#what i consider to be my duty

[featherymainffins]

Kinda fucked up how all the people I know are like "Yeah I know what I want in my life. I want to work in X field and I want/don't want a long-term partner who I'm going to marry, I want kids and-"

and I'm there just like 🧍

[glitterarygetsit]

Why do you comment?

Was discussing fic commenting practices with a friend the other day, and realised we both comment on things for different underlying reasons. So I thought it might be interesting to make a poll about it! Why do you comment? Do you see it as a one-on-one interaction with the author, or as a way of supporting the community? Is it a form of payment or the start of a dialogue?

I think there are a lot of different and valid attitudes to this, and I’m curious to see what different readers’ thought processes are! I’m sure that for most readers, multiple of these answers apply—try to pick the one that feels most important to you, and please do expand on them in the tags if you like!

[last-starry-sky]

kinktober day 27 - bare // public sex

könig x f!military!reader pt. 2 (pt. 1 HERE)

[MDNI - NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS: 1.9k 💀, forced/shared sleeping situation, wet dream nippleplay, power imbalance: König is reader's Colonel, also the large height/weight difference, hairy König, DUBCON/NONCON: public sex, unprotected piv, cumming inside.]

tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!): @slut-lmao, @mishaglass

a very special shout out to mishaglass and @kakakkasstuff for requesting a part 2!

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm over the next few days. 

König would wake before you, stoke the fire up from last night’s embers, and put on water to boil for washing and coffee. After you washed and cooked breakfast, you would both break camp, silently set at your own tasks until you regrouped to head out. You would lead the way along the trail while König kept an eye out for any easy game. This forced almost total silence between you as your partner kept his sniper’s eyes and ears trained on the woods around him. You didn’t mind. As the days dwindled on and supplies became lighter, hunting was going to become less a luxury and more a necessity. 

Once you found your next campsite, you would set up the tent and, if König was busy gutting and skinning whatever he’d shot, you’d get the fire going as well. Finally, as the sun set, you would gather around the fire to cook and eat. The last couple of nights, he had begun initiating conversation with you. It was just little things, questions about your previous tracking and trail experiences, how much ammo you had left. Small things, anything to break the blanketing silence of crickets, silverware scrapping against plates, the crackling fire as night pulled in darker and darker around you. 

After washing the dishes and packing away your supplies for the night, came the part of the day you’d come to love and dread. König was always in your (now permanently) shared sleeping bag first, stripping down to a t shirt and briefs before you came in to do the same. You would shuffle over to your side of the tent, still bundled in your base layer and thick socks, hands cupped over your icy nose, as you tried not to think of the warm, bulky body spreading out next to you. 

Warm and hairy, you thought, rolling over on your side to hide your burning face despite the darkness. I wonder how that feels, having more than a happy trail to rub against your-

“Goodnight, maus,” König would mumble, stretching out his arms behind his head as he drifted off.

“‘night,” you would answer, choosing not to take issue with the new nickname he’d given you. It was better than half the shit you’d been called before. 

Then, as every night before, spurred on by thoughts of what the rest of his body could look like under those compression shirts and khakis that fit just so deliciously tight across his ass: you’d fall into a restless sleep. Haunted by dreams that felt so real but when you woke, you were left with nothing but scattered snippets that made you blush to remember. 

Rough, scarred lips mouthing kisses down your breasts.

Fingers toying with the other while you writhed impatiently, waiting and waiting, until finally your nipple was sucked into his mouth, teeth teasing as he pulled away. 

You gasped, another gentle kiss tickling your areola with little prickles of facial hair.

“So needy, maus,” he whispered, tweaking the breast in his other hand, forcing a shiver. 

You’d woken like this three days in a row now: alone in the tent, sweat paradoxically slicking your body and panties plastered to your body. You huffed, scrubbing the sleep from you eyes, mentally readying yourself to start the cycle all over again.

“Let’s stop here for the day. What do you think about that?” König asked as you stopped to rest next to a shaded, waterfall fed pond.

A part of you was too tired to fight him even though you still had a few more miles to your next spot. This place felt like paradise, though and you were loath to leave it, but you had to play the devil’s advocate. 

“If we stop now,” you said stopping to chew on your jerky, the action taking most of your sapping energy, “we won’t make our next stop, or the one after. Wouldn’t look good for us.”

“We can . . . wake early,” he suggested. “Break camp. No breakfast. Hike through lunch, dinner, whatever is needed,” he said skipping a stone across the cool, rippling water. He juggled a second in his hand while he watched the first come to stop, sinking into the deep water toward the middle with a plop. “There’s fish. Could catch some for dinner,” he added quietly.

You gave in, throwing your last bit of jerky his way. König set about rigging together a fish trap with it for bait. You didn’t let yourself think about the hard-pressed hike you’d need to make for the next couple days to make up for a lazy day today as you set up the tent. You had just finished when König wadded out of the water, pants wet up to his thighs. 

“Cold?” you asked with a smirk. He shook his head, looking for where he had left his boots, helmet, and veil. 

“Perfect,” he responded, water dripping off him as he walked along the stony shore to his equipment. “Wash up, if you want. Probably won’t get another chance.”

Floating in the middle of the pond, the peaceful sound of birds and water filling the air around you, you could almost forget who and where you were. The water was a little colder than König had sold it. Your pebbled nipples were enough evidence of that. Fresh water caressing your skin was worth it, though. Anything was better than another quick scrub down in the dark with cold, leftover water. 

As you soaped your hair, you realized that you’d forgotten all about your partner. You let the bar float across your sudsy vision, bobbing along in your little waves, as you listened. You heard a branch crash behind you. You swung around too quickly, slipping, losing your balance on the stones beneath your feet. You saw only a frame of König stepping out of the treeline as you crashed below the water.  

Your head was below the water for only a second before you were violently pulled back into the air. You sputtered, hands wiping hair and water from your face, as a pair of strong arms struggled to contain your wet, wriggling, form. 

“It’s me. It’s me. Just me, maus,” König said, his hands shaking as he tried to soothe you as he slowly waded back to shore. 

“Put me down!” you screeched, but it was muffled as you hid your face in your hands. 

He did as you asked, setting you on the soft grass beneath a tree. His hands remained on your waist as you shivered, eyes focused squarely on your bare feet stood between his massive boots. Neither of you said anything for a while, only listening to the water sprinkle off of König’s clothes. 

“Got me wet, maus,” he said flatly, half a smile crinkling his cheek as he slaked off a sheet of water from his stomach.

“S-s-sorry!” you squeaked, intent on telling him how you were fine, maybe giving him a piece of your mind for making the poor decision to dive in after you fully clothed.

He chuckled as he stripped his shirt over his head, throwing it to the side, revealing his hairy chest to your wide-eyed stare. It was a dark chuckle that had your stomach dropping. You knew that sound. You’d heard it somewhere, you just knew it. Unfortunately, your brain was too busy darting over the whorls of dark hair across his pecs, eyes following the water dripping down his toned torso, hair spackled into the creases of his abdomen as it trailed down into his pants. 

“Now I’m wet like you,” he said unbuckling his pants.  

Your mouth fell open as his khakis fell to the ground. He stepped closer to you as he steeped out of his pants, arms crowding you up against the rough bark of the tree. Both of you looked down when his chubbed cock rubbed a cold, wet, smear across your thigh. König grabbed at his clothed erection with a groan before looking back down at you. 

“Still wet? Like that little pussy you make me listen to every night?” he said shucking his briefs off just enough to free himself, hips tilting forward to tease the head through your folds.

“Colonel!” you gasped, hands reaching out to grab at the powerful, corded muscle of his arms. 

“No no, maus,” he chided. 

Then, in a flash, he had scooped up under your knees to pin you to the tree, your pussy spread open and ready. He only had to step forward and ease you down, spearing you open. You threw your head back, hair catching on bark, as his girth pushed slowly into you. He was bigger than even your dreams had made him out, big enough to sting as he stretched you open, enough to make you cry.

“König!” you cried, arms scrambling to lock around his neck as he started to pump into you. “Please! Slow- slow down!” You only managed to get a word out at the top of every stroke as he punched your breath from you. “Too big!”

He stopped with a groan, letting you sheath yourself completely around him. You whined and squirmed the whole way down. He flexed his hands on the undersides of your knees, watching the way your cunt clenched and drooled uselessly around him before he looked at you again. 

“Make me listen to this every night,” he repeated slowly, chest heaving as he caught his breath. His hairs tickled your breasts as he breathed, making you shudder and whine. His strong arms lifted you up fractionally before lowering you just as slow. There was no mistaking the soft squelching between you for anything else. 

“Listened to you . . . cry out for me,” he said with a whimper as he lifted you again. The motion knocked perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you, forcing sharp cry as he fucked you back down on his cock. “Get up . . . in the morning . . . like nothing happened. Shiβe, mäuschen,” he said, bowing his head down suddenly to your ear. “Too tight. Been . . . too long,” he said panting, “Not . . . not going to last.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck tighter, holding him to you. His short thrusts were nailing you perfectly on the inside, and his abs were flexing in just the right position to rub against your clit. You were so so close. The least he could do was give you this.

“Fuck,” you cried into his chest, “König, please.”

He nodded, head ruffling the hair at your temple, whining in your ear as he fucked slowly up into you once, twice, three- and then you were bowing away from him, cumming so hard only the downward force of his hands kept you in place. The violent clench of your pussy caught him off guard. You thought you heard him choke as he slammed up into you, his own orgasm hitting him like a truck. 

He held you to the tree, cock somehow pulsing larger than it already was as he deposited spurt after spurt inside you. Then, there was nothing but the sound of you both catching your breath, the birds chirping, and the soft fall of water. 

When he pulled from you, he didn’t just leave you to fall. He scooped your limp body up in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he walked you over to the tent. His boots squished under his feet the whole way.

“Will make it up to you in a bit,” he said, laying you down on top of the sleeping bag. “Let me recover. Then I will treat you. Can make those sweet noises for me then, yes?”

[bunnysnared]

irt my last post, i did manage to finish ghost's art after all! i am doing a very small test batch of the pins in a pr3order here, right now. if theyre successful and im pleased with how they turn out [will make tweaks if needed] then i will finish the rest of T141 & relist more ghost's for sale, likely in late july/early august  ദ്ദി ·ᴗ·)♡ thank you guys for the interest so far!!

[uhohdad]

ok so WHYYY aren't you a professional writer yet??? im reading your hunger games au w reader x könig and holy fuckint shit???? If you wrote a book I would read it. 1000%. Like. Wow. Wow. WOW.

y’all are so nice wtf 🥹🥹 this message made my day and it’s not even 9am yet!!! thank you so much for taking the time to send this it means the world to me - you got me smiling GOOFY fr!!! 💕💗🩷💞💗

⌜ KONIG X READER HUNGER GAMES AU ⌟

[waterlinkedgirl]

Musical Touken Ranbu: Michinooku ~ Hitotsu Hachisu (Michinooku ~ A Single Lotus)

Here we go! Only a few days after the archive release and toumyu's ninth anniversary (congratulations!)

Michioku, or Michihasu, is a myu I have many conflicting feelings about, both positive and negative. However, I do believe that with the right amount of care in the next Mika-related story myu, the negative can still be cleared. Plus, I'm glad about a lot of things being re-established. The writer does need to step up her game a little on the plot-writing side of things, as well as the understanding-and-respecting-past-myu side of things, but as long as she does, this can still be given a proper place within what was already established.

Keep in mind that these are only the subtitle files, timed and tled to the DMM senshuuraku and the bluray respectively. The archive version will have a talk at the start, so the starting times of the subs will have to be delayed accordingly.

You can find the subtitles and my TL notes document here!

[sallytwo]

Jennifer nearly jumped into the water / and she was tired like no one's ever been tired

[feroluce]

So I adore time loops and I think Sampo would be very fun in a time loop AU. Because despite having so many onscreen interactions with so many characters, he almost always seems to hold people at a certain careful distance, so it's fun to imagine what or who he's willing to use a time loop for, how far he's willing to go, how much he actually does care.

At the end of the Masquerade Duet companion quest, Sparkle mentions a catastrophe soon to befall Jarilo-VI. And some players have interpreted this as a past event (the catastrophe being the story quests we took part in there), but other players have speculated this as an upcoming disaster that Sampo is trying to mitigate.

And so, Gepard finds Sampo in Belobog, right after he was supposed to return from Penacony...or whatever it was called, Gepard had almost been too relieved to remember the name after Natasha assured him that Sampo was fine and not missing or dead, just on a trip since the planet was finally open for travel.

He had assumed this was some kind of vacation, or some shady business endeavor (valid), but when he sees him, Sampo looks. Exhausted.

His usual smirk is there, but there's something horribly off about it that Gepard can't put into words. His voice doesn't have the usual bounce in it. His gait slightly off. There are bags under his eyes, his hair is just the slightest bit out of place. Sampo looks exhausted.

His feet move without him really thinking, he goes up to Sampo to say...something. Maybe just ask him if he's ok. But he can't leave this alone and not do anything, because Gepard can feel it, something is wrong.

And that feeling sticks with him, like the persistent cold, like frostbite, all day. Gepard can't seem to shake it. There is a collective unease seeping through Belobog, sinking deep, tangling around their bones. And the only one who seems to be reacting truly different to it is Sampo.

Gepard tries to tail the guy a few times, anything he can do to learn about what's going on and ease this devouring dread, but Sampo seems to know where he's hiding and calls him out every single time.

He dodges every question (normal), slips out of every grab and grasp (normal), barely even looks at Gepard (decidedly NOT normal).

And maybe it's the darkness that seems to hover over them. The way the air feels like it is pressing down and smothering the breath out of his lungs. But Gepard's patience finally snaps, much sooner than he ever would have thought it would, and he finally grabs Sampo by the collar, hauls him up and forces his back against the brick wall of the alleyway. Because maybe Sampo makes his living double crossing and stabbing backs and he wouldn't understand this, but Gepard has a family, he has people he wants to protect, and so he needs to know what the fuck is going on.

And he knows he's crossed a line the moment he says it. He knows it's not true. Gepard has seen the way Sampo and Caelus sneak around in the Fragmentum or meander down the alleys, snickering with their arms slung around each other. He's seen the way Sampo lets Hook climb up his back onto his shoulders while he takes the moles on little adventures. He's seen the way he and Serval rib each other like it was natural, easy, and the way he goes out of his way for Natasha like he wouldn't any other client, had even trusted her with the knowledge that he was leaving off-planet.

Sampo has people he wants to protect, too, and Gepard shouldn't have accused him otherwise.

But before he can even apologize, Sampo does something stranger still.

Instead of telling him off, or taking a swing at him- both things Gepard would admit he deserved- Sampo just. Lifts one hand, lays it over Gepard's fists still balled in his jacket. Like he's keeping him there. Even through his gloves, his hand is warm.

And Sampo doesn't even really look at him, he leaves his head hung low as he quietly tells Gepard to just go home. Stay in with his family. Don't come out. Please. Please.

But eventually, the catastrophe strikes.

And Gepard can't. He can't stay safe inside his home while this is happening. He can't ignore this. He tells Serval and Lynx to stay in. Don't come out. And he dons his armor and marches out to protect as many people as he can.

When it's all said and done, all Gepard can see is rubble piled around him and a blackened sky. He can hear fire crackling. He can hear a voice he recognizes as Serval's wailing and screaming his name, and he knows she's not going to find him in time. She shouldn't even be out here.

A bloodied face swims into view, bright green eyes looking hollowed and haunted, posture weary and defeated. Gepard reaches out a shaking arm, trying to grab at Sampo's pantleg, trying to make any sound other than gurgling the blood filling his throat, because he knows it for certain now, he knew, Sampo knew.

"Not this time either, huh...?" The sigh he heaves isn't theatrical, for once. Somewhere, rubble groans and loudly collapses. Sampo doesn't even startle or turn to look at it. "I'll figure it out soon, I promise. There has to be a way to pull you through this alive. There has to be."

Something materializes in his hand, something red. Gepard's vision dims at the edges as he watches Sampo hold the mask over his face, as it seemingly attaches itself directly to his skin.

"See you on the next go around, Captain."

[qiu-yan]

in MDZS the novel, the innkeeper in Yunping mentions that people are too scared to go petition Yunmeng Jiang for help because someone once walked in on Sect Leader Jiang whipping a guy in the main hall, supposedly because the guy was a demonic cultivator.

[frozenartscapes]

Edelgard still lives rent free in my head and I had a random headcanon about her Fallen version in Heroes. (Because I personally think it’s more interesting if each Edelgard had slightly different personalities and quirks that reflect the lives they lived before being summoned. For example, I see Brave!Edelgard as being the defacto “mom” of the group because she’s technically the oldest.)

But Hegie!Edelgard specifically is the most intriguing to me so here’s my headcanon: she’s the tallest. I like to think that she’s got some semblance of control over her Hegemon form, and has figured out that she can stretch her body just a tiny bit when in her non-beast form that puts her a few inches taller than the other Edelgards. Nothing crazy - she’s not trying to compete with Dimitri or Hubert.

But those few inches are more than enough to make the “normal” Edelgards jealous and Hegie is infuriatingly smug about it

[lloydfrontera]

javier realizing how much he cares for lloyd, how deep his loyalty to him runs, how ready he's to lie down his life for him, not because he's the son of his lord, not even really knowing exactly why he feels like that but just being absolutely certain that lloyd is his friend and he can't allow anything to harm him

And yet, why am I trying so hard to protect him? He had no way of knowing. But one thing was clear. It was a very simple matter. I want to protect him. Lloyd is my true master in my heart. Lloyd was his friend. And now, Javier wanted to protect Lloyd. He would sincerely protect him with everything he had.

he doesn't even know why!! he just knows that lloyd is his friend and his true master in his heart and that's!! more than enough for him to decide he's willing to put his life and everything he has in the line to protect him!! i'm just!!

[licorishh]

Saw a one-off on Tumblr that just casually brought up the AU idea of Bell being Makarov's biological parent from their life in Russia pre-CIA and I would just like to say I am one thousand-percent behind this theory but not as an AU like actually as a headcanon because the timeline would match up perfectly and it would just be insanely cool

[veloriium]

spotify cover for my little rainbow factory au thats marinating in my brain

[roselightfairy]

Many Lines Monday

Thank you, @tathrin, for tagging me to share a WIP snippet! I am always happy for an excuse. (And this is a bit from a fic I started telling you about!)

He tamped down his emotion at that thought, keeping his face neutral as Obi-Wan finished his kata, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, and then bowed. “Master.” The tight tone of voice revealed that Qui-Gon was not yet forgiven. “Obi-Wan.” He inclined his head just slightly to acknowledge that he had received the message. “Well done.” “Thank you.” Obi-Wan deactivated his lightsaber and returned it to his belt. “I thought if we expect to see a Sith warrior yet again, I’d better be prepared.” That shadow shivered again down Qui-Gon’s spine. “A wise thought.” Obi-Wan accepted this with a dip of the head that might have been read as respectful and deferent to anyone who did not know Obi-Wan’s body language so well. “Where is the boy?” “With the Naboo.” Qui-Gon reached out, feeling for the new presence in the Force that already commanded so much of his attention. Anakin felt like a sun himself, so radiant with energy and potential that it nearly hurt to focus on him for too long. One of the guards was showing him the inner workings of their astromech droids, which had Anakin absorbed for now. That was a new grief – the thought of Anakin’s potential being squandered. That he might soon be without a teacher, without even an ally to fight for him, when he showed such promise and possibility. When he might be the one who would change their understanding of the galaxy for good. “Hmm.” Qui-Gon sighed. The skepticism in Obi-Wan’s voice and Force presence alike probed at him like their own sunrays, relentless and scorching. “We’re not having this discussion, Obi-Wan.” “Trust me, I’m well aware.”

I feel like most of my writer friends on here have already been tagged in this or mostly don't tend to do tag games, so if you see this and want to do it, please feel free to say I tagged you!

[wonder-worker]

Margaret of Anjou’s visit to Coventry [in 1456], which was part of her dower and that of her son, Edward of Lancaster, was much more elaborate. It essentially reasserted Lancastrian power. The presence of Henry and the infant Edward was recognised in the pageantry. The ceremonial route between the Bablake gate and the commercial centre was short, skirting the area controlled by the cathedral priory, but it made up for its brevity with no fewer than fourteen pageants. Since Coventry had an established cycle of mystery plays, there were presumably enough local resources and experience to mount an impressive display; but one John Wetherby was summoned from Leicester to compose verses and stage the scenes. As at Margaret’s coronation the iconography was elaborate, though it built upon earlier developments.

Starting at Bablake gate, next to the Trinity Guild church of St. Michael, Bablake, the party was welcomed with a Tree of Jesse, set up on the gate itself, with the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah explaining the symbolism. Outside St. Michael’s church the party was greeted by Edward the Confessor and St. John the Evangelist; and proceeding to Smithford Street, they found on the conduit the four Cardinal Virtues—Righteousness (Justice?), Prudence, Temperance, and Fortitude. In Cross Cheaping wine flowed freely, as in London, and angels stood on the cross, censing Margaret as she passed. Beyond the cross was pitched a series of pageants, each displaying one of the Nine Worthies, who offered to serve Margaret. Finally, the queen was shown a pageant of her patron saint, Margaret, slaying the dragon [which 'turned out to be strictly an intercessor on the queen's behalf', as Helen Maurer points out].

The meanings here are complex and have been variously interpreted. An initial reading of the programme found a message of messianic kingship: the Jesse tree equating royal genealogy with that of Christ had been used at the welcome for Henry VI on his return from Paris in 1432. A more recent, feminist view is that the symbolism is essentially Marian, and to be associated with Margaret both as queen and mother of the heir rather than Henry himself. The theme is shared sovereignty, with Margaret equal to her husband and son. Ideal kingship was symbolised by the presence of Edward the Confessor, but Margaret was the person to whom the speeches were specifically addressed and she, not Henry, was seen as the saviour of the house of Lancaster. This reading tips the balance too far the other way: the tableau of Edward the Confessor and St. John was a direct reference to the legend of the Ring and the Pilgrim, one of Henry III’s favourite stories, which was illustrated in Westminster Abbey, several of his houses, and in manuscript. It symbolised royal largesse, and its message at Coventry would certainly have encompassed the reigning king. Again, the presence of allegorical figures, first used for Henry, seems to acknowledge his presence. Yet, while the message of the Coventry pageants was directed at contemporary events it emphasised Margaret’s motherhood and duties as queen; and it was expressed as a traditional spiritual journey from the Old Testament, via the incarnation represented by the cross, to the final triumph over evil, with the help of the Virgin, allegory, and the Worthies. The only true thematic innovation was the commentary by the prophets.

[...] The messages of the pageants firmly reminded the royal women of their place as mothers and mediators, honoured but subordinate. Yet, if passive, these young women were not without significance. It is clear from the pageantry of 1392 and 1426 in London and 1456 in Coventry that when a crisis needed to be resolved, the queen (or regent’s wife) was accorded extra recognition. Her duty as mediator—or the good aspect of a misdirected man—suddenly became more than a pious wish. At Coventry, Margaret of Anjou was even presented as the rock upon which the monarchy rested. [However,] a crisis had to be sensed in order to provoke such emphasis [...]."

-Nicola Coldstream, "Roles of Women in Late Medieval Civic Pageantry," "Reassessing the Roles of Women as 'Makers' of Medieval Art and Culture"

[forgotten-daydreamer]

vent moment but my health is a bit worse than i let on, which is weird ik since it seems like complain about it all the time here, and apparently i also look sick, because two separate people in their 40s or 50s asked me, 24, if i needed their seat on the bus. kind of them. but humiliating nonetheless.