#I may reblog memes instead ???

[muutosarchive]

yeah the glamrock crew is all gay. the wolf and chicken are lesbians and the bunny and bear? naw y’all know the rest.

[erabundus]

good  morning!  i'm  thinking  due  to  tumblr  pulling  a  tumblr,  i  may  focus  mostly  on  asks  today  —  maybe  post  a  small  starter  call  later  if  i'm  feeling  adventurous.  any  threads  i  reply  to,  i  may  just  @  the  other  mun?  i  think  that's  a  good  compromise until this all sorts itself out.

[krysmcscience]

Did somebody say Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear? I think somebody said Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear. Thanks to that, have these retooled The Good Place jokes:

The "powers that be" can refer to either the Theraprism staff, the Axolotl, or just. Ya know. Disney in general. Or all three! Whichever you think is funniest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The "party" Bill's referring to is Weirdmageddon, of course. He was quite the ashhole to everyone back then.

Ford has probably gotten pretty good at the 'tune out your psychopathic ex with dank memes' challenge.

It must be very cathartic to be able to make Bill shut up whenever you want with just the press of a button. I'm sure Ford doesn't abuse this ability at all.

Oh, sure, 'Not now,' he says, before he immediately backs out of the newly-made hole in the Theraprism wall. 🙄

Don't worry, Bill doesn't get far.

also yeah i know this one doesn't have an attempted swear - i just wanted to use the joke because of the massive stink-eye involved in it because it makes me laugh

⬇️ More goofs beneath the brief ramble if you wanna skip it lmao⬇️

Why is Ford even there, you might ask? Well, he either decided he preferred to watch Bill suffer in person over being distantly and repeatedly harassed with the same evil desperation book for the rest of his life, or he got roped into some kind of contrived community service for 1.) all his many counts of interdimensional thievery, and 2.) his ignoring all the very clear warnings to NOT summon Bill in the first place (which I like to imagine is also illegal). Theraprism staff were just like, 'Wait, this guy matters to Bill? Ooh, we can USE that! It might be the only thing that can help him want to get better!' It is not considered that throwing Ford at Bill so soon after Weirdmageddon could instead make them both WORSE - in new and altogether special ways! :D

Anyway, I'm calling it the Community Service AU, and I am most likely not going to do anything else with it beyond appropriating these silly Good Place jokes. So, feel free to adopt the concept if y'all wanna??? Just make sure that Bill is still not allowed to swear, no matter what, full stop. It's gotta be a real linguistic corkblork of a situation for him, is all I'm sayin'.

Finally, have these bonus Good Place jokes, but with Handyman!Bill this time:

'Opposite tortures' doesn't sound so bad...at least until it's an all-powerful chaos entity known for torture saying it.

you may think i forgot mabel's cute pink cheeks but the truth is that i did in fact forget but then immediately stopped caring which makes it okay, SHHHHHHH

And, finally:

lmao this is shit

True facts, if you cram Season 1 Eleanor Shellstrop and Michael into a singular triangle shape, they turn into Bill Cipher. This is science, look it up. Or don't, and just trust the source that is me, bro.

Anyway, I should be in bed, y'all have fun with these, I guess. Tune in after like a week or so and maybe I'll have an addendum to my comic about how Bill was drawn naked for karaoke night. Because him actually being naked was not the only thing I considered as a plausible explanation. XD

Also if you see any inconsistencies or errors in any of these comics, No You Do Not :D

Also also, reblogs are rad as hell and I appreciate every single one, just don't repost, please and thanks. Every time a repost is made, an artist somewhere cries. :,)

[visenyaism]

Stuff about American election night that you should know:

We’re one week out! Crazy. So I know too much about US politics because I explain this for money, so I figured it might be helpful to talk a bit about what we should expect from election night. If you're not American, are new to our insane election system, or are anxious about what's happening next week, here's the deal with next Tuesday:

1. Most important thing: Do NOT expect to know the winner on election night. Different states have different laws about when they can start counting early/mail-in votes, which often slows down reporting time.

2020 took until the Saturday after to call because of the high mail-in vote count due to Covid, and while that isn't happening this time, it'll take longer than 2016, 2012, or 2008 because the polls are predicting that this one's going to be a lot closer than those. Consider just going to bed instead of staying up for the results.

2. Because of the Electoral College, popular vote doesn't matter as much as who wins each individual state does. Every state has a certain amount of electoral votes based on population, whoever wins a state gets all their votes, whoever gets to 270/538 wins. We know how most states are going to vote. The Electoral College puts the election in the hands of 7 "swing" states that could go either way. This time, that's Pennsylvania, Georgia, North Carolina, Michigan, Wisconsin, Arizona, and Nevada. These are the states to watch. Here's the map:

3. No one will know anything until polls close and states start reporting results. Doomscrolling is kind of pointless anyways, but it's especially pointless before 7pm. here's a map of closure times:

4. Data will shift throughout the night. Rural counties report results first because fewer people live there. This means the earlier you check, the more conservative the state maps might look. Do not look at the election results for any state with less than 90% reporting and freak out, especially if the state hasn't been called (deemed mathematically impossible for the other candidate to win) by multiple news outlets.

5. Voter fraud happens way less than you think it does. Pretty much never, actually. One study claims you're more likely to get struck by lightning than you are to witness actual, impersonation-based voter fraud in a modern US election. Be extremely skeptical of any voter fraud claims you might see.

6. Avoid getting news from social media accounts that aren't news outlets. There's a lot of disinformation out there, especially as AI/Deepfake tech is getting worse. Fact-check everything you might see. Anyone can make a destiel meme about the election. make sure it's true before you reblog it.

7. The electoral college sucks shit and does allow for a 269-269 vote tie. In this case, it goes to the House of Representatives, who are majority-Republican and will pick Trump. Some states might be within 1% (like 49.3%-49.7%) and candidates can demand recounts, which might delay official results by weeks or months. It HAS to be over by mid- December when the Electoral College officially votes.

8. take care of yourselves. if we're not going to know on election night, you may as well power down your phone and go to bed at a reasonable hour.

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light Profanity, Light Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Fingering, Mentions of Cunnilingus, Public Sex (Sort of), Office Sex

WC: ~9.8k

Summary: 

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins. 

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it. 

Sundress season.

Notes: Hello! Had a random thought this morning and decided to roll with it and practice writing Nanami some more. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this one-shot.

This is a prime example of me writing smut when I feel like it. Please do not ask me for more related to this story and please do not ask me to write smut, the answer is no lol. This is just a one-shot of a random idea, please enjoy it for what it is lol. Thank you all for understanding!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @arminsumi | Header: made by myself

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter |

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

The city summers are a different kind of hell. The humid heat clings to Nanami, making his skin feel instantly tacky as if he hasn’t showered in days. It wreaks havoc on his usual crisp suit and tie, causing the fabric to stubbornly adhere in unflattering ways. He thinks back wistfully to his bachelor days when he could simply escape such misery by holing up inside with the AC blasting, and then wait until the evening for a walk or to run errands. But that was before you came into his life like a vivacious sunbeam, all warmth and carefree laughter.

Now, he wouldn’t dream of depriving you of simple joys like strolling hand-in-hand through the park, watching you bask in nature’s dazzling seasonal shifts. The fragrant flowers blooming, the fireflies flickering to life as dusk settles, the earthy pre-rain smell you adore—he lives for the ease of these tranquil moments.

Throughout your relationship, Nanami has cataloged your ever-changing looks to match the passing seasons. The oversized chunky sweaters and leggings you’d cuddle up in during fall’s crisp breezes. The sleek peacoats and woolen scarves wound around your neck when winter blanketed the city in soft stillness.

But summertime is when your vibrant spirit and personal style shines. And it’s Nanami’s first summer with you when everything changes.

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins. 

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it. 

Sundress season.

And it’s a season that has awoken something primal within him. Something in his gut stirs, something in his mind shifts and the more he notices, the more he feels like a lecherous old man instead of the well-mannered one in his late twenties. While his clothes stick uncomfortably to his sweat-slicked skin you get to slip into breezy summer dresses that let every inch of your beautiful body breathe. 

As an event planner constantly on the move, you seem to live in the wispy, colorful outfits at all hours of the day. Like the buttercup yellow and candy pink number currently floating around you as you stroll together to the bakery during your shared lunch hour. It’s modest—cotton fabric that doesn’t stick to you, with ruffle short sleeves and a V-neckline that highlights your collarbones and the delicate diamond necklace resting between.

Nanami risks a sidelong glance, instantly regretting it when his gaze gets trapped by the way the bright floral pattern sways and twists with each step you take. The hem brushes the brown skin of your knees and while he can’t see much, Nanami knows the soft curves hidden underneath the airy fabric intimately.

While the caveman part of him can understand the underlying meaning of sundress season, it’s everything else that flares his want for you. It’s the wild curls that brush your cheeks and neck, the diamond earrings that reflect in the sun, the curl of your long lashes that kiss your lower lids when you blink. And yes—the gorgeous dress that you have on enhances everything about you—but in the most basic sense, you are beautiful.

“You’re staring.” It’s a playful accusation that you direct at him even though your eyes are admiring the tulips that you both walk past.

He quickly averts his eyes, sharp cheeks blazing a fiery red. “My apologies I…” Nanami clears his throat, struggling to regain his usual unruffled demeanor. “That dress looks lovely on you.”

You hum in acknowledgment, pausing so he can open the bakery door for you. “You think so? I just picked it up last week. Perfect for this heat, isn’t it?”

Nanami swallows hard at the teasing tilt to your tone, the innocent question feeling anything but. From the very first day he met you—that very first day you knocked back a glass of expensive whiskey and smiled at him as if it was nothing—he’s come to accept that you have no reservations of flustering him. You thrive on it, and for as stiff as Nanami is, you are a breath of fresh air that he never imagined would slide into his lungs. 

Umber eyes watch you walk ahead of him and into the welcoming AC of the bakery, tantalizing calves flexing with each step.

“Very much…” is all he can manage, hastily ripping his eyes away again as his equilibrium dangerously shifts.

You laugh lightly at his sudden silence, the warm, rich sound simultaneously soothing his thundering heart and making it trip up all over again. “You act like you’ve never seen me in a dress before.”

“You know that’s not true,” he mutters, switching his gaze to the menu to avoid your entirely too-innocent smile. “I simply…appreciate fine things.”

The rich ring of your answering chuckle sends molten desire licking traitorously down his spine. “Is that so? Then I’ll have to acquire more of these stunning ‘fine things’ for you to appreciate this summer…”

He should have known better than to egg you on. Had he kept his eyes to himself and brushed off your knowing glances, he could have enjoyed you without your playful watch. But for as smart as Nanami is, for as observant and vigilant in his work as he is in his life outside of it, he can never wrap his head around how devious you truly are.

One day, the weather calms down enough for lunch at the park. It’s the perfect day to eat outside. The sun is high in the sky but the canopy of trees gives you both the protection you need from harsh rays.

“Need any help setting up?” You call out, shrugging off the ice denim jacket from your shoulders to reveal this summer’s newest addition—an angelic white sundress adorned with delicate lace trim.

Nanami’s throat tightens and he shakes his head, unfurling a blue blanket onto the thick grass below you both. “I can do it, love. Please just relax.” 

He carefully arranges the picnic blanket, spreading the wrinkles free before you plop down on one side. As you dig into the large lunchbox, he admires the crisp white cotton that seems to skim over your frame, covering you but still unable to touch. Thin straps leave your shoulders bare, your skin glowing in the sun from your shimmery sunscreen. No necklace this time, so the square neckline dips just enough to offer a subtle hint of cleavage. The stretchy ribbed material hugs and accentuates every lush curve before gently flaring into an effortless, free-flowing skirt.

You purse your lips and furrow your brow in concentration, leaning more over the lunchbox, your back straightening to steady yourself before he watches free of shame as you arch just so.

When you turn to flash him that achingly fond smile, your curls falling over one shoulder, all traces of decency flee from Nanami’s mind. In that moment, he’s transported back to those dizzying early days of your relationship—entirely captivated, yet utterly terrified of somehow shattering this dazzling, undeserved connection between you.

“Thirsty?” You hold out one of the banana milk boxes that he’s grown to love since your presence, an impish quirk of your brow, clearly aware of his slow descent into hell.

Nanami nods jerkily and takes the milk box, unable to find his voice for a beat. As you settle down gracefully beside him, the skirt drifts up in a gentle billow, shaping to and showcasing skin. He has to tear his eyes away from the wicked flashes of toned thigh with extreme willpower.

Like the devil you are, you toss him a coy smirk, shiny lip gloss clear even though he knows it tastes like strawberry. “We gonna eat or are you just gonna gawk at me like a weirdo?”

He can’t help the scoff that leaves him as he pulls out sandwiches for you both. “I thought you liked when I gawk at you.”

“Not when I’m hungry.” 

He shakes his head, smirking softly as he removes the cling wrap before handing you your half, your fingers brushing against his. Warm pleasure blooms in his chest at the radiant sight you make contrasted against the swaying greenery. It’s as if you don’t belong but he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else. You take a generous bite of your sandwich, a smear of mustard in the crease of your lips as you offer him a gentle smile.

As the scorching summer rages, Nanami can’t help but chastise himself. A mundane and childish social meme has become the representation of the hardest test he’s ever taken. Maybe he should have asked for tips from Yuji on how to better prepare himself. 

He’s always prided himself on admiring from afar, on controlling his emotions in public and savoring them later in private. He knows your beauty and the unintentional way you drain the air around him. But he’s always been able to offer that soft smile, place a hand on your shoulder or your waist and offer a compliment to whatever you’ve chosen to wear for the day. But recently, in the face of your summertime wardrobe choices, Nanami finds that steely discipline faltering at an alarming rate.

Sinking deeper into the plush living room sofa, Nanami exhales a deep sigh and allows the tension thrumming through his shoulders to bleed away. Here, surrounded by the apartment’s climate-controlled sanctuary, he can savor these increasingly rare moments of solitary peace sprawled out with a good book. It’s a well-deserved shared day off for you both—free of schedules, obligations, or anything more strenuous than lounging around with each other. And more importantly, at home, you’re nothing but comfortable clothes and soft pajamas. 

He’s safe.

A wry smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he imagines the look of feigned innocence you always sport whenever he gets too overt about appreciating your seasonal attire. As if you don’t know the absolutely devastating effect even the simplest hair toss or twirl has on what’s left of his challenging self-restraint these days.

It’s going to be a great day. He’s almost done with this book, just three more chapters and then he can start another in his pile that he wants to tackle this summer. That’s right, Nanami Kento is going to—

The soft pad of your bare feet against the hardwood floors has Nanami glancing up instinctively from behind the novel’s pages. And just like that, the world around him completely whites out as if he’s been hit over the head with a brick.

You’ve emerged from the hallway in a yellow sundress so vibrantly captivating, so deliciously clingy and effortlessly suggestive that he nearly swallows his tongue in surprise. The rich gold hue kisses the deep tone of your skin, as if you’re a sunflower blooming under the artificial lighting of the apartment. The dress accentuates your shape in the most brazenly tantalizing way—the thin ruffle straps on your shoulders, the sweetheart neckline hinting at full cleavage, the dress’ light hem hitting indecently high on your thighs in playful flirty wisps.

But it’s the stretchy knit fabric’s complete inability to disguise any curve or meaty swell that really has Nanami sitting up straighter on the cushions. It’s not layered well enough—almost transparent—and the snug material leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, from the outline of bright panties that cover the soft spread of your hips to the pert dusky points outlined beneath the bodice. 

Absolutely devastating and on full, confident display and this isn’t fair because he has three chapters left.

He barely registers the “What are you reading?” you offer him over one shoulder as you stroll towards the kitchen area in that swaying, uninhibited saunter that never fails to ignite his senses. Nanami simply sits there transfixed—one hand gripping the spine of his book while the other claws restlessly against his own inner thigh. Each roll of your hips has that thin dress swishing and lifting in tiny torturous glimpses that have his imagination veering wildly into unrestrained territory. But he’s at home, that’s okay right?

That’s when you shift your weight onto the tips of your toes, your back turned to him, stretching up towards the top cabinets with one hand braced against the counter…and the entire world seems to judder to a halt all over again. Because from this new vantage point, Nanami can’t tear his eyes away from the call of your legs, the dimples on the backs of your thighs, up, up to the hem and—

A guttural sound wrenches free from low in his diaphragm, a mix of a groan and a growled curse. He looks back down to his book, searching aimlessly for where he left off, flickering back over to you just as quick.

He should look away, tear his eyes off of the gloriously indecent picture you’ve unwittingly created simply by existing. And yet…Nanami finds his stare burning an increasingly blazing trail down the bewitching ‘V’ between your shoulder blades, past the delicious dip of your arched lower back to the toned flare of your thighs and calves below.

At one point, you bend even deeper at the waist, hips tilting up as you struggle to reach a particularly elusive item on the high shelf. The filmy yellow skirt jumps and flirts up with the motion, granting Nanami a shameless eyeful of toned thighs and the flash of his favorite pair of panties—lilac with lace along the edges that squeeze the skin of your ass in the most inviting way. He very nearly drops the book from his suddenly slack fingers at the sight, hissing out a low curse between his teeth.

You huff out an adorable sound of frustration as you fail to reach whatever item you’re going for, and he knows he should step in to assist like the gentleman he is. But his stare remains rooted to spot, ogling and committing it all to memory so he can think about it later—alone.

“Let me get that,” he finally manages to scrape out, voice gone low and gritty with naked yearning despite his best efforts at nonchalance. 

You shoot him one of those bright, beaming smiles over your shoulder in response—blissfully unaware of the effect your glowing, ethereal beauty has on him even without your intentional teasing. “Just grabbing the flour for dinner,” you explain sheepishly, leaning into his broad form as he comes up behind you and grabs the ingredient on the top shelf. “I always have trouble reaching.”

And isn’t that just symbolic as all hell? His curvy, tempting beloved constantly hovering just beyond his reach these past few weeks—unattainable without discarding every last vestige of control he has. It isn’t like you both don’t have sex. You do…often. There’s just always been a build up, never anything explosive.

Even in the privacy of your home, he’s never thrown caution to the wind. Nanami has always been one to savor every calculated build of pleasure in its precious sequence. You’ve expressed your satisfaction readily enough, reciprocating his passion with that same rapturous abandon you bring to all aspects of life. But in all the years of his tiring, overworked life, you are the first to show him what it feels like to never walk a predetermined line.

“This is…I’ve never seen you wear it inside,” Nanami manages, his throat feeling increasingly dry as his eyes trace the line of fabric on your shoulders.

You take the flour from him, shooting him a sly, knowing look from beneath your lashes as you turn to face him fully. “It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?”

He can’t stop the reflexive glance that rakes over every inch of you. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

You lean in a fractional amount—just enough for the swell of your breasts to brush against his shirt as you crane up towards his face. “Well, I run hot,” you murmur, voice dropping into the pits of hell, a throaty register that bypasses Nanami’s higher cognitive functions entirely. 

He’s beyond undone. Frozen in place with desperate, rapturous hunger raging through his very marrow. This close, he can make out the small raised moles on your exposed shoulders, the genetic blemishes that are common for your skin tone. He gets a better view of the rigid peaks of your nipples straining against the thin fabric, practically begging for the heated and dripping touch of his mouth that he’s always more than happy to bestow upon you. 

His fingertips clench and relax at his sides, held back only by tremendous reserves of willpower from reaching out to map and relearn every soft, silken plane of feminine heat and temptation currently being dangled in front of him like a prize he still can’t win.

You take in the undisguised wanting and torment written large across his features with a look of utter satisfaction. Then, before he can formulate some slurred plea for relief, you spin on one heel and saunter out of his reach—hips undulating hypnotically beneath that flimsy gauze of material in an alluring farewell.

Only once you finally disappear around the corner does Nanami manage to sag forwards—palms braced on the counter as he attempts to draw steady lungfuls of air back into his oxygen-starved body.

By the time he plops back on the sofa, and opens the spine of his book, the desire to read is gone.

You take pity on him for a few weeks after that searing afternoon in the kitchen. Your outside adventures are marked by breathable athletic leggings paired with loose tank tops that drape and show you off…but in a far tamer, less flagrantly teasing way than before.

Even at home, the soft cotton shorts and tees you lounge around in provide Nanami some solace—the casual fabrics leaving just enough to the imagination rather than putting every mouth-watering curve on display.

Your usual playful flirtations also seem to be dialed back during this oasis period. As if you’re allowing the poor man a chance to realign his senses and regain some semblance of control. It allows him time to resettle back into some of his usual regimented routines. Without you on a mission at the periphery of his awareness constantly, stoking those primal fires, he finds himself able to slip back into the role of polished, tired professional and attentive partner with relative ease.

Perhaps a bit too easily, if he’s being honest with himself. Because before he can even register the transition, that fleeting grace period seems to dissolve back into the heady summer ether as quickly as it had begun.

The warm evening air smells of charcoal and citronella as Nanami moves through the crowd, trying yet failing to focus on anything but you. All around him, friends and coworkers intermingle while indulging in ice-cold drinks and delicious food fresh off the smoker. He loves food, especially Yuki's cooking when she hosts a barbecue.

But none of it registers tonight.

Because every sensory nerve-ending in his body is completely captivated and overwhelmed by the vision you make in that deep red sundress.

The rich crimson chiffon swirls and caresses over your body in sinuous waves of delicious color. You’re bathed in red, as if rose petals have unfurled and stitched themselves together to form the beautiful dress on your body. It’s a maxi dress that sweeps down to your ankles and kisses the straps of your block heels. Scorching flashes of full thighs are visible through the flowing slits on each side. The deep v-neck dips in a daring drop that leaves your sternum and the inner sides of your breasts achingly exposed. 

Each step you take has the delicate material clinging and drifting in the most hypnotic dance around your heavenly form. Nanami tracks the rhythmic sway of your hips with a burning stare, his control splintering a little more with every toss of your head that allows the deep brown of your skin to wink at him from the column of your neck.

Yuki is already three wine coolers in—not a lot for most, but more than enough for her to throw decorum to the wind. From across the backyard, Choso watches with an indulgent smile as his partner bobs off-beat to the soft music flowing from the speakers.

Choso's expression of pure adoration mirrors the way Nanami looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching. They share that unspoken understanding, that bone-deep contentment of being completely enraptured by the women they love.

At one point, the music shifts, more alcohol disappears, and Yuki is hauling you to the makeshift dance floor of the backyard. Nanami tries, he really, really does. But everything about you makes him stand at attention. Breathing, walking, laughing, smiling at nothing, and now—with just one rock of your hips to the music—his eyes are locked in.

You’ve never been a good dancer. But you’ve also never cared of the expectation to be a good one either. And Yuki is an extroverted pull that makes you sway more, that makes your shoulders roll and laughter to bubble from your lips as you watch your friend make a fool of herself. 

Nanami runs a hand through his thick blonde locks, disrupting the careful part he made before you both left the apartment earlier in the evening. The other hand clutches a glass of scotch a little tighter, the condensation sliding against his fingers before he takes a generous swig, his eyes not once leaving you. 

You can feel him before you even look over, and when you do lock with Nanami’s deep brown gaze from across the yard, you throw him a soft look from beneath your lashes as you slowly roll your hips. It’s the same motion of your hips that he got to feel last night with you straddling him, panting against his lips in the middle of the night.

Outwardly sensual in only a way he can recognize amongst everyone around him. But it’s your rapturous, carefree expression of pure bliss that simultaneously enchants and undoes the last tattered remains of his composure. With every movement, you embody the very essence of feminine energy—raw, joyful, and utterly free. You are a vision of untamed beauty, a wild goddess of the summer night come to life in a swirling dreamscape of rich ruby chiffon. 

The erotic, carnal urge to chase after your swaying, taunting form and haul you away to some shadowed corner where he can divest you of that sinful dress is overwhelming. Swallowing hard, Nanami averts his burning stare for fear of literally combusting on the spot.

“You alright there, buddy?” Yu's familiar voice cuts through the lusty fog, tinged with the warm charm of a couple beers down. “You look like you’re about to swallow your tongue or something.”

“I…excuse me,” is all Nanami can grate out, the remark feeling like fragments of glass as he speaks. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply stalking off through the open patio door and into the thankfully dim and cool interior of Yuki and Choso's home. Anything to escape your enticing presence for even a single moment.

The music and laughter from outside feels muffled as he sinks down onto the living room sofa in the shadows—rubbing distractedly at his thundering chest. But it does nothing to get rid of the vision of you dancing so wantonly and on unrestrained display in that gorgeous ruby sundress. 

Where are you even getting them? Online? Or is there a store that he doesn’t know about? He hasn’t seen other women in the city wearing dresses like you do. But then again…Nanami doesn’t really pay attention unless it’s you. 

His fingers grip the plush armrest of the sofa until the knuckles strain white, breath sawing harsh and ragged from his heaving lungs. Nanami squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to visualize anything other than the way that lightweight crimson had drifted and kissed over your thighs that peeked between side slits, the growing sheen of sweat between the generous canvas of your chest, the exposed slope of your neck free of curls—a spot of concealer on the side to hide the mark he gave you last night.

A harsh exhale escapes him as he forces his eyes open, only to instantly regret it. The muted sounds of the party filter in from outside—sweet laughter, the low thrum of bass, the periodic high-pitched squeal of your voice crying out at Yuki to get a hold of herself.

Nanami’s stomach clenches raggedly at that sound, arousal stroking down his spine in sweltering waves. Through the clear glass of the patio door, he can see the way your face lights up in pure rapturous joy as you give in to yourself. The subtle shifts and gyrations of your body in time with the beat, each swivel of your hips like a siren’s call. 

Against his volition, imagination melds into memory, replaying the countless times he’s buried his face between your thighs and simply drank in the celestial sounds of your pleasure until his name was a breathless gasp on your lips. That shrieking cry at Yuki almost the same towards him when he licks at your sensitive nerves one too many times. He forces his gaze away, leans his head back against the sofa and stares up at the ceiling.

The music fluctuates once more, that instantly recognizable intro to the next funky summer hit you adore cuing up. Despite the walls between you, Nanami can still acutely pick up the subtle cadence of your movements in time with that danceable rhythm. He knows the exact choreography of hips and legs that song inspires in you…and his slacks suddenly feel far too confining.

That’s when your voice cuts through the relative quiet like a bolt of lightning, somehow even closer now as you call out—half-playful chiding, half siren’s promise.

“Oh Kentooo…” The singsong inflection has his eyes squeezing shut even as his cock shamefully twitches against it’s restrictive fabric prison. “Where has my favorite salaryman gone off to hide? You know I can’t dance without my partner watching me.”

Gritting his teeth against the dark, full-bodied groan that tries to escape, Nanami hunches forward until his elbows are digging into his thighs. There you stand framed in the patio door, backlit in a devastating silhouette by the lantern lights emanating through the loud yard behind you.

You walk closer in that torturous dress, the double layers trailing languidly behind in currents of fabric that have his throat struggling to swallow. Your stunning frame is practically dripping in sensual confidence and self-assured power. He knows the power you have over him and would sooner swallow his favorite tie than give that up.

The rich carmine floats around you in sinuous waves as you sashay closer to where Nanami sits transfixed on the sofa. And with each step, all manners and decorum that have been taught to him fizzle away with the increasing ache in his jeans.

“Like what you see?” you murmur huskily once you’ve prowled to stand between his legs, allowing Nanami an unfettered view of your neckline, the long gold necklace between your breasts winking at him with each shallow intake of breath. You lift one leg to press a knee onto his powerful thigh—close enough for your perfume to slide down his nostrils and cloud his mind. The slit over your bent knee flutters open in an obscene gap, granting his hooded gaze a glimpse of skin his teeth ache to bite into.

“I asked,” you breathe out in a seductive timbre, near enough for Nanami to actually taste the addictive warmth of your presence on his tongue. “If you like what you see…”

The inhale that rattles through his powerful frame is involuntary. So is the compulsive way his fingertips suddenly flex against the cushion with the overwhelming urge to finally reacquaint himself with the soft temptation of your skin. Others be damned, mannerisms of being a respectful guest falling to the wayside.

Somewhere through the rapidly thickening haze of pure liquid arousal, Nanami manages a jerky nod—unable to summon even the most basic of syllables in response. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively as you arch one delicious eyebrow in a silent challenge. With your beautiful curls pulled up into a high ponytail, he can see the slope of your ears that are adorned with the gold hoops he bought you last month.

Then, before he can gather enough of his scattered wits to chastise you for your behavior, you’re boldly reaching out and capturing one of his clenching fists in a firm grip. A soft grunt rattles up from deep in Nanami’s chest at the heated feel of your palm finally making purchase on his overheated skin.

But his breath hitches in a harsh inhale as you purposefully guide his splayed fingers towards your exposed leg—sliding his hand up excruciatingly slow to caress along the landscape of textures and planes laid out in offering. He expects the generous hem of panties he’s seen time and time again. He knows what they look like in his mind when he teases the edges before slipping inside to graze his fingers along your aching clit. But the calloused pads of his fingertips brush the thin string of a thong instead. And it’s just a single touch that has him wide-eyed, reeling—the edges of his vision dizzying into a hazy fog of aching, inexplicable need. 

You should have come with a manual. Surely there’s a guide to get through the summer months with you? Some sort of text to explain the steps he needs to take to keep himself in control in public?

The rapturous throb of your saphenous vein leaps against his fingertips as you allow him to slant just a hairsbreadth further—close enough to feel the heat of the place he’s been countless times before—close enough to slide a thick finger along fabric he knows is wet.

Only for you to tear your hand away and drop your knee as the sound of Yuki's voice pierces the heavy sensual tension hanging between your bodies.

“There you are!” She calls out cheerfully from the sliding glass door. “My song is on, come dance with me!”

There’s a gentle tuft of laughter from you then—one tinged with dark satisfaction as you drink in the wrecked, wanton expression flaming across Nanami’s features. As if thoroughly enjoying reducing him to this strung-out state of desperation. You could rule the world if given the right resources.

“Yuki, let’s get you some water. You’ve had a little too much to drink…” your voice trails off as you disappear in a rustle of vermilion and sashaying hips with one last loaded look over your bare shoulder. 

He manages a shuddering breath that feels more like sandpaper sliding down his abused lungs. The delicious scent of your perfume still clings to the charged air around him, the phantom-like caress of your dress along his knuckles, the sound of your throaty laugh disappearing back to the party outside. Each ragged exhale has his body subtly canting forward, giving silent chase to your retreating form as if by muscle memory alone. 

This game…this deliciously maddening game you delight in playing has Nanami’s entire being teetering on the razor-thin edge of unraveling completely. Each new summer ensemble seems specifically designed to further tempt and destroy the decades of discipline he’s meticulously cultivated since he was a teenager.

Nanami would think after a relationship or two, he would have steeled himself against falling victim to seduction. And yet, not a single woman from his past could have prepared Nanami for the devastating combination of your radiant beauty and barely-restrained hedonism.

Your laughter calls out to him again, his eyes snapping up to see you smiling as Yuki chugs the glass of water Choso has pressed to her lips. Completely innocent and free of devilish qualities, the fact that Nanami knows that dark side of you makes him fold his arms across his chest, sagging against the sofa and glaring at your form as he wills his erection to go down.

It’s two days before summer’s end when Nanami feels the steadily fraying threads of his self-control finally unravel into oblivion. He’s tried every possible tactic these last few months to stave off the relentless fire of desire you’ve been stoking within him—going for runs, ice cold showers, avoiding you when possible. He’s even resorted to having you model your newest sundress purchases at home in a desperate attempt at desensitizing himself. It all seems incredibly dramatic, but Nanami has no idea what else to do. Nothing has worked against the intoxicating mix of your lively beauty and increasingly bold choices designed to torment him until he’s six feet under.

He had known from the moment he accidentally stumbled upon that fateful periwinkle dress sitting in your laptop’s shopping cart that it would be his undoing. He can still picture with perfect clarity the way the model seemed to shimmer and dance on the screen as he clicked through the product imagery—he pictured it with heart throbbing clarity how it would look on you.

And he still has so many more years left of his life to enjoy.

Without conscious thought, Nanami had swiftly removed the item from the cart—an invasion of privacy that left him nauseous, but a necessary decision if only to spare himself. 

He was stupid to think it would actually work.

So it comes as little surprise to see you boldly flaunting that silken number tonight at the rooftop gala marking his company’s most prosperous quarter yet. The twinkling strings of lantern bulbs and hot summer breezes swirling all around you only heighten the flagging warning that this night won’t end the way he wants. 

As you glide about the rooftop, the pale periwinkle seems to float effortlessly around your body. Like every dress before, this one is no exception, complimenting the deepness of your skin. The whisper-weight fabric lays against your hips and waist, simultaneously shaping and gracefully draping in all the right places.

The thin straps crisscross behind your neck, framing your graceful shoulders and collarbones. As you turn, the silk lifts and drifts around you in a mesmerizing swirl of decadence. It’s another plunging V-neckline, but this dress sits on your body and decolletage with an air of romantic grace. It’s not scandalous like that night at Yuki and Choso's. 

But it’s the back—oh it’s the back that makes his gaze heavy, that makes the organ in his chest beat out of rhythm with every inch he uncovers. Try as he might, it’s absolutely impossible for him to look away from the delicate contours and valleys of your body put on full and enthralling display by this backless dress. From the elegant lines of your throat and shoulders left teasingly bare to the soft inward curve of your arched lower back—the dress is a cruel temptation showcasing every salivating inch of you that he’s spent countless nights worshiping.

It’s beautiful on you, truly and unimaginably beautiful, and it’s a terrible twist of fate that such a simple observation is destroying Nanami from the inside. All that discipline—the cold showers, the extra miles added to his runs, the attempts of desensitization—it’s useless. No matter how hard he tries, he will always notice something new each time he looks at you. And it will always wreck him and throw him off axis whether he likes it or not.

Because amidst all the warmth and sociability of this rooftop celebration, all Nanami’s rapidly sharpening focus can zero in on is the subtle glisten of perspiration trailing down the slope of your spine. Every imperceptible turn and cock of your hip amplified tenfold by the silk that gets to touch you while he watches. As if personally daring him to finally surrender every last shred of patience and simply take what he wants.

A soft chuckle escapes your full lips as Nanami’s boss leans in closer, undoubtedly regaling you with some far from amusing anecdote from the office. The charming sound has every thread of Nanami’s control taut like a bowstring. Because that sound means a lot for him nowadays—laughing at his dry humor, the movies you both watch together, the giggling stuttering into whimpers and moans of ecstasy when your back arches from his tongue.

Suddenly, the light summer breeze kicks up in and swirls around you, waving the hem of your dress and the two-day old twistout on your head. Instinctively, you reach up to tuck a lock of those dark silken twists behind one ear.

Time itself seems to slow as he watches those inky tendrils ghost across your bare shoulders and the exposed skin of your upper back. Nanami watches with visceral hunger as those wild strands make playful, meandering paths across the smoothly toned expanse of brown skin. His entire body instantaneously flushes with hot need and arousal at the simple, harmless image. The soft rise of your breasts shake as you offer a fake laugh to whatever drivel your boss has just said. And in that split second—the culmination of tonight, this dress, the entire summer of taunting and coy smiles— Nanami’s restraint finally shatters into so many useless slivers at his feet.

Before conscious thought can override anything else, he’s stalking across the rooftop with rigid, predatory intensity—adjusting the unique glasses on his nose, his mouth set in a grim line of single-minded focus. The gaggle of chattering coworkers and small-talk banter all fade away into muted static and white noise. All that exists in this heated vortex of Nanami’s rapidly narrowing universe is the coiling pull of you.

“Ah, Nanami!” His boss greets heartily, clearly surprised yet pleased to see the company’s best worker at last. “Your partner and I were just discussing a better way to spruce up the quarterly party for next year. Care to weigh in, my friend?”

The question lands on deaf ears. Because at the exact same instant his professional mentor is extending that olive branch of attempted small talk…your eyes are on his, a knowing, small smile pressed to the hem of your champagne glass as you take a sip. The sight of your jewelry, the fabric against your skin, the way you look at him…the desire that rips through his body is staggering.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I need to speak with you,” he grates out in a tone heavy with gravel and masculine focus. His palm finds the smoldering heat of your lower back without conscious thought, marking delirious patterns of desire against your naked skin. Your eyebrows furrow with a silent question at the rough timbre of his command…even though you see that undisguised storm of hunger and frustrated desire raging behind his tinted glasses.

“Of course,” you finally murmur and turn to his coworkers to wish them goodbye, setting down your glass on the table beside you.

He’s burning, raging with a fever that doesn’t even exist and each shallow inhale draws more of your achingly familiar perfume into his senses—only making things worse.

He guides you through the crowded rooftop party and towards the elevators with a molten intensity bordering on feral. Nanami’s palm maps possessive into the searing expanse of your back. Every step jostles his arm flush against the silk on your frame.

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?”

The rich, seductive rasp of your voice is designed to torture him further, but Nanami doesn’t rise to it, simply presses fingers more firm to your back, his other punches the elevator button with purpose.

“I said I need to speak with you,” he finally bites out. “That should be more than enough.”

You lean further into his touch and look up at him, your tongue darts out to toy with your plush bottom lip in a show of faux innocence.

“Is that so?” The melodic lilt coupled with the ghost of your warm breath fanning across Nanami’s jaw would have been enough to make a lesser man’s knees buckle entirely. Instead, it simply ratchets the tension coiling through his powerful frame into a downright maddening degree.

The soft chime of the arriving elevator makes you both turn in tandem, the mirror of the elevator doors casting your reflections—allowing Nanami to drink in the smoldering fire already blazing behind your heavy-lidded stare. There’s profound hunger glimmering there that matches his own. An unadulterated wildness reined in by the thinnest veneer of coy indifference. You’ve always been slick—but not tonight.

The mirrored doors slide open with a hushed mechanical shush, you both step inside, and the doors slide closed. 

Nanami offers a silent apology for the violation of manners his parents instilled in him before he backs you into the far wall—the breath punching out of your lungs as your back makes shocking contact with the mirrored paneling. Now it’s you breathless, struggling to compose yourself as the masculine power of Nanami consumes you.

A subtle shudder ripples through Nanami’s abdomen as you wantonly tilt your head back, arching your throat in wordless invitation just as your fingertips rise to trail heated lines over his heaving chest. The lapels are black as midnight, the undershirt a crisp white, and he’s the handsome man that’s all yours even as he fights between what’s right and what he wants. One of his palms is cupping the slope of your jawline as the other maps out the silk of your dress. He bends slowly until the heat of his mouth is tracing the full curve of your parted lips—a heavy brush of sculpted male confidence against your teasing softness. 

“You’ve pressed against my boundaries to a criminal degree, love,” Nanami warns in a dark rasp scorched with the first cinders of the firestorm yet to come. His palm slides up the bare inward curve of your back until his fingers are tunneling through the wild riot of your twistout at the nape of your neck. Tinted eyes slit in satisfaction as your head tips back farther on a shaky inhale—granting him access to the deliciously vulnerable length of your throat.

“Nothing to say?” he husks out in the open, admiring the flutter of your lashes as his voice hits you. Nanami’s mouth brands a hot trail from the sensitive juncture of your jaw up towards the shell of your ear. You whimper softly at the slow, torturous build—the same sound of rapture he has memorized and pulled from you countless times between the sheets. It’s enough to strip away any lingering reservations entirely. 

With the strength he’s never ashamed to show you, hands slide under your thighs and he yanks you up. Your legs wrap around him on instinct, your arms winding around his neck, your head tilting back again to smack on the mirrored glass. 

His tongue glides along the buttery curve of your throat, tasting the familiar tang of salt and vanilla on the tip and the smell of him, of pure Nanami clouds your mind enough to finally look down at him, your noses a hairsbreadth from each other. It’s a silent standoff, your eyes as teasing as they are filled with arousal, his eyes dark with something that makes you shiver against him. 

And then he’s kissing you, deep and hungry, his hands roaming the bare expanse of your back, dipping lower, pulling you closer. You melt into Nanami’s kiss, your initial surprise giving way to a matching hunger. Your hands slip under his suit jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting your nerves, thrumming in your veins.

You don’t even hear the elevator doors open but you feel him walking, lips hot and demanding groaning into you as you slide your fingers into his golden locks and pull. Nanami knows these floors like the back of his hand, and he’s familiar with the abandoned break room on the thirtieth floor, his hand yanking the door open and shutting it hard, lips never leaving yours. 

You gasp into his mouth when your ass lands on the old buttons of a copier, the machine groaning under your weight, the plastic buttons beeping in protest. As Nanami presses you against the copier, he can’t help but marvel at the feel of you beneath his hands. The dress, this damn dress, is like water under his fingers, smooth and cool and entirely too thin. He can feel every curve, every contour, every shuddering breath you take. 

He punctuates his actions with a roll of his hips, pressing his hardness that strains against his slacks against your core. You moan, your head falling back, and he takes advantage of your exposed neck, his lips and teeth worrying the sensitive skin, his tongue licking the marks he leaves.

“How many more dresses do you have?” he growls against your throat, his voice rough with need. “How many more ways are you going to torture me?”

You gasp as his teeth graze your pulse point, your fingers threading into his hair. “T-that depends,” you manage, your voice breathy. Nanami’s chuckle is dark, dangerous, his hands trailing higher, dipping into the seam of your panties, his fingers brushing over your clit. He savors the way your jerk against him, a whimper leaving your throat as you pant into the dusty air.

“Is this what you wanted? To reduce me to this? A man so desperate for you he’d take you in a public place?”

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into his touch, your breasts pressing against the thin silk that covers them. “Yesyesyes...”

Nanami’s groan is part frustration, part desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.” There’s a hint of wonder in his voice, a note of awe at the depth of his own need. His fingers press more insistently, circling, gathering your slick to make each stroke more messy and impactful, driving you towards the edge. The buttons of the copier dig into your skin, the machine whirring and beeping beneath you, adding to the crescendo of sensation. He can hear the mechanical shuffle of papers being chucked out from one end, slapping onto the floor.

“Do you like this?” Nanami pants, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you like teasing me, driving me crazy?”

“Yes,” you admit, free of shame, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, Kento.”

He slides two fingers into your wet heat, savoring your wanton gasp, increases the pressure, the speed of his fingers, pushing you closer to the precipice. “Have you done this before?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion. “Teased other men like this, made them want you so badly they’d forget themselves?”

“No,” you moan desperately, your head thrashing from side to side, deep locks brushing your cheeks. “Never. It’s only ever been you, Kento. Only you.”

“Say it again,” he demands, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Only you,” you pant. “I’m yours, Kento. Completely.”

It doesn’t take long—countless strokes inside of you, a curl of his fingers, a twist of his wrist, and you shatter. Your cry of pleasure mixes with the beeps and groans of the copier, your body shaking, your fingers digging harder into Nanami’s shoulders that he’s sure you’ve broken the barrier. 

He holds you through it, his lips on your skin, his murmured praises in your ear, soft litanies of words that has made you fall deeper in love with him each passing day. You don’t get a chance to come down fully because he’s on you again, pressing closer, pushing your panties to the side and digging his fingers into the meat of your hips. But the angle is wrong, you’re too high and the copier digs into his thighs and impedes him from getting to you the way he wants.

With a grunt of frustration, Nanami lifts you off the machine. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the conference table. He sweeps aside the accumulated debris with one arm, sending sugar and tea packets scattering to the floor. Your back hits the table, the hard surface unyielding beneath you. Plastic cups crunches and snaps under your weight, sugar and coffee creamer powder puffing into the air, settling on your heated skin.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, soaking in the radiance you beam up at him, “how many times I’ve imagined this? Pulling you away from everyone, getting my hands on you…not being able to do it because I’m better than that.”

You moan as he nips at your collarbone, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “And yet here you are,” you tease, breathless with twinkling eyes that shine right through him.

He captures your lips again, the kiss deep and demanding. You arch into him, your hands throwing off his glasses—they smack against a wall—your fingers deftly undoing his tie, working on the buttons of his shirt. You need to feel his skin against yours, need to be closer, and he shudders at the feel of your warm hands breaching the open buttons, sliding up his bare chest.

As if reading your mind, Nanami reaches for the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down. The fabric parts, baring more of your skin to his heated gaze. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming your body like a physical caress.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his hands are on you, tracing your curves, fingers brushing your nipples before he gives them a pinch. A whimper shakes from you, your fingers pressing into his bare chest.

Dimly, he’s aware that he should stop this, that he’s in a public place, at a work event. But the heat of your body, the insistence of your touch, the mounting pleasure coursing through his veins—it all conspires to drown out reason.

Your hands fumble with his belt, your fingers shaking with need. He helps you, impatiently pushing his pants and boxers down just enough. And then he’s touching you, his fingers digging into your hips, sliding you closer to him until the tip of him presses to the sopping wet heat of your center, wet from your orgasm and still ready.

“Please,” you whimper, hardly recognizing your own voice. “Please, Kento…”pushing your dress further up your hips, trailing over your ribs, cupping your breasts until the skin spills between the gaps. His eyes widen at the sight, the base of his spine heating up. So many times he’s seen you like this in the privacy of your home, and now it’s in an old break room at his workplace, the consequence of you finally taking things too far.

He’s free of any feral energy as he kisses you, sliding into your welcoming heat slowly to acquaint himself again. Your fingers dig into his skin, your chest pressing into him as you adjust, the table creaking under your joined weight as you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your silver heels into his back. Soon he’s moving above you, within you, each thrust pushing you higher, each thrust fanning the fire within himself.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, begging again for the unspoken demand of more. And even though the roles are reversed right now—you the one being teased—he gives you whatever you ask.

He sets a pace that’s just shy of punishing, each snap of his hips brushing his zipper against the inside of your thighs. The room fills with the sounds of sex—the slap of skin on skin, your gasps and moans, his grunts into the air. He cannot believe he’s in this moment, doing something so scandalous.

“You reduce me to this,” he pants against your lips. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” you gasp, your hands pulling at open lapels of his shirt, squeezing around the buttons, the fabric groaning. “I’m sorry.”

But you’re not, he can tell. There’s a hint of satisfaction in your voice, a touch of pride. And why shouldn’t there be? You’ve brought him, the ever-controlled Nanami Kento, to his knees. He loves you too much to ever want anything different.

“I’m a good man,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, curving his next thrust that he knows will brush against that spot you like.

“You’re an amazing man, Ken,” you moan in surprise, your hips lifting to meet his to seek more. “The best. Only the best for me. Only you, Kento.”

The praise makes him shake, the fire in his body raging like an inferno, burning his skin, breaking him into a sweat. He presses a knee into the table, throws one of your legs over his shoulders and savors the ragged way your name leaves his lips as he gives you everything.

“You feel so good,” he pants, his tongue licking the skin of your neck. He tastes the saltiness of your sweat, the sanitizing taste of perfume, the powdered creamer and sugar that sticks to your skin from the table. “So perfect.”

“Come on, Kento” you keen, your nails raking down the suit on his back. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He’s lost in you, in the feel of you, in the knowledge that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. Wanton, needy, completely undone.

Nothing else matters—not the party going on just floors above, not the risk of discovery, not the propriety you’re both abandoning. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the heat that’s consumed you both all summer, finally finding release.

Nanami’s thrusts become erratic, his rhythm faltering as the base of his spine tightens in a delicious way to let him know that he’s close. His hand slips between your bodies, past the silk of your rumpled periwinkle dress, gliding over your clit in well-practiced strokes and the leg over his shoulder tenses up, your head digging into the table, neck arching for him to see the flecks of sugar sticking to your neck. 

“Ohhh right there Kento. Right there. Please, please I’m gonna cum—I’m—“ you smack a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, eyes shutting tight.

“Absolutely not.” Nanami hasn’t suffered for months just to be deprived of anything during this encounter. He yanks the hand from your mouth, pressing it hard into the table, and the shock on your face as you look up at him, the staccato of your breaths, the undeniable seriousness in his gaze even as he pistons into you, admiring the way your dress pools at your waist as he gives you more, harder, deeper until—

“Ohhhh fuck!” you cum with a long dragged out cry, your body clenching around him, walls locking around his cock to the point his orgasm is yanked from him as he falls over the edge with you, pulsing deep inside with a groan muffled against your neck.

He sags against you, both of your chests heaving against each other. He slips a hand behind you, trailing lightly up and down your glistening back as you lie beneath him, spent and satisfied.

As he slowly comes down, he presses a lingering kiss to your sweat-dampened hairline, the roots of your twistout beginning to frizz. There’s a hint of coconut from your leave-in as his nose brushes down to your cheek. So familiar, yet still so intoxicating after almost a year of smelling it. As if he could ever grow numb to the potent lure of your presence.

A ragged chuckle escapes him at that thought, the mirthful rumble making you pull up your head to look at him. Nanami drinks in the utterly debauched vision you make—beautiful brown sweaty skin, hair messy, lips swollen and smirking as per usual.

His arm tightens reflexively around the sensual curves of your waist, pulling you closer in a subconscious gesture of possession and longing. Because for all the delicious torture you’ve inflicted over the past few months with your endless parade of tempting summer dresses…he wouldn’t trade this hard-won moment for anything.

Nanami is many things—disciplined, regimented, a hardworking—albeit tired— professional. But he is also only human at his core. And you, his beautiful free-spirit of a partner, has a simply breathtaking talent for awaking the primal, unrestrained parts of him he usually keeps so rigorously leashed.

“You know,” you murmur in that velvety voice he loves so much. “The minute I realized the dress vanished from my cart was the minute I knew it would be the one.”

A sleepy chuckle breaks free from his lips at your words, the sound causing you to join in as well—a vibrant melody that coats his soul in pure contentment. Nosing closer, he peppers a line of feather light kisses along the line of your jaw. “You’ll never go easy on me, will you?”

“And rob myself of bringing down Nanami Kento piece by piece?” You snort, shooting him a look of pure, playful sin from beneath your lashes. “I might have to make sundress season a year-round thing.”

His answering groan is part growl, part disbelieving laughter as the palm behind your back glides along the elegant curve of your spine down to the bend of your hip. Ever the devilish temptress without even trying, even in the aftermath.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“That’s a good way to go,” you tease, pulling him down for another kiss, sweet and sticky and full of promise.

His hands slide along the canvas of your body, fingers dipping into the ridges of the open zipper of your dress. He’ll make sure it’s dry cleaned so you can wear it next year. And hopefully he’ll be better prepared.

When you giggle against his lips and dig your heels into his back, he realizes that there will be no amount of preparation when it comes to you.

Thanks for reading!

[aclassitag]

Announcing Krem Week!

#kremweek2024 — 22-28 July 2024

background art credit: @xfreischutz [link to original post]

*text prompt list under the readmore

This year will mark 10 years since the release of Dragon Age: Inquisition! In celebration of that anniversary and the game that gave us our first trans character, here is a prompt list - and dates - for any who would like to participate! All sorts of creative content is accepted so long as they are not A/I generated. (See examples below)

*If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead, that is also fine!

Please read the guidelines!

If you have any questions, reply to this post and I will do my best to answer :)

Prompt list:

1 — Anniversary 2 — Euphoria / Expression 3 — Casual / Formal 4 — Family / Love 5 — Respite / Fight 6 — Play / Satiate 7 — (Free space!)

Guidelines:

Use the tag: #kremweek2024 (@ this blog is fine too) — If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead of Krem, that is also welcome! Please @ me so I can rb :) For non-Tumblr folks that somehow got here: You may post submissions, please link your socials. You may choose one of two prompts in a day or do both. You may also combine as many prompts as you want from any or all of the days into a single work, just mention it somewhere.

Types of content allowed:

Illustration and writing are the most obvious forms of art allowed, but they're not the only ones! Literary arts fanfics, drabbles, poetry, plays, lengthy headcanon/meta posts (for headcanon and meta posts, minimum of 100 words+) Visual arts doodles, paintings, graphic design, photoshop memes, photography, animation, tiktok skits, abstract, fiber arts (embroidery, knitting, etc), ceramics Audio art fanmixes(curated playlists), original or cover songs Other crafts are also welcome! e.g. culinary, resin, woodworking, etc etc ..essentially, whatever type of art it is, I'll accept it so long as it falls within rules and is related to Krem or Maevaris :) For things that are more abstract, do include an explanation of your thought process on how it relates to Krem. E.g. you made Krem's Seheron Fish Wrap or Rice Pudding, take photos of your cooking, and post that (with the explanation that it is Krem's recipes) - that's an acceptable submission! You're allowed to explore different mediums everyday! You don't have to stick to one form of art for the whole week. I will be attempting to schedule reblogs in the 'prime time' for engagement, and in the interest of fairness, things like headcanon posts, fanmixes, and WIPs will not take priority in that time slot over fully rendered illustrations or complete fanfics. They will still be reblogged, but scheduled for other time slots.

Content Rules:

No A/I generated content. (Specifically GenAI content) As above, any and all forms of art is welcome. It must be human made, and by you. The whole point of working off a prompt is to explore a creative process, anyway - do yourself a favour and just enjoy making something! It doesn't have to be pretty! No reposting of other people's works. This must be your own creation. Obviously, no transphobic content. No harrassing others over their specific headcanons - be it in regards to any trait or quirks that come with being a person. People come in all sorts of wonderful variety, please respect that. In addition to above: No whitewashing, racism etc. Please note that Krem is not pale-skinned in canon, and I will not be reblogging content of him being portrayed as pale. 18+ works need to be labelled. On this blog, its tagged as "#adult art". Please add content warnings as appropriate. (E.g. portrayal of binding with bandages should have a warning label of "cw: unsafe binding", etc.) If your post/submission is lengthy, please insert a read more. This helps readability on the dashboard. Progress / WIPs are fine too!

General tips:

First and foremost, do what you are able to! Don't feel pressured to complete a full week if you need to take care of yourself first. Some people work on the prompts before the week even begins, and only post it day of. You are not required to do this, but if you really want to fill something for each day, this helps reduce stress day of.

Mod things:

The mod isn't from the Americas, so due to timezone differences, there may be a delay in reblogging people's works. Either way I will not reblog the moment that it's posted in order to screen properly. Posts will be queued between 30mins-1hr apart, if there are multiple entries being submitted at the same time. All submissions will also be requeued after a week for later perusal :)

[kahluah]

*puts hand up* sorry I’m very new here what’s the context with what’s happening with the tag war??

Alright, I will give my run down, but I will not be naming any blog names on either side even if I have the info and the action was net positive. I just like to use my blog to scroll and reblog for the most part and refuse to embroil myself in the drama more than just giving my view on it as a bystander. One that definitely has an opinion on the events, but also as someone who would rather curate my own experience than fight.

So all this fighting that is going on, it used to just happen in the normal "Jiang Cheng" tag because back then there was no "canon Jiang Cheng" tag; it had not been created yet. (By that I mean it was not a tag used as a tag, Tumblr's shitty search algorithm might still show posts if one typed it in to the search bar because those posts had the words 'canon', 'Jiang', and 'Cheng' in the tags separately, but there would not be posts with "#canon Jiang Cheng" because nobody normally creates a post with a tag like that when "#Jiang Cheng" was suffice. Sometimes I see irrelevant posts in the canon Jiang Cheng tag, but the actual tag isn't on the post, the tags just happen to have all three words in them. Those I ignore because that is Tumblr's fault, not the poster.)

The fighting was between people that like the character and prefer to see the good in him and the interpretation of his character, and those that may or may not like the character (just because you like a character does not mean you need to defend their every action after all) but do not share that opinion of his character and have a more neutral or negative portrayal by contrast. The former also tended to favor or have only read the novel as it is the source material for all other adaptations.

Now things really came to a head when hate and threats were being thrown about on posts that were just quotes from the book showing the negative actions of Jiang Cheng. The people posting the quotes were basically told "if you hate the character why don't you just tag the post as anti-JC?!" but is it really right to call those anti posts when they were posting how the character acts in the source material? That is the character. That is how he acted. Look it is in the book! The character really did that! It is not somebody's negative headcanon that the character may act like that, it is something the character actually did. Personally I can not consider that as an anti character post, and neither did the people who made posts like that.

But things did get heated enough that some people finally took a step back and said "Fine. You want us to make our own space to make these posts so that you do not have to see us talk about JC this way? We will. It will be #canon Jiang Cheng and you can block it if you don't want to see the posts." Was the name picked in the spirit of schadenfreude? Very probable, but it is also not an incorrect name as the people who wanted to use it base their opinion on the novel. But the point was that the tag was created so that people now had their own space to make the posts they wanted and those that did not want to see it could block the tag. Curate your own experience; we can block tags on this site for a reason and advertising tags to block is a courtesy. (Because as said previously, the search here sucks, because the posts contain the character's name they are still likely to show up in the main tag, but block the newly created tag and you will not see those posts either way). Could the other people come into the tag in good faith and make arguments with textual support? Yeah, that was welcomed, but in the spirit of debate they should expect rebuttal. Was that what happened? No.

No instead what happened was basically this meme

They did not like the name chosen for the tag. They read the novel too and still believe that JC is good, so they should be able to use the tag too! Never mind the fact that the tag was made so they could block the posts they didn't want to see. So that they can go on with their days no longer having to deal with the people they constantly fought with. No. Instead of curating the experience of this website, they would get so hung up on the fact that there was now a tag called #canon Jiang Cheng in use that they had to use it too to defend JC from the people that post 'negative' things about him; even if it is novel text!

So while the fighting didn't stop, it did get slightly better because not everyone felt the need to jump into the new tag to defend their fave. Some people actually did curate their experience. Plus there is a block button and people do use it, so things got to a point where I would say it was relatively stable even if there was still fights here and there. (But once again I lurk, I do not participate. Things may not have been the same for more outspoken people).

But then a certain muskrat bought Twitter and a chunk of the fandom there fled here. That's when the main push to "reclaim the tag" and the new influx of people hopping into the tag to argue and defend their fave appeared. These people did not know why the tag was made, they just saw blogs that they liked telling people about the "JC-antis" that made it and how with the new people pouring into the Tumblr fandom from twitter, they had a chance to flood it and reclaim it. And since then the fighting has not really stopped.

As for what has happened in the past few days, you have JC defenders flooding the tag with fan art (not canon), screen caps from CLQ (not canon), and screenshots of a sentence or two from the novel (canon, but usually out of context or lacking additional lines that go on to rebut what was previously said) in the tag and the people who made the tag for a specific purpose getting mad about the spam. (I block so I have no clue how big the influx was or whatever but there was definitely like at least 3 new people I had to block). So when they made posts venting the anger, you got JC defenders coming back to them and going "But I never sent any hate or harassment! I just used the tag to talk about the canon character!" And perhaps they didn't, but these people in their defense always ignore and never respond to the question of why they are in the tag instead of blocking it because that is what the tag was made for. Instead they come back with "Well if you want to talk about JC that way, why don't you post in the anti tag or make your own tag!"... Remember that meme picture I used above. Yup.

The tag war began because people did not like negative posts about JC in the main character tag for JC. When told to use the anti tag or make a new tag, a new tag was made, but instead of curating the experience the stans of JC got so tilted at the name of the tag that they decided that they would come into the tag and continue the fight instead of just blocking it. Twitter fallout made the fighting worse. And now we have come full circle to the JC stans once again telling people to just use the anti tag or make their own tag.

[milykins]

TMNT Headcanon - Losing Their Virginity

*Turtles are at least 18, Bayverse turtles

*18+ Readers only, contains sexual content and language you may find offensive.

*Third person female POV

Mikey's Story

Raph's Story

Leo's Story

It's finally time for Donnie's story! I'm so relieved I actually finished a series and I didn't lose my creative flame. Thanks everyone for the likes and reblogs!

Being the last of his brothers to be a virgin was embarrassing. Donnie knows his brothers would never outright tease him about it but it stung nonetheless. Even straight-laced Leo got a girlfriend before him! This wouldn’t do, not at all and Donnie was going to do something about it. Now he doesn’t do anything right away but he does make this elaborate plan to meet someone. It doesn’t work, unfortunately. The poor girl runs away screaming at the sight of him.

In the aftermath of his failure he does what he does best. He retreats into himself and stays in his lab for weeks on end. Even Raph is a little worried about their brother in purple but they all leave him to work things out on his own. He always does.

Fortunately he’s got distractions to keep him from falling completely into the abyss and is very well-known in the online gaming community. He’s got friends on there too, including someone he’s gotten pretty close to. She uses an androgynous name and a voice changer so the guys on there don’t know she’s female. The combat sessions were just easier that way. Even Donnie wasn't aware of her secret until one day when she forgets to use the voice changer and everyone in the party realizes she's been a girl all along. Almost immediately the derogatory comments start up. Don, however, is quick to shut them down and snaps at the other guys for objectifying her like that. He sounded so sweet in his defense of her and as a result, she stops using the voice changer from that moment on. She does apologize to him for hiding her gender in a private voice chat with just the two of them and he completely understands. He promises her that he won't let anyone bother her if he can help it.

Donnie is pleased to have made a new female friend. They get to chatting more and more and even do a few voice calls. He is ever so careful not to let slip that he’s a 6’8” mutant turtle. Still, his walls come down somewhat the closer they get. They even exchange numbers and do a few voice calls. She texts him daily with little memes and fun facts. Donnie reciprocates by texting her his random thought of the day. He also texts her riddles and is highly aware that she wants to figure them out for herself, no hints.

One day he gets a text that kicks up his fight or flight instinct. A simple ‘Can we meet?’ At this point, they had been friends for a good few months and Donnie never dreamed it would go beyond that. His logical brain thought it would be better to keep her at arms length. That way, nobody would get hurt. Still, his fingers itched to type back ‘yes, when and where?’ he really wanted to meet her but the fear of what she’d think of him when she discovered what he truly was kept him from typing that out. Instead he types: ‘it’s probably not a good idea… we should keep things as they are.’ He still couldn’t bring himself to press ‘send’.

Several minutes later he was still trying to find an answer. She seemed to sense her question was ill-timed and apologizes, saying she realizes they aren’t ready for that yet. Immediately his fingers fly to the keyboard typing rapidly. He does want to meet her, he just hesitated because he was nervous and there’s something she needs to know first. He sits there then, his heart pounding as anxiety takes over. This was it, she was going to find out he was a monster, a freak and he was going to lose her. Finally he makes his decision. He calls her, trying to keep his voice from shaking and stutters out where to meet him.

Donnie shows up with a purple hoodie on covering his head and leaves most of his tech in his lab. He keeps his phone on him and a hidden bo staff just in case. He stays hidden in the shadows until he sees her. His breath catches in his throat, she was beautiful. Red hair… he had such a weakness for redheads. There’s a light dusting of freckles on her nose, and her expression showed she was nervous and unsure. She’s looking around everywhere for him, afraid he wasn’t going to show up.

Donnie steels himself; it was now or never. Very gingerly, he emerges, keeping his head down. He tells her it’s him, his voice shaking slightly. She’s immediately struck by how tall he is, she loved tall men, it was her weakness. She was confused by his body posture and why it looked like he was wearing a backpack. Donnie quietly asks her not to scream because he’s not exactly human and doesn’t want to scare her. He takes his hood off and braces himself for the inevitable. But it doesn’t come. She gasps at his appearance with obvious wonder and not disgust as he thought she would. He watches her carefully as she steps closer to get a better look. She tells him now she knows how Belle felt meeting the Beast the first time except she's not afraid of him. At that, Donnie has to smile because he knows Beauty and the Beast is her favourite Disney movie and that she held the steadfast belief that the Beast never should have changed into a human. He relaxes more then and asks her if she’d like to hang out for a while. She agrees and is full of questions for the duration of the night. Donnie is happy to answer each and every one of them if it means he gets to spend more time with her. She gives him a kiss on the cheek when they finally part ways and he’s so elated he feels like he could sing.

Donnie has a girlfriend. He has an actual girlfriend. At first his brothers tease him saying at least he didn’t have to build one. Truthfully though, they’re very happy for him and relieved because they can see an obvious change in him. He’s happier and he’s not staying holed up in his lab like he used to. It’s not long before he invites her down to the lair to meet his family and show her around. He’s so proud to show off all the things he’s been working on and even more proud to show her his bigger projects like the TTT or Turtle Tactical Truck. She is definitely awed by his accomplishments and thinks it’s very sweet that this awkward, nerdy, sweetheart of a turtle was trying so hard to impress her. If it wasn't obvious, Donnie has already fallen head over heels for this girl but he hasn’t told her yet nor have they made love. He wants it to be perfect.

In his effort to do this, it takes him a long time to plan it. Luckily, his new girlfriend is very patient and they do get closer in other ways. He gives her the full rundown on his ‘equipment’, telling her exactly how it differs from a human male’s, but assuring her it still functions as such. She can’t help but giggle at how serious he’s being about it all and assures him that she still wants to try either way. Donnie hurriedly tells her that there’s no rush and that they can take their time with such things. He’s secretly afraid it might be too painful for her and wants to be fully prepared so they are able to make it work between them.

Donnie is the only one of his brothers to do actual research on how to properly please a woman. After all, research is what he does best and he’s nervous but excited to put it into practice. Needless to say, she’s very pleased with the results and though they don’t have actual sex in the coming weeks, they get awfully close.

It happens on the very special date he has planned for her. Now, Donnie, being well, himself, has its definite advantages. One of which being his ability to break in and hack his way into pretty much anywhere. On the day of the date, he tells her to dress up and meet him at the planetarium. Upon meeting her there, he whisks her away to a secret entrance where they can view the planetarium from above and enjoy a private meal. Mikey had been more than willing to pack some food and snacks for them. 'Tonight my Donnie boy, you become a man.' ... 'Thanks, Mikey..."

After the meal is finished, he takes her into the theatre with the large domed projection screen. He tells her to close her eyes and count to three. When she opens them, he’ll have turned on the projector and she sees millions of stars, planets, and galaxies above them. It’s the most romantic thing she’s ever experienced. Her eyes are a bit misty when he shyly asks if she likes it.

Her response is standing on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him like her life depends on it. Donnie reacts immediately, his long, lean arms catching her and holding her close as he angles his mouth to kiss her more deeply. Minutes later, they’re breathing deeply and staring into each other’s eyes. That’s when he knows it’s time, he loves her and he’s going to tell her. He whispers it, afraid that if he says it any louder she might not feel the same way. She whispers it back, honestly, that she loves him and tells him just how special and unique he is, and how she’s feels so lucky to have met him. He can’t help but reiterate that he’s the lucky one before covering her mouth with his. Several passionate moments later he pulls back with a question in his eyes. She absolutely picks up on it, and breathlessly asks him to come back to her apartment with her. Donnie has never moved so fast in his life. He shuts everything down, grabs their things and exits the building with her in less than five minutes.

Upon arrival to the apartment things escalate quickly. Gear and belongings are dropped haphazardly and there’s a desperation to undress her as quickly as possible before he practically carries her to her bedroom. Pretty soon he’s also bare and has her laid out beneath him trembling with need. His touch is skillful and precise. He is methodical about this, he wants to do as much foreplay and prep-work to make this as painless and pleasurable as he possibly can. He works at gently stretching her opening while making her feel good at the same time. When the time comes for her to take him inside he goes inch by inch, always stopping and checking if she’s still all right. He’s the only one of his brothers to use a condom, ‘just in case’ and ‘safety first’. It had taken some looking though to find ones large enough to accommodate him.

 She only feels a slight amount of pain, grateful to him for taking the time to ready her and falls in love with him just a little more from his thoughtfulness and care. Once she’s ready, he does a few practiced thrusts and oh boy, nothing could have prepared him for how good this would feel. He can’t help but stutter it out to her, how amazing she is and how much he loves her. She whispers it back and tells him likewise how good it feels to have him inside of her.

He’s spurred on by her words of encouragement he moves faster and has to concentrate on not being the first to finish. With a careful hand he snakes his fingers between their bodies and rubs her sensitive nub in well-practiced circles with his thumb, he whispers how beautiful she is and how much he wants to hear her come. He gently urges her, ‘come for me, come for me, beautiful… let me hear you.’

Almost immediately, her body locks up and the grip on his shoulders tightens while she digs her fingernails into his tough skin. Her cries are absolute music to his ears and he decides he needs to hear her make these types of sounds as often as he can. He grunts softly as his own release comes moments after hers, he groans deeply while his body shudders from the blinding amount of pleasure he feels.

The aftermath is composed of soft kisses, whispered murmurings of love and a gentle cleanup, her before himself of course. Donnie’s conclusion is that this has to be the happiest moment of his life… so far. The best is yet to come.

Mikey does congratulate him when he returns home.

The End

[lautski-week]

Lautski Nation, we are so back!

(Q&A + general info under cut!)

Welcome to the third semiannual Lautski week. This event occurs twice a year, once in the summer and once in the winter, to commemorate the shared love so many of us have for Hatchetfield High's most unlikely it couple! Mod is @peterstankoffski and uses they/them pronouns, and you've probably seen me lurking around the lautski tag since it was created. It's been a lovely little 2.5 years getting to enjoy this ship with everyone.

This year the summer event will be in July instead of May so everyone who is interested has plenty of time to prepare. I understand now through June is fairly bust for many people due to finals, so moving it later into the summer was definitely for the best (thank you to everyone who voted in the dates tiebreaker poll the other day!)

And with that, some FAQ!

Q: What are alternates?

A: Alternates are two extra prompts in case one of them leaves you stumped! They can be used any day, or they can not be used at all! It’s up to each individual participant!

Q: Do I have to do all seven days?

A: You’re free to do as many as you want! You can do all seven, you can do just a few, hell, you could do all nine in you wanted! This isn’t a challenge, it’s an event. The main goal is to make some posts about this ship we’re all brainrotting for and having fun.

Q: What can I make?

A: Anything you want! Art, fics, edits, memes, etc. Nothing’s off the table.

Q: How do I post?

A: I’ll reblog anything made for the event to this blog and my main. If you’d like to be featured, please @ THIS blog. Additionally, I’d recommend tagging works with #lautski week so everyone’s works can all be found in the same place.

Q: I was late! Can I still post?

A: Of course! I’ll keep reblogging new posts tagged #lautski week and/or mention this blog through July 17!

Q: Can I post to AO3, then link it back here?

A: Feel free! This year I will also be setting up a Lautski Week collection, which I will link on the blog closer to time. Feel free to use it!

Q: Can I post to (insert any other fanfic site here) then link it back here?

A: Same as AO3. Go ahead!

Q: One of my wips fits *insert prompt here!* Can I post it for that day?

A: You can, but please don’t post before the event begins!

Q: Am I allowed to write smut?

A: Yes, but please have it properly tagged on both tumblr and AO3. On this blog, I will use the additional tag "smut warning"

That's it for now! I'll reblog this occasionally between now and July, plus advertising and answering any additional questions, but other than that, enjoy the rest of your spring (if you're in the Northern Hemisphere anyway)! See you all again soon 💜

[confessionsofa-roleplayer]

I will try to say this as nicely as possible. If all my attempts to interact with my dash gives me nothing in return, and all I get to see is my mutuals being too busy playing among themselves instead of giving me even a single crumb from their 300 breads, I am valid for feeling frustrated. My feelings are valid. If I need a moment to vent my frustration instead of exploding, I don't need a butthurt snowflake to slide into my DMs and berating me on being guilt-trippy. NOW you have the time to message me. Only to make me feel even angrier and more frustrated than I already was. Great. Thank you for absolutely nothing. Maybe if you think of my vent as guilt-tripping, then maybe you should think a moment why you feel of it that way. You didn't reply to any of our threads in months. You sent me nothing. You give me nothing. And then when I point out how frustrated I am about being left out 24/7 by my mutuals for MONTHS, you have the audacity to give me an essay of how I am the bad person now?? I am so fucking tired of people berating others for 'guilt-tripping' and 'being ungrateful' when they dare to air their frustration about this selfish ass-community. I don't even know why I still bother. Every time I try, I reach out to others, reblog memes, try to hype myself up to write… I end up angry and frustrated and with no motivation anymore. I may just quietly leave this dirty hole and do other stuff. That's what my mutuals deserve at this point. They give me the silent treatment, then I should just drop everything and move on. I mean, they probably won't even notice. I think I could not post anything in months and no one would ask how I am. That's how self-absorbed the tumblr rpc is at this point.

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - The Best of 2023

Happy New Year's Eve! Or New Year's Day, depending on where in the world you are right now. What a year it has been - for the sport and the fandom and for this blog right here.

I (Briony) started this blog in June, after a horrific bout of writer's block took away my writing skills. The only thing I love more than writing is reading, and so I decided to funnel my newly gained fandom time into cataloguing all of the wonderful things that I have read over the last few years, in the form of fic rec lists. My wonderful team of fic rec volunteers joined me at the end of October, and we have been collating the lists together ever since.

Thank you so much to everyone who follows, reblogs, likes, and comments on these lists, and an extra special thank you to everyone who shares that love with the writers themselves, in the form of comments, kudos, and bookmarks. You are amazing, and you make the fandom tick. Thank you.

Please find below the team's favourite fics of 2023! This is just like the FIA Gala, except slightly less glamorous and probably can't be used as a plot device in an F1 fanfiction.

These are the fics that really touched us - that stood out, and took our breaths away, and made us cry and laugh and curse. To these authors, and to everyone who has shared their talents with us this year - thank you.

Enjoy. And have a wonderful 2024. ❤️

Esteban/Pierre

nsfw: my thumb's on your teeth by @geluksalig | E | 14.7k @lydia-petze's favourite fic of 2023 Esteban experiences hyperrealistic dreams of a parallel life where he and Pierre have been together since they were teenagers, and neither of them race any more. He gradually becomes more and more disoriented by them as the twin realities begin to blur. This fic is so well done, with twin timelines wound together seamlessly. The grief for a life that never was, that might have been, is palpable. There are clues scattered throughout, however, that there may yet be time to fix things. Pierre's characterisation, as seen through Esteban's eyes, is wonderful - passionate and ferociously protective.

'Pierre presses his lips together, nodding though Esteban knows he is unconvinced, disbelieving. He looks off to the side, and Esteban gets that tense feeling in his gut, like he knows Pierre would claw a hole in his chest to tempt God close with the affliction, just so the rest of them might be sheltered in the shadow that falls just behind. He’s never been sure how to tell him that he doesn’t have to.'

Daniel/Max, Charles/Pierre

nsfw: hook, line, sinker by @chubbydino | M | 92k (wip) @wanderhobbit's favourite fic of 2023 Pierre wishes he could remember, Max wishes he could forget. What I enjoyed: maybe enjoyed isn’t the right word but his fic is heart wrenchingly beautiful. Following the story lines with the two couples and those story lines connecting is beautiful.

'"I love being married to you,” Max said quietly as he pulled on another curl. Daniel dropped his phone on his chest and tilted his head back to look at him. “Oh yeah?” Max’s whole body buckled at the gentleness in his tone. Daniel always knew when he was getting close to a breakdown, when fear and guilt and shame started building up like storm clouds in his head. He nodded. “Yeah. I love you.” Daniel gave him an upside-down smile. “You wanna tell me what’s going on, Max?”'

Charles/Max

nsfw: All The Lights (Couldn't Put Out The Dark) by @fabbyf1 | E | 7.5k @frickinsweet's favourite fic of 2023 Charles needs someone to help him calm down – when his usual partner is indisposed he asks Max instead. For me this fic was the definition of the "this better not awaken anything in me" meme, not so much for the particular kink but for the dynamics. I was relatively new to F1 rpf when I read this and the characterizations of both Max and Charles became the "canon" that I compared every fic to for a while. The Charles in this fic is very hard on himself, tying himself in to knots with anxiety and when he gathers up the courage to ask Max for help he is immediately in to it and never reacts negatively despite the unusal request. This is tagged as PWP (although if one reads the whole series, which I highly suggest, there is definitely plot) and the smut is very much brain meltingly hot but the reason I choose it as my favourite read of 2023 is for the way the characters and their dynamic is so perfectly described - especially Charles who is the POV and whose internal dialogue is a special treat in this fic.

'There was really only one other person he could turn to in these trying times. That’s how he ended up in Max’s room, asking him for a “favor.” “What kind of favor do you need?” Max asked, smiling so openly at him that it hurt Charles' head slightly. He was so quick to offer up his services when he didn’t even know what Charles was about to ask him'

my thoughts will echo your name by witchee_writer | M | 38.9k @blueballsracing's favourite fic of 2023 When Max retires, he decides his next accomplishment to win is Le Mans. His partners are no other than Charles Leclerc and Sebastian Vettel. I loved the cute little quips each character had and the tension! This made me smile and was an amazing rollercoaster of a fic. So much flirting and it's also a Red Bull Charles fic, which I love ❤️

'Sebastian's eyes zeroed in on Max, and then Charles. His grin widened (dangerous). 'Are you here to save me from two idiots with a decade worth of sexual tension?''

nsfw: you and me, we got big reputations by lady_something | E | 93.4k @maaxverstappen's favourite fic of 2023 After publicly coming out when Max won his 3rd championship, Charles and Max have to navigate the consequences of being together. It affects both the dynamic with their own teams and each other, and lends to issues with races in not-so-LGBT-friendly countries. I loved how realistic this was. The author really dove into the real life f1 consequences of a coming out and didn’t shy away from it. Charles and Max love each other so dearly and deeply but also love this sport just as much, and that makes for a great plot driven story. The other characters in this fic add a lot and it feels very found family. This fic had me thinking about it for days after and I was so sad to finish it as I could stay in the universe forever. One of my top fics in general, let alone for 2023! (also, this is for the rbr!charles fans (iykyk))

“So, if you are really, truly worried that we cannot handle it, then I will retire. You mean more to me than another Championship does. I have already done what I need to, I have paid back the debts I owe to my father and my family, and I have won some for me, too. It’s enough. I have the GT3 team, I have iRacing, I want to compete in the WEC. I do not need F1, not like I need you.” # “You—you—you—” Charles looks completely gobsmacked. “Oh my god. Mon Dieu. Max. Max.” Max barely manages to stop Charles from crushing the eggs as he surges forward, plastering his whole body against Max’s as he grabs his face and kisses him.

Charles/Pierre

A Two-Man Cult by @moonlight0starlighte | T | 23.7k @singsweetmelodies' favourite fic of 2023 Charles has always thought he's a beta, but then he suddenly presents as an omega after a night out with Pierre. The consequences for their friendship are devastating when Charles tries to keep this a secret from Pierre. Of course, Pierre finds out anyway, and the two of them have a massive fight - which ends in Charles going into withdrawal after what he perceived as a rejection from his alpha. This fic redefines "angst with a happy ending" - but it is so worthwhile when they finally do get to the happy ending. I love this fic for a variety of reasons, the fantastic angst-with-a-happy-ending slow-burn friends-to-lovers of it all being a big one of them. But more than that, I remember reading this one chapter-by-chapter as it came out, and being so unbelievably hooked, texting everyone about the next update. The writing style is just so engaging, and the story the author tells is so gripping, intense and wonderful. It will also always hold a special place in my heart, because it's the first proper a/b/o fic I read, and probably the fic that got me hooked on the genre. It truly is a masterpiece in so many ways. <3

"What are you thinking?" Pierre's lids flutter closed and he sinks into the warmth of Charles' hands as he brings it to his cheek, lips pressed against warm skin as he answers, "I just can't believe I get to have this."

nsfw: chassis by @hourcat | E | 50.7k @welightitup's favourite fic of 2023 Charles is a part-time art professor/part-time kindergarten teacher with car issues. Pierre is a mechanic. It’s an amazing AU, one I don’t think that had been done before. But wow, it’s so hot too! Expect tension, teasing, flirting, and hot garage/car sex.

'Charles is special, anyway. It’s not even a question. He’s different from anyone Pierre has met in his ten years here, and Pierre really does like him more than he probably should, for someone he really doesn’t know at all. He teaches kindergarten and is passionate about it. He’s got a decent apartment, although he hasn’t seen much of it outside of the bedroom. He’s got shit taste in cars. But somehow, deeper, Pierre feels like he knows him.'

Carlos/Charles

nsfw: my blood is singing with your voice (the saints can't help me now) by @7msc | E | 13.2k @boxboxbrioche's favourite fic of 2023 Carlos meets Charles in a half-finished church. I have already rec'ed this one before, but I just had to share it again for the 2023 roundup. This story truly moved me. It is ethereal and lyrical and I still remember it so clearly, even though it's been months since I read it for the first time. Simply gorgeous.

'He felt like he was cheating. Was he? Well, a church was any place where he could feel God. And he felt God in Mallorca. In Costa dels Pins. In Son Servera. (In his mom’s loving hands. In Blanca’s kind brown eyes, the same shade as his. In Ana’s conniving smile. In his father’s heavy arm across his shoulders. In his grandma’s thin fingers, hands almost too delicate, wrapped around his.)'

[lupus-venatici]

“ forgive me if i am not who you were searching for , but my captain is not currently taking visitors . as such , any message to him may instead be passed through me . i am adonis , advisor to il capitano . ”

— voice - over : hello .

NAME — ADONIS DELPHI .

BIRTHDAY — 10/01 .

AFFILIATION — FATUI .

VISION — PYRO .

DELUSION — CRYO .

WEAPON — SWORD .

CONSTELLATION — LUPUS VENATICI .

a strange advisor who dutifully serves il capitano of the fatui harbingers, yet answers to no others.

story . | voiceover . (story) | voiceover . (combat) | tag key . | shipping call .

a genshin impact original character , adored by atlas . admin is an adult — all art is commissioned or created by admin . additional info & photo reference below cut . all likes and follows will come from @atlasadored as this is a side blog . apologies for the inconvenience !

RULES & . REGULATIONS .

hello ! my name is atlas . i am an adult artist based in the east coast .

i’ve been a writer for 5+ years , and i use they / them pronouns .

this blog is entirely safe for work — but i do prefer to keep it 16+ due to discussion of dark themes including blood & violence .

in addition , if you would like to ship with my muse — please do reach out ! i’m a sucker for romance so i can enjoy many things .

asks are open — i reflect my fellow writers’ style ( semi-lit , script , etc . ) as to not place unnecessary strain onto myself or others .

i do not force my own personal oc backstory onto anyone else ! as such , please do not force yours onto mine .

please dni — basic dni criteria , proshippers ( seriously if i catch any of u its on sight ) , against oc x canon / self-shipping .

i reserve the right to turn down any ship i deem unfit . if you come into my dms trying to get me to ship with any minor characters , you will be blocked swiftly && without remorse .

if you use an rp meme in my inbox , PLEASE mention which one ! i reblog a lot of them , and will have a hard time understanding otherwise .

ADDITIONAL PHOTOS .

toyhouse .

REF SHEET .

[not-the-conversation-starter]

The Death Of A Website.

tl;dr click source to see an AU of my blog.

As many of you may not have heard, Cohost has gone read only. The website infamous for "Zero Discoverability" and its users "Not Being Funny." Servers will close down at the end of 2024, if not earlier, being backed up on the Internet Archive before that. Since their user counts were still low after 2 years (about half of all sign ups ever were from people evacuating twitter, which then didn't know how to use the site so most left almost immediately. Kind of hilarious) they didn't feel like anymore money bleeding OR the fact that a staff of only four people being on call 24/7 was worth it anymore.

However,

the people who DID use the site loved it. And they did some genuinely cool things on it, far cooler than anything I ever saw even in the glory days of Tumblr. You know, like Finn and Jake hi-fiving between 2 posts. Stuff like a playable maze, or a fully navigable 3d room you move around in with your mouse entirely within a post. They really did some cool stuff.

There were also a ton of really talented people, people like the composer Lena Raine(Celeste/Minecraft) who loved the site because you could just. Actually talk to people on it! Without an algorithm to boost their posts, the only people who saw it were genuinely looking for it.

Also some of them were just good posters, we did get Pikmin 18 billion and eleven from Cohost after all.

The point is, I think if anyone outside of Cohost actually knew what was being done on Cohost, it would of succeeded. There would of been enough active users for them to invest more. If I knew about all of this I would of been there way more!

But rather than just you blindly believing me, I decided to spend (almost) every hour I would of on Tumblr, on Cohost instead. Clicking that link, or the source, or the link on the source above in the tl;dr, will take you to my Cohost blog. At least while it's still read-only.

You should check it out. I reblogged a lot, but the first page or 2 (every 20 posts, I kept trying to stop but I got sentimental and reblogged more) is pretty much just people's last posts. I'd say give it 3 pages to see if you're interested or not in exploring more of what the website has to offer.

If you've ever wondered what people would post on a dying website,

If you ever wondered what some of the best posts people were making on Cohost that got shared again in its last dying moments were,

If you want some reference for what inside jokes would look like to an outsider,

If you're just bored and need something to scroll through,

if you ever wondered what I would of reblogged on that website if I remembered my password easily enough to log back in easily...

You could think of my blog as a small encapsulation of a small website. There's only 60 pages, including the ones from before the announcement from me just rarely using the site!

I reblogged all kinds of posts. Goodbyes, sarcastic hellos, mourning, long speeches about the spirit of Cohost set to sad music, nothing burgers, inside jokes I didn't understand, The New Garfield, posts I flat out didn't read past the title because they were too long and I just wanted to move on really there's a lot of posts to archive, CSS crimes, stuff I found funny, "Where to find me" and webrings and website posts for people I never knew, Love Honk, reviews for movies and games I never intend to play or watch, 88x31 buttons, music recommendations and history, entire games, signing up for RSS feeds, asks and answers related to other stuff I didn't share on accident, regular memes, Intern Secretary Eggbug, a post that's just an image hosted off-site so it'll update even after readonly, and so on.

(Nothing overtly NSFW. Tag search still works if you want that)

One that I, personally, am sad is gone. That I'm glad I got to see at least in its dying days. That I genuinely hope someone makes another attempt at creating.

[partnerindestiny]

we are who we are!

As the month rolls over, the final night of the Ethereal Moon passes. The morning that follows is one of color and chaos. The hallways have been strung up with streamers, in patterns of rainbow and pink, blue, and white. There is a sense of community in the air, a current cutting through the student body and administrative staff alike. While the decorations may be gaudy, and perhaps the patterns unfamiliar, this is a month of celebration.

Caeda mingles among the crowd, bright extroversion encouraging people to join in on the celebration. Forsyth and Lloyd's dedication behind the scenes helps students assemble stands and banners decorate windows. Shez, for their part, plasters paint upon their face, content to engage on their own terms. Ewan's small form flits amidst the crowd, distributing sparklers in every color of the rainbow. What will you do?

Prompts

[ Confetti ] - everything in Garreg Mach seems to be covered in a layer of sparkles and confetti. Grab a handful if you like! And if you don’t mind glittering for the next week.

[ Chalk ] - across the cobblestone, people of all walks of life are drawing in brightly colored chalk. Some are simply signing their names, while others are writing sweet messages, and still more are simply drawing little pictures. What will you add to the canvas?

[ Face paint ] - palettes of paint in every color of the rainbow sit squarely upon a little stand, inviting those who pass by to “wear their colors”. Hanging at the side of the stand are some suggested color combinations and their meaning. Students are encouraged to paint each others’ faces in a display of trust. 

[ Cut & Style ] - a group of Garreg Mach’s students have decided to try their hands at hairstyling, knowing that a proper haircut can do wonders for one’s view of themselves and their expression. However, whether or not they’re good at giving haircuts is another question entirely. 

[ Tie-dye! ] - small, easily-ruptured balls filled with dye have been left in buckets scattered across the Monastery. The intent? Students have been distributed white shirts upon request, and with the donning of said shirt, invite others to shower them in color. There’s nothing stopping you from pranking an unsuspecting fellow without a white shirt on, though..

[ Lovetape - redux! ] - inspired by the celebratory event from BOEL, a gaggle of Golden Deer have decided to take their own spin on the stick-on-compliment game. Brightly colored paper with adhesive backs beckon passerby, as well as a stack of pens. The game is simple - scrawl down a compliment, and stick it onto someone else. Just remember - if you’re fast enough, you might not even get caught! 

[ Mocktail Melody ] - another station, this one in the dining hall, boasts various drinks of different uncannily vibrant colors. Some are bubbly, some are sicky-sweet, and still others are oddly bitter. None are alcoholic. What sort of mixture will you make?

[ Kissing Booth ] - less well-built than the other stands is one that proclaims itself as a kissing booth. Curiously, no one sits behind the counter - will you sit there and await company, or approach someone sitting there?

Guidelines

Reblog this meme to show you’re participating! 

As this is unofficial, there’s no real necessitated tag, but if people would like to have one space for all of this, I’ll personally be using the tag #TOAPride2024! This can also be used for any opens for these prompts, if you'd like to do that instead.

The tag can also be used for any sort of pride-related art you’d like to make for your muse, or if you’d like to explore anything else related to pride. Feel free to get creative!

There is no restriction on ages or orientations/genders that can participate in this event!

Banner credits: 1, 2

OOC note

Hello there, TOA! This is a personal attempt at organizing a little approximation for a pride month event. The prompts can be spun however people would like. I know that there are some implications that come with the idea of canonizing pride in the world of Fire Emblem, as well as the fact that pride flags as we know them are unlikely to exist, but ultimately my goal of organizing something like this is to reach my fellow LGBT muns, especially those who cannot celebrate their identities in real life. Pride is both a celebration and a memory, an honoring of survival and a remembrance of those who came before us, and I hope everyone can get a little bit of fun from this.

Happy pride! 

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

Twice now I have tried to make a reblog reply about Walter and twice now Tumblr has eaten it. So let's try it this way @chaos-bringer-13

Allow me to take you back to the ✨QUARANTINE DAYS✨ and tell you the tale of a pumpkin that may or may not have housed a god

So back in good old 2020/21 we are in the thrall of the COVID-19 pandemic. My state in particular had super heavy quarantine restrictions, and as someone with lung issues, my mom and myself were not taking any chances. I haven't left my house in maybe 5 months. Nor have I seen any of my friends outside of video calls. Senior year of High School so far has sucked.

I'm talking to my friend, we'll call her Marie, and I mention off hand "Yeah I'm starting to feel a bit lonely." Now Marie has known me for a solid 8 years at this point. She knows my type of humor and attachment to what we would now and days call "skrungly" objects. She decides "hmm. I can fix this!"

Marie's mom (who was... certainly a human being) for some god forsaken reason decided to buy a white pumpkin and give it to Marie with the idea that she would harvest the seeds from it and plant them in the garden (why she did this instead of just buying pumpkin seeds I will never know). Instead of doing this, Marie takes this pumpkin and draws a realistic face on it that can only be described as similar to the handsome squidward meme. She drives to my house, sets the pumpkin on my doorstep with a note, and then FUCKING BOOKS IT.

I open the door to see this pumpkin with a note that reads "Hello Momther, I am Walter."

(Not the best photo but this is in fact Walter sitting in the dark in my front yard while Marie (not pictured) stands on my driveway holding a single candle and chanting).

Anyway immediately I take him inside completely smitten and unknowing as to what this pumpkin will create.

At this point of quarantine, we have gone back to classes but they are completely online. I decide that the best thing I could possibly do with Walter is set him on a stack of notebooks behind me so that when I turn my camera on he would be there... watching. Notably, one guy who never unmuted himself did so just long enough to ask "Void... what the fuck is that."

Needless to say I got endless entertainment from the reactions, but all good things have to come to an end. Unfortunately, I live in a desert and pumpkins simply don't survive. They typically would rot within a few days where I was living at the time, so my Mom told me to move it outside at least. I decide to put him by the front door. This front door has a little half wall that leads up to it. I put him on top of it facing the walkway so whenever a package is delivered the mailman would be faced with Walter and have to make eye contact before leaving the mail. I figure I'll probably get a couple more days out of him before he rots.

This is where it starts to get weird

Another week passes. Two. Unlike every single pumpkin I've ever had for Halloween, Walter shows no signs of rotting despite being exposed to the elements. The pumpkin is at this point about a month and a half old and still perfectly fine. Marie, our friends, and I all kind of laugh it off as a random one time thing and expect it to rot within another week.

IT. FUCKING. DOESN'T.

4 months into having Walter and he is still as good as new. Around this time the vaccines for covid started rolling out, so my friends and I get to see each other again. They are just as baffled as me about Walter. Of course, us being us, we have been referring to Walter like an actual person this whole time because that's just our humor. We give him little head pats and forehead rubs as we enter or leave my house and say hello/goodbye to him.

Also around this time, my mom and myself are beginning to prep for moving to another state. We have also started doing some in person classes again. I had been cleaning out my room one morning, and just so happened to leave a piece of sea glass in front of Walter as I left for school. I had a strangely good day. Managed to get an A on a test if I remember right. I come home, see the glass in front of the pumpkin, and start thinking. The next day I leave him something else. Another good luck day! I try this again and every single time I leave him an offering something good happens! I tell my friends about it and they start doing it too and experiencing the same results. We decide that he must be some god of luck inhabiting this pumpkin vessel and rewinding time on it to keep it from rotting.

At some point someone gave him an orange and I swear to god the pumpkin started getting orange marks on its forehead. He still wasn't rotting though! We decided that he obviously has been absorbing the power from the offerings.

Around this time I realise the I have somehow created a partially serious cult and decide I might as well lean into it. I actually enlisted the help of the neighbor kids to take this photo.

Time passes. Walter is about 10 months old now and still going strong. We have graduated highschool and I'm going to be moving in a week. I can't take Walter with me, so Marie decides she will take him. But first, she is going to help us move. It's a 6 hour drive. We put Walter in the passenger seat window so that all the cars passing us can see him.

After she helps us, Marie and Walter continue on to yet another state where Marie will be attending university. Walter is almost if not a year old when he finally starts to rot. Marie, in her dorm room mind you, makes a plaster cast of his head and redraws his face on it. To this day Walter hangs in his new, more durable vessel, guarding her spice cabinet.

By the end of Walter's reign, he had reached his 1st birthday, scared who knows how many mailmen, met 3 of my teachers in person, visited 3 USA states, and briefly had an instagram account.

[thatoneluckybee]

pinned post time

Hey, I’m Bee!

ALSO!! I have a color my tree!!

AND MUTUALS. If you have a colormytree lmk!!

Minor

She/her please!

ADHD, trichotillomania, (potentially autistic? doing research at the moment)

Christian

If you send me an ask for money, I probably won’t answer it. There’s too many and it’s overwhelming. But I may try and add your donation posts to my queue. I’m a minor—I can’t donate.

AND THE FANDOM/ORGANIZATION STUFF

I don’t even know I’m hyperfixated on right now. YTTD and SBG and Homesick are fighting to the death, PJSK/Vocaloid is trying to sneak in again but failing, and I am suffering help. What is my brain. Will\ go on mass reblogging sprees of random other topics/fandoms

Said fandoms are MAINLY Your Turn to Die, School Bus Graveyard, Homesick, Space Boy, Not So Shoujo Love Story, Surviving Romance, Realta, Castle Swimmer, the One of Us Is Lying trilogy, Morgana and Oz, Silent Screams, Marionetta, Danganronpa, Cursed Princess Club, Suitor Armor, Nomads, and the like. I read way too many Webtoon series, expect a lot of those lol. I’m also a huge fan of Winchifrost and Marina and The Diamonds!

I have no idea how to use tone tags but I'm trying to figure it out!

Finally have a Pronouns Page!

I don’t have a consistent tagging system, I use whatever comes to my heart. HOWEVER, I will USUALLY try and tag posts like memes and fanart with the fandom name (and, if I reblog or a post about a fandom a lot, FULL character names! For example, I will tag “nao egokoro” instead of just “nao yttd.”) I do have a couple tags I use a lot:

rambles: My rambles. Original posts or reblogs I have a decent amount of commentary on or changed in some way.

fambles: Rambles but specifically fandom related. This is a new tag I may forget to use it but I need to separate original from fandom lol

important: Anything that’s genuinely important (usually!) Much of this will be about topics I feel more strongly about. For example, a post about ableism I think is a good find would be tagged as important.

shenanigans: That’s… yeah, shenanigans.

Bee Hall of Fame: I’m stealing this tag from a beloved mutual. Favorite things that has something to do with yours truly <3

crumch: I don’t even know. Crumch. Food related. Biting people affectionately. Something that would be Entertaining or Horrific to consume.

yeah: This evokes such a specific and visceral emotion in every inch of my being that I am unable to comprehend or fully articulate in. Just yeah.

girlsuffering: Ow. I don't vent per say but if I'm theatrically complaint about a headache it's girlsuffering

Bee plays PJSK: HI I finally got the game and I’m playing, so these posts are just me going through the stories and getting used to it and suffering

Thanks I love you and GOODBYE!