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whetstonefires · 1 year

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You know what I realize that people underestimate with Pride & Prejudice is the strategic importance of Jane.

Because like, I recently saw Charlotte and Elizabeth contrasted as the former being pragmatic and the latter holding out for a love match, because she's younger and prettier and thinks she can afford it, and that is very much not what's happening.

The Charlotte take is correct, but the Elizabeth is all wrong. Lizzie doesn't insist on a love match. That's serendipitous and rather unexpected. She wants, exactly as Mr. Bennet says, someone she can respect. Contempt won't do. Mr. Bennet puts it in weirdly sexist terms like he's trying to avoid acknowledging what he did to himself by marrying a self-absorbed idiot, but it's still true. That's what Elizabeth is shooting for: a marriage that won't make her unhappy.

She's grown up watching how miserable her parents make one another; she's not willing to sign up for a lifetime of being bitter and lonely in her own home.

I think she is very aware, in refusing Mr. Collins, that it's reasonably unlikely that anyone she actually respects is going to want her, with her few accomplishments and her lack of property. That she is turning down security and the chance keep the house she grew up in, and all she gets in return may be spinsterhood.

But, crucially, she has absolute faith in Jane.

The bit about teaching Jane's daughters to embroider badly? That's a joke, but it's also a serious potential life plan. Jane is the best creature in the world, and a beauty; there's no chance at all she won't get married to someone worthwhile.

(Bingley mucks this up by breaking Jane's heart, but her prospects remain reasonable if their mother would lay off!)

And if Elizabeth can't replicate that feat, then there's also no doubt in her mind that Jane will let her live in her house as a dependent as long as she likes, and never let it be made shameful or awful to be that impoverished spinster aunt. It will be okay never to be married at all, because she has her sister, whom she trusts absolutely to succeed and to protect her.

And if something eventually happens to Jane's family and they can't keep her anymore, she can throw herself upon the mercy of the Gardeners, who have money and like her very much, and are likewise good people. She has a support network--not a perfect or impregnable one, but it exists. It gives her realistic options.

Spinsterhood was a very dangerous choice; there are reasons you would go to considerable lengths not to risk it.

But Elizabeth has Jane, and her pride, and an understanding of what marrying someone who will make you miserable costs.

That's part of the thesis of the book, I would say! Recurring Austen thought. How important it is not to marry someone who will make you, specifically, unhappy.

She would rather be a dependent of people she likes and trusts than of someone she doesn't, even if the latter is formally considered more secure; she would rather live in a happy, reasonable household as an extra than be the mistress of her own home, but that home is full of Mr. Collins and her mother.

This is a calculation she's making consciously! She's not counting on a better marriage coming along. She just feels the most likely bad outcome from refusing Mr. Collins is still much better than the certain outcome of accepting him. Which is being stuck with Mr. Collins forever.

Elizabeth is also being pragmatic. Austen also endorses her choice, for the person she is and the concerns she has. She's just picking different trade-offs than Charlotte.

Elizabeth's flaw is not in her own priorities; she doesn't make a reckless choice and get lucky. But in being unable to accept that Charlotte's are different, and it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with Charlotte.

Because realistically, when your marriage is your whole family and career forever, and you only get to pick the ones that offer themselves to you, when you are legally bound to the status of dependent, you're always going to be making some trade-offs.

😂 Even the unrealistically ideal dream scenario of wealthy handsome clever ethical Mr. Darcy still asks you to undergo personal growth, accommodate someone else's communication style, and eat a little crow.

#hoc est meum #pride and prejudice #elizabeth bennet #charlotte lucas #meta #charlotte is a much less sociable person than lizzie #so avoiding her husband most of the time and not seeking out his company is more viable for her!#she also has more patience for people being wrong #partly i think because she kinds checks out and lets them get on with it which lizzie isn't too great at even with her mother #people have different needs like that's a thing okay #marriage #spinsterhood #pragmatism #like if elizabeth had to listen to collins talk for a few months straight she would be nearly insane with rage #he's not just a low-quality man he's a man designed to be the worst for her specifically #also note that because jane's marriage is elizabeth's fallback plan #darcy screwed her over personally by interfering between her and bingley #she ofc does not bring this up how could she #but it's intensifying the anger during the hunsford rejection i think

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clairdelunelove · 10 months

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badges of honor

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (sticker drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, protective!ghost

synopsis: ghost doesn't understand the appeal of receiving stickers, a tangible reward, after the completion of successful missions. never thought it was necessary for his efforts. however, his mindset changes when he finds out you're the one handing them out–

a.n. just a silly lil blurb that floated around in my mind for some time! decided I'd write it and I'm thinking about writing something similar for könig too! hope you're all well! and if you wish to show more support here's my kofi! <3

holding onto the belief that ghost would stubbornly swallow his pride and allow you to decorate him in cutesy unnecessary stickers.

it starts with price’s recommendation of implementing a routine of handing out stickers after successful missions. he insists it’s a great way to dial into intrinsic motivation. to keep the task force motivated to dedicate their best into every operation. a way to recognize positive behavior. a byproduct of hoping for the most favorable outcome in war where the only images are bloodshed, conflict, and hostility. it’s a stark difference. “who knows,” price’s shoulders lift into a casual shrug as he addresses the fierce group settled around him, “it might just help you lads.” it’s a harmless and cost-efficient idea to justify the boxes of tangible reinforcements that are shipped to the base. literal cartons of sticker books that range from the traditional ‘great work!’ to ‘prized soldier!’ and the notion seems childish (disguised to be more of a scheme, in all honesty). that is, until the pieces of sticky, illustrated adhesives start working– boosting the soldiers’ determination for the taste of victory– because you’re the one handing out the affordable versions of chest candy. they adore saccharine treats. and over time, so does ghost.

ghost who initially loathes the new process that price endorses. he’s good at his job. knows he’s an expert in clandestine tradecraft. doesn’t need a miniature label tapped on his chest to recognize that no one does a better service in infiltrations or sabotages in risky environments than he does. he’s in and out like a gust of wind. well, more similar to a grim reaper that takes and punishes whoever he deems fit. a brutish force not to be reckoned with. and he reasons that this little sticker ceremony ultimately wastes time. precious alone time that ghost exploits to catch up on some well-deserved rest or exercise. because training after an intense mission totally makes sense to the lieutenant. yet, he’ll doggedly line up with the rest of the task force and await getting crowned with the bane of his existence. doesn’t wish to stir the pot with price and sit through being lectured. so he stays. and he’s a bit taken aback when he catches a glimpse of you handing out the stickers; a beaming smile on your lips while you press an overly exaggerated thumbs-up design onto the front of a soldier’s vest.

ghost who rasps, “I’ll pass,” before your fingers can pin the sticker onto him. unaware that his voice would come out grainy from the weeklong mission and, involuntarily, blunt. brash. the complete opposite of how he wished to sound towards you. notices the surprise in your eyes due to the acidity of his voice and how you instinctively shrink from him. he shifts, straight away, and hastily tries to take back his tone of voice. to right his wrongs. to atone for his mistake. however, your nervous movement is swiftly replaced with your usual upbeat nature as you plaster on a grin and dramatically bring the back of your hand to your forehead to mimic a fall, “woe is me.” you exhale pointedly while mentioning, “whatever shall I do with all these stickers then?” and ghost understands that it’s so typical of you to hide your hurt with witticism. you’re too considerate. too bright. a touch of color to his monochrome soul. venturing a step closer to you, he lightly scoffs at your melodramatic behavior and remarks, “woe is most definitely not you. now get up, pup.” and before you can comprehend, his gloved hand wraps around your wrist to gently pry it away from your face. “changed my mind,” he murmurs while indicating to the book of stickers that you casted aside, “pick one f’ me, will ya.”

ghost who refuses to comment on your shaky fingers to save you from embarrassment. it’s endearing that despite the layers of heavy clothing, you’re still hesitant to touch any part of him. “you’re all set,” you quickly chirp before stepping back to admire your handiwork. or so you tell yourself that excuse. in reality, you’re teetering on the edge of becoming distracted by the heat that he radiates. and he savors how your gaze dances across his masked face but evades his intense eyes. the most profound part of him that reduces you to stumbling on your words like a drunk. intoxicated by him. it’s like he’s drinking you in and allowing himself a selfish taste of your beauty. a thought that causes you to heavily gulp. to take your mind off of the blatant yearning, you teasingly raise the sticker book up to him, “how about I add another one? this one has glitter—” “that’ll do,” ghost interjects and turns to leave. his immediate answer and retreat brings about a genuine laugh from your lips. it’s music to his ears. wagering a glance to his chest, he notes the sticker you chose for him. cursive letters twisting into ‘you’re a star!’ followed by a smiling gold star draws his attention. you don’t spot it but as he leaves, his gloved fingers reach up to smooth the sticker over his vest. to pat it down so it stays a while longer.

ghost who attempts to convince himself that his disinterest toward the small slips of adhesive paper is still the truth. they’re just for show, right? no one really pays attention to how some of the stickers varied in size. they’re all mature adults. and it was completely unrelated how there’s regular bickering amongst various recruits that compared their hard-earned rewards. doesn’t admit that his chest visibly swells with pride whenever the other soldiers point out that ghost always receives the biggest sticker. purposefully taunts them by stating, “get better then, yeah?” he also fails to acknowledge that you’ve coerced and conditioned him to accept them like a pavlov experiment. after all, your unwillingness to comment on how he noticeably leans over so you can put stickers wherever you wished must mean that it doesn’t happen. and in the scenario where it could perhaps occur, you shouldn’t blame him because ghost was certain no one else had the willpower to brush you away. you with gentle fingers and an angelic voice. singing him a siren song whenever you mutter, “for your excellent work, lieutenant,” as you smooth on another ridiculous sticker. his heart stutters in his chest when he feels how your hand tentatively flattens against his chest. the broad muscle causing you to hum appreciatively before gracing him with a coy smile. an interaction that replays in his mind whenever he’s awake and follows him to sleep.

ghost who clenches his fist so tightly that his blunt nails bite into his own palm when he overhears a lowly recruit outrightly insult the implemented routine. hears them utter (when you’re out of earshot of course because goodness forbid that they have courage) ‘bullshit’ and how you were ‘off your rocker for putting up with this waste of time.’ and ghost isn’t usually responsive in situations like this. he’s got a covert operation to focus on in about 15 minutes. a level-headed person was far more intimidating and efficient during classified matters. now, however, his heavy boots thud against the floorboards when he stalks toward the recruit. an abrupt wave of darkness and unabridged horror before the recruit is face-to-face with ghost. “problem?” he asks challenges, voice dead and devoid of sympathy. his head slowly tilts and the action creates a dismal shadow over the eye sockets of his mask. ominous and menacing. everything that ghost is infamous for. knows he’s won when the recruit’s apology is nasally and on the verge of crying but their reaction isn’t his personal interest. what he does undertake as his responsibility, though, is when he’s called into price’s office for a debrief. he pockets some of the miscellaneous sticker books that sit on the superior’s desk. wordlessly hands them to you when you’re both briefly passing each other in the hallway. and while you profusely thank him for the additional sets (vaguely wondering what caused the change in his behavior), you playfully press a sticker above the lower portion of his mask– right where his lips are. somewhere new. you leave him rooted to the spot, the sweet gesture sending him into a stupor, and call over your shoulder, “compensation for the stickers!” he watches as you hurriedly dart away before he can react but there’s no need. he unabashedly smuggles more stickers from price’s office in hopes of reaping a similar repayment again.

ghost who reasons that stickers aren’t that bad if you’re the one giving them out. he organizes himself with the rest of the force, a brooding figure that patiently waits in the back of the line. favors being the last one because you’re able to utter more than a few words of encouragement to him. if he’s lucky then you converse and excitedly share your day with him– like you currently are. “want me all to yourself, do you?” you heartily tease him upon noticing that he’s consistently been last in line for the third time in a row. he shifts on his feet, makes a show of looking around at his fellow team members that are filtering out of the room, and deliberately concedes, “‘suppose so.” his frank answer is followed by a flustered roll of your eyes but it’s the genuineness that causes your heart to flip. you force yourself to concentrate on the task at hand– giving out prizes. unsteady fingers lifting at the sticker page, you skim the options before spotting a perfect one. your teeth catch the edge of your bottom lip as you can’t help but question, “you say that to everyone, simon?” his real name on your glossy lips. a prayer that he desires to hear being chanted over and over as he holds you in his arms. the gaze he wraps you in is burning. tempting. exhilarating. you push yourself up on your toes to reach out and place a sticker on his cheek. on the hard shell of his skull mask that you’ve learned will ultimately end in halfhearted chiding because the adhesive is difficult to remove off of it. ghost catches a glimpse of the sticker that you’ve picked. the bolded words of ‘#1 lieutenant’ flashes at him. and the sticker is like a brand you’ve adorned him in. an embellishment that he proudly displays and wears because it’s what you’ve given him. he hums, dark and inquiring, when he leans to graze his masked lips against your inner wrist. his eyes are heady and half-lidded. clouded with a violent craving for you– always you. visibly strains to make contact with your exposed skin by tilting his head to place another chaste kiss on your hand while murmuring, “just to the sweet ‘n pretty ones that I fancy.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon riley #call of duty x reader #call of duty #simon riley imagine #cod x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley drabble #ghost x you #ghost x y/n

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verypersonalscreencaps · 2 months

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"PREGNANT, IF I WANT, WHEN I WANT, HOW I WANT" FRANCE BECOMES FIRST COUNTRY TO EXPLICITLY ENSHRINE ABORTION RIGHTS IN CONSTITUTION The Washington Post | Published March 4, 2024 PARIS — With the endorsement of a specially convened session of lawmakers at Versailles, France on Monday became the first country in the world to explicitly enshrine abortion rights in its constitution — an effort galvanized by the rollback of protections in the United States. The amendment referring to abortion as a “guaranteed freedom” needed the approval of three-fifths of lawmakers — or 512 votes. The vote result on Monday evening was 780 in favor and 72 against. “We’re sending a message to all women: your body belongs to you and no one can decide for you,” Prime Minister Gabriel Attal told lawmakers assembled in Versailles. Thousands of Parisians gathered to watch the proceedings live on a giant television screen at Le Parvis des Droits de l’Homme — or “Human Rights Square” — in central Paris, with the Eiffel Tower looming dramatically over the scene. Before the political debate began, the television screen showed a montage of women’s rights campaigners around the world holding signs declaring, “My body is mine” and “My body, my choice.” The sound system blared Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.” Parisians driving by honked their horns. France decriminalized abortion in 1975; abortion is legal for any reason through the 14th week of pregnancy. This amendment won’t change any of that. But while other countries have inferred abortion rights protections from their constitutions, as the U.S. Supreme Court did in Roe v. Wade, France is the first to explicitly codify in its constitution that abortion rights are protected. France is not interpreting its constitution; it is changing its constitution. The outcome was “also a promise for all women who fight all over the world for the right to have autonomy over their bodies — in Argentina, in the United States, in Andorra, in Italy, in Hungary, in Poland,” said lawmaker Mathilde Panot, who had introduced the bill in the National Assembly. “This vote today tells them: your struggle is ours, this victory is yours.” People gather near the Eiffel Tower during the broadcast of the special session of Parliament, in Paris on Monday.

#so proud!#my body my choice #women rights #france

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accio-victuuri · 4 months

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their ordinary life. 🏠

i am referencing this post which was allegedly shared in 2021. i like how it’s written and the cpn clues inserted, then making a whole story out of it. a reason why most of us love lrg and other rumor anecdotes is because it’s simple and shows what their day to day life is like. tho they are celebrities with extraordinarily busy lives, the thought of them just being zz and bobo is comforting and sweet. it may be confusing cause there are parts where they are both referenced as they. and then it will switch to “i” as if in the person’s first person pov.

all of this is fake & fanfiction…

they should have a cat and a dog. everyone knows the cat's name is Tao, the dog’s name also matches the cat very well, it’s called Lizi. it’s a puppy ZZ bought it on impulse, but in the end I had to give it to my mother in Chongqing to deal with the aftermath. they have a home in Beijing, with a room full of helmets and musical instruments. there is also a room equipped with a projector, with warm and artistic decoration. when the two people are tired, they can lie here and watch movies together. there is also a big LCD TV, two people playing games to decide the outcome and doing housework.

the kitchen should be well-equipped, but the storage of materials is not alot, both of them are busy and have little time to cook, but there should be someone that makes trouble while the other person is cooking, and the other person will teach. when that person was making hand cakes, he had a headache several times and wanted to curse.

the room they sleep in, well, the bedding must be of high quality, it must be very comfortable and considerate for two people who both have the habit of sleeping naked. someone should install a night light in the toilet so that people who are afraid of the dark can get up in the middle of the night. there will be lights as soon as the toilet is near. there should be a lot of things on the bedside, eye drops, stomach-protecting tablets, Ryukakusan, cough cough... In short, both of them takes good care of your body! there will be a light fragrance in the room. they are all people who love cleanliness, maybe it’s also due to the scented candles.

there is a huge closet, which could have been used as a styling area in the beginning. one will often buy several pieces at a time and wrap them up. the other will also complain that one person loves shopping so much that he is not frugal and knows how to organize his clothes regularly. it was painful to pick out an old model to wear, and taught another person: "See, this is okay. As for clothes, save money and don’t buy so much. You still have a mortgage. ” another smiled and didn’t say anything. clothes that smell like them over time are familiar and reassuring, as if they are by each other’s side. In this way, they give each other company. Sometimes the trip is too urgent and I don’t pay much attention. both people will pack the wrong clothes into their suitcases. there should also be a small gym, where two actors and teachers can work hard. One person is envious of another's eight-pack abs, and the other possesses someone's waist (don't ask me why I know it's possible because I am a barbell. )

both of them have been doing more and more endorsements, and they have a lot of products at home. when the two brothers are in a good mood, they take one out and play with it, jokingly calling it "opening a blind box." most of the time, they kept sending them to my family, and the family group was noisy.

the two of them still can't stay at home most of the time and are always on the road. yes, headphones are a common item. why? because they are used for making phone calls and watching videos and to chat online. I took out my mobile phone to complain after getting off work. i quickly called to tell him that I miss you. people’s true emotions finally have a safe and secure place. how good is this, just wanting someone who can always listen to me in my life. you act coquettishly. you can complain and cry.

i also surfed the Internet, but I just browsed casually, after all, it was all the same rainbow fart, I want to take some time to listen to that person blowing it to me. sometimes it’s annoying to see fans quarreling. i used my account number to tell them to stop arguing, but it didn’t work. just switch to my other account and fight bravely with heizi ( antis ) and lose. until the account was suspended and blocked, then I took screenshots and felt aggrieved. he said, "Baby, look at me, I've lost another number by helping you.". The other person was amused, and he was no longer troubled by the remarks.

the other side is also keen on surfing and secretly saves a lot of emoticons, all of which are like pigs. regarding this, after I sent it, I laughed so hard that I hit the table and couldn’t stop having fun. hey, of course you can hear the voice of someone screaming on the phone: "Why does it have to be a pig?" "I'm a leopard! Not a pig! You What a stinky rabbit!”

they will take care of eating, taking medicine, drinking water, and taking care of each other when they are sick. they will take good care of each other and care for each other. if you are disobedient, it will be known immediately, and you will be punished, and then you will obey because I want to live a long with the other person. if possible, I hope it will be the same in my next life.

he will also get jealous, lose his temper and act awkward. Alas, as an actor, he is still in the entertainment industry. what can I do? Buy gifts, buy food, make phone calls. if you want to talk, send WeChat, and send some updates and stuck points that fans can’t understand.

In the end, I still couldn't coax him, so I could only study how to fight authentically and run to see the other party. the time is very short, and you may only be able to stay in the car, room, or corner. i left after an hour or two, my temper was gone, and I kept looking at the other person. laugh, give a hug, hold hands for a walk, kiss, and talk for a long time. if it's been a long time, your eyes will inevitably turn red when you separate.

“Every time it’s so short, it’s hard to be separated, and I won’t be able to come next time.

“But I miss you.

"...I know, I'll come see you next time."

knowing that there will be an event for two people on the same stage will make them excited for a long time, and they will fall in love at public expense. love, doesn’t it feel good?

no matter what, they won’t understand the meaning of it anyway. meet backstage, eat a meal together, take ugly photos of each other while doing makeup, and fight. let’s sit together and look at our phones and chat about the current situation. the two people at the back looked right at each other when Fang doesn't speak, the staff will consciously go out and leave them alone.

think hard. I miss you even when I walk. I miss you when I sit. kiss the necklace that you bought for me, look at the blue sky and white clouds, draw a picture, then take the archeology test, and look at the other party’s dark history, snap screenshots and make emoticons and throw them over. it’s the happiness that only artists can have when they fall in love, don’t you understand~

regarding the public, the feeling of being watched by millions of people cheering and blessing that summer it’s really good. surrounded by love from all over the world, you will feel that there is nothing better than our happy couple. maybe, one day, wait for the rainbow to come. On that day, I am Lao Wang and he was Lao Xiao. We walked in front of everyone. before, he drew a story about us, told by me since I was 21 years old.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do #i feel so somft

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nestypewriter · 3 months

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Hii! I saw your M!Ryoba x Reader post and I just wanted to say it's a masterpiece! Could you make more post of M!Ryoba x Reader? I really love your writing <33

Distorted Embrace

[ M! Ryōba x F! reader]

[Content Warning: Kidnapping, obsessive tendency]

[Disclaimer: I want to emphasize that I do not endorse or support this type of behavior. This content is purely for entertainment purposes.]

{Author 's Note : Hello! So originally I was planning to move away from the yandere sim since I heard about what's been going on to yandere dev but i Don't really know anymore but anyways,thank you for the requesting and also thank you for the compliment that was very sweet of you, I hope you like it!💜💜}

[the inpo was tape#1]

your eyes started to open as you start to regain consciousness, you felt your head pounding.

You then heard a familiar voice say, "Watching you sleep is always so cute, but it gets a bit old when it's 6 hours, don't you think?" You asked, "What's happening? Where am I?" Your eyesight was getting clearer as you looked around.

"We're in my basement, sweetheart; my mom even went to the trouble to add this to our house," he exclaimed. "What are you talking about?!" you yelled as you tried to get up, but you couldn't. You looked down to see your arms and legs were tied down to a chair. "Huh? What is this? What's going on? Why am I tied to a chair?" You struggled a bit more, hoping that maybe the ropes would loosen up.

"Stop your squirming, dearest. That would only leave a mark on your precious skin; you don't want that, do we?" he said as he leaned down to caress your cheek. "Isn't that romantic? That chair is the very same one that my mother built for my father while she was here! And now you're sitting in it! I'm keeping a family tradition!"

"Aishi-san? Why are you doing this? I haven't seen you since you've been in the news lately," you said as you shook away his touch. "Don't be so formal with me, dear! You could use my first names. We're friends, aren't we?" He crouched down in front of you and put his hand under his chin as his head rested there while staring at you with a loving gaze.

"Is it true, what all the journalists said?" you questioned, and all of a sudden his eyes darkened, and his smile dropped. "I said, use my first name, dearest," he softly said but it's more like a demanded. "I'm sorry, but in the current situation I'm in, I don't want to," you said firmly. You felt brave, but that soon vanished when he stood up and pulled out a knife from his pocket. "Say my name," he ordered as he got closer and closer with each word.

The tip of the knife got closer to your throat as you felt sudden fear and yelled, "R-Ryōbo! Ryōbo!" Thankfully, he backed away as soon as those words came out of your mouth and moaned loudly like a sigh of relief as you looked at him with disgust.

"W-what?" you squeaked out as he smiled with glee. "Oh dearest, do you know how long I wanted you to call me that? With every conversation we had, calling me by my name when you called out to me, it's like a dream come true! Good thing I got that on tape!" he exclaimed, gesturing at the tape recorder on the table.

"What do you even want from me? Am I your next victim?" You nervously asked, scared at the possible outcome of your demise. "Victim? No, no! Darling, you were the one I was protecting this whole time! I did this all for you!" He explained. "Protecting? You mean the boys at school?" You asked as the realization hit you.

"That's right, darling! They were getting in the way of our love! Their eyes were looking at you with a disgusting gaze! Thinking about taking a chance with you! So I had to get rid of them!" he said as he leaned over your face, put his hands on both of your cheeks, and gently caressed them.

"Love?! I never saw you that way!" You exclaimed, trying to shake his touch again, but he gripped your cheeks tightly. "But now you will! You will stay down here with me, and then you will fall in love with me! Then we would have our first kiss!" He rambled and giggled as he pondered, "But Ryōbo-kun, if you love someone, you shouldn't kidnap and tie them to a chair," you angerly explained, hoping to knock some sense into him, but you knew your words would get ignored. "Well, how else could make sure that you would talk to me after what you saw on that awful news? You would have avoided me! You left me no choice but to keep you here!" he said, looking at you with a soft gaze.

"Please... please just let me go... I won't tell the police or anyone! Just let me go home!" You begged, but alas, he didn't budge. "Sorry, dear! But I know you would run away from me after you get the opportunity to go out, but there's no need for that. After all, you're here now! So there's no use in going back. Besides, I won't let you out of my sight! Isn't it great? We'll be together... forever!" He exclaimed, excited with all the plans he had for both of your futures together.

"F-forever..." you stuttered, not wanting to live a single day with your kidnapper. "That's right!" he exclaimed, but soon his attention turned to the tape recorder. "Oh, looks like I have to change the tape. One moment, dearest..." he said and went over to the tape recorder to change the tape with a new empty one.

While he was busy, you took this opportunity to try and cut or loosen the binds, but the binds were too tightly secured to even move a single thread. "You know, darling, I could hear you..." he said after changing the tape. He stood up and walked back to your form as he leaned over and looked you in the eyes with his empty eyes and said, "Don't even try. You know there's nothing you can do."

#x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere male #yandere simulator #yandere sim x reader #yandere ryoba x reader #male! ryoba x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling

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theteasetwrites · 1 year

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Merciless Beauty

Chapter 6: Through Life and After Death

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+)―missionary, body worship, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (do not endorse), loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, sir kink if you squint, "fucked dumb" (lol), language ❧ Word Count: 15k (I am so sorry.)

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: With the threat of Negan and the Saviors' imminent return heavy on your mind, you find solace in one last excursion outside the castle walls, with your knight. A chance discovery, and the knowledge that this may be your last moment alone with him, leads you to the logical conclusion of your longing.

❧ A/N: Babe, wake up. The knight and the princess are about to boink. Btw I wrote most of this while I’m on my period so that might explain a lot.

The night before last had haunted you, tormented you, until you saw Sir Negan’s arrogant face in every shadow in your bedroom, every darkened corner of the castle, and even every forlorn hollow amongst the foliage in the courtyard where you took your afternoon strolls.

Your own home became a house of horrors, and now, you could not stand to be there another minute.

Before that night, the castle was only a place of sadness for you, but now, it was a looming threat, with each rising and setting of the sun marking another day closer to the day he would come back. You couldn’t even bear to speak his name, so you didn’t. You couldn’t, as though somehow even using your voice to acknowledge his existence was giving him more power. And yet, it was impossible to avoid the plague of unease that the man had infected you with.

Afterall, your situation was dire, no matter what transpired in the coming days leading up to his return. If your father decided to appease Negan, the best option for the survival of the kingdom, it would mean you’d be given to him willingly, taken to the Sanctuary to be his wife. If your father refused to give you to him, you’d be taken by force, and there was no way that Alexandria’s now weakened defenses could fight the Saviors from taking you―they were going to take you, no matter what. There was no outcome that would be in your favor. You were going to be Negan’s now, and you had to accept it.

But you didn’t.

Late last night, the king had left Alexandria in the hopes of making alliances with neighboring kingdoms against the Saviors in a last ditch effort to fight them. It was a noble pursuit, but worthless. Even with the help of the other provinces, the Saviors had weakened those kingdoms as well. Their armories were ransacked, and their numbers were increasingly dwindling. Still, you took advantage of your father’s absence―for one last excursion outside the walls before you’d surely be ripped away from your home in a matter of days.

It was the easiest breakout yet, given the lack of guards roaming the corridors of the castle. The journey through the tunnel was quiet, none of the usual talk of knighthood or herbalism or the knight’s stories of his adventures in exotic, faraway lands. It wasn’t until the meadow when you asked Sir Daryl to treat this day just the same as the others―as if nothing had changed, and this wasn’t your last journey with him.

And so, the knight being simply unable to refuse your wishes, he buried his sorrows to speak of things that pleased you, and you continued regaling him with quotes from your favorite tales and poems, all of which he listened to attentively, pulling Phantom’s reins as you both approached the familiar little cottage, its new outer walls now the first thing you saw.

It was only recently that Sir Daryl had commissioned a mason to build the protective border round the little house, an additional safety precaution to keep the walkers out, he said. Sometimes, you wondered if he’d had that built just for you to be safe, but perhaps that was a self-centered thought. The notion still produced a fluttering feeling in your abdomen, one that you became accustomed to since you first felt them with him. It was the most pleasant feeling you’d ever had, and no matter how you experimented to see if any other source of happiness could replicate that feeling, you always failed.

The sun was setting now, the usual ending to the usual day out, only now, the knight had offered to prepare you a real supper, not just the usual loaves of bread and rosemary butter. This eve, he was set on something special―venison he’d hunted himself just days prior, accompanied by vegetables you’d collected from the cottage garden, many of which you’d never even tried before. “Peasants’ grub” the nobles called them, but they were simple potatoes, onions, cabbages, leeks, carrots… Everything you’d need for a good stew.

But Daryl would not let you lift a finger, relegating you to sitting upon one of the straw-filled pillows strewn about on the floor, just a handful of feet from the warm lit hearth, where Daryl stood laboring over a steaming pot.

“Are you sure you do not need any help?” you peeped, though you and he both knew that you had less skill in cooking than him. In fact, you’d never even cut a vegetable before today. That was simply not your responsibility.

He looked at you through curling smoke, his eyebrow raised at the notion. “Told ya I’d do it. Isn’t much left to do, anyway… Just gotta let it cook a bit more.”

With your posture as straight and perfect as ever, you nodded and wrapped the blanket he always gave you tighter around your body. At this point, it smelled distinctly of your sweet perfume. “Thank you again, Daryl. I know… I know this is not the most ideal time to leave the castle, but I could not stand to be there another second. I swear I can still smell that man’s stench.”

Daryl swallowed hard before clearing his throat, disturbed by the very thought of him, the man who he knew he could not stop from taking you, but he’d do anything in his power to prevent it from happening.

He’d thought of many things, in fact. He hadn’t slept in two nights, the time spent instead thinking of ways to stop Negan, but they all had their weaknesses. Of course, his first thought was to hide you, to take you away from the castle and keep you somewhere else, but that wouldn’t stop the Saviors from pillaging Alexandria, from killing more people. The one thing keeping Negan from destroying the kingdom was you, and even then, it was still uncertain.

And killing Negan and enough of the Saviors to render them powerless was next to impossible. Alexandria was a small kingdom anyway, and now it had dwindled down to almost the size of a large village, with hardly any defenses or military-trained citizens to even stand a chance against an army of the Saviors’ size. The situation was hopeless, and he hated that all he could do was wait.

“But it’s nice to be here,” you said. “I like it here… With you.”

He met your sweet smile with a boyishly lopsided one. The man was quite a bit older than you, but he had a youthfulness about him you couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was in his eyes, which glimmered just as brightly as you’d imagined they had when he was closer to your own age. His face was weathered, but mostly, he was very handsome to you, with a softness to his features that mesmerized you at times.

Particularly, you’d developed a fascination with his lips, the way they moved. He had a habit of folding in his lower lip and chewing on it, especially when deep in thought. Sometimes he’d purse them to the side when he was frustrated, or the top lip would snarl a bit when he killed a walker. You’d become attuned to the patterns of his smiles, grins, and smirks. Your favorites were the ones like this, uneven and slightly bashful, as though you’d said something that flattered him.

You’d been flattering him a lot more lately, you realized. Perhaps your attraction to him was becoming more and more difficult to hide. Strangely, you did not feel the usual urge to combat it. Maybe it was the particular kind of heat from the hearth that evening or the way his hair was pinned behind his ears to keep it out of his way as he cooked, but the fluttery feeling in your abdomen was more persistent than usual, more continuous. At some point, you knew it would be impossible to hold back, but you had to.

“I like being with you, too,” he replied, sprinkling some freshly ground herbs into the cast iron pot. “I wish I could…” He trailed off, stopping his train of thought before he spoke improperly in front of you.

“Could what?”

Gut Negan ‘fore he lays another finger on you. “Nothin’.”

You huffed in amusement at his shyness. “Keeping secrets from your princess,” you teased with a wiggling brow and a squint of faux offense. “That is not very knightly behavior, sir.”

My princess, he thought. Mine.

He shook his head with a huff, ridding himself of his intrusive thoughts. “Wish I could… do somethin’ for you, s’all.”

“Oh, Daryl,” you said. “You’ve already done so much for me. There’s nothing you could do… It is in my father’s hands. Well, it is in Negan’s hands, really.”

“But it shouldn’t be like that.”

“No, it shouldn’t, but it’s how it is, no matter what. Even if Sir Negan had no interest in me, my father would expect me to marry a noble, or a prince or king from some other kingdom. He’s a good father, but he is still a king. Really, I am quite lucky he has not married me off yet. Many princesses marry men they do not love. My mother, her marriage to my father was arranged. Somehow, it worked. They grew to love each other very much. I do not believe I could ever love Sir Negan, though… Not ever. He is evil.”

I won’t let him take you, he wanted to say, but he knew that would be an empty promise. Tonight, for all he knew, could’ve been one of the last nights he’d ever see you again. One thing was certain, this was going to be the last time he took you outside the castle. The last time he could truly be alone with you. And yet, he could not work up the courage to tell you how he felt, how he cherished you much more than he should’ve, how he believed he loved you.

“Wish I could take you away from here,” he said, his lips moving faster than his brain could process his words. “Wish you could stay here, and Negan would never find you.” When his rationality caught up with him, he cleared his throat and shook his head in an attempt to take back what he just said, even though he meant every word.

“I do, too,” you said, surprising him a bit. “I wish I could, but then what would Negan do? He’d destroy Alexandria. He’d kill my people… He might even kill my father. I couldn’t let that happen. No, I have to face it. There’s nothing anyone can do, Daryl, though I appreciate how much you care about my safety.”

I love you.

Instead of voicing his thought, he eyed the weakening fire of the hearth, its flame no longer adequately heating the bottom of the pot. “I’m sworn to protect you,” he said. “As your knight.” He felt your soft gaze caressing his face like an invisible hand, though he tried to remain nonchalant as he poked at the fire. “If I let you get taken against your will, I’m not protecting you.”

That was almost amusing to you, as Daryl seemed to rarely care about performing his official knightly duties. When it came to you, though, he took his job quite seriously. In fact, you began to wonder if he cared more about protecting you than his own lord to whom he owed fealty. What he owed to you meant much more than mere feudalism, though. What he owed to you was his mind, body, and soul.

“And I am sworn to protect my kingdom. If I run away, I am endangering my kingdom.”

That all being said, the idea of Daryl taking you far away from all your troubles was dangerously tempting, to the point that you forgot to breathe for a moment, until it came back to you in the form of a heavy swallowing of air.

“I do not want anyone else to die,” you continued. “I… certainly do not want you to die fighting for me, Daryl, though I am so very grateful for everything you’ve done for me. In truth, I don’t think I have ever felt as close to someone as I feel with you.”

There was more you wished to say, and it seemed as though Daryl had something on the tip of his tongue, but once again, he held himself back, despite every cell in his body screaming out to you professions of love and adoration that had only grown stronger with each passing moment he’d known you. With every way he’d begun to see you for who you were, he fell harder in love. With every angle of you he feasted upon with starving eyes that tore themselves away despite their hunger, he grew more desperate, more bereft of your warm, soft, supple body that he dreamed of cherishing and worshipping every waking moment of everyday.

God, he couldn’t keep you from his mind, your presence overwhelming and intoxicating and mesmerizing, even in this moment when your voice spoke so innocently and with the dignity and poise of a princess. That’s what you were, he had to remember—a princess. He was a knight. He needed to know his place… Though it was becoming increasingly harder to do so.

With the heady air of silence meandering between you in the tiny hovel, Daryl concentrated on rousing the flame of the hearth, but there was nothing he could do to build it up again without collecting more firewood to fuel it. It was the perfect moment to excuse himself and go out to gather tinder while he collected himself, before he did or said something… improper.

In fact, he swore that if he opened his mouth now, he’d wax poetic about all the sinful thoughts he’d tried to keep at bay. Only your voice stopped him from heading out without an explanation.

“Where are you going, knight?”

He palmed at his forehead with a huff, remembering that he was in a social situation, with a sacred woman he cared for too tenderly. He couldn’t just leave you without saying what he was doing, after all.

“Hearth needs more tinder,” he spoke over his shoulder as he donned his black wool cloak. “I won’t be far, just at the splitting log right outside.”

“I shall stir the stew,” you said dutifully, rising elegantly from your seat, with delicate handfuls of your dress to lift it as you crossed to the hearth.

“Don’t poison it,” the knight replied, to which you flashed him a smirk.

“Why ever would I do such a thing? That would be foolish, anyway. I am going to eat the stew, too.” He turned to look your way. It was a mistake. He got lost in your face, your cheeks high and full with your smile, and your eyes sparkling with the reflection of the dying fire. “Hurry along, now,” you said, your voice low now, almost husky. “You mustn’t keep me waiting.”

You did not intend the phrase to sound… suggestive, but perhaps your emotions were beginning to cloud your better judgment, and now every word you spoke betrayed you.

“I won’t,” he replied, a barely audible crack in his voice, though you chalked it up to his already raspy way of speaking. “Be right back.”

Before leaving, he took up the splitting maul he kept beside the door, a burst of cold from the spring night air chilling you for a moment as the door swung shut. Absent-mindedly, you found yourself studying the stew as you stirred it. You tilted your head in amused curiosity at the simple, yet appetizing, concoction. Whatever mix of herbs Daryl had thrown together had created a pleasant kind of aroma that filled the small one-room cottage with a comforting warmth.

A mischievous grin spread across your face as you thought to taste a bit of the stew before Daryl came back. Afterall, it couldn’t hurt to get a small sampling. Careful to get a little bit of everything in your spoonful, you purposefully sought out a large chunk of perfectly cooked-through venison. Raising the large wooden spoon to your pursed lips, you tasted the warm soup, letting it sit on your tongue for a few thoughtful moments as you attempted to study every flavor and texture.

Though the stew was undoubtedly delicious, it was still missing something. You’d seen Daryl sprinkle several different herbs and spices, but it lacked the savory, peppery taste of one of your favorite herbs: sage.

There was a tall wooden pantry across the room, where Daryl had stored most of his dry ingredients. You quickly crossed to the cabinet, your eyes looking back every few moments to keep an eye on the rolling boil of the stew. The pantry doors opened with a creak, you biting your lip and furrowing your brow as you scanned the dim shelves for the dried herb you sought. Daryl had an impressive selection of both culinary and medicinal ingredients, each jarred in their own glasses with a label of faded paper glued to its side, indicating the ingredients’ names. You’d pushed back several jars, all of which weren’t the dried sage you were looking for.

He had everything—rosemary, saffron, ginger, grains of paradise, cloves, parsley, cinnamon, spikenard, alecost, thyme, southernwood… Everything but sage. “Good heavens, sage cannot be that difficult to come by, can it?” you spoke to yourself. “Sage… Sage…” You began to impatiently rearrange the jars, rereading each one a few times to ensure you weren’t going mad, though it began to feel like it. “How could he not have—”

You’d reached the back of the dusty old shelf, where no more pesky jars of spices and herbs could taunt you. Instead, a lone small chest of plain cedarwood sat undisturbed against the back wall of the cupboard. It wouldn’t have fazed you, as you’d most logically assume it was just another container for some special exotic spice, but what had silenced you and your mumbled self-ramblings was the chain of iridescent white pearls that poured out from the little chest, rendering the lid slightly ajar, but just open enough for your to catch a brief sparkle twinkling in the darkness.

And those pearls… You recognized them.

They weren’t cheap freshwater pearls, the kind you could get from any silver-tongued peddler on the street in Alexandria’s market district. No, they were distinctive… Their luster and nearly perfect roundness betraying their expensive nature. Akoya pearls, you recalled the explorer saying. It was not long before the Scourge broke out, when you were just fifteen. The only jewels you had kept now were those inherited from your mother or family heirlooms. The pearls were beautiful, and they were important to you, but they were sacrifices you had made in the name of gratitude for the knight’s kindness.

You gave them to him, but under the impression that he’d sell them.

Why would he keep this?

But it wasn’t just one necklace, no. The faint glimmer of light from deep within the box enticed you, leading you to lift the lid, despite your high-society etiquette telling you that snooping around in other people’s things was hardly becoming behavior. You believed, though, that you had a right to see. That was once your necklace, after all.

There was more, just as you’d suspected. The box was brimming with a colorful assortment of precious jewels from your collection, all of which you’d had distinct memories of gifting to the knight after each excursion he’d accompanied you on. Pulling the box forward, you stared wide-eyed as you rummaged through, recognizing each and every piece—the pair of pearl and amethyst earrings, the ruby and silver brooch, the gilded ring of jade with an intricate claw setting, the red coral rosary given to you at your first Holy Communion, the repoussé chaplet set with refined diamonds and sapphires… Each trinket was unique, and undeniably yours.

There were a few possible explanations you could think of. The first explanation, and the most logical, was that Sir Daryl was saving your jewels for a rainy day, intent on selling them all together for a larger sum. The second, and the most amusing to you, was that he was wearing the jewelry himself, and he was hiding them to spare himself the embarrassment. The third, and the most worrisome, was that there was a lady he was intent upon giving your jewelry to, or at least that he was keeping the jewels in the event that he would find a lady to woo. This thought made your heart race, but not in the way it usually did when the knight crossed your mind.

But all these explanations were useless to you. There was no way of knowing now exactly why he kept your jewelry. Perhaps it meant nothing at all, but you couldn’t let it go. You needed to know, otherwise you’d never think clearly again. Without your sage, you replaced the chest and its contents to close the cupboard and return to the boiling pot, though not without a nervous pitter patter in your chest.

You were startled from your thoughts with a jump and a gasp when the knight kicked open the front door, a pile of freshly cut logs in his arms. He cursed himself for his lack of grace.

“Y’all right?” he asked, keeping a concerned eye on you as he crossed to the hearth to prepare the fire.

“Fine,” you replied with a nod. “Stew’s ready, I think.”

He furrowed his brow at that statement, then responded with a slight chuckle to his voice. “How do you know?”

“I tasted it,” you said. “It’s ready.”

“Yes, your highness,” he replied with a huff, amused by your certainty.

At length, he procured two wooden bowls and two silver spoons, the both of you settling for casual seating in front of the hearth, sitting upon the floor cushions with criss-crossed legs and a strange silence between you. Silences like this were uncommon. Of course, whenever it was quiet between you, there was always this presence of heaviness, as though something needed to be said by one of you, or both, but right now, there was no comfort to it. Now, the weight had become so unbearable that there would be no comfort to this usually pleasant silence until one of you spoke.

And it had to be you. You were the one who had seen the chest, who knew now that Daryl kept all those payments for whatever reason instead of cashing them in. You had to know why, there was no other way around it.

You only hoped he wouldn’t resent you for it.

“Daryl?” You let your spoon clink against the side of the wooden bowl as you relished the recent aftertaste of the savory soup. “May I ask you something?”

He was hoping you would. He’d spent enough time with you, had known all your habits and quirks and idiosyncrasies, that he knew when there was something on your mind. Given the weight of this silence, it must’ve been important.

“Yeah.” He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his off-white chemise. You took extra care not to become distracted by the crop of pale brown, wiry chest hairs just barely visible at his loosely laced up collar.

Without even noticing, you licked your lips as you thought of what to say, hoping he wouldn’t be offended. Afterall, you’d gone snooping about in his pantry. Still, you believed you had a right to know.

To focus on your words, you set your near-empty bowl on the stone edge of the hearth. You straightened to sit up taller, your hands carefully folded in your lap. You looked like the picture of a princess, except in your eyes. They were downturned, as you couldn’t bear to look him in the eye in case your actions were misconstrued as mischief. “When you were out chopping wood,” you began with a small nervous croak in your voice, “I… Well, I tried the stew, as I said, but I thought it could use some sage, you see, and so I—I looked in your pantry.”

It was then that the knight began to choke on a chunk of venison, having swallowed it too soon with the realization that you could’ve seen his jewelry box, the one he hid because of his embarrassment to admit that he kept those jewels because they were yours. No practical reason at all, just the thought of you, something part of you belonging to him. It was silly, he knew that, but to him, there was a comfort in having those trinkets. If he’d sold them, all he’d have would be measly bits of dirty metal that had been in thousands of different hands and would be in a thousand more. Those jewels were worth more than that. They were once yours. As far as he was concerned, they were still yours.

The man turned away from you, covering his mouth with the inside of his elbow as he coughed to help the meat pass down his throat. You leaned forward, reaching your hand out to touch his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled between his coughs. “Just… just…”

“Here,” you said, scooting closer to hand him a tankard of water. He waved you off, but he was still hunched over to the side and refusing to face you, both as a result of his embarrassment and his coughing fit. You huffed and spoke more harshly now. “Daryl.”

He knew that voice well enough now to know you were serious. He turned towards you slowly, taking the cup from your hands as he still sputtered our grunts between coughs. “Th—thanks.”

He choked a bit more on the water now, but only because he felt your hand soothing his back in slow, languid, yet careful, movements. “There…” Your voice was smooth and velvety, like sweet whipped cream. With each pass of your hand, you felt the silk fabric of his shirt pucker against your palm. The heat of his body drew you closer subconsciously, til you felt his strong, hard shoulder nearly digging into your chest. Despite your attempt to pull away, it felt too good to rid yourself of his closeness. “Better?”

With the delicate pressure of your hand caressing him, of course he felt better. He grunted in acknowledgement as he nodded, setting the tankard on the floor beside him. “Yeah… Please forgive me.”

You shook your head and laughed at that. “For what? Swallowing your food too fast?”

He felt like a blubbering fool, wiping his lips and chuckling under his breath to match your contagious giggles. But then, with a diminuendo of laughter, he realized he’d interrupted you, and he needed to know now what you were going to say, just in case you did see his hidden treasure. Well, your hidden treasure.

“For interrupting you,” he said. “You were sayin’ something… D’ya find the sage?”

He knew full well there was no sage in that pantry. He’d run out just a few days prior.

“Oh,” you sighed. “Well, no, I…”

You’d made the grave mistake of lifting your wide eyes to meet his, though the both of you were trying to hide your gaze from one another. It was inevitable that they would meet at some point this evening, but now that they had, you could not bear to look away, neither could he. For several moments, you could not even blink for fear of missing him and his deep, almost dark blue eyes, filled with the mystery of something nearly inscrutable, but not impossible to figure out. In fact, the more you looked, you swore you got closer to finding the answers to all the questions in his eyes.

“Daryl,” you started again, this time holding his gaze with a nervous, fluttering blink of your curled eyelashes. “Why… Why have you not sold the jewelry I paid you with?”

There were many replies he could have made, but the only one that was remotely coherent was the one with the fewest number of words: Because I love you.

Several heavy moments passed in silence, with only the crackling of the now roaring hearthfire filling the space where words might’ve existed if only he had the courage to speak without thinking first in this moment. This, however, was a delicate situation, and he could not face it with the usual impulsivity and carelessness that he might’ve had in other situations.

There was a contradictory sense of both a need to profess his love to you and a need to brush it off with some lie, but how could he lie to you, his sweet princess? You were worth so much more than that to him, so much more than a paltry lie, but you were also worth more than every jewel in that box.

“You, uh… You saw that?”

Your shoulders shrugged as you smiled bashfully. Daryl’s cheeks seemed to heat up, too. “I did. I know I had no right to look, but with the gold those jewels are worth, you could purchase your own manor and petition to become a lord. My father would happily grant you that position, I’m sure. You would not have to be a vassal. Of course, it is your property to do with as you wish, but I cannot help but wonder why.”

Titles and property were of no consequence to Daryl. They never meant much. He grew up with next to nothing, raised by poor merchants who struggled to buy a single loaf of bread. Perhaps one would think that growing up so poor would make him value money, but it was quite the opposite. It made him hate it, how it could make or break a man. No, what you gave to him was worth so much more.

“I—” He paused to think more thoroughly about what he was to say, but there was no way around it. He had to say it. “I couldn’t get rid of them. Couldn’t just give ‘em to somebody else.”

Though his words seemed sentimental, his eyes still strayed from you. Leaning forward, your heart aching with a desperate hope, you tried to coerce his eyes to meet yours. Your hand still traced invisible shapes across the broad expanse of his back.

“Why?” You wondered if perhaps your secret fourth explanation had been correct. The more he stalled, you began to realize that it was. “Daryl…” Your other hand lifted cautiously, its movements foreign to you as your fingers delicately cradled his chin, then brought his head up until those soft, deep blue eyes greeted you. Perhaps you were torturing him, begging him to admit his feelings despite his fear, but you needed his words. That was all you’d need. You smiled to comfort him as you spoke. “Why could you not bear to sell my jewels?”

Your touch was in two places now—his back and his chin. Both points of contact were burning, a fire that spread through him and touched him in places he didn’t dare even think of at this moment. Your touch was innocent, it had to be. He wouldn’t let himself believe otherwise. His task was to keep you safe, to never let harm come your way. Indulging in his desires, no matter how much he wanted to, would only take advantage of the trust you and your father had in him. But, oh… The way your chest heaved against his shoulder. You were so close. So incredibly close. Almost as close as he’d imagined, in his darkened bedroom where his sordid thoughts took root. Even his dreams were full of visions of you, hazy and ethereal, like you were made of clouds. So soft, so warm.

“Daryl?” you pressed again. “Won’t you answer me, please?”

“It’s wrong,” he said quickly. “It’s all wrong.”

“No, it is not.”

“I just couldn’t… Couldn’t give part of you away.”

“Part of me?”

“Part of you,” he repeated. “Someone else, with a part of you… I can’t let anyone else have you. Those things belonged to you, so they’re precious to me. You’re precious to me.”

There. That was enough. Enough for you to know the truth, enough for you to lean even closer, your eyes nearly closed despite a sliver of vision focused on his lips, slightly agape and quivering. With your hand still holding his chin, you pulled him closer, too, his body and mind paralyzed for a moment, rendered helpless by you.

But for a moment, when your lips were just an inch or two from his, you fluttered your eyes open to meet his. “My knight,” you whispered, the soft wind of your breath tickling his aching lips. “Kiss me.”

“I—I can’t.”

“Yes, you can…” Just like that, you spoke in your most regal tone of authority, the same you’d used to threaten to have Negan executed, though this time, a little more sultry. “I am your princess, and you will do as I say, knight.”

Yes, your highness.

With a burst of desperation rising up in his abdomen, he leaned forward to close the gap between you, not just at your lips, but at every part of you. His hands grasped hard at your waist, pulling you nearly onto his lap. Your chest was pressed so tight against his that you gasped for breath from his mouth as he kissed you, heavy breaths exhaling from his nostrils like a wild animal just freed from its cage.

You felt one hand wildly rise up your back and tangle in your hair, loosening the lone braid at the back of your head, until cascades of hair hung freely over your shoulders and back. Your hands had no choice but to cling tight to his shoulders as his hands explored you to the extent he would allow himself, though it felt so wonderful that you wished he’d unrestrain himself even more. Just when you started to think he was becoming more unhindered, his hand slowly melting down your lower back and inching closer to your bottom, he stopped himself.

His mouth tore away from you, the cold of the night air stinging your moistened lips as they trembled, and you felt your throat already begin to swallow back a lump. “What is it?”

His hands were still on you, but he panted as he looked worryingly at you, his head shaking as if to reprimand himself, though he couldn’t hide his blown out pupils and the increasingly noticeable hardness of his lap. Still, you feared he’d deny you.

“I can’t control myself,” he said. “If we… kept goin’…”

“I want to keep going,” you said. Your hands moved to grasp at his shirt collar, where your fingers began to undo his lace. “I want whatever you would do.”

“You don’t know what you want,” he said. “You don’t want me, princess.”

“I do want you, knight.”

“You can’t. I can’t. If your father—”

“I love you.”

He fell silent. Scared. Not of your words, but of himself, of what hearing those words in your voice did to him. They ignited a deeper, inextinguishable fire.

“Don’t say what ya don’t mean, milady.”

A single shiny tear glimmered as it rolled down your soft rouged cheek, settling into the corner of your mouth. You weren’t sure exactly why you began to cry. Perhaps it was the idea of rejection, or the thought of Sir Negan taking you away before promising yourself to the only man you’d ever cared for, but one thing was certain: your love for him was strong enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“I do not say things I do not mean, Sir Daryl. When I say I love you, I am speaking from my heart, and my heart would not lead me astray. I love you, and that is the truth.”

And it was his truth, too. Now, your words were enough to convince him.

He lowered his eyes, his lips turned stern. It was an earnest, serious gaze. He said what he’d been thinking for months, what he would never stop thinking no matter what. He would always love you. He would always do anything for you. It was time he made it known. “I love you.”

It was simple when he said it, but you knew it to be true by the way his hands clung tighter to your waist. Hesitantly, he raised his right hand, allowing the back of it to caress your cheek. His touch was rough, but only because of his worn skin. The way he moved was soft, gentle, sweet. Even in his evident lust, he still touched you with the innocence of a white daisy’s petals brushing against your skin.

Hesitantly, he let his lips ghost your other cheek as you exhaled a heavy breath against his neck. “Daryl,” you whispered. He kissed your skin, his lips spread open and tongue just barely stretching out to tickle you. As he moved his mouth lower, dragging sloppy kisses along your jawline, his arms wrapped fully around you, tugging you against him. Your hands held tight to his shoulder blades, and you felt them flex and jolt with each movement he made as his lips met yours again. This time, his tongue breached the entrance to your mouth, finding yours and almost attacking it. In your inexperience, you only gasped against his lips, then jutted out your own tongue in an attempt to keep up with him.

“Daryl,” you panted between his kisses. He grunted under his breath, still indulging in your taste. With your fingers on his cheeks, you pulled back for a moment, looking into his darkened eyes. You’d never seen his eyes like that before. It almost frightened you, but mostly, it only made you realize exactly what you wanted. “I want you to take my maidenhead.”

Of course, he wanted to. It wasn’t a question of whether or not he wanted to, it was a question of whether or not he should, and he knew he shouldn’t. He knew such a thing was against his code, perhaps the most egregious way to break it. The law of chivalry held all knights to a certain standard, a law that governed their every action. Sleeping with the daughter of the king he served, much less taking her virginity, would certainly be cause for execution.

“I can’t,” he said, though his eyes portrayed another answer. “You know I can’t.” You shook your head, opening your mouth to latch onto his jawline, kissing him as he’d kissed you. He muttered your name, though he could not tear you away, your sweet lips wetting his skin as your hand combed through his hair. “It would…”

Your hand lowered to his chest, grasping at his bare skin underneath his chemise. Your fingers seemed to tremble, your body not knowing what to do without his guidance. He grasped at your hand, though he did not push you away. He kept it there, keeping it steady. He turned to face your lips, and they trembled, too. To steady them, he raised his thumb to your plump bottom lip, moving it gently side to side. It felt like sacrilege to touch you like this, but it also felt like the most holy, sacred kind of worship.

“It would be wrong. I’m not your husband. It would be against… Against my code of chivalry.”

It nearly made you laugh. “You’ve already disobeyed my father and taken me outside the castle walls into walker-infested woods. You’ve done a hundred things that broke your code.”

Leaning ever closer, you pressed your soft chest against his firm one, the heat rising between your bodies almost as strong as the roaring hearthfire that painted his face in rich, warm burnt oranges and browns. The smile on your face curled delicately as you brushed aside the curtains of his hair till they were pinned behind his ears. In this light, his face was both worn yet youthful, like an old painting of a young man.

In a hushed, honeyed voice, you whispered against his cheek, “What’s one more?” Innocent lips coated with that floral musky balm grazed his stubbly cheek. It was not scratchy, though, it was soft and ticklish, like how your fingers felt on his chest.

For a long, torturous moment, he only held you close, his grip still tight on your waist. He leaned into your kiss, though he still was trying to cling to the last thread of chivalrous honor he had within him. That rope was threadbare, though, with only a fiber or two to hold on to, and the more your lips grazed his skin, trailing to his neck in clumsy, inexperienced movements, you felt his hand return to your hair to tangle itself in your now tousled locks.

The low, dulcet moan escaping your lips marked the moment the tether snapped, and no longer could he say he had any respect for a code of conduct that left him bereft of your body and the pleasure he could give you, as your servant, your escort, your knight.

With a throaty grunt, he took your mouth in his, devouring it much more deeply than he had before. There was no cautiousness now in his embrace, his hands lowering to cup both sides of your bottom as he lifted you more fully to his lap, with his legs outstretched underneath you.

Both of you became engulfed in a tangle of limbs, furiously clawing at each other like you were both tearing at your own flesh to escape from its confines. Yourself now made taller than him as you sat upon his lap, you parted from his lips for a moment to look down at him, panting and lips shiny from your saliva, and made plump and red by his impassioned kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, looking up at you with hazy, dark eyes. Indeed, you were the most beautiful sight he’d ever had the chance to behold. Sometimes, he did not even think himself worthy to utter your name, or to have his name uttered by you… You in your sweetness and kindness and sensitivity and grace and—

Your small laugh reawakened him. How dare he even begin to wax poetic about you in his own head when you were in his arms now, your hands on his shoulders and your chest heaving with each beautiful breath. To know you were so alive, warm and trembling in his strong arms, safe and protected… That was the greatest pleasure of all.

And yet, the carnal desire for you was quick to overwhelm him. He squeezed you tighter before leaning forward, taking you with him. “Mm!” you laughed against his lips as he kissed you.

How he could be so gentle and yet so strong you did not know. With your back arched and your head cradled by his hands, you felt the support of your floor pillow underneath you, your legs now wrapped around his waist.

Propping himself up by his arms to look at you, he gazed in awe, your hair sprawled out from your head in every which way like an angel’s halo made from a sunburst. Where your gown of sage green silk brocade met your breasts, he let his gaze linger. Finally. Without the worries of being improper, he could admire the gentle, supple curves of your décolletage.

And now your gown sank down to your upper thighs, exposing much more skin than he’d ever seen—or felt. He sat up straight, his hand gently petting your soft bare calf, then moving down slowly, torturously, to touch your thigh.

Never had you been touched like this. Not even by yourself. In fact, you felt rather foolish, stiffening a bit as your eyes widened the more he moved his hand, now lifting up the rest of your skirt.

“Daryl…” you all but whined, a moan somewhere between a begging lust and a nervous embarrassment. “I know nothing,” you said simply. “I—I—”

Your own gasp cut short your stuttering admission. “Oh.”

All you could feel was his hand cupping your mound, now completely exposed without the cover of your gown.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, each fold and crevice and speckling of your dainty hairs that matched perfectly the locks on your head. In fact, he ran his fingers through the little forest above your womanhood. It was soft, warm, untouched until now.

“You’re beautiful,” he spoke again. “Very… royal.”

“Royal?”

He laughed under his breath, biting his lip as he trailed his pointer finger around your lips, tickling you as you writhed a little. “Everything about you,” he said. “Even this… So perfect and clean and royal.”

Flushed with rose-tinted clouds of excitement and shyness, you rolled your shoulders as you watched him lick his pretty pink lips, over and over. “Have you seen many women like this, sir?”

He returned his gaze to yours with a raised, mischievous brow. Sir had never sounded so intoxicating as it did now. “None as sweet and virtuous as you.”

Indeed, he slightly feared his first movements towards intercourse. Never before had he taken a maiden’s virginity, and he was sure he’d hurt you if he was too hasty. He would have to tread carefully, though the subtle glisten of your entrance beckoned him, and those soft, intricate folds of supple flesh sparked a fire in him he’d never felt before. This was the image he’d dreamed of—your untouched womanhood naked before him, just waiting for him to release you from the bonds of chastity forevermore.

And, oh, that moan, of which he had only gotten a sampling of. He needed more, he needed to be drowned in that sound. He needed to be the one who showed you the carnal pleasure of love, and to experience it himself, too. It would be the most potent kind of intimacy, and he wanted the both of you to be consumed by it. Together.

All he could think of, all he wanted to do, was get a mouthful of you. Drink from the fountain that was your body.

“Can I… taste you?”

A genuine expression of innocent confusion spread across your face. “Kiss me?” Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips gently pursed, prepared to receive his sweet kiss.

“Nah, not like that,” he said, a subtle laugh under his low, gruff voice. Two calloused fingertips grazed the top junction of your lips, where an almost overwhelming tingle spread through you. Then, his fingers moved apart as they descended slowly, spreading you open. The reddish, taught flesh seemed to pulse on its own accord as your breath shuddered and your eyes widened at the strange feeling. “Here. I wanna taste you here.”

Finally understanding, and yet not understanding at all, you looked up at him with a furrowed look of concern. “Why? Is that not… unsanitary?”

An amused grin spread across his face. “Looks clean to me… They bathe you good, my princess.”

His princess. Oh, that sent an entirely new shiver through you.

But only with your permission would he do such a thing. Only with your word would he let his common tongue invade your royal maidenhead.

So he’d beg for it, like he knew he should.

“Please,” he said, voice sweeter and softer than you’d ever heard. He even lowered himself, his lips hovering above your navel as he looked up at you with those crystal clear eyes. “Please, your highness… I will be gentle.” His hands held firm to your thighs, rubbing them softly, up and down. When his lips met your abdomen, just below your navel, you sighed unexpectedly, and he could feel your heat.

“I’ll beg for it.” The reverberations of his rough voice tickled your lower stomach. He dragged his lips progressively lower, to where the hairs upon your mound began. A trail of kisses began to form between each mumbled plea.

“I’ll beg to taste you…” Kiss. “Lick you…” Kiss. “I’m beggin’…” Kiss. “Let me taste how perfect my sweet princess is.”

Though you were still puzzled by his desire to kiss you there, you decided to oblige, especially as the strange tickly feeling became more and more intense with each kiss he bestowed upon your mound. Somehow, his begging even excited you.

“Yes,” you sighed. Blindly, you reached for him, your hands tangling in his chestnut colored hair, strands messy and wild. The ends of those locks tickled your skin as they hung around his face, dragging with each movement of his mouth downwards. “You may taste me… Though I do not understand why you want to, sir.” You laughed as you looked down at him, kissing the soft little hairs you always found to be unsightly, but it was not in vogue to shave, of course. At least, not for a lady of your status. He seemed to like it, though. “You are rather strange,” you teased. “Do you think I will taste nice?”

“Know you will,” he said, and you watched as he wetted his fingers with his tongue, then circled them over your now puffy lips.

With a little gasp, you giggled girlishly at his touch. It was all so strange to you, but it felt nice. You’d had no idea this part of you was so sensitive, as you’d never bothered to touch it besides your daily baths. Even then, you hardly touched yourself only to clean, and when you felt an unfamiliar tingle as you’d slide your wet hand between those little folds of sensitive skin, you’d quickly pull away. All you knew of that part of you was that it was for your future husband, and you’d never cared much for trying to find one, especially since the world was the way it was.

Now, you could only dream of a husband like him, the knight who lowered himself once more, slotting his head between your bare thighs. His hands holding them, he coerced your legs to spread wider, allowing that crevice to widen and open the small fleshy hole. He could already tell you’d never even touched yourself, your entrance half-obstructed by a small stretch of skin-colored tissue—your maidenhead.

He’d not touch that for now, instead only focused on slowly licking a stripe up your open slit, marking his first taste of you.

There was a strong reverberation that jolted through you, causing your legs to flinch closed, Daryl’s head now sandwiched between the fat of your thighs. “Oh!” you cried out, back involuntarily arched against the cushion and hands tangled further in his hair until your fingernails clawed at his scalp. There was a muffled growl between your legs in response. At first, you assumed you’d hurt him. “Oh, I—I am sorry, my love…” you sputtered, almost with a nervous laugh at your sensitivity, and massaging his scalp more gently now. “Did I hurt you?”

On the contrary, your scratching and pulling and squeezing only excited him. He did not answer your question, only pressing his face harder against you, smothering his nose and mouth between your folds, wettened by his saliva. If he suffocated between your legs, he’d die happy, as the taste was intoxicating, sweeter than the finest honey wine he’d ever had, and the feeling a more lovely warmth than the hearth that illuminated the dim cottage with that dreamy glow.

With a renewed lust, he moved his head wildly, licking up and down and swirling in tight circles round the bundle of nerves above the entrance. It seemed to elicit the most beautiful moans and gasps and sighs from your pretty mouth, of which he often took a glimpse when he raised his eyes to admire your innocent beauty.

And though he could lick you like this for hours on end, he’d grown desperate to taste you deeper, just a little. So he parted your legs with a jolt. “Keep ‘em open,” he ordered, voice more hoarse and throaty and deep than before. His desire was becoming more urgent, more primitive as the very last of his decency was chiseled away by his need. “I want more of this pretty cunt.”

You nearly gasped at the vulgar word, having only heard it once or twice in your presence—both times from a slightly inebriated Lady Margaret, who used it to pejoratively refer to Lady Caroline behind her back, but now you knew where it came from. It sounded devilishly dulcet on his low, panting voice.

Legs spread further apart, he caught another glimpse of that hole, coated in a sparkling sheen that was damp to the touch. The corner of his lip lifted slightly as he spoke. “You’re gettin’ wet,” he said, much to your confusion. “D’ya like what I’m doin’ to you, princess?”

“Y-yes,” you stuttered. His fingertip traced the rim of your wet entrance.

Before he dove down once more, he couldn’t help but just admire the beauty of your womanhood with his eyes. He felt a sudden wave of unworthiness well up in him. After all, this sight was never for him. It was forbidden, and yet, you’d decided he was worthy to have you.

You, his lady, his mistress, his princess, his queen. In every sense of the word, you ruled him, and he had no choice but to bask in the glory of your trembling body, every inch perfect and unique and, soon, his.

He’d make you his, but first he had to make him yours.

“Oh!” His lips spread open wide to envelope the hole, where his tongue flattened out to lick at the source of your arousal. All you could feel was his long tongue poking inside you, wiggling to adjust to how small the entrance was.

Meanwhile, the tip of his soft button nose pressed up against your most sensitive spot, where a fresh tingle surged through you. To get a better angle, he slid both hands underneath your bare rump, pulling your body closer and angling your core upwards as your legs found their home upon his shoulders, just the perfect width to accommodate your thighs.

“That’s it,” he spoke against your inner thigh, where he left a series of frantic, desperate little kisses. They weren’t just lustful, but affectionate, as though he was bestowing these kisses to reward you for your obedience. “Sweet royal cunt.”

That word again made you flinch, or perhaps it was the suction of his lips around that bundle of nerves that pleased you so.

“Y-you’re so vulgar,” you sighed with a gentle laugh rolling under your voice. “Where… is my gallant knight?”

“Between your pretty legs, milady.”

His tongue wiggled in spastic movements between his lips, reddening and engorging the sensitive spot as a strange tightening feeling formed in your lower belly. Unbeknownst to you, the walls of your passage squeezed involuntarily around the empty space inside you. In this moment, you never felt more empty, in fact. All you wanted, the longer his mouth devoured you, was to somehow feel whole.

“Please!” you cried out, voice strained and high-pitched with a desperate plea for him to satisfy you, somehow. You did not know how, but you needed it, whatever it was. “Oh, I…”

The knight knew what you needed, and he needed it, too, but you were so close to ultimate pleasure. The wetter you became, the more of his saliva that soaked into your crevices and your increasingly gaping entrance, the more your body would accept his. That much he knew.

But the feeling was so powerful, so overwhelming. Each burst of pleasure erupted within you, like a volcano that had lain dormant for a millenia or two, and only now was that red hot magma spewing forth, until one final eruption would leave you satisfied. It terrified you. Was this normal? Surely a woman should not feel such euphoria. All you’d known of your womb was the pain and shame of that period in which blood would flow from you. You’d been told it was divine punishment for women. Eve’s betrayal, the fall of Eden… Why should you pay for that? Now, there was only pleasure, no pain.

The pleasure, though, was so intense, so frightful, that you panicked, your thighs clenching tight round his head once more as your back arched in agonizing bliss, his tongue now thrusting into you again. “Oh!” you cried out. “I… Wh-what… Daryl, I’m frightened!”

His eyes flashed up to look at you. “What is it?” he asked. He tore himself away from you, while his hand reached up to cradle your trembling cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I…” Gasping for air, you writhed and wriggled underneath him, squeezing your thighs together as if to provide some relief. “I do not know… I feel so strange.”

Tears trickled down your cheek, and the knight’s brows furrowed in concern. He brushed a few away with his fingers. “Why’re ya cryin’, girl?”

And you knew now why, as your hips gyrated and bucked up towards him, as if demanding for him to return to you. The sensation was just so strong, but so lovely. “Please,” you whimpered. “Do not stop.”

Now he knew, too. A laugh forced his mouth into a wide grin. “Oh, I see,” he said, hands moving achingly slowly back down to your thighs. He spread them apart again, a feeling which made your breath hitch for a moment. “Feels good, doesn’t it? My tongue…”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please, more.”

And so he gave you more, his mouth quickly returning to that puffy, reddened flesh between your thighs, eliciting from you a visceral moan as your head fell back against the cushion. “Ah!” you cried out.

After the brief period in which he’d separated from you, you now felt the sensation returning, this time even more intense. Sounds of wet flesh being licked and sucked and kissed surrounded you, accompanied by soft, muffled groans from your knight.

How he’d wanted this for so long, to have your taste and to feel your restless, writhing body involuntarily grinding against his tongue. For a moment, he pulled your outer lips further apart, allowing more direct exposure to the now throbbing, swollen protrusion that gave you so much pleasure. He sucked at that flesh again, this time bringing his finger to the hole that begged to be filled.

“Oh, oh!” His finger breached the entrance, just a few centimeters, but enough to stretch you more than you’d been stretched open ever before. “My god!”

“Come,” his voice murmured between furious sucking. “Come, my princess. I want you to come.”

“C-come… Where?”

“On my face,” he laughed.

“Wh-what… are you… talking about?”

The vibration of his laughter tickled your flesh. “You’re too innocent,” he said. “You’ll see what I mean.”

He knew you must be close, so it did not take much more effort to get you to the brink of orgasm. All he needed to do was curl his finger upwards inside you as he swirled his tongue with more pressure, practically digging a brand new hole with the tip of his tongue.

And, with your hands shooting out to claw at his shoulders, the tingling and tightening and tickling finally reached its peak as the feeling of the final, strongest eruption came forth, exploding from the pit of your abdomen and spreading throughout every cell in your hot, squirming body.

Moans of his name were falling softly, repeatedly from your lips, where bite marks had embedded themselves after several minutes of your teeth digging into the skin. He’d never heard his name being spoken so much, so sweetly and with so much bliss. After all, it was the name of the person who’d given you the greatest feeling you’d ever experienced.

You were left jolting, your body gently rocking up against his face, which was still buried between your lips as his tongue gathered every drop of the arousal that slowly dripped from you. His own arousal caught up with him, too, a noticeable feeling of a strain, and a tightening in his chausses.

Panting and moaning under your labored breaths, you felt the pleasure begin to die down as his lips praised you with small kisses all over the outside of your pulsing entrance. Deviously, he stuck his tongue out to deliver short, sweet licks to your still throbbing bundle of nerves.

A soft, delirious giggle erupted from your lips as your fingers tangled in his disheveled hair. All you could see was his head bobbing between your legs, and all you could hear was the crackle of the hearthfire and the sounds of his pursed lips kissing your wet folds. Feeling his finger curling at the shallow part of you, you squeezed on purpose, much to his amusement.

“I feel ya,” he mumbled. “You feel so good.”

“Daryl.” Your hands grasped both sides of his head with some pressure, as if to pull him up. “Come here.”

He let you guide his head until his lips met yours and your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, weighing him down. His body weight covered you completely, a sensation which excited him even more.

On your lips, you tasted yourself, his tongue and lips now coated with your arousal. “What did you do to me?” you asked between his kiss. “Your tongue is magical… Some kind of wicked sorcery.”

His laughter tickled your cheek as he kissed you there. “I jus’ made ya come,” he said simply. “S’why you’re so wet down there now. Got you all ready.” His hands raised up to tug on the collar of your dress, as if trying to yank it off you.

“Ready for what?” you laughed, though you had a few ideas of what he could be referring to, as innocent as you were, but you hadn’t heard the word he’d said next before.

“For my cock.”

In genuine confusion, you furrowed your brow. “You have a rooster?”

“Yeah.” The mischievous, lop-sided smirk on his face as his finger traced your jawline told you he was messing with you. “I’ve got a big, red rooster.”

“Oh?” you said, playing along with him despite your ignorance. “Well, won’t you introduce me to your rooster?”

By now, you knew what he meant.

When he dragged your hand down to his clothed erection, a deep blush bloomed upon your cheeks. “Oh,” you sighed. “Hello, rooster.”

To say you hadn’t thought of it before would be a lie. Of course you had. While you did not know much about sex, or that part of the male anatomy, you knew that part of a man was meant for that complimentary part of a woman. You knew that was the part of him that would put a child in your womb, though you knew not the exact details of the whole ordeal.

Interrupting your thoughts of his “rooster,” you were suddenly lifted from the ground and tangled in his arms, with your feet dangling off the ground as he dragged you towards the hay-stuffed mattress you’d rested upon a few times before. You exclaimed a laughing, “Daryl!” before being laid gently, yet almost impatiently, upon the bed.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to see him at the foot of the bed, lifting his shirt above his head as he panted.

Eyes wide, you felt your heart thump in your chest when his broad frame was bare before you, his chest just as bulky and strong and wide as you’d imagined. Your eyes were drawn to the charming smattering of little hairs, and the small pink nipples that hardened against the air.

You couldn’t help but follow the trail of those same hairs that began at his navel and led down to the waistband of his pants, which he began to untie frantically. Meanwhile, your mouth fell agape at the shape of his… cock, you supposed it was called—so big it looked like it could rip through the cotton of his chausses at any second.

Involuntarily, your thighs rubbed themselves together, where you could now feel your own wetness seeping from you. Seeing the size of his cock, now you knew why you’d need to be wet.

Just like that, he was naked, his cock springing up as soon as he pulled his pants down enough. It nearly startled you, almost eliciting a gasp. Never had you seen something so… odd. You couldn’t even wrap your head around the testicles just yet.

But he left you hardly any time to think about the new body parts you were faced with. Instead, he laid himself down on his side next to you, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. The motion soothed you, though his dark, lusty stare made you shiver.

“Sit up for me,” he said. You did as he told you, as an unspoken dynamic had appeared: he would lead you, as you were much too inexperienced to know your way around this territory.

And yet, he was not forceful, nor domineering. Indeed, he knew you were still his princess, his ruler. He knew that you held the utmost power over him, and that whatever you’d say, he would have to do it. There was no mistake of who was ultimately in charge, whose body he was compelled to worship and please. Still, he’d lead you physically.

Now sitting up, he scooted back to unlace the back of your gown, each silk knot coming undone with a beautiful cascade of fabric, until your back was nude, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your spine.

He pulled on your sleeves gently, but with a noticeable waning of his patience. “Lay back now,” he said. Like a mindless servant, you obeyed him.

Your surcoat was loose enough to pull off you now, so he did, letting the expensive garment sink to the floor. Now, your kirtle, which he pulled over your head, manipulating your body like a rag doll. With each movement he made, another sweaty, glistening muscle flexed under that tan, workworn skin, stretching across which were many faded scars from battles and jousts and God only knew what else.

Lastly, your chemise kept him from your supple nude body, so he pulled it off with a slight growl under his breath. Now, you laid back fully, your completely divested skin meeting the thick, buttery soft pelt of the fur blanket beneath you.

Your body was a sight to behold, so marvelous that he stood up again, stepping back to let his eyes roam all over you.

It was enough to bring him to knees, literally. He sunk to the floor, where he attached his lips to your ankle, which had caused him some trouble in the past. The many times he’d caught sight of your ankle, he felt perverted, sinful. Then your calf, soft and smooth against his lips. He covered as much skin as he could in his kisses, then he reached your knee, and your thighs, where he spread apart your legs to leave more kisses at your womanhood.

“You’re insatiable,” you laughed, watching as his lips trailed through the hairs on your mound. “You cannot kiss every part of my body, sir.”

“I can try.”

His tongue circled around your navel, then he continued his kisses to the slope of your left breast, where he quickly latched to your nipple, causing you to flinch at the new feeling.

His other hand found your other breast, squeezing it just enough to make you gasp a little. After all, with his lips and hands worshiping your entire body, you weren’t sure how else to react.

“You’re so perfect,” he mumbled against the pillowy surface of your breast. “I’d die for you.”

Even the thought made you shiver and cling to his flexing shoulder blades. “N-no, my love… Do not say such a thing. My… my heart c-could not bear to even think of it.”

“I’d kill for you,” he said now. “I’ll do anythin’ you ask of me… I belong to you.”

As you processed his pledge, you hadn’t even noticed two of his fingers digging into your entrance, spreading you open, little by little. His sweet, raspy voice soothed the pain.

Now, his lips trailed to your collarbones, where he left dozens of kisses and licks across your skin.

“I live to serve you,” he whispered. You gasped, not at his words, but at his two thick fingers going deeper, a sound of flesh upon wet flesh. “Only you… My sweet princess.”

“Oh, my sweet knight… Ah…”

A slight tearing feeling at your entrance made you wince in pain, but the knight paused for a moment, nudging his nose against your cheek to get your attention.

“Am I hurtin’ ya?”

“No, no.” If he stopped, you might die of emptiness. The stretching hurt, but you could not go much longer without him filling the emptiness within you. Once he started, you wouldn’t be able to be without him.

“Need to stretch your cunt a little,” he said. “My cock’s gonna hurt ya more if I don’t.”

Judging by the size, you believed him. Your eyes were transfixed on the thing as you wondered how in the world he’d get it in your tight hole, but you trusted him to take care of you.

And you wanted it. You couldn’t explain it, but your need for that big length of flesh, with engorged veins and a droplet or two of clear liquid beading at its reddened tip, was greater than any pain you might’ve felt.

“I want it, sir,” you practically purred. “Your…”

He smiled against the cheek he was busy kissing. “My rooster?”

“Your cock.”

He tore his lips away to give you a wide-eyed stare as he tried to fake a serious look of shock, but the upturned corner of his snickering lips betrayed him.

“Your highness,” he scolded in jest. “Where’d ya learn such a dirty word?” His fingers inched deeper, so deep that your back arched as you laughed a visceral moan.

“Oh, you scoundrel!” Your hand delivered a very weak slap to his chest.

Pulling his fingers out, he laughed as his hands gripped both of your wrists. His face turned serious, yet still soft. “You think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes, but… I mustn’t have your child now.”

You weren’t totally unaware of the true purpose of sex. In fact, it had been drilled into your head by archbishop Gabriel, whose responsibility seemed to be deterring you and all other maidens at court from engaging in premarital sex that was not for the express purpose of procreation, as such an act would brand one “a whore in the eyes of God.” Conveniently, the archbishop’s sermon had overlooked any consequences for men.

“You won’t,” he assured you. Indeed, he had intimate knowledge of one of the world’s most time-honored methods of contraception: coitus interruptus. “I’ll be careful.”

Removing his fingers from you, he rubbed his palm up and down your slit, spreading the wetness of your arousal all over you. He leaned back for a moment, looking down to spread apart your lips and see your hole, which opened quite a bit wider now for him. Redness pooled around the opening, but you couldn’t notice the dull pain, not when his eyes held yours so intently. “Think you’re ready,” he said. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Don’t stop. “All right, my love.”

The hard, spongy surface of his tip grazed over your clit, and slid with his body as he rolled forward over you. “You ready?”

At this point, the suspense was killing you. Each drag of his length through your sodden flesh was agonizing. Your body grew restless, arching your back up to meet his chest and pull him down. “Yes,” you sighed, then ghosted your lips over his. “Make me yours now. I want to be yours.”

He eased himself in as your mouth latched to his, your whimpers of combined pain and pleasure melting into his kiss. The tip was inside you now, just beginning to stretch you further to meet the wide girth of his thick cock. The slow, tearing feeling was enough to make you bite down on his tongue, nearly drawing blood. He only growled into your mouth, digging his cock deeper.

Your suffocating tightness tested his willpower, his ability to keep himself from moving so fast that he’d lose control of his cock, but it felt so good, so warm and snug. As he sank further into you, he tore his lips free to whisper against your ear, “How ya feel?”

With a deep swallow, you held back your tears. “Fine,” you said. “Just… it hurts a little. Does it fit?”

He looked between your bodies, where half his length was inside you, the other half twitching with bulging veins and redness only darkening. He stayed still, brushing back your tears as you sniffled. “Yeah, it’ll fit. You just need stretched, s’all.”

He pushed himself in a little further as his lips caught another tear. Clawing at his back, you let out a sharp gasp. “Oh! Daryl! It’s too big, you’re too big… I can’t…”

His hand reached down to tickle his fingers against your clit, attempting to ease your pain by giving you more pleasure. He knew his cock would hurt you before it felt good. “Sh… sh… D’ya want me to stop, princess?”

“No, no!” you cried out, nearly startling him. He felt your arms tighten round his back, as if to keep him exactly where he was. “Please don’t stop. I—I…” Tears trickled down more now, like a torrential rain over your cheek.

He stopped again, this time pulling himself out a little to prop himself up and look at you with the utmost earnestness. “Why are ya cryin’ now? I don’t wanna make you cry. Am I hurtin’ you too much?”

In truth, the physical pain of being stretched by him was not strong enough to elicit these tears. What made you cry, in fact, was the simple truth that tonight, you’d give yourself to your true love, but in a matter of days, Sir Negan would take you away from him, and you might never see him, or your father, or anyone else you loved, ever again.

To think you may never be here, like this, with him again… It broke your heart, though every cell in your body was demanding for another burst of euphoria. It was all too much emotion, too much stimulation. And yet, you’d never want him to stop. You’d like to be this way forever, if you could. If only you could.

“It’s just… Promise me…”

Furrowed brows contorted his face. He brushed the back of his hand over your cheek. “Promise ya what?” He wasn’t sure of the point of asking, as he knew that he would promise you, his lady, anything anyway. A knight’s ultimate test of chivalry, afterall, was his undying, unyielding, uncompromising devotion to his lady.

“Promise you won’t forget me.” When Negan takes me, you wanted to say, but you hesitated to even mention him at this moment, when the only man who really mattered to you was looking at you with his own tears beginning to well in his cunning blue eyes.

“I could never, ever forget you, milady.”

And he knew now what you meant. He knew the fear in your eyes, the same fear from the other night. He could feel this fear inside him, too. The fear of never seeing you again, of you being trapped in a place you could not escape from, not unlike how you’d been trapped in your own castle. Yet, this would be so much worse, for you’d be chained to that wretched, evil man, who would do God knows what to you.

But those thoughts were poisonous. “Don’t think about that now… Just feel me.” So he came into you again, just as far as he’d gotten before. “That’s it… Can you take more?”

That was all you wanted, actually. More. All you needed was him, filling you as deep as possible, taking you over and marking you as his. You’d never be Negan’s now, and that gave you a sense of power, a relief in knowing that there was at least one thing Negan could never take from you—your chastity.

“More, Daryl. Please.”

By now, he was almost all the way inside you, but he could go no further, for his own fear of hurting you too much. He pulled out a bit then, to which you grasped at his shoulders and pulled him back against you. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he laughed. “I’m just movin’. Calm down, you’re all rigid. Ease up.” Taking his words to heart, you let out a deep breath and relaxed your muscles, allowing you to settle more comfortably into the plush fur underneath you. Slowly, he pushed himself back in, your body welcoming him in with the hug of your slick tightness. “There ya go… Look, your cunt’s already gettin’ used to me. You’re takin’ it good.”

So good, in fact, that you couldn’t help but smile at the feeling—the warmth, the hardness, the fullness… The feeling of his cock sliding back and forth, but never completely leaving you. The sensation was beautiful, far more intimate than anything you’d ever imagined. When he lowered himself down again, his chest laid snug against yours, the feeling of his nipples rubbing yours hard and slow the more he thrusted. As if on their own accord, your legs loosened to lift and wrap around his lower back, taking him in just a little further. There was pain again, but not enough to hurt you. It only felt good.

He had to be careful not to move too fast, though the involuntary squeezing of your walls drew him closer to his breaking point. He could feel both your arousal and his, surrounding him inside you. But he had to make you come again, he thought. He needed to know that his cock had pleased his princess just as much as his tongue.

Your soft, whimpering moans made it clear that he was, indeed, pleasing you, your tearing pain having given way to that tingling feeling again, making your writhe and shiver underneath him.

“Daryl,” you panted. Spurred on by your pulsing body, his movements became faster, more sloppy, more passionate. Now you could really feel his size, his length digging into a particular spot that made you roll your head back against his pillow, your lips trembling and gasping for air as you spoke. “Oh, it feels so… Yes, my love, my knight… You’re so big.”

“Princess… I feel your cunt squeezing me.”

“Oh, I—I am s-sorry.”

He huffed a laugh against your cheek. “Feels good,” he said. “Keep squeezin’ me.”

He pressed a firm kiss to your cheek as his hips thrusted non-stop, now molding you to fit his cock perfectly, forever. Well, for however long you had left together.

“God, you’re soakin’ me,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of wet skin on skin.

Your well-trained manners urged you to apologize again, but the sensation of his cock hitting into you was enough to render you speechless, except for the breathless sighs and sultry moans escaping your lips as you clawed at his shoulders, fingernails digging into his scarred flesh to nearly break open new wounds.

He continued on for a while now, though you could not tell how long he’d been thrusting, you only knew you were drowned by his mouth, his lips finding every part of your skin that he could reach in this position and leaving sloppy trails of open-mouthed kisses. That tightening and tingling within you strengthened with each movement he made, each thrust reminding you of how deep inside you he was, and how strong he was, his body weight driving the force of each hard, deep stroke.

Only when your moans had faded into heaving breaths and your body had loosened into jelly did he speak to you again, though not stopping his thrusts, as he couldn’t bring himself to even think about stopping now.

“Hey, sweetheart? You all right?”

You were hardly responsive, only opening half-lidded eyes to gape at his reddened, sweat-dripping face. His chestnut hair hung wildly, tickling your cheeks, though all you could feel was the pounding, the swelling of his cock inside you, the growing sensation of that volcano about to erupt again.

“H-hey.” You felt his hand cup your cheek as he said your name, his own voice shaky and stuttering as he began to lose his ability to keep himself in control. Tears welled up in your eyes once more, only now, they were those same tears of overwhelming, astounding satisfaction.

Stimulated to the point of near-catatonia, you were released by a sudden wave of vibrations that surged through you like electricity, bringing you back to life. Your legs clenched tight around his waist as your head shot back, exposing your strained neck. His lips did not spare you in your moaning, crying state. They attacked your neck as you pulsed all around his cock and grinded up against his pelvis by instinct. He held his hips still now, though, letting you ride the multiple waves of your intense orgasm until you shook like a leaf in a cool autumn wind beneath his strong, stabilizing body which your hands clung to desperately.

“Oh, Jesus!” was all you muster. You’d never said the Lord’s name in vain as many times as you had that night. Granted, you had never said the Lord’s name in vain before. “Christ!” Surely, you would be going to Hell.

“Shit,” the knight muttered into the crook of your neck. “I—I’m…”

Ears pounding with the sound of your heart, you could not process a word he said. You could only allow your glassy eyes to roll back as your lips formed a delirious, open-mouthed smile. “Oh, Daryl.”

He propped himself up on his bulky arms, dripping with sweat and bulging with flexed, aching muscles. As if to soothe them, you ran your hands up towards his biceps, holding onto them for dear life as he began thrusting again, almost completely inside of you.

All you could do now was smile up at him, murmuring his name, interspersed with declarations of your love and breathy moans that tortured him the closer he came to releasing himself.

“You’re so beautiful,” he panted. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “Yes, yours. Forever.”

“Mine.”

With an almost helpless groan, he pulled himself completely from you, sinking down on his arms to press against you, but with his cock angled to release on your heavy stomach. Though you missed the feeling of him inside you, you moaned at the feeling of warmth near your navel, where he spilled himself onto you.

Curiosity overcame you as you looked between your bodies, watching his strange… attachment release a silky, cloudy white liquid in spurts. For a moment, your eyes widened in slight fear. Truly, you had absolutely no idea what was happening. For all you knew, he’d suddenly contracted some strange disease that caused his cock to leak a new humor.

“Wh-what is… Daryl, are you all right?”

Once again, he laughed at your innocence. “I’m just fine… Better than fine,” he said, sinking down into a deep kiss. He only parted from them for a moment to say, “That’s s’posed to happen. Did they not teach you anythin’ about sex?”

“Th-they said…” You laughed at your lack of breath. “They said my husband would show me.”

He sighed as he lifted himself off you, then rolled over onto his side. With a huff, he yanked the fur-lined blanket from underneath you, then draped it over himself and you, much to your relief, as it was cold without his naked body on top of yours.

“Your father,” he began to say, wrapping an arm around your rather limp, flimsy body to pull you close, “he wanted ya to marry my lord, didn’t he?”

A puzzled look contorted your face. “How did you know?”

“He tells me everythin’.” The touch of his calloused fingers tickled your hairline as he brushed back your bangs. “Told me the king brought us here because he thought Richard would make a good husband for you… Why didn’t you want him?”

Duke Richard hadn’t crossed your mind much since that night he first arrived, though you never thought too much about why exactly he did not attract you as much as Sir Daryl did. Now, it was quite clear.

“Because he isn’t you, my love.” A laugh escaped your lips as you settled your hand upon his chest, twisting your fingers between the hairs that intrigued you so. “The duke is… He is a good man, but you are better. That is all.”

A rosy blush blossomed on his cheeks as his mouth curled with a lopsided smile. You admired the lines in his face, the crows feet and tired bags around his adoring eyes. “He would’ve made a good husband for you.”

“Mm, perhaps.” Your pointer finger traced lines over his sharp collarbone. “Lady Michonne is rather fond of him, though. I think they make a lovely couple. Besides, my heart does not belong to him. It belongs to you.”

Shaking his head, he offered you a somber smile. “You know you can’t marry me, even if Negan didn’t want you. I’d be killed.”

“My father would not kill you.”

“You don’t know that for sure. If he… if he knew that I took you outside the walls, let alone that we—”

“We could go somewhere, someday.”

Your name fell on his lips, but you interrupted him again. “Negan will take me, I know I cannot escape that, but someday, when Alexandria is strong enough, you can find me, and we’ll go away, somewhere you’ve been on your travels. My father would understand. We could be together, we could marry. Someday.”

But you knew it was a pipe dream. You knew that, if it could ever happen, it would happen so long from now, and you could not leave your father without him knowing you were all right. It seemed as though there was nothing to stop the world from caving in. For someone who had so much power by birth, you felt so powerless, the most powerless you’d ever felt in your whole life. That was saying something, as you never truly felt in control of your own destiny. You never thought it could get worse, until now.

“You know I won’t let him take you,” he said. “Maybe we can be together like that someday, but right now, all I care about is you, not me and you.”

“But… I care about you.”

And for the first time in his life, he believed those words.

“I know you do.” Upon your forehead, he placed a chaste kiss. “Ya know, once a knight gives his heart to a lady, he can never give it to anyone else, and he’s bound to her forever.”

Of course you knew that. There wasn’t much about knights you didn’t know. If only you had as much knowledge of human sexuality as you did of knighthood, but alas.

“Does that mean you will marry me one day?”

His eyes narrowed in playful suspicion as he pretended to think it over, mumbling a pensive, “Hm…”

“Sir Daryl,” you teased, “if you do not agree to marry me, I will send you to the stocks.”

“Your highness,” he said, his arms pulling you in closer to his chest, “I promise myself to you.”

“And I, you… My sweet, brave knight.”

That evening, you did not return to the castle until the sun began to rise again. Sleeping on a straw-stuffed bed was quite the adjustment from your feather-stuffed one, but he did not let go of you, not even in his sleep, and that made all the difference to you.

Despite the uncertainty that loomed in the air all around you, the fear that settled in your heart from the moment you realized you might never see Daryl again, you had a strange, persistent sense that, someday, every night could be like this one.

Someday, you repeated in your head, lulling yourself to sleep in his arms.

But that was the future, and this was now. Now, you knew only one thing to be perfectly, virtuously true: you were his, just as he was yours.

Through life, and after death.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

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most-tragic-character-tournament · 6 months

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"Remember, if you have time to send death threats, you have time to do voter fraud!" how are you going to have this ao3topships quote about voter fraud in your pinned post and then not fully endorse all voter fraud, regardless of method? like, i hold no stakes in the outcomes of any of the polls, and didn't even vote in the poll in question, i just think that all voter fraud is funny and based and should be encouraged always. if the other side doesn't like the results, they should fraud harder. sun tzu said this.

Well I put that there firstly just because it was funny and it’s from a fellow bracket, and secondly, that was before I knew this would get big enough that someone using bots was a legitimate worry. I assumed it was fairly obvious that both, it was a joke, and when we (pollrunners) make jokes about ‘voter fraud’ being allowed, we’re not actually condoning someone singlehandedly ruining everyone else’s fun. Though if people would prefer I remove it, I can.

#asks #tumblr polls #most tragic tournament

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tanadrin · 6 months

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How do you feel about the Gaza war all but ensuring Trump's reelection by destroying Biden politically?

It might; it's certainly hurt his standing with a number of different groups like Arab-Americans. Whether it will translate into a broader erosion of support I can't tell, and there are so many things that are up in the air still about this election (which is over a year away!) that it's kind of a fool's game to try to predict the outcome now.

I'm not sure that Biden's support for the Israeli bombing campaign/ground invasion is "destroying" him politically at all. That would imply he's paying a real cost among the majority of his supporters, but the Democratic party is quite right-wing on the Israel-Palestine issue at the moment. I think Biden is pursuing the policies that he thinks have broad support among his political faction, and unfortunately I think he may be correct in that assessment.

It goes without saying that if Trump or a similar politician was president now, or was president during a similar crisis in the future, he'd probably be even more enthusiastic about endorsing whatever the Israeli government wanted to do. That troubles me, of course. It would be nice if there were options for the American president other than "endorsing mass murder with a sigh of regret" and "endorsing mass murder with cheering and clapping of hands."

I have a lot of worries. I worry that for all the outrage, nothing will fundamentally change--that Israeli politics will (with Netanyahu in charge or someone else) continue to drift to the right, that Oslo will be the high-water mark for hope for a peaceful resolution in my lifetime. More parochially, I worry about the German government cynically exploiting this situation to justify a stronger anti-immigration and anti-refugee policy, hoping to outflank the AfD on this issue; and I worry that Biden will lose in 2024 and the lesson the Democratic party will take from it isn't "we need to be less like a bunch of cynical neoliberal death cultists" and instead "it was clearly our labor policy that was the problem, let's lurch rightward again." I worry that the lessons we took from World War II have faded already, or were always too narrow in scope--that we are sensitive to fascism only if it marches under literal swastikas, that we care about refugees and genocide only if they can be mythologized as the perfect victim, going meekly to their fate (preferably years after the fact, when it is too late to actually do anything about it).

I think there are a lot of good people in the world doing good things, who want to fight for what's right. But this is a really bleak situation, and none of them are in charge. We could use a leader with real courage who can vigorously articulate an expansive moral vision, something beyond massacre-for-massacre retribution with no end in sight.

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bonefall · 1 year

Text

BB!Goosefeather

[ID: Goosefeather from Warrior Cats in the Better Bones AU. He is a round, wolflike cat with tiny, unreadable, deep blue eyes. In the second image he's caught in a vision, signified by swirling eyes and a nosebleed]

I've always had a very different take on Goosefeather than the wider fandom. In particular, his final scene with Bluefur at the end of Bluestar's Prophecy has always FASCINATED me. She's mourning the loss of her kits, and Goose comes up, almost as if he's going to comfort her like anyone else...

But his tune is very different from the rest of the Clan. He reminds her that the kits were not part of fate, and ergo, her own choice. This screed has this intriguing taste of bitterness, and it immediately made Goose one of my favorite WC characters.

Was that resentment? Smug satisfaction? What was behind those words, Goosefeather?

Did you know that the raid you sent your sister on was going to kill her? Did the herbs even need to be destroyed? What if the only vision he'd received was that Moonflower had to die?

It's one thing if he's just, you know, plagued by visions that will come no matter what, and he's Sad About It. I do love the Cassandra type characters in fiction, but... the idea that he's DEDICATED to the prophecies that haunt him, that it's both a curse and a commitment, a damnation and a destiny... it gives me... gOOSEBUMPS HEYOO

AND SO! Better Bones Goosefeather is a situational antagonist in nearly every story he's in. He believes firmly that to defy fate only creates worse outcomes, that you have to kill a mouse to have a meal. More than just following the 'will of StarClan,' he believes that a prophecy is more than just a warning. To him, they are instructions.

(More info below the cut!)

In Bluestar's Flowers, he receives a vision of Moonflower dying in a WindClan raid. He knew she had to die, and so, he got her killed. This is not revealed until near the end of the book.

At the same time, he will occasionally (and uncharacteristically, Featherwhisker will note) help Bluemoon escape being caught when she sneaks out to meet up with the Forget-me-Not friend group.

Bluemoon's kits are children of prophecy... or, one of them is.

Mosslight is fated to become a grand hero, and overthrow the horrible tyrant, Thistlestar.

Goosefeather will ensure the propagation of both sides of this prophecy. Thistleclaw must become leader. Mosskit must be born.

But, in the end, Bluemoon's love is stronger than destiny. She will NEVER let Thistleclaw become leader, she will NEVER let him command innocent people like Rosetail and Thrushpelt into early graves, and she will NEVER let him brutalize the Clans of her friends.

Goosefeather thought it was a checkmate when she was in the nursery with the three kittens, clearly ineligible for deputyship after accusation of having halfclan kittens (Thistleclaw's questioning violating the Queen's Rights) and his personal endorsement of him for deputy.

he was WRONG

Bluemoon brought them to RiverClan, the hero of destiny dying in the process, cinching the deputyship by a hair's length.

With great tragedy, with great cost, with great sacrifice, Bluestar WON.

The thread of prophecy was severed so hard that Goosefeather never received another vision ever again. Nothing would be the same again, he was living in a new world and a new time.

He lived the last of these days quietly, reflecting on his life, his actions, considering... if all those times where he'd Done What Had To Be Done, if it was for nothing.

Goosefeather is allowed a peaceful death, unburdened by the buzzing curse of prophecy, slipping into his sleep in a doomed timeline that yet persists.

DESIGN STUFF

I need these visions to look painful. I want to drive it home that these are hurting him. So I gave him nosebleeds.

He's committed to the thing that hurts most, because he can't imagine another way

symbolism

His family carries a wolf motif, this is very important because I said so. Awoo, even.

You can see how Goosefeather's big fat tummy is present in his relatives, Sorreltail and Dovewing.

He reminds me of Winnie the Pooh but as an evil wizard. He's got a haunted plushie kind of vibe.

like a teddy ruxpin, even

And lastly this is unrelated to everything, but when I was designing Skywatcher I kept thinking about the two of them having a wizard battle. I just think that is very funny and it is a thought I am now sharing with all of you. <3

[ID: Wizard battle meme]

Skywatcher and Goosefeather at Bingo Night after the Skypelt/Silverpelt reunification in BB!AVoS

#CW nosebleed #tw nosebleed #tw blood #cw blood #blood warning #blood #epistaxis #Better Bones AU #Bluestar's Flowers #BB!Goosefeather

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max1461 · 1 year

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I think the deepest indictment of the... SSC-adjacent worldview (an earlier version of this post said "rationalist worldview", but I don't think that's fair—I'm really talking about something confined to certain subsets of the rationalist community, which I've seen most often on and around SSC, although not endorsed in its most potent forms by Scott himself) is not that so many of them are race science enthusiasts, but that so many of them seem to want race science to be true. The racism which I see in rationalist spheres doesn't seem to stem from a gut-level fear of the Other, as racism usually does, but rather from a deep and pervasive desire to sort people according to worth; a desire to reconstruct society into a ruthlessly optimized machine in which each individual is understood as nothing but a cog from birth. Even the ones who reject racial hierarchies per se often still love biological determinism. Let's run a battery of tests on all young people, determine What They Will Be Good At, and place them into that role as soon as possible. Set the mindless worker drones to their mindless work, and the real smarty-pants to their rightful positions in the professions and in academia. Sort sort sort sort sort. Maximize maximize maximize. It will all be so efficient! Everyone in their proper place! Everything running so smoothly!

And I don't know how to really explain to them why that's heinous. I don't know how to get at it in a way they'll understand. I don't know how to explain the value of human freedom and dignity, the way that being nothing but a cog in a machine is for many (maybe most) a fate worse than death. It doesn't matter if it's more efficient. It doesn't matter if every biological-determinist theory is true! To enact policy that crystalized those biological differences into an authoritarian hierarchy would be just as heinous! If anything, you should be using policy to reduce the effects of inborn differences in ability on life outcomes!

Because—look, I'm being emotional and not articulating this well, maybe I'll do better in another post later—the point isn't the end result! The point isn't to gather all the smartest people and make the most advanced contraption. The point is human freedom! The point is the ability to live, to go out there and chase your dreams, the ability to desire and to pursue and to accomplish what you can accomplish! The point is a world worth living in! We don't need maximum efficiency for that. Efficiency isn't meaningless, and I'll continue to defend its necessity to the kind of leftists who see it as a bad word. But it isn't the point. Better, I suppose, sufficiency than efficiency—economic and cultural sufficiency for human flourishing. And beyond that, freedom, even if it comes at a cost.

I don't know. I'm definitely not putting forth my strongest case here, though these thoughts have been floating around in my head for a long time.

Really this isn't about the rationalists specifically, it's something I was seeing in tech spaces long before I knew who the rationalists were. I think it stems, perhaps, from the kind of thinking that often attracts people to computer programming in the first place. But I don't really know, maybe that's totally wrong. There is something deeply offputting to me about much of "techie culture" though, something that this post is trying to get at. But I don't really know.

#navel gazing #society

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justinspoliticalcorner · 13 days

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Eric Cortellessa at Time:

Donald Trump thinks he’s identified a crucial mistake of his first term: He was too nice. We’ve been talking for more than an hour on April 12 at his fever-dream palace in Palm Beach. Aides lurk around the perimeter of a gilded dining room overlooking the manicured lawn. When one nudges me to wrap up the interview, I bring up the many former Cabinet officials who refuse to endorse Trump this time. Some have publicly warned that he poses a danger to the Republic. Why should voters trust you, I ask, when some of the people who observed you most closely do not? As always, Trump punches back, denigrating his former top advisers. But beneath the typical torrent of invective, there is a larger lesson he has taken away. “I let them quit because I have a heart. I don’t want to embarrass anybody,” Trump says. “I don’t think I’ll do that again. From now on, I’ll fire.” Six months from the 2024 presidential election, Trump is better positioned to win the White House than at any point in either of his previous campaigns. He leads Joe Biden by slim margins in most polls, including in several of the seven swing states likely to determine the outcome. But I had not come to ask about the election, the disgrace that followed the last one, or how he has become the first former—and perhaps future—American President to face a criminal trial. I wanted to know what Trump would do if he wins a second term, to hear his vision for the nation, in his own words.

What emerged in two interviews with Trump, and conversations with more than a dozen of his closest advisers and confidants, were the outlines of an imperial presidency that would reshape America and its role in the world. To carry out a deportation operation designed to remove more than 11 million people from the country, Trump told me, he would be willing to build migrant detention camps and deploy the U.S. military, both at the border and inland. He would let red states monitor women’s pregnancies and prosecute those who violate abortion bans. He would, at his personal discretion, withhold funds appropriated by Congress, according to top advisers. He would be willing to fire a U.S. Attorney who doesn’t carry out his order to prosecute someone, breaking with a tradition of independent law enforcement that dates from America’s founding. He is weighing pardons for every one of his supporters accused of attacking the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, more than 800 of whom have pleaded guilty or been convicted by a jury. He might not come to the aid of an attacked ally in Europe or Asia if he felt that country wasn’t paying enough for its own defense. He would gut the U.S. civil service, deploy the National Guard to American cities as he sees fit, close the White House pandemic-preparedness office, and staff his Administration with acolytes who back his false assertion that the 2020 election was stolen. Trump remains the same guy, with the same goals and grievances. But in person, if anything, he appears more assertive and confident. “When I first got to Washington, I knew very few people,” he says. “I had to rely on people.” Now he is in charge. The arranged marriage with the timorous Republican Party stalwarts is over; the old guard is vanquished, and the people who remain are his people. Trump would enter a second term backed by a slew of policy shops staffed by loyalists who have drawn up detailed plans in service of his agenda, which would concentrate the powers of the state in the hands of a man whose appetite for power appears all but insatiable. “I don’t think it’s a big mystery what his agenda would be,” says his close adviser Kellyanne Conway. “But I think people will be surprised at the alacrity with which he will take action.”

The courts, the Constitution, and a Congress of unknown composition would all have a say in whether Trump’s objectives come to pass. The machinery of Washington has a range of defenses: leaks to a free press, whistle-blower protections, the oversight of inspectors general. The same deficiencies of temperament and judgment that hindered him in the past remain present. If he wins, Trump would be a lame duck—contrary to the suggestions of some supporters, he tells TIME he would not seek to overturn or ignore the Constitution’s prohibition on a third term. Public opinion would also be a powerful check. Amid a popular outcry, Trump was forced to scale back some of his most draconian first-term initiatives, including the policy of separating migrant families. As George Orwell wrote in 1945, the ability of governments to carry out their designs “depends on the general temper in the country.” Every election is billed as a national turning point. This time that rings true. To supporters, the prospect of Trump 2.0, unconstrained and backed by a disciplined movement of true believers, offers revolutionary promise. To much of the rest of the nation and the world, it represents an alarming risk. A second Trump term could bring “the end of our democracy,” says presidential historian Douglas Brinkley, “and the birth of a new kind of authoritarian presidential order.”

[...] The spectacle picks up where his first term left off. The events of Jan. 6, during which a pro-Trump mob attacked the center of American democracy in an effort to subvert the peaceful transfer of power, was a profound stain on his legacy. Trump has sought to recast an insurrectionist riot as an act of patriotism. “I call them the J-6 patriots,” he says. When I ask whether he would consider pardoning every one of them, he says, “Yes, absolutely.” As Trump faces dozens of felony charges, including for election interference, conspiracy to defraud the United States, willful retention of national-security secrets, and falsifying business records to conceal hush-money payments, he has tried to turn legal peril into a badge of honor. [...] In a second term, Trump’s influence on American democracy would extend far beyond pardoning powers. Allies are laying the groundwork to restructure the presidency in line with a doctrine called the unitary executive theory, which holds that many of the constraints imposed on the White House by legislators and the courts should be swept away in favor of a more powerful Commander in Chief.

Nowhere would that power be more momentous than at the Department of Justice. Since the nation’s earliest days, Presidents have generally kept a respectful distance from Senate-confirmed law-enforcement officials to avoid exploiting for personal ends their enormous ability to curtail Americans’ freedoms. But Trump, burned in his first term by multiple investigations directed by his own appointees, is ever more vocal about imposing his will directly on the department and its far-flung investigators and prosecutors.

[...] Trump’s radical designs for presidential power would be felt throughout the country. A main focus is the southern border. Trump says he plans to sign orders to reinstall many of the same policies from his first term, such as the Remain in Mexico program, which requires that non-Mexican asylum seekers be sent south of the border until their court dates, and Title 42, which allows border officials to expel migrants without letting them apply for asylum. Advisers say he plans to cite record border crossings and fentanyl- and child-trafficking as justification for reimposing the emergency measures. He would direct federal funding to resume construction of the border wall, likely by allocating money from the military budget without congressional approval. The capstone of this program, advisers say, would be a massive deportation operation that would target millions of people. Trump made similar pledges in his first term, but says he plans to be more aggressive in a second. “People need to be deported,” says Tom Homan, a top Trump adviser and former acting head of Immigration and Customs Enforcement. “No one should be off the table.”

[...] As President, Trump nominated three Supreme Court Justices who voted to overturn Roe v. Wade, and he claims credit for his role in ending a constitutional right to an abortion. At the same time, he has sought to defuse a potent campaign issue for the Democrats by saying he wouldn’t sign a federal ban. In our interview at Mar-a-Lago, he declines to commit to vetoing any additional federal restrictions if they came to his desk. More than 20 states now have full or partial abortion bans, and Trump says those policies should be left to the states to do what they want, including monitoring women’s pregnancies. “I think they might do that,” he says. When I ask whether he would be comfortable with states prosecuting women for having abortions beyond the point the laws permit, he says, “It’s irrelevant whether I’m comfortable or not. It’s totally irrelevant, because the states are going to make those decisions.” President Biden has said he would fight state anti-abortion measures in court and with regulation.

Trump’s allies don’t plan to be passive on abortion if he returns to power. The Heritage Foundation has called for enforcement of a 19th century statute that would outlaw the mailing of abortion pills. The Republican Study Committee (RSC), which includes more than 80% of the House GOP conference, included in its 2025 budget proposal the Life at Conception Act, which says the right to life extends to “the moment of fertilization.” I ask Trump if he would veto that bill if it came to his desk. “I don’t have to do anything about vetoes,” Trump says, “because we now have it back in the states.”

Presidents typically have a narrow window to pass major legislation. Trump’s team is eyeing two bills to kick off a second term: a border-security and immigration package, and an extension of his 2017 tax cuts. Many of the latter’s provisions expire early in 2025: the tax cuts on individual income brackets, 100% business expensing, the doubling of the estate-tax deduction. Trump is planning to intensify his protectionist agenda, telling me he’s considering a tariff of more than 10% on all imports, and perhaps even a 100% tariff on some Chinese goods. Trump says the tariffs will liberate the U.S. economy from being at the mercy of foreign manufacturing and spur an industrial renaissance in the U.S. When I point out that independent analysts estimate Trump’s first term tariffs on thousands of products, including steel and aluminum, solar panels, and washing machines, may have cost the U.S. $316 billion and more than 300,000 jobs, by one account, he dismisses these experts out of hand. His advisers argue that the average yearly inflation rate in his first term—under 2%—is evidence that his tariffs won’t raise prices. [...]

Trump’s intention to remake America’s relations abroad may be just as consequential. Since its founding, the U.S. has sought to build and sustain alliances based on the shared values of political and economic freedom. Trump takes a much more transactional approach to international relations than his predecessors, expressing disdain for what he views as free-riding friends and appreciation for authoritarian leaders like President Xi Jinping of China, Prime Minister Viktor Orbán of Hungary, or former President Jair Bolsonaro of Brazil. That’s one reason America’s traditional allies were horrified when Trump recently said at a campaign rally that Russia could “do whatever the hell they want” to a NATO country he believes doesn’t spend enough on collective defense. That wasn’t idle bluster, Trump tells me. “If you’re not going to pay, then you’re on your own,” he says. Trump has long said the alliance is ripping the U.S. off. Former NATO Secretary-General Jens Stoltenberg credited Trump’s first-term threat to pull out of the alliance with spurring other members to add more than $100 billion to their defense budgets.

[...] Trump has historically been reluctant to criticize or confront Putin. He sided with the Russian autocrat over his own intelligence community when it asserted that Russia interfered in the 2016 election. Even now, Trump uses Putin as a foil for his own political purposes. When I asked Trump why he has not called for the release of Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich, who has been unjustly held on spurious charges in a Moscow prison for a year, Trump says, “I guess because I have so many other things I’m working on.” Gershkovich should be freed, he adds, but he doubts it will happen before the election. “The reporter should be released and he will be released,” Trump tells me. “I don’t know if he’s going to be released under Biden. I would get him released.” America’s Asian allies, like its European ones, may be on their own under Trump. Taiwan’s Foreign Minister recently said aid to Ukraine was critical in deterring Xi from invading the island. Communist China’s leaders “have to understand that things like that can’t come easy,” Trump says, but he declines to say whether he would come to Taiwan’s defense.

[...] Yet even his support for Israel is not absolute. He’s criticized Israel’s handling of its war against Hamas, which has killed more than 30,000 Palestinians in Gaza, and has called for the nation to “get it over with.” When I ask whether he would consider withholding U.S. military aid to Israel to push it toward winding down the war, he doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t rule it out, either. He is sharply critical of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, once a close ally. “I had a bad experience with Bibi,” Trump says. In his telling, a January 2020 U.S. operation to assassinate a top Iranian general was supposed to be a joint attack until Netanyahu backed out at the last moment. “That was something I never forgot,” he says. He blames Netanyahu for failing to prevent the Oct. 7 attack, when Hamas militants infiltrated southern Israel and killed nearly 1,200 people amid acts of brutality including burning entire families alive and raping women and girls. “It happened on his watch,” Trump says.

[...] Another inside move is the enforcement of Schedule F, which allows the President to fire nonpolitical government officials and which Trump says he would embrace. “You have some people that are protected that shouldn’t be protected,” he says. A senior U.S. judge offers an example of how consequential such a move could be. Suppose there’s another pandemic, and President Trump wants to push the use of an untested drug, much as he did with hydroxychloroquine during COVID-19. Under Schedule F, if the drug’s medical reviewer at the Food and Drug Administration refuses to sign off on its use, Trump could fire them, and anyone else who doesn’t approve it. The Trump team says the President needs the power to hold bureaucrats accountable to voters. “The mere mention of Schedule F,” says Vought, “ensures that the bureaucracy moves in your direction.”

TIME Magazine interviewed 2024 GOP Republican nominee Donald Trump twice over the span of just over two weeks, and in those interviews, Trump told Time's Eric Cortellessa his plans for what his 2nd term would be.

His plans would include a full-scale fascist takeover of the United States should he get elected to a 2nd term are as follows:

He would enact draconian anti-immigration policies such as deporting 11M+ undocumented immigrants and build concentration camps for not just undocumented immigrants but those opposed to his agenda.

He would also aid and abet in cruel anti-abortion policies that invade the privacy of a pregnant person and criminalize those who obtain abortions.

He would destroy the nonpartisan civil service system by enacting Schedule F to give jobs to his MAGA cronies.

He would pardon every domestic terrorist who participated in the J6 Capitol Insurrection that he incited.

He would endanger national security by refusing to come to the aid of our allies if attacked, effectively doing China and Russia's bidding.

He would summon the National Guard and the military to put down protests against him and his anti-American regime.

He would turn the DOJ into his partisan political tool to go after his critics.

The Project 2025 agenda would be used to guide Trump into making decisions that would end America as a beacon of freedom and democracy.

These interviews he gave to Time should be a remind that America does not vote to put the tyrant back in office and that re-electing Joe Biden is essential to keeping America free.