#kira summer

[scarskelly]

[the-witch-of-woods-beyond]

overhated female characters mean the world to me and i will protect them with my life because fandoms have no right to judge them for acting like someone who went through unimaginable trauma and call them annoying for their understandable behavior.

[kiracandora]

I 💛🌞💛 summer!

[hothotmiso]

[superpilkyrose64]

Tropica Rouge Precure

Last Tropica Shinning!

After the end of Tropica Rouge, I made a tribute animation. Unfortunately, i had to take down the original version. So it's back with some updated visuals and additons to celebrate 20 years of Precure.

[ectogeo-art]

the pros and cons of being possessed (250 words, rated T) - Kira/Keiko established relationship ficlet where they argue about Kira’s actions during “The Reckoning.”

Written for the prompt “possession” for the Sapphic Summer ‘24 event.

Also, @startrekfemslashweek I just realized that I got my dates wrong lol but if you want to reblog this for Day 7 (free space) of femslash week then go for it haha! (And if you’re not into cross-posting between events, then no worries!)

[lichdolly]

Imai Kira ~ Mary Stuart Summer Collection letter paper

[prepolls]

Precure Fist Fight : Round FOUR

[kimberlyannharts]

It's interesting to me how Summer's lack of personal story arc is blamed on her romance with Dillon and not the fact that they quarantined any sort of development into her backstory in order to make her the ultimate 2000s feminism Ultra Cool Badass Not Like Other Girls girl

[quarks-pussy]

Monogamy works hard but Keiko O'Brien works harder

[emilmoreno]

Who: Gen & Kira event - summer music festival. He was fine. That was Emiliano's story and he was sticking to it, and the sunbaked effects of alcohol on him helped him feel it too. That, and, of course - his current company. Music was a constant as the day dwindled, floating through the air intermingled with the whoops and hollers of fans in the crowd and idle chatter. His arm was slung around Gen's shoulders swaying, and the trio was likely giving one another a run for their money in terms of who might be the most toasted. "Oh, no - I'm not allowed to sing along," Emil laughed "I have no idea who Tanner Adell even is." He admitted and openly cringed, waiting for both of his friends to potentially give him the side-eye. He swayed and bumped his hip with Gen's, and tossed Kira an over-confident wink, "-but that doesn't stop me from dancin' around like an idiot." ( @genortiz )

[milky-fixx]

izuru + “sticky”

1.3k words. surprisingly sfw until the very end, which is suggestive. fluff with a hint of angst. post-tybw zombified izuru. izuru's depression and lack of will to go on is its own tw.

Izuru’s come to hate summers.

He didn’t used to—or at least, that’s what Hisagi tells him. That he used to find beauty in all the seasons, that he could often be found notebook in hand, scribbling lines down as inspiration struck. While the picture he painted of Izuru (sunburnt and panting, gloomily fanning himself while griping about the stickiness of the heat) was less than appealing... the point is that he enjoyed the season in some way. The fireworks, the laughing children, the beaches, even the blistering heat.

He could find something poetic in it.

He could find something poetic in living.

And yet.

Something about summers now makes his skin crawl. Though he knows it shouldn't, not anymore. He can't feel the heat anymore, even if it is burning him. Not with his new... "upgrades." Kurotsuchi-taicho would scoff if he could see him shifting uneasily on the park bench now. The new body I’ve designed makes you impervious to trifling things such as the weather! Not even hellfire could stop you, Izuru Kira.

But yet.

Something about this body—this body that can't feel anymore—is unsettled under the glare of summer. The signs of life around him, the sounds of revelry—it all gives Izuru the distinct sensation of being an outsider. An undead man, dragged back into life. Bound to a place he has no business still existing in.

The cup of shaved ice in his hands is overflowing, dribbling onto the pavement between his feet, pooling into a puddle of melted watermelon sugar and ice. It's sticky, leaving a mess between his palms. He's barely touched it. He doesn't pay mind to it.

Pensive as he is.

The sound of laughter is a welcome reprieve. Offers a hand out of his thoughts, where he's often found himself these days. His gaze focuses, finding you.

You.

Giggling as you try to lick your fast-melting shaved ice as it dribbles off the edges, the peach syrup leaving a sticky trail on your shirt.

"Oopsies," you say as you catch his gaze. You crack a grin. "Made a mess." Oddly, you don't seem at all upset about it.

He manages a small half-smile, the sight of your joy making something in his chest clench. As if his once-beating heart could still pump.

"You don't like yours?" you ask, pointing at his forgotten treat.

"Ah. No. It's not that..."

You wait patiently for an answer that never comes. Izuru stares at the mess in his hands. He didn't really intend to eat it.

He only agreed to go out because of you.

"Wanna try mine?" You beam at him.

Izuru blinks. "No, thank you," he says politely, his lips twitching at the corners when you pout. He sets his cup down on the bench beside him, wiping his hands on the wooden planks. Pretending for a moment that he's not in utter awe at your radiance.

His palms used to get clammy when he was nervous. Izuru thinks they would be if he could right now.

But that's your allure, he supposes. You can take the undead parts of him, his cold, static heart, and make him feel something again. As if he's not just a hollowed out shell of himself. A remnant of who he once was.

You make him feel alive.

Or at least, as close to alive as he's been in awhile.

"Mm, Izu... I really think you'd like mine better."

"...You think so?" he says absently. Lost in thought, he doesn't catch the mischievous glean in your gaze. If he did, maybe he would react in time.

He stills as your leg hooks over him, settling onto his lap. Your arms come up to hang loosely around his neck. In this position, you're very much straddling him. If he could, he think he'd go red, as red as his shaved ice you've knocked over in your movement, pooling onto the pavement below.

"What are you—we—” Eyes wide, he's floundering for his words. You always have this effect on him—leaving him stumbling for his wits.

"Izuru," you pout. "You sure you don't want to try?"

"I—" His hands grip your thighs, attempting to hide the revealed skin that shows with your skirt hiked up. He's not pushing you away—he never could, anyways, not after you've stuck by his side—but in warning. His gaze darts around.

"What if someone sees--"

You giggle again, before shoving a spoonful of your shaved ice into your mouth. Before he knows it, you're swallowing his complaints with a kiss His surprise leaves his lips parted, and your tongue slips into his mouth.

Peaches. You taste sweet like peaches, the syrupy liquid dripping into his mouth with every press of your lips against his.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a strained whimper. His hands search for purchase, finding it by digging into the softness of your thighs. You squeal into the kiss as he grasp adjusts you, wrapping your thighs higher around his waist.

The two thoughts occur to him, in direct conflict.

You two shouldn't be doing this in public.

2. He doesn't want to stop.

He should.

...But he really doesn't want to stop.

Despite himself, he deepens the kiss, pressing his lips insistently against yours. Reminding himself that he's here, that you're here, that you've chosen him, of all people. A trail of syrup dribbles down his chin, and he bites back his grimace.

A small price to pay. If given the choice, he would drown himself in you. In your sticky, syrupy sweet love for him.

You pull away from the kiss with a small gasp, your eyelashes fluttering. Despite himself, Izuru's lip twitches, a small barely-there smile as he presses his forehead against yours. Your breathing is harsh as your nose brushes his.

"Well?" you ask breathlessly. "Did you like it?"

His lips part in contemplation.

"It was alright," he concludes with a wrinkle of his nose. "Too sweet." The delivery made it... palatable."

"Delivery, huh?" You raise a brow, smirking. "I had no idea it was that easy to get you to try things..."

He stiffens. "That—it's not like that!"

"Maybe that's how I should get you to do everything from now on~"

He sighs as he looks away, his fingers digging into your thighs. You giggle, cupping his face in your hands. Reluctantly he glances up at you with a sullen look.

"Don't be like that, Izuru. Don't you want more?" you ask him. Briefly chewing on your lip, making sure he catches the movement.

He drags his attention from your lips to your eyes. A flicker of interest stirs in his heavy gaze.

"...Will you give it to me the same way?"

"Only if you ask~"

He huffs, rolling his eyes. He squeezes your thighs again, pausing once his thumbs catch on something sticky. It's at this moment that he notices the sticky residue of his syrup left on your skin. So enraptured by the sight of the red smudges, he nearly misses your next words.

"There is another mess I'd like you to clean up, but we can't exactly do it in public..."

He stares up at you uncomprehendingly, until you raise a brow suggestively. Stiffly, he grabs you, easing you off of him and onto the bench, before he stands. Reaches out a hand behind him.

"We can clean up in my barracks."

"Oh~ Is Lieutenant Kira inviting me over to his place?"

He pauses, glancing at you sternly. "Only because you've made a mess," he says, before swiftly leading you back to his private quarters, haste in his steps.

Needless to say, he is thorough at cleaning up the mess you've made.

[kiracandora]

Egal wie warm es auch ist, ich suche mir immer ein sonniges Plätzchen! 🐱🌿☀️

No matter how warm it is, I always look for a sunny spot! ☀️🌿🐱

[keeps-ache]

blue raspberry lover, to me you'll never mar

[autisticfoxgirl333]

[mcrcosantos]

starter for: @kira-aminu location: briar ridge summer music fest

Marco was a little bit drunk off his ass. Okay, he was a lot drunk off his ass. Cali had sent his emotions into a tailspin when she'd crawled into his bed that night and he hadn't quite recovered. It was too easy to get wrapped up in the moment with her, to forget the very real realities of their situation. And while nothing had gone on between them physically, despite how badly Marco had wished it could have in the moment, that night was seared in his brain. He couldn't get it out of his head. So when the summer music festival had rolled around, Marco had very easily been persuaded into attempting to drink the memory of her away with the boys.

Attempting being the keyword.

By the end of the night, he'd only succeeded in making a fool of himself with the guys and dulling the pain till it was a throbbing ache. He knew he needed to head home. There was nothing good that would come from staying out and drinking more for him. So he began to make his way to the entrance, stumbling a bit every once in a while like the idiot he was.