a breath creating a winter fog. He smiled through panting out his determination, swaying his leg across the railing as he made his way into her balcony. “I would have come through the main door but you ignored my calling.” He said referring to the small stones laid around them, in the wake of his attempt to catch her attention.

“What is wrong with you!” She exclaimed knowing well enough that there was plenty, “what if you had ended up on the wrong balcony.”

“I did. Your cousins, the children. They directed me here.” He said plainly as if he were to end up at any other room would be a horror for him. Nothing fortified his will more than what his heart desired “I wanted to see you.”

“At this hour?” Making her away inside to her room given it was unbearably cold outside for just one layer which she’d worn. She was in no mood to cater to his stunt but he followed her inside and she did not refuse him anyways.

“You could have come to meet me yourself today, when your uncle did.” He said with a shrug, closing the door behind his hands. Rupert wanted to cross check if she even knew that Tony had visited him today to affect his proposal.

“I didn’t want to then and I don’t want to now.” She spoke with an alerted and agitated look on her face. Alert to look out for any noise outside of her room, concerned footsteps if they heard conversation from her room in the dead of the night.

“Has he even told you?” Rupert said with a scoff, he was more confident over the fact that Tony would have said yes to their marriage for his self serving ways and not even considered her. It couldn’t possibly be that she herself couldn’t be bothered to visit him herself to give her ‘yes.’

“Told me what?” Bemused look on her face, unsure that there was more information for her uncle to withhold from her.

“Unbelievable…” he scoffed putting his hands on his hips as he looked around and then back to her, “just as I thought. He came to visit me today to tell me you accept the marriage proposal.”

“I know that” she answered with a unfazed look on her face, not even of sorrow or remorse. “He told me he was going” hell, even lady monica wanted to go with a proper basket and celebratory essence of it but it was neither celebratory nor familial so she did not attend.

“And you did not deem it necessary to come?” He was surprised to say at least, blissfully unaware to a large extent of her despise towards him he thought it was all to change after the kiss, not spike overnight of course. But aren’t some things sealed with a kiss?

“I do not have to endure you a second longer than actually required, why would I go voluntarily?” She raised obvious brows at her reasoning not taken aback by his assumptions and extractions of her attendance.

“The way you are marrying me voluntarily.” He reminded and also questioned to confirm if it was a voluntary step or not.

“I am trying to save my family’s fortune voluntarily.” Y/n rephrased the proposition, that is what she told herself too. It was his scrutiny towards her for not accepting his proposal herself which threw her off, in her house in her own room was this man making her out to be answerable to him. “What are you even here for? Out!” She said pointing to the balcony door again, her aunt was a light sleeper anyways she wouldn’t risk that.

“I wanted to confirm if you weren’t being forced into anything.” He responded truthfully however it seemed like his integrity held account for something so small in her eyes.

“Well now you have.” Answering his illogical concern she shrugged, she wasn’t being forced but at the same time whose choice would be Rupert. “You can leave.”

“So you will marry me.” He said plainly wanting a real answer where she would not just brush it off. Taking a step closer to her gently taking her hands in his.

If he was being so direct she could not rephrase the situation, arranged setting, business deal, financial consequence, “this is a violation.” She said gesturing to him holding her hand and took it away.

“Violation like when you kissed me.” Rupert said with his usual smug, grin and he could see the buttons being pushed in her head.

“That was a mistake.” An obvious agitation was not the blush he expected. “As is the marriage I’m telling you. I’m miserable as it is you will lose your mind. This truly is a big mistake.”

“A mistake I’m rather fond of.” He dismissed her paranoid concerns and fragile self perception. “We will find our footing.”

“What if I don’t that want with you.” She told him crossing her arms always panning out the worst but she did feel that way, at least show she thought she did.

“Then I will wait.” Ever so confident he could make so much work with her, it was beyond infatuation and also her understanding just how much he was capable of in his want and yearn.

“I won’t change my mind.” She told him firmly and in all truthfulness to put out the flames of affection and domesticity he may expect from her.

“And what of your heart, my love?” He asked further, more straws from him to grasp on and the straw was her heart. How inconveniently determined.

“I am not your love.” She affirmed bringing her brows together as a response to her unaccounted detest to the word.

“My bride.” Rupert added an option to her being his to a certain configuration whichever she found befitting.

“—Not yet.”

“Fiancé then?”

“That generally requires a ring.” She would much rather have a stone drown her down a stream than a stone on her finger which symbolises being his.

“Oh does it?” He asked nonchalantly as if he had something brewing, he certainly did. He reached out for his pocket bringing out a small red box.

“God no” she sighed as she realised what it was without him even opening it. There was a ridicule in the tragedy of this situation.

Getting on his knee, slowly, he opened the box and his eyes never left his bride, “will you-“

“There is no need for this dramatics this is simply a business arrangement and a finance-“

“Do you ever shut up?” He interrupted her still from his place situated on one knee.

“I should just shut up and marry you?” Going in for her turn to not-shut-up she said in between spaces of his sentences which caused him to revert what he was going to add.

“Shut up and marry me” he nodded, despite of his assurances she was so headstrong and stubborn. There was more a logic in a sentence so simple than further explanation.

There was more to the question than just marriage and him. Fragments of obligation, dutiful girl’s perfect life and her godfather’s generosities upon her. But in moments like these, the kiss, him climbing a tree to her balcony in the middle of the knight, the kiss, him wanting to reassure her despite her coldness, the kiss, him down on one for her, the kiss…the damned kiss. Taking the ring out of the box she but it on her finger in a swift motion only so he would stand up.

Rupert wanted that part to be intimate and his, but this is the closest to that he could get with a possibility of having her throw the ring on his grinning face. He didn’t want to take any chances. “Suits you.” He stood up staring at his ring on her finger.

“Farewell then…” she trailed off not wanting to feel the ill fabricated heavy emotions of his close proximity. As he was about to turn to her door out the room she stopped, getting in his track. “Not from there! The balcony” she pointed, her aunt was a light sleeper he ought to go out the way he came.

“How come? I will just use the main door it’s the same distance.” He answered unaware of her concerns of wrongness in his presence at the mansion this late.

“You can’t do that someone will find out you were here!” She exclaimed shaking her head.

“And? Your uncle has already put forth your terms of wanting a separate room, separate bed after marriage it’s not as if we would be having pre marital sex” he huffed at the sanctimonious assumption, jokingly implying she cared for the sort. She was too modern and he was too adulterated for that. However them not doing it had several other reasons, mainly her.

“Even post marital sex with you is far from dreams please don’t get ahead of yourself” she scoffed. He was pompous with the amount he’d bedded and could do so which repelled her even more to share a ‘marriage bed’ with him. He wouldn’t force himself on her so she did not specify that, it was an obvious boundary. It’s just his ballon of pride she wanted to guest perhaps over and over again.

“Afraid you’ll like it? Just like the kiss?” He knew the kiss was a tingling subject for her and he misused it full to his advantage.

“Get out!” Running out of replies she realised she did not owe him any. Feebly shoving him towards the balcony finally made him give in.

“Alright alright” he sighed standing halfway out the balcony door smiling the entire time. Before his exit he placed a gentle peck on the side of her face and made his way out, the same gymnasium of tree lunges and balcony railing. “Good night, my love!”

Already repulsed by his kiss the last words irked her further “not your love!” closing the door and curtains to the balcony on him at once she returned back inside to the disrupted serenity of her room. The music long abandoned she fell on the bed again, rethinking the interaction and overanalysing her thoughts.

Looking down at the ring on her finger, the more she looked the more it seemed to weigh and she had barely slept enough on the fact that she was getting married to Rupert Campbell Black. She couldn’t sleep in his ring.

Removing it from her finger to the bedside table she turned off the lamp to match the dark phase of her life. With a sigh hoping for sleep or morning, whichever outruns her thoughts.

—

Next part is the wedding and you’re all invited ;) please let me know your thoughts in the comments it really motivates me

🏷️ @playbucky @theoceanandthestars @omgbrianab @melancholicandmessy @nebulastarr @sarahsobsession

[contemplatingoutlander]

How to save the Supreme Court from Alito’s ethical malfeasance

The justice’s unconscionable violations of ethics demand the court be reformed.

Jennifer Rubin clearly explains why Alito went too far in allowing a symbol of the insurrection to fly over his home, and why the Roberts Court needs to stop slow-walking the presidential immunity decision if the Court is to regain any credibility. This is a gift🎁link so anyone can read the full article, even if they don't subscribe to The Washington Post.

Among the Supreme Court’s abominations — shredding precedent to obliterate reproductive freedom, financial impropriety, partisanship — none compares to the upside-down flag, identified with violent insurrectionists, that flew over the home of Justice Samuel A. Alito Jr. Ethics experts and lawyers (including former judges) of all stripes expressed their outrage. “His statement — which says his wife displayed a symbol associated with a failed coup to subvert democracy because she was offended by an anti-Trump sign one of her neighbors displayed — is so incoherent it is insulting to our collective intelligence,” constitutional law professor Leah Litman emails me. “And a Justice who resides in a house that displays symbols glorifying a coup should not participate in cases that will determine whether people who participated in said coup will face any accountability.” [...] Alito (alongside Justice Clarence Thomas, whose wife encouraged coup plotters) has heard multiple insurrection-related cases, including the pending immunity case that could absolve Trump of criminal liability. In letting his home stand in solidarity with constitutional arsonists, Alito made a mockery of his oath to “faithfully and impartially discharge” his duties under the Constitution. Any other judge (especially one implicated in financial misconduct) would be compelled to resign and/or face the threat of impeachment. So what about Alito? Immediate Triage Unlike its speedy disposition of the 14th Amendment case (24 days after argument) and of many lesser matters, the court put the immunity case in deep freeze, making it near-impossible to try the ex-president before the next election....The Alito debacle only deepens the impression that the court has its thumb on the scale — or the brake — for Trump. [...] As constitutional scholar Laurence Tribe warns in an email to me, if Roberts “wants the Court to retain any credibility at all,” he must compel the court to “bite the bullet and issue its decision, ....” Then, Tribe explains, “Judge [Tanya S.] Chutkan either can hold whatever hearing the Court thinks necessary to decide exactly which charges against the former president may remain” or can begin the trial itself, which “should have been over by now.” Alito’s ethical self-immolation leaves Roberts no alternative if he wants to dispel the perception that two ethically compromised, partisan justices have thoroughly corrupted the court. (He also should implore Alito to recuse, but who believes that’ll happen?) [emphasis added]

[flee-from-fresno]

The thing that gets me about Bushnell's self-immolation is that he's an airman. He was a member of the Air Force. Historically, the group that is the most emotionally distant from the wars they partake in, and even he was unable to stomach the scale of death in Palestine.

In my personal experience with vets from the Iraq War, you can physically see the results of US conditioning against the perceived enemy in the average soldier. I've had vets from the Army and Navy call Iraqis "sand ni**ers" to my face. But a lot of the ex Air Force I've talked to didn't have that kind of vitriol because they didn't need that level of indoctrination.

There's a post going around right now, dramatizing a defence contractor getting done with their 9-5 of drone striking and getting to go home that night to their wife and kids after a full day of murder, and that's the Air Force experience too. If you have a combat role, you sit in a 30 million dollar chair, press a button and people die. You don't need to make the soldier hate the target, you make them see the target as a statistic, a number.

I know there's been an increase in IOF suicides since last October, which is to be expected when you realize you're an active participant in genocide, but when an active duty airman goes as far as to self-immolate in protest, it either needs to be the death-knell for the US military's support of Israel in Gaza or the death-knell for those politicians that continue to green light that support

[queercontrarian]

Ascension - A Beron Origin Story

@sjmvillainweek Prompt: Origin Story

In the middle of the First War with Hybern and Spring, Beron finally gets what he always wanted.

Read this story on AO3

The air was sweltering outside, only some flimsy spells keeping the inside of the tents cool and dry. In all his years, Beron had rarely known such weather within the borders of the Autumn Court. Now, with Summer encroaching on their territory and Spring breaking into their lands, the magic was out of balance and the weather followed. It was chaos. It was hell.

Athos had hoped that the fighting on the continent would distract Aldwig and his rabid hellish brood enough from the war they had started with their neighbors for Autumn to recover but Beron knew better. The High Lord of Spring would rather give up his colonies on the Continent and all his connections in the Human War than risk losing so close to home, especially to their perceived lesser neighbor, Autumn.

The attack on their borders and the southern provinces had been swift and brutal. Albéa, the once proud city which housed in equal parts Spring, Summer and Autumn fae reduced to nothing but bloody rubble and bones, many of the smaller villages along the way destroyed or abandoned, their inhabitants fleeing into the old woods.

It was from those very woods now that Beron had been launching his attacks, forced to watch as Spring and Summer made breach after breach deeper into his Court. Despite his General’s protests Athos had tried to meet the enemy in the field again and again, and each time Autumn’s army had suffered immense losses. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers thrown directly into the Beast’s maw with nothing to show for it but fewer mouths to feed. There was nothing to be done. Autumn’s forces were weakened by years of cuts to fund his father’s feasts and his brother’s expensive taste, the weapons lacking quality and the soldiers lacking training, ressources and grit. He could only hope that his wife’s campaign for support from the Day Court would be successful. To go begging at another High Lord’s court for help would have shamed him to the point of self-immolation only a few years ago, but the desperation of war had burned any such qualms out of him by this point. What mattered now was the survival of their people.

Of course his brother couldn’t know about the moves Beron had been making behind his back. Athos was already paranoid and irritable on a good day with the fire of the Phoenix running through his veins, seeing enemies in every corner, intrigues and plots to steal the throne from under him in every sideways glance, yet his brother was too apathetic and cowardly to act on what he thought he saw in any way other than to yell at Beron to somehow fix it. Beron did not have time to ”fix it” for his fool of a brother, and there was barely anything to distract the male with anymore either, especially since the camp had run out of the good wine and even the whores had abandoned the tents, instead fleeing north to hide in the shadow of the mountains along with a large part of the population.

Athos never should have been High Lord. He was a weak male, weaker even than their father, who had gone through all the effort of dethroning his own brother to be High Lord only to never do anything with the power at his disposal but throw lavish parties and spend every last coin in the Court’s treasury on food, alcohol, pretty trinkets and prettier females. Beron had shed no tears when the High Lord had been ambushed and killed near the Spring border by the younger prince and his savage war band. He’d been angry at the disrespect his family had suffered, his father’s cut-off head sent back to the Forest House in a box, his mangled body fed to Steffan’s beasts. He’d been worried for his family’s safety, devastated by what he knew war would mean for his Court, already worn out by their High Lord’s selfish whims. But he had not grieved. He’d only gone through the motions, smeared ash on his brow, taken off the jewelry, donned the black robes, spoken the prayers, and then returned to the battlefield, carrying in his heart only the burning rage he felt over the mantle of High Lord passing to Athos instead of him. Athos, who did not have any of the qualities a High Lord of Autumn should have, no claim but the blood running through his veins. Who worked only a fraction as hard as Beron did, who used his fire for parlor tricks, to amuse his tasteless companions, his circle of sycophantic noblemen who hadn’t held a sword since their hundredth birthday. Beron did not understand why, but he had no time to question it, and no one to complain to. War had come to their Court, and the Mother had chosen his brother to lead instead of him.

Twice the magic had spurned him, but not this time. He had not even bothered washing his brother’s blood off of his hands before going to see his nephew, only stopping by the tent Eris was staying in on the other side of the encampment, near the other officers. Beron did not think they would protect him if Nicholas chose to come for him, and he needed to be prepared. His nephew had fewer supporters than Beron did but was better liked than Eris, and he would not suffer any competition, even if there were no Heirs left but his younger cousins. Beron hadn’t been there when his brother had received the blessing, but it was custom for the High Lord to isolate himself immediately after the mantle passed. It was a sign of respect, both to the Goddess and to those who had come before them. To reflect. To pray. Nicholas had decided not to follow that tradition. He’d called Beron to his tent right away, to chastise him.

His nephew had been young, barely seventy, yet he’d spoken with the entitlement and false wisdom of a male ten times his age, about duty, about sacrifice and consequences. What did he know of those things? He was a child compared to Beron, even compared to half the males in this camp. He’d only lead Autumn into certain doom. He’d proven it at his first opportunity, blaming Beron for his father’s death like Athos wasn't grown, Beron’s senior by more than a century. He was a High Lord, he should have been able to hold his own without Beron having his back for five cauldron damned seconds, especially if he insisted on putting Eris and his soldiers near the front of the battle. Beron had only been distracted for a few seconds but it had been enough for some Spring Court mutt to taste royal Autumn blood. He’d killed it, of course, but not before the beast had shredded his brother’s breastplate into pieces and ripped out his throat. Even if he’d wanted to help him, there would have been nothing he could have done for Athos. He was gone before the beast hit the ground and the High Lord’s power with him.

Beron wiped his bloody dagger on one of the heavy drapes hanging by the plane of the tent. A waste, just like the rest of the finery his brother had insisted on bringing along instead of sending it into the mountains with their mother and their wives. Useless, the lot of them, but he’d set it right. He’d been preparing for this moment for years. He knew better than anyone how this Court functioned, what Autumn needed, how it fought and lived and died.

And yet the power had avoided him a second time, choosing Nicholas instead. Fortunately his nephew had never been a very quick study. It took time to get used to the powers the Mother granted them, time Beron had not given the boy. In the end, he’d looked so surprised despite everything, despite the accusations and the threats, the demands he’d made so bravely mere moments before. Kneel before your High Lord. Foolish boy. Foolish, foolish boy, so arrogant, so smug, so utterly unprepared. Beron sneered.

“Father?”

Beron turned to the opening of the tent, finding Eris standing in the fading light of the day. The sun set his hair aflame, a golden glow framing his silhouette. The markers of an Heir. A glint in the shadows broke the moment, light reflecting off the blade as Eris quickly sheathed his dagger, taking in the scene before him: Nicholas’s body on the carpet, his throat slit from one ear to the other, the blood soaking into the ground by Beron’s feet. Eris wasn’t stupid. He knew instantly what his father had done. He dropped to his knees without hesitation, his head bowed.

“Long live the High Lord, chosen by the Cauldron, blessed by the Mother,” Eris recited the ancient words, the confirmation each High Lord of this Court had received from his priestesses and subjects since Autumn was created.

For the first time, Beron allowed the power to run freely through his veins. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Nothing came close, not using his natural-born powers nor his first victory on the battlefield. He’d never felt so connected to the land, feeling every tree, every river, every stone, the wind rustling the leaves over their heads, even the clouds high above. He felt the soldiers around them, their heartbeats, their breath, their blood rushing through their veins. He felt Eris, his eldest son, his Heir, closer than anyone else.

Eris had finally finished his prayer, still kneeling on the carpet, his cousin’s blood soaking into his pants. He hadn’t looked up yet, his deep red hair falling into his eyes. He was still so young. Barely older than his mother when they had been wed, Beron reminded himself.

He let the power sink back into his skin, into his blood, where it kept flowing, singing, burning in the most delightful way. He took two steps to cross the space between himself and Eris and reached out his hand, lifting his son’s chin up so he’d face him. Eris’s eyes were wide but there were no tears for his cousin to be found, no grief. If he was even surprised or shocked, he hid it well. When Beron let go, his fingers left bloody prints on his face, and he fought the instinct to wipe them away.

“Stand up,” he said instead, his voice low but clear. He took a step back as Eris slowly rose to his feet again.

“You are the Heir of the Autumn Court now,” Beron continued, watching cautiously as Eris once again took in the scene inside the tent, the blood, the gold, the glow of power that connected them both now and forever. “You will be High Lord after me, and High Lords don’t kneel.”

[lumsel]

I’m going to be frank, I think you’re a moral monster and a disgusting piece of shit.

American healthcare doesn’t suck because of Brian Thompson. Even if, by some Rube Goldberg series of escalating events, his assassination causes the ACA to be repealed and replaced, that will not justify murdering him.

Same with Shinzo Abe. Abe was barely tangentially related to the complaints of the subhuman freak who killed him. And what is the “good” which came out of mutilating a beloved individual in front of his wife and children? His mother, still alive, forced to bury her child? What good did it lead to? A few reforms on the laws surrounding financial donations? Fuck you, Shinzo Abe’s life was worth more than that.

By your insane logic, any murder that creates a dramatic example is an inherent good. Fuck you. Go self-immolate in public if you feel so strongly about that

I don't really subscribe to the idea that some people are just fundamentally morally tainted, in your words "subhuman freaks", although I do find it interesting that your own worldview is so selective. The American health insurance industry is a horrific maelstrom of human suffering. These are the guys who just arbitrarily deny one third of all claims in the hopes that the patients just don't contest them. How many mothers had to bury how many sons because of the actions undertaken by the united states healthcare industry? Do they not factor into your calculus? Abe's shooter himself had to bury his own mother because of the Moonie cult. What was her life worth? Now there's articles in the news, they're talking about disbanding the cult altogether. How many lives might be saved by that? Maybe that's a grim tally to make, but can we really wash our hands of it while we support a system that drives that suffering in the first place?

Of course, I get some vibes from your writing that you and I would disagree on a lot more than that. "Repeal and replace the ACA" is a very interesting way to describe healthcare reform. The only guys who talk about it like that are, like, republican senators and their cheerleaders. Something tells me you think of violence as something caused by individual actors with twisted souls and not from pervasive structural issues. I don't think you have a problem with killing. I think your only issue is that we should be killing the people who "deserve to die".

I'll accept critique on my own personal moral philosophy, god knows there's some flaws there. But I really would prefer it came from someone smarter than you.

[jessaerys]

just watched kim and jimmy break up in 6x9. im going to go to LA and break into vince gilligan's house and self immolate in his bedroom to change the trajectory of his and his wife's life forever

[ziploc849]

ALSO what is up with the trend/theme of heat? The coffin in Do Not Open was warm like it had been in the sun, while the chain was cold, and there have been a handful of episodes (I’d need to check which ones) where people have strangely/unexplainably started feeling hot, like they were burning. Or even the one guy in Burnt Offerings who literally had his car overheat to failure, his house burn down, I assume his wife died either in that fire or in another incident, and iirc he killed himself by self immolation??? Fire and heat definitely seems like a theme in at least some of these episodes and I have No Clue what it means

[bestworstcase]

Yknow what makes me sad?? People always end up forgetting SOME character trait in favor for something else. Like, for example, Ozpin is arguably the FUNNIEST character in RWBY. Like yeah he has issues and he's immortal and the most divorced man alive(?) but he also purely drinks hot chocolate. He wears a turtleneck, vest and coat all the time in the summer. He wears goofy glasses. He has a silly sense of humor and he's sassy. His reaction to the portal closing in v8 is "Oh dear" as if he can't say 'shit'. Every other scene with him makes me laugh bc he's so unintentionally hilarious and it's even pointed out by other characters (coco says he has a mischievous, boyish charm). Also you can TELL he was a dad bc his immediate reaction to Oscar being like "please don't do anything embarrassing :(" is him immediately doing something embarrassing

He's so fucking funny and it's a serious shame literally NO ONE talks about it it's one of my favorite parts of his character and it's definitely one of his biggest character traits. Like without it it just doesn't feel like Oz, yknow? He's not an entirely serious character, though he definitely uses humor to cope (as a distraction, which Oscar clearly hates bc he's a p straightforward kid). I just fhchgj he's silly okay

one of your favorite character traits of his is that you… mock him for dressing in manner you think is strange? weird pull. oh he’s so sillygoofy, he doesn’t swear and he drinks hot cocoa, everybody point and laugh!—like ??

what is the joke.

also like. sorry but a grown man purposefully going out of his way to embarrass a fourteen-year-old boy who’s already mortified and uncomfortable as a "joke" isn’t dad behavior. it’s just mean. if you want to read ozpin as the type of person who thinks it’s funny to pick on teenagers that’s… your prerogative, i guess? but i think his poor treatment of oscar in v4-5 is a confluence of fear, resignation to his curse, and just being thoughtless. lol

anyway. ozpin uses humor to lower tension and ease people into big revelations (e.g. "would you believe me if i told you that one’s been around since i was a boy?" or delivering "i gave them the ability to turn into birds" like a self-deprecating joke) but his own sense of humor runs more to subtle ironic or irreverent whimsy and dry understatement. he doesn’t make jokes per se, he calls ironwood’s fleet "a bit of an eyesore."

the funniest thing that’s ever come out of his mouth is "fighting and dancing aren’t so different; two partners interlocked… hn. although, one wrong move on the ballroom merely leads to a swollen foot," which is a mirror image of and funny for the same reason as salem telling oscar "perhaps you and i can have a better working relationship"—in that they’re both, in these moments, thinking about that one time they immolated each other. this dance reminds me of when my wife and i murdered each other… we had a poor working relationship. he sets up the joke and she delivers the punchline, six volumes later. same sense of humor.

[bamber344]

Sibling questionnaire

thanks for the tag @seastarblue!

Doing my bbs Addison and Martin from my WIP novel, Spiritborne (working title teehee)

---

Who looks more like their dad?

Addison and Martin are identical twins, so technically both of them, but I'm gonna say Martin does on account of Addison being trans and having been on estrogen since she was 16

Who looks more like their mom?

Again, identical twins. But this time Addison is the lookalike winner :)

Who eats the most?

Addison. Martin is still in frequent contact with their parents and is influenced by their restrictive eating guidelines for the sake of his continued modelling career (which Addison broke free of)

Who has been in the weirdest situations?

Addison. She's a magic detective and Martin is a simple model and businessman.

Who sleeps the most?

Martin. Addison has PTSD and is also a workaholic who thrives on coffee, so sleep doesn't come easy or often to her.

Who has the most stable romantic life?

Martin. He has a wife and two kids. Meanwhile Addison hasn't been in a relationship for five years.

What is the worst habit of each?

Addison's is the aforementioned workaholic-ness. She literally lost her arm due to her dedication to her job and she needs to chill a bit. Martin's is probably speeding tbh. He's rich as fuck and doesn't care about tickets.

Who is the most dramatic?

Martin, easily. Addison is far too jaded. Though when they're together her more dramatic side is drawn out by him.

Who has the weirdest phase?

Neither tbh. During childhood they were lorded over and managed pretty strictly by their parents, so there was never really an opportunity to do anything 'weird.' Though perhaps Addison went a little crazy with her newfound freedom after breaking free from them. Something for me to think about.

Who is the best cook in the family?

Addison. Martin has been getting served by the family cook his entire life, while Addison was forced to properly learn after she was cut off.

What is their best memory together?

Getting to go to their highschool camp together and finally be free of their parents for a week.

What is their worst memory together?

Addison choosing to leave the family and be cut off to chase her dreams. They reunited not to long after, but it was still the first time in their lives they would be apart for any length of time, which was painful for both of them.

What is their dream trip together?

Visiting their hometown in France together, just the two of them. Unfortunately it will likely never happen as they're both too busy and Martin goes there pretty frequently on business trips anyways.

Would you rather: Not be able to shower OR not be able to change clothes?

Addison: not be able to change clothes. She wears her work uniform 90% of the time anyway. She would miss dressing up though.

Martin: not be able to shower. He needs to change clothes pretty frequently for his modelling.

Who’s older?

Addison, by two minutes.

Describe each other in three words.

Martin describing Addison: "Intelligent, stubborn, self-righteous"

Addison describing Martin: "Generous, caring, goofball."

Who’s their role model?

Addison's is her boss, Vice Chief of detectives, Alyx Luaz.

Martin's is their dad.

Who usually has the worst ideas?

Martin, if he had the freedom to actually follow through.

Who is the certified “Bug Killer”?

Addison. Esp in adulthood. Girl has been immolated; she Does Not Care about a cockroach.

---

this was a lot of fun! uhhh idk who to tag tho so... open tag! if you wanna do it, go wild :) Blanks under the cut

Who looks more like their dad?

Who looks more like their mom?

Who eats the most?

Who has been in the weirdest situations?

Who sleeps the most?

Who has the most stable romantic life?

What is the worst habit of each?

Who is the most dramatic?

Who has the weirdest phase?

Who is the best cook in the family?

What is their best memory together?

What is their worst memory together?

What is their dream trip together?

Would you rather: Not be able to shower OR not be able to change clothes?

Who’s older?

Describe each other in three words.

Who’s their role model?

Who usually has the worst ideas?

Who is the certified “Bug Killer”?

[etymology-of-the-emblem]

Shiva / シヴァ and Safy / サフィ

Shiva (JP: シヴァ; rōmaji: shiva) is a mercenary from the village of Sabang under the employ of the pirate Lifis in Fire Emblem: Thracia 776. He gets his name from Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction and member of the Trimurti—the three supreme deities personifying creation, preservation, and destruction. However, Shiva is also viewed as a wise and secluded sage and the one who educated the Yogis, the original practitioners of Yoga. Given this duality, Shiva has been portrayed in the culture as both a benevolent, compassionate god and a fierce, terrifying god. This may be the basis of the dichotomy between the character Shiva being a brooding sellsword under the enemy and a more understanding man seen in his interactions with Safy. However, their relationship is further influenced by her namesake.

Safy (JP: サフィ; rōmaji: safi) is a cleric in service to Linoan of Tarrah. Her name is a corruption of サティー(rōmaji: satī), the Hindu goddess of marital felicity Sati. She was the favorite child of her father Daksha, avatar of the Great Goddess Mahadevi, and first wife of Shiva. From an early age, Sati devoted herself to worship of the reclusive god, even rejecting the possibility of taking any husband other than Shiva, much to her father's chagrin. She left her life in a palace to live remotely in the forests like Shiva to garner his attention. Eventually he caved, and the two were wed. This only caused tensions to rise between Sati and Daksha. When the latter held a yajna, a sacrifice with sacred fire, he invited every god except for Shiva and Sati. Despite Shiva's warnings of her father's intention, Sati returned to her father's house, convincing herself that family need not receive formal invitation. Upon her arrival, Daksha became enraged; he belittled and insulted his daughter and her husband. Sati, out of a desire to defend Shiva's honor and distance herself from her father, threw herself into the sacred flames. Her self-immolation brought the wrath of Shiva, who slaughtered all present at the yajna. His benevolent aspect, however, revived all of the lives he stole and forgave their actions.

Safy being a priest and her devotion to serving Linoan are likely both based on Sati's ascetic lifestyle in devotion to her lord and god Shiva. Even Safy leaving her home of Tarrah to find aid could be derived from Sati leaving her home in search of Shiva's attention. By far the most important tie between Safy and Shiva's namesakes is their interaction in Chapter 7. Here, Safy stands before Shiva, willing to die to a mercenary's sword to give Leif a window to escape. Shiva gives in to the cleric's wishes and changes side, remarking that she needs to take better care of her life and his frustrations of people speaking lightly of death and rushing to meet it too soon. All of this seems to relate to Sati's self-immolation, from Safy's willingness to die to protect another, to Shiva's irritation from the reckless handling of her life and aversion to death.

[kendrixtermina]

I think I've figured out where the "human shields" thing really comes from

After seeing many responses from ppl posting IDF propaganda, one patterns stuck out to me in the responses. or even those gross mocking tiktoks I noticed is how they accuse the gazans of trying to use sympathy.

Either it's a sob story, or wanting sympathy or "making" them do it. It's "pallywood", it's "human shields"

Either way, it's construed as trying to get sympathy somehow.

It is a common fallacy of human thinking to assume that, if something makes you feel a certain way, it must be because the person wants you to. Someone feels insecure and thinks the other person is showing off. Someone is jealous and thinks the partner must be cheating.

It's a failure of theory of mind, not distinguishing your thinking from theirs.

I think this is what we're seeing here.

They feel sympathy, but that doesn't fir their worldview, so the sympathy must be explained away.

It's like the wifebeater or abusive parent who claims the wife or child "made him do it".

Empathy is often equated with morality, but that's not at all the case. There is that whole book, "against empathy" about how those things are different, and one of the points (besides the obvious "selective keyhole compassion" thing) is that empathy is just as likely to make you look away from suffering because it overwhelms you.

During the Nazi dictatorship there were people who complained that ppl were being killed next to their towns. Soldiers complained of having to shoot the victims.

This was even weaponized. KZ guards in Dachau were rewarded with a day off if they shot a prisoner, so people became more trigger-happy to not have to see the murder anymore.

But it still happened, just out of sight.

This is the same thing.

The Palestinians aren't trying to get sympathy. What sympathy? When have they ever gotten any? They keep being butchered. If it's a tactic, it's not working at all! Plus, they're hardly self-immolating. They are trying their darndest to survive!

No. The sympathy you are feeling was not put there by them - it's your sympathy, your conscience trying to get your attention, from wherever you've stuffed it down. It's your sympathy that you're crushing, deligitimizing, ignoring, explaining away.

Most ppl are not total psychos, not in this mass. Normally people have huge inhibitions against killing. Significant mental gymnastics are needed to justify it.

The sympathy you're feeling is your own silenced conscience. Maybe start listening to it.

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

The Very Last Resort

(Arron Bushnell self-immolates)

Stephen Jay Morris

3/2/2024

©Scientific Morality.

A normal person cannot comprehend someone walking up to the Israeli Consulate and pouring gasoline all over themselves, striking a match, and burning to death while screaming, “Free Palestine!” Was he insane? Back in the 60’s, Vietnamese Buddhists set themselves on fire to protest America’s occupation of their country. They believed in reincarnation and had faith that they would return to earth for their sacrificial good deed. But Arron? He was a member of the United States Air Force. It is alleged that he was a Gay Anarchist, which makes me very inquisitive about him. Why was he in the Air Force? Was he a weekend leftist? I wonder if this question will ever be answered.

Let’s talk about his political suicide. Or was it suicide? This is a very controversial point. This act was, indeed, an existential shock. As for me, I am afraid of death, even were it to occur in my sleep. But many brave souls are willing to die for a cause, or for a loved one. I would die for my wife. That is understandable. But for my country? People who send others to war would never die for the USA. So, why would I?

Why would a 25-year-old man self-immolate? Was it because he was experiencing a moral panic? Maybe. If you are a moralist and hear continuous, daily death tallies of innocent men, women, and children, you feel helpless. He may have had fantasies of being a Rambo type and going into Gaza with an AR-15, shooting IDF soldiers, and freeing Palestinians. Or, perhaps, parachuting into Gaza with food and water to help. Maybe Navy Seals could complete such an unimaginable act, but without professional help, it is not really feasible. What Arron did was apparently self-determined and purposeful. It was his protest of the ongoing humanitarian crisis in Palestine, the genocide of the Palestinian people, and the U.S. support of the Israeli government in these actions.

The mainstream media played this down as suicide. The reactionary element of America has played it cool. Oh, there have and will be insensitive memes or hateful posts on X, but I would be very surprised if some conservative pundits pose analytical theories on Arron’s motives. Maybe some MAGA lunatic will set himself on fire to stop abortion. (Am I now a participant in stochastic terrorism? Sure, why not.) I doubt that it would ever happen. It would be fun, though.

What Arron Bushnell did was a humanitarian act of altruism; the highest form of altruism, which is putting someone else’s needs above your own. America is so indoctrinated with the Ayn Rand virus of, “Fuck you! Me first.” Sacrifice is more moral than self-interest. What Bushnell did was the highest form of morality: sacrifice.

If you are willing to die for a cause, die in the anarchist revolution. Bakunin once said, “A revolutionary is a doomed man!” There is nothing romantic about revolution. It is full of hardship, bloodshed, and death. If that scares you, then become a Democrat or Republican, and waste your vote.

Me? I’m almost 70 years old. Unlike President Biden, however, I know my limitations.

[psychotrenny]

And for what it's worth, self-immolation is an incredibly painful form of death but let's not act as though that makes it inherently meaningful. To be absolutely clear Palestinian Liberation is an intensely important and noble cause, and whatever you can say about that soldier you can't deny that his heart was in the right place for this one. But the nobility of the cause and the cost of the gesture are two things with no correlation, and it's irritating to see people express sentiments along the lines of "Of course this is important, he died painfully for it". Within the USA alone you have the examples of a man who self immolated in the name of Men's Rights Activism and another man was an active incel who apparently self-immolated over being unable to find a girlfriend. In 2006 a German Pastor once self immolated and his wife claimed it was over atheism and the spread of Islam in Europe, while the year before two Israelis set themselves on fire to protest the withdrawal of Zionist settlement from Gaza. It's a drastic action to take but you can't act as though that alone justifies or gives credibility to the movement; people pay the ultimate price to advance or support all kinds of reasons and not all of them are good. The liberation of Palestine is a worthy cause because the people of Palestine should be free from the cruelty and oppression of an apartheid settler state, not because you can find people who were willing to kill themselves painfully for it

[invisibleicewands]

The BBC’s new three-part drama The Way is Michael Sheen’s directorial debut. It has been nearly a decade in gestation, this story of civil unrest fermenting in Sheen’s Welsh home town of Port Talbot – cradle of militant unionism and symbol of working-class fury and pride. It has been created with writer James Graham (Brexit: The Uncivil War, Quiz, Sherwood) and – slightly more unusually, documentary auteur Adam Curtis.

The opening episode is something so different and fresh that even if you can’t say you’re actively enjoying it (though I was), the power and ambition of it all, the unashamed idiosyncrasy that permeates the direction, the allusiveness of the narrative and its slightly dreamlike (or nightmarish) off-kilter quality surely makes you sit up and take notice. It has a clear, accessible narrative at its heart, for sure, but the sensibility is rare and all its own.

It’s a tale of civil discontent, sparked by the death of a youngster in a vat of molten slag at the steelworks and his father’s self-immolation – in grief, in protest, in some unspeakable combination of the two – thereafter. The union blames management and decades of underinvestment. Management offers to reline a furnace, a sop to the emotion of the moment, rather than a recognition of needs. “We didn’t realise we were buying a mood,” says one of the new investors, with a combination of bafflement and frustration.

The unfurling of the unrest plays out for the viewer mostly through the long-established local Driscoll family. The late paterfamilias was a committed striker in the 80s, the failure of which terrible feat of suffering and endurance is largely blamed by the family for his death. His son Geoff (the stalwart Steffan Rhodri, last seen in the excellent Men Up at the end of last year) takes an approach to communicating with the bosses that is more pragmatic/conciliatory/weak/treacherous – delete according to political proclivities. He is separated from his wife and family for reasons that become clear over the succeeding episodes, as does the specific bad blood between his son, benzos addicts and petty dealer Owen (Callum Scott Howells), and his police officer daughter Thea (Sophie Melville).

As the internet is shut down within the town, tensions rise, curfews are imposed and riots between townsfolk and police start to break out. The Driscolls become the police – and the media – scapegoats for it all, and are eventually forced, along with Owen’s eastern European girlfriend, Anna (Maja Laskowska), to flee their home and their town.

Threaded through this growing but none-too-incredible – especially to a post-lockdown audience also being assailed with headlines about coming redundancies at Port Talbot’s Tata Steel (though business secretary Kemi Badenoch has extensive explanations about how government investment is actually saving the works) – dystopian landscape are, presumably thanks mostly to the Curtis influence, potent illustrative clips of real-life news and CCTV footage. Through them the sense of dislocation increases, while the themes of the drama only become more closely knit. From Graham – and, I’d posit, Sheen’s powerful sense of Welshness and all that means historically as well as currently – come the more mystical, ancient touches. The importance the town places on the works’ pilot light never going out; the sword made of the first steel forged in the town, long before modern industry got there; the red-hooded figure appearing and disappearing; Sheen as Geoff’s father’s ghost and/or manifestation of his conscience, pursuing him as they make their escape. And then, as the Cambrian borders become increasingly policed, there is (garbed in a costume somewhere between pastor, Clint Eastwood nemesis and Matthew Hopkins’ finest) the Welshfinder.

It is a bravura opening episode – powerful, confident, ambitious, confrontational and unexpected. It conjures precisely the feeling of a town on the edge, a tinderbox for the powder keg that is an increasingly divided Britain as a whole. Then it pushes things a little further and if you squint just a tiny bit, you could be looking at the future. Maybe even a blueprint, if you were so minded. It feels like a drama fully in the tradition of Bleasdale, Loach, Alan Clarke and Jimmy McGovern, and if it occasionally falls victim to the latter’s tendency to agitprop, that still leaves it head and shoulders above the usual fare.

It doesn’t quite meet the high bar it has set for itself over the remaining episodes. Although they gesture towards the issue of displaced persons and what is to be done with waves of desperate people, they become too much about the internal dynamics of the Driscolls and their family history to feel as innovative or thrilling as that which has gone before. But you can live off the first hour for quite some time to come.

[dyed-red]

hi! do you have any weirdcest headcanon but about dean x john? i love those posts about sam and dean being very weird and kinda creepy and lacking all boundaries with each other and with each other's stuff (like recently that one about sam's baby teeth lmao) and i was wondering if you have any headcanon of that kind about father and son(s)

this is such a fun and sexy ask i've been savouring it for a few days since you sent it.

i think @augustonly refers to this as 'daddyweird' for john-related weirdcest so it's definitely something i've thought about before in the context of deanjohn. tbh i'm far more of a dean x john gencest and weirdcest enjoyer than outright dean x john wincest, so you have come to the right place.

because i read them as engaged in covert incest, or symbolic incest, in this sort of self-immolating mobius coil, which dean doesn't really acknowledge or realize that john is also in (until it's too late) and which john refuses to look right at because he needs dean and hates himself for needing dean and hates dean for needing him too while also wanting to give dean everything. it's very messy. i'm a fan.

in terms of articulate headcanons, it's hard to give you too many concrete things here. most of what i have is nebulous vibes lol. but okay.

dean's canon anger and jealousy over john's various hookups i think would manifest in interesting ways, both during the years sam is there (more covertly) and when he is gone (more overtly). dean understands that a wife -- the role he symbolically fills, not that he acknowledges it as such and instead buries deep into elemental understanding alone -- is entitled to certain things, including fidelity. as a teen and young adult, blocking john's attempts to go out, biting his lip and reminding him of the budget, of the fact that they have booze here, going to the bar to bring him home if he stays out too late, especially hanging around if there's a woman on his arm. and rationalizing it to himself as making sure his father doesn't spend too much of their very limited money, that he won't be tired and surly the next morning and snap at an already cantankerous sam, that any hunter needs someone to watch his back and make sure a succubus doesn't take him home.

and in the stanford years, that sort of entitlement over john's sex life becoming more overt, insisting (in a toothy grin sort of way, never demanding directly, of course) on sharing a room when they're on the same job even though john's become a bit more accustomed to privacy as he's worked more and more jobs away as the boys aged.

and that entitlement over his father's things, like cologne and aftershave and clothing omg. the jacket in the pilot episode, dean doesn't even think twice, grabbing it is as natural as breathing. (don't we see the same jacket in After School Special? the clothing entitlement started young). dean borrowing his father's razor, his father's skin mags, his father's toothbrush. running it over his teeth and tongue and making himself gag, just a little, with it at the back of his throat before the sensation shocks him out of it, spits the frothy toothpaste in the sink, tries not to think about the fact that he's hard or why.

john has a huge degree of entitlement over dean and dean's body as well. different, though. not jealousy but a too-close sense of pride in his hookups. didn't think too much about it and kept a distance when dean was younger but when he's of an age to sit comfortably with his fake id in the bar, to be of an actual age to be in that bar, and watching all the attention float around him, the heady desire that coalesces in the eyes of people who want to devour a young and beautiful thing like dean. protective, john would tell himself, that's all it is when he's observing. protective and amused, sure, when dean's kissing that beautiful blonde right at the bar itself, kiss drunk red lips. and pride, normal pride, when dean makes sure to find john in the crowd, over his pool game or across the bar, locks eyes and dean's face relaxes into an easy smile, reassured. dean's being smart, knowing his surroundings, and the flare in john's chest is just love for his boy, joy at his joy, and if there's a sense of affirmation that dean belongs to him, it's fatherly. it's fatherly.

it's not attraction between them, not really. it's triangulated and complex. they don't want to fuck each other but are disturbingly entitled to each other. john doesn't respect dean, not properly, but he loves him fiercely. dean admires his father and resents him but can't let himself acknowledge the second part of that, and the one thing he doesn't feel entitled to (not yet) is that resentment and anger. it comes out as a desire to be close beyond reason, to force his father to see him, to look at him, to acknowledge him and to give him what he is due.

they have no boundaries. sometimes the motel has only a room with one bed and they fall asleep to each other's snores and wake up with scents that are mingled and similar, bodies that are too similar, faces that look the same in sleepy waking and they recognize themselves in the other. sometimes dean jerks off to john's skin mags while john's in the shower and the door isn't closed the whole way. sometimes john goes to check on dean and finds him getting a blowjob in the impala or behind the bar and sometimes john keeps his distance and watches and tells himself it's just his job to have his kid's back and make sure he didn't take home a succubus.

(and the entitlement stretches to what john will ask dean to do for the job, but that is straight up canon. go make yourself monster bait, let that vampire suck on your neck, trick that monster into trying to bed you so it lets its guard down. john watching his son get molested while dean grits his teeth and plays his part and waits to be saved. john comforting himself with how he's never let it go too far, never asked dean to get on his knees or his back for a case, ignoring the gut-deep understanding that dean has most certainly done both when a situation -- financial or hunting -- has demanded it. john hasn't asked it of him, not directly, so it doesn't count. and dean's reciprocal entitlement then to john's space and time and comfort, his relative sobriety and words of affirmation and partnership. he's earned his keep.)