#I feel like this is clear enough but just in case- this is NOT for shipping (gross) this is for their sibling team ups in the show(s)

[fierceawakening]

It depends on what liberalism means exactly. I don’t know how old you are or whether you’re in the US, but I’m in my 40s and USian, and for most of my life “liberal” was how you said leftist in any sense, which is part of why o ask what people mean by it. Popular T shirt during the W years was DAMN right I’m a LIBERAL.

(“I’m a liberal” might have meant “I’m not a communist.” I can’t tell from your replies here whether you are one, but if you are and are disliking that I’m not, that’s a bit less baffling but we’re probably at an impasse. I know people whose close family members were slaughtered by Mao, so “we can try this again and it’ll work” wouldn’t likely sway me without a lot of clear argument for how we keep it from degenerating into that.)

So yeah that word doesn’t have negative connotations for me. I’m pretty sure the word people use now for what we meant then is “progressive,” but I could not quite be one of those depending on where the cutoff is which is why I keep… asking… where the cutoff is?

There’s also “liberalism” in a different sense which refers I *think* to Enlightenment thought in general. It’s been many long years since i studied enlightenment thinkers, and back when I did I was an older teenager and hadn’t done much questioning of a lot of things. But the primary thing that struck me when I read people like Kant, Locke, etc. was that they had a vision of everyone being fundamentally equal in worth, and things like race or religion as incidental, kind of like the cherries on a sundae.

This is both good and bad, or at least that’s where I eventually landed with all that.

The good part is that sometimes aggregating everyone helps get rid of bias in the way things are run. Think about women gaining the vote, or poll taxes being struck down so black people could vote. We’re all fundamentally the same. We all fundamentally should get the same say.

(Donald Trump in the US is currently threatening this. Many if not most people consider that a five alarm fire. If he gets to dismantle or corrode this, people will suffer greatly. A lot of people, in my not so humble opinion, will die.)

The bad part is that sometimes there’s a broad history of discrimination and repression. When that’s the case, sometimes recalibrating the measurements to zero everything out doesn’t do enough. Societal histories reverberate, and undoing the damage is hard, long term, and careful work.

Acknowledgement of this is often the difference between “liberals” in the sense of “progressives” and “conservatives,” who tend to think traditions are important and worth preserving even if they create inequalities (and, as they get more openly fascist, may value these traditions precisely BECAUSE they create inequalities.)

So if the question is “do I think that lasting inequality needs to be addressed in social policy,” yes? But I’d think most left leaning people believe that?

Most feminists I’ve met do too I think. I guess we could say there are a few people out there who are a blend of conservatism (or libertarianism?) and feminism, like Wendy McElroy, but I’d be inclined to just say libertarians at that point.

So once again: which definition of liberalism are we using here? *Who* are we insulting?

But yeah if you’re asking in the US politics sense I’d call myself progressive, though the old term was “liberal” and that feels less weird.

Mostly in agreement with Bernie and AOC?

…So now I’ve made a long effortpost explaining my politics in detail. Are you willing to do the same, or are you just going to keep insulting me while not opening your own beliefs to scrutiny as well?

[Tiktok user Clairrorism]

[sashayed]

I haven't said as much about electoral politics this year as I have in previous cycles, because I am exhausted like everyone else and have nothing new or helpful to add. That is still true, so caveat lector I guess lmao!!! Happy American Election Day Fellow Sufferers!!

I have been experiencing an internal backlash the last few years to my extremely Sorkinpilled D.C. private school upbringing -- my childhood spent as a kind of convent schoolgirl in the faith of The System Is Good If We All Participate, which of course has a uhhh let's say generously a minimal engagement with the ways in which many of us are by design shut out of participating. I don't think idealism is necessarily childish, but I think MY idealism certainly has childish qualities, an undergirding of 90s feel-goodism, of civic participation as a subtle ego stroke and of voting -- although I would never have consciously put it this way -- as a way to feel superior to people who don't vote.

Lately there has bubbled up in me a sludgy, adolescent fury at this whole stupid country that has made it very very hard to feel like I should do even the bare minimum. For these people? AMERICANS? The ones that not only want Donald Trump to be president but saw what happened the first time and were like, We love this, do it again but worse? Whatever, fuckos. "I hope you people get your dearest wish and it chews you to death slowly," I may have thought.

I have also thought: why is it so controversial to ask elected officials to stop funding a genocide? Why are we treating people who make that ask, who are watching the current administration directly fund death on a mass scale and objecting to that choice, as if they are being babies and just need to get over it? How are they supposed to get over it? Why is anybody over it?

Anyway all this means that I, a known chipper door-knocker and caller of congresspeople, have been pretty low-key this current cycle. I think that is OK. I don't want to make this a big dramatic confessional about how I didn't write enough postcards or whatever. We all get exhausted and this was my turn.

But it has also been an illuminating cycle in that it's made it clear to me how much at my big age I still want politics to make me feel good, and when they don't, I still have the urge to throw a lil tantrum about it! I can get very superior and intellectual about how right-wing operatives manipulate their voters emotionally WITHOUT EVEN NOTICING that I too have been manipulated, in my case into the feeling that nonparticipation is a kind of revolutionary act.* Just absolute "I threw it on the GROUND" logic happening inside my head. "Maybe if I don't vote I will be doing Quiet Quitting, which is uhhhhh anticapitalist." I'm not a part of your system!!!

Anyway, I am trying to have self-compassion about it, and one way for me to do that is to project my internal experience onto a theoretical reader. That would be you, my imaginary friend who clicked on this post for some reason even though you have already decided not to vote! I just want to tell you that I am more sympathetic to your point of view than I have ever been in my whole life, and I'm sorry I have historically been a glib, holier-than-thou asshole about it in ways that may actually have made you MORE resistant to civic participation.

And you're right: it doesn't make that big a difference whether I personally vote or not, or whether you do. But if there are hundreds of us, and I think there are, then each of those people individually do starts to matter.

I guess I would humbly request that you and I both pay attention to what people who need help are actually asking for. I would ask that we both notice who wins when we abdicate this single responsibility. I would remind us both that participating in the electoral process is not some kind of weird either-or with participating in decentralized community building and mutual aid, and the best people we know do both. Isn't it interesting that somehow, insidiously, without even consciously becoming aware of this belief, we have started to think that you can only do one or the other? Who is telling us that story? Who does it serve?

Anyway. I took the stupid 90 minute round trip to my polling place which was VERY hot for some reason and I stood in the stupid line and some babies waved at me and I cast my vote for Kamala Harris and I'm glad I did it in the same way I'm glad after I do the dishes or take a stupid shower. Doing work doesn't always feel like anything. I also saw a really wonderful small black and white dog that I thought was a cat on a leash. I would not have seen that dog if I hadn't gone to vote. So politics can still make you feel good!!!

*I mean all this analysis is cute and everything BUT ALSO i did switch antidepressants twice in the last year, an astonishingly grueling process that almost made me [affect the trout population]. Could these things be related? hmmmmmmm, don't understand the question, won't respond to it.

[fairlyang]

thinking of stranger!miguel accidentally catching pornstar!reader masturbating in her car

you had been meaning to film this type of video for a long while now but never able to get one of your sex worker friends to help you be a stranger that helps you out due to different schedules.

alas you decided to do it and risk an actual person finding you and secretly hoping that they do help you.

your camera was already set and rolling with you in the driver's seat, right leg over the center console and right hand rubbing your clit. you were looking right at the camera as you moaned and played with your tits with your other hand.

the dress you were wearing was above your stomach and you teasingly would bring the fabric from your tits down, just to barely see your nipples only to leave it as is.

you could feel a slight breeze since you left the tinted window a bit down in case any perv had the urge to take a peek inside. you were already playing for a good ten minutes, edging yourself just praying someone would not only walk by but also help.

a couple people have walked past, not seeing or hearing you but it did bring some excitement as you watched them. you were starting to grow impatient so maybe it’d be a shorter video for the channel.

meanwhile, miguel was coming back from taking a jog at his usual trail and was on his way back home. he did more than usual so he just walked back when he suddenly walked past a car and heard a moan.

he stopped in his tracks and couldn’t help but look into the small opening just to see you fingering yourself with your eyes closed. his eyes were wide and he couldn’t believe the sight.

this was something straight out of a porno and although you didn’t see him, the camera sure did.

his head was out of frame and the black wife beater was stuck to his skin. his arms were out and that was all the camera would be able to see of him.

his breath shortened and he gulped, absolutely shocked he’d be able to witness something so dirty but also hot. and by a gorgeous girl too?

he’d have to get a lottery ticket after this.

he straightened up and thought of what he should do. realistically he knew what he wanted to do but he was a complete stranger, maybe it was too much.

…

but then again there wouldn’t be another opportunity like this.

he watched you for a few more seconds, admiring the way your tits bounced while you fucked yourself harder. finally he made his move. he cleared his throat and lightly tapped on the window making you gasp and turn your head to the left to see a handsome man looking at you.

hopefully it was your lucky day.

“are you alright?” he asks and you quickly nod, “i am now..”

his cheeks grow warm and he’s not sure what to do next. you give him a smile and decide to go for it, “i’m filming a video and was hoping i’d get lucky enough to get some help…”

“do you wanna help me?” you ask, looking directly into his eyes as he just nods.

you pushed the button and made the window go all the way down then reach for his right arm. he reaches inside, getting as close to your car while you guide his hand to your tits. you pulled the top of the dress down, exposing your tits to him then made him touch them.

he squeezed the right one first making you moan because another persons hand would always be better than your own. he went to the other one and squeezed your nipple gently, you spread your legs a bit more just so he could have enough space.

he was too busy groping your tits to notice, at least that was until you pulled his arm up to your face. you grabbed his wrist and slipped two fingers into your mouth, sucking on them with your eyes boring into his while you made sure they were nice and wet.

you pulled them out with a plop and quickly brought his arm down between your legs and he slipped them inside without hesitation. he moved slowly, giving you time to get use to it while you you moaned and held onto his arm to urge him to do more. he took notice and went deeper, your slippery walls entrapping them while he set a fast pace for you.

“oh f-fuck- yes!” you moaned and bucked your hips up. his fingers were much thicker than yours, actually able to stretch you out unlike your own. it was just what you needed.

miguel was watching the way your pussy just took his fingers in, your wetness already dripping down when he’s only just started. what he didn’t know was you’ve been edging and just having a complete stranger do this could make you cum at any second.

you held onto his arm, holding on tightly as he pumped them faster and harder making you a moaning mess for him. he felt his shorts become tighter and he knew he was done for.

“you like that baby?” he murmurs and you quickly nod with a slight pout on your lips.

your brain was already mush, not actually thinking one of your fantasies would come true but happy they did with someone so fine. and the fact that he knew what he was doing was the cherry on top.

“such a dirty girl huh? playing with yourself in public like this?” he murmured and you clenched against his fingers.

you whimpered and laid your head to the side by the seatbelt while he continued, “so fucking wet too, you really wanted this to happen didnt you, baby?”

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak as you felt a knot form in your stomach. you let go of his arm and brought your right hand to quickly rub your clit, feeling the strong urge to squirt, knowing you should stop but it’d feel so good.

“that’s it baby, such a good girl. gonna cum for me? just gonna cum for a stranger?” he murmured lowly, able to feel you squeeze and just watching your body contort in pleasure.

“fuck- p-please don’t stop-“ you whimpered out and felt your legs start to shake.

“i’ve got you gorgeous, come on give it to me.” he purred and that did it for you.

you cried out as your juices quickly came out of you, he slipped his fingers out and replaced yours on your clit so he could make sure every drop comes out. you whimpered and moaned as he went from rubbing your clit fast as you reached your climax to suddenly slow when nothing else came out.

he stopped and left his hand on your thigh, murmuring sweet praises as you calmed yourself down and closed your legs. you closed your eyes, deciding that if you didn’t look at the disaster then it simply wasn’t there. not only are you too tired to clean it all up, you were in absolute shock that actually happened.

your breathing was steady again and you opened your eyes, turning to look out the window and at him. he really was gorgeous and if you weren’t so beat you’d offer to suck him off in the backseat but you were exhausted.

“thank you, stranger. gonna have to make a rain check on when i can make it up to you…” you say and he chuckles.

he shrugs and gives you a smile, “there’s really no need. can’t deny a pretty girl when she needs help.”

you grinned and shrugged, turning to open your center console, grabbing a business card and then handing it to him, “well if you change your mind…”

he grabbed it and nodding as he put it in his pocket, “i’ll let you know.”

he gave you one final smile before walking the way he was going before he stopped, now having to do the walk of shame with a hard on and wet fingers.

[valyrfia]

your take on lando is so interesting and by far the most nuanced view of him I’ve seen. I think’s it clear that he needs help managing his emotions bc some of things he says and done are baffling and the latest thing of him liking criticism proves it. he doesn’t have that champion mentality (or just seem to be in a good headspace) and a lot of that can be traced backed to McLaren. He messes up his starts every time and that could be linked with a mental barrier but ig no at McLaren cares enough to look into that???Like that’s your driver and your wdc you’re washing down the drain.

but I can’t be too suprised, bc when ppl talk about lando mh McLaren covers their ears and say Lalala can’t hear you (unless yk it benefits them)

I think I retain an enormous amount of empathy for him because prior to this year he was one of my favourites. I think he started acting strange and immature and there was this initial huge backlash but this weekend has kind of made me see things more clearly, between his actions, his words to media, how McLaren handle him, and his driving. And he really is a victim of his environment.

He IS an incredibly good driver. Before you all boo me: sure he's nowhere near Max who's currently in another league, nor is he really near Charles who would be in this championship instead of Lando if not for Ferrari shitting the bed midseason. Lando is however, on par with George, and currently probably better than Carlos and Oscar. I would happily call him the third best driver on the grid at the moment. He however, does have a problem with starts, that's just a fact. As you said anon, it's more than just experience at this point there is obviously some sort of mental block there–he's clearly going into these starts expecting to lose places. But again, like you said, McLaren obviously don't care enough to look into that. Other things this weekend just made me notice: him snapping at a journalist is not and has never been normal behaviour for him, for example, begging McLaren for that switch in the sprint and immediately catastrophising that they won't do it (pressing the radio button immediately to panic and say "I thought we talked about this") is another example of just, slightly abnormal behaviour. That coupled with his internet lurking (he liked an edit of Max a week back, and is now obviously reading his comments) paints a picture I'm not sure I like. I'm never going to assume anything, but considering he's talked about struggling with mental health in the past, I can't help but be a little uneasy on his behalf.

All of the above becomes especially true if we consider McLaren and the case of Daniel Ricciardo. As much as they love to position themselves as the champions in the sport of mental health, the whole Daniel thing remains a worrying incident they've tried their best to sweep under the rug–he never recovered his mentality in that team and instead of working with him the team were perfectly happy to throw him to one side with little regard to prioritise Lando instead. I can't help but feel with a certain sinking that this is what they plan to do with Lando and Oscar, if Lando doesn't win the championship next year. The problem is, Lando is a lot younger than Daniel was, with a lot more career ahead of him and theoretically, a much higher ceiling to reach–yet McLaren seem perfectly happy to not put any development into Lando to help him reach that ceiling. Just like some drivers need developing in the wet, or the dry, or high downforce, or reaction times, some drivers need developing in their mentality. And it is McLaren's job to recognise this if the driver doesn't recognise it in themselves, and tell them what they need to go work on. This should have been something that was flagged as a development area for Lando way before this season, even as far back as 2021 it was apparent and yet McLaren have done nothing to help him and seem happier to just, leave him out to dry.

McLaren is the true evil here and for all their attempts to appeal to a younger demographic and impassioned defences of their morality and mental health being important–I think they've proven that they would rather take the easy road than the right one, even if the right one could yield more results. Oscar struggles with other things that Lando doesn't struggle with ie. tyre management, quali but I think they will repeat their pattern of rather than developing a driver they want to discard an extremely good one in the fruitless search of a generational talent. I hope I'm wrong, but I don't think its impossible that instead of taking responsibility for losing the WDC this year (because make no mistake, this is mostly their fault–from a strategy point of view to how they've managed their drivers to refusing to give Lando the support he needs until its too late) they will just try and shift the blame and indirectly pin the failure of this year on Lando in order to try and match public sentiment. Ultimately, Lando has been failed by his team and his environment more than anything and even though I'm happy this championship has (deservedly) gone to Max, I can't help but feel that Lando was not given a fighting chance by his team.

[fanboyoff1]

Landoscar- Losing your bags at the airport (1.7k words)

Hello all! This is based off that one tweet about Lando losing his bags at the airport and Oscar staying with him. Disclaimer- I know nothing about airports, all of this was google searched stuff, so go easy on me. (I made it an American airport because dealing with a language barrier was too complicated lol) It's mostly fluff, but I suppose a bit of angst?

Also, this is my first fic I'm posting online, so please be kind ❤️

Lando sighed loudly, blowing hair out of his face as he exhaled. He wasn’t the biggest fan of airports by principle. They’re boring, the lines are long, and the whole thing seems so much bigger than it needs to be. But it’s kind of a necessary part of his job, so he’d mostly gotten used to waiting for stupid amounts of time at airports.

But this is just kinda ridiculous. He and Oscar had been waiting for Lando’s suitcase to show up at baggage claim for… well he didn’t know how long it had been, but it was longer than he’d ever had to wait before. Even worse, Oscar’s bag had practically been the first to get dumped out onto the carousel, because of course it had. They were going to the hotel together, so Oscar was staying with him. The Aussie was on his phone, sitting on his suitcase and texting someone. Lando hated the silence, so he tore his eyes away from Oscar’s gorgeous side profile and yawned.

“This is taking foreverrr,” he said, stretching from his place crouched on the floor.

“It’s been ten minutes,” Oscar corrected, not once looking up from his phone.

“Screen-ager,” Lando decided to retaliate. Oscar looked up now, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment clear on his face. Lando looked back to the baggage carousel, satisfied by getting a reaction out of the younger man.

Oscar cleared his throat. “How about we just wait a few more minutes and then go to the baggage desk.”

“Huh?”

“The baggage desk. Where you go if you lose your luggage. It’s right there.” He pointed, and sure enough, back against the wall and a few carousels down was a little front desk-looking thing, with neon letters spelling out ‘Baggage Desk’ above it.

“Oh,” Lando mumbled, adjusting his hat. 

“I’ll just tell Zak we’ll be a bit later than expected,” Oscar said, giving Lando a blinding smile that made his stomach twist with that complicated more-than-just-a-crush feeling he preferred not to think about. He hummed in response, fiddling with his hoodie strings.

After a few more minutes, everyone that had been on their flight (aka about half the Mclaren crew, including Zak and Andrea who had ditched them first chance they got) had left, and Lando was getting more and more stressed out. He was biting his lip and running his hands through his hair repeatedly, imagining practically every worse-case scenario. What if his suitcase got on the wrong flight? What if there was something bad in there he didn’t realize and they wouldn’t let him get his stuff? What if some rando took his stuff?

He didn’t realize Oscar was talking to him until a hand waved in front of his face. He looked to his teammate who was already staring at him worriedly.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, resting his hand on Lando’s arm. Lando managed a small, likely unconvincing nod. 

Oscar let go of his upper arm with a gentle squeeze, and Lando might just melt away at the spot. “Well, I was asking you if you wanted to go to the baggage desk and ask about your suitcase?”

Lando nodded again and stood, walking away before even giving Oscar a chance to do so as well. He felt a bit bad as he heard Oscar scramble upright and start pulling his suitcase behind him, but it had been a long day and he really just needed to collapse into his hotel room now.

He reached the desk and made eye contact with a short woman, her long brown hair tied up in a low ponytail and wearing official looking clothes, who was standing near the back of the small room. She rushed forward and sat down in a swivel chair, pushing her glasses up.

“What’s your issue, dearie?” she said in a strong Southern accent, only slightly muffled by the thick glass separating them.

“Uh, can’t find my bag. Didn't show up,” he said with a guilty smile. He tried to turn on his charm as much as possible, his train of thought being, Maybe if I’m nice she’ll be nice back and then I can go to bed quicker. 

“Alright love. Name?”

“Lando Norris,” he said. Oscar had reached him by now, standing so close to his side that their shoulders were almost brushing against each other.

The lady did some typing on her computer, then let out a little tsk sound in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry, it seems like your luggage got sent to the wrong place. We’re trying to get it here as we speak.”

Lando shot a glance back to Oscar, who raised his eyebrows. “Do you know what happened?” he asked the lady. He looked at the pin on her shirt, which said her name was Charlotte. Huh, she didn’t look like a Charlotte.

Charlotte gave a shrug in response. “Could’ve been anything. My guess, there wasn’t enough space in the cargo hold on your plane. It got placed on the wrong extra-storage space, and got sent somewhere else. You’ll have to wait until it gets here. That might take a while.”

Lando worked hard to suppress a groan. “Okay. Thanks.” He tried for a smile that ended up more like a grimace.

“You two can sit in one of those chairs on the right while you wait,” Charlotte said with a sympathetic smile. Lando turned to his right and flopped into a chair. At least they were cushioned. 

This night was turning shitty fast. He just wanted to sleep, was that too much to ask? And what was even more awful about this was that Oscar had to stay with him.

“Sorry about this,” he told his friend, who looked at him confused.

“Why? It’s nothing you could control.”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s just…” he trailed off, not sure how to explain that somehow he was blaming himself for this. No, he’d never tell Oscar that, he’d think he was weird. The edge of Lando’s eyes were starting to water with tears, and he wanted to scream. You’re such a baby. What’s your problem? Bury it, you can’t do this right now. Crybaby.

“Hey, Lando, it’s okay,” Oscar said, reaching out with one hand. He touched Lando’s shoulder tenderly. “I don’t mind.”

Lando hugged his legs to his chest and buried his head in his knees. “I’m just having a bad day,” he mumbled, and for a second he wasn’t sure if Oscar heard him.

“That’s alright,” Oscar said, and he let go of Lando’s arm. Lando didn’t even get a chance to mourn the loss of contact though, because then Oscar’s arm was wrapping around his shoulders and gently tugging him closer. Lando practically fell onto his chest, and could feel his cheeks reddening.

“This okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You can rest. You know, if you want. I know you’re tired.”

“Will you wake me up when my suitcase shows up?”

“Mm-hmm,” Oscar hummed, and Lando let himself sink into his embrace, their breaths and heartbeats syncing. Oscar was really cuddly, he thought as he drifted off.

# # #

“Hey, Lando, wake up.”

Osc, Lando thought and smiled. “Wake up, Lando.” Then someone was gently pushing his shoulder, and he blearily opened his eyes.

He took in his surroundings with a moment of slight confusion before remembering. The airport. His bags. Crying. Oscar.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” the man in question said, and Lando swore he felt his fingers brushing through his curls. “C’mon, your stuff got here.”

A part of Lando wanted to jump up and start doing a victory dance on the spot. The annoyance of getting up overruled it though. He was so comfy.

Wait, where exactly was he? He knew he was at the airport, but this was way too comfy for a chair. His eyes flickered around trying to figure it out, and oh God he was in Oscar’s lap. He quickly sat up, using his hands to push himself upright. However, he didn’t account for where he was putting his hands, and ended up putting half of his weight on Oscar’s thigh. Oscar let out a little grunt of pain, wincing.

“Oh shit, sorry sorry sorry,” Lando hurriedly apologized, backing up.

“No no, you’re fine,” Oscar reassured him, but his voice was strained. He looked at Lando with a smirk. “Are you trying to sabotage me, Lando Norris?”

“I’m sorry!”

Oscar just giggled and stood. He reached a hand out to Lando, who took it. He used his free hand to grab his suitcase and took off confidently to the left, not releasing his tight grasp on Lando’s hand.

“Uh, where are we going?” Lando asked, desperately trying to stop the stupid butterflies rising in his stomach. God he was so childish, they were literally just holding hands. But they were holding hands. 

“To get your bag. Obviously.”

With no further explanation, he proceeded to get dragged through what felt like half the airport. Not that he minded. Every once in a while Oscar would look back and give him a trademark Osc Smile that made his insides turn to mush, so that made up for the mystery part pretty well.

Finally they reached their destination, some obscure part of the airport. A few official people gave him his suitcase along with many apologies and a crap ton of airline points (not that those were especially helpful to him, Mclaren paid for most of his flights anyways. It was a nice gesture though.) He accepted the apologies quickly, not wanting to drag out this process any longer than necessary.

 Then they were in a taxi headed to their hotel, and the exhaustion was coming back ten-fold.

“Tired?” Oscar asked once Lando had yawned for the fifth time.

“Just a bit,” Lando quipped.

“Want to sleep again?”

“You’re fine with it?”

“Of course.”

Lando hesitantly let his head fall on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar’s arm found its way around his shoulders again.

Just before Lando fell asleep again, he felt a feather-light kiss pressing against his head, and he scooted closer to Oscar with a sigh.

Here are some people who said they were interested: @slugesh, @peppysinc, @sunnykasarova, @alto-the-avocado, @lailau7904, @standgrand, @chamberkat

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 12

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

A/N: hehe i think y'all might enjoy this one. it's a longer one

“Have a good one, see you!” Isla calls out, smiling at the family that leaves The Wreck as she cleans up one of the tables, stacking used cups on the tray she holds in one hand. 

The business day is winding down as the sun begins its slow descent, and Isla is glad her parents decided not to hold the usual business hours this weekend while they’re out of town. Unsurprisingly, it was a long and bustling day, which is always the case during peak tourist season. But Isla doesn’t mind the busy hours, keeping her occupied as she waits tables and cleans up once the customers are gone.

Throughout the day, she does her best not to check the time too often, the hours spent being excited for her plans later that night. Isla booked her and Rafe tickets for a comedy show on the island over after getting dinner; it’s not anything special, like how he made her dinner, but it’s a fun thing to do that she thinks they’d both enjoy. She has been looking forward to it all day and from Rafe’s texts, so has he. His anticipation, funnily enough, makes her stomach flutter even more with excitement.

Not that she can share it with anyone, so she just goes about her day as normally as she can.

Fifty-six minutes before she can clock out, Holly, the assistant manager, comes bursting out of the backroom leading into the kitchen. Isla looks up from the table she’s clearing, the bin of dirty dishes resting against her hip, and her heart drops when she sees the alarmed expression on Holly’s face. “Hey, what’s going on?” Isla asks, putting the bin on the table and meeting Holly by the counter. “Everything okay?”

Holly lets out a shaky breath, fingers running through her hair. “My, uh, grandpa had a heart attack—” Isla’s eyes widen, breath hitching in her throat as she takes a hold of Holly’s trembling hand. “He’s in the hospital. I know it’s last minute, but—”

“Go, go,” Isla cuts her off, squeezing Holly’s hand. “I’ll close out here. Go be with your family.”

Holly nods, eyes glassy. “Thank you, Isla.”

“Of course,” Isla says, watching as Holly moves in a daze, clocking out and gathering her things before she leaves The Wreck.

Isla exhales slowly, worry for her friend tightening her chest. She knows how close Holly is with her grandfather, so she hopes that he will be fine. Shaking her head, Isla turns back to the table to grab the bin, her thoughts slowly drifting to the sudden change of plans. As she hands the bin off to Oliver to take back to the kitchen, Isla faces the reality that she won’t be able to make her date tonight with Rafe. With Holly gone, Isla is the only employee on shift who can close out the restaurant, and with when the restaurant closes and the time it will take for her to close out the register, they will definitely not make it to the show in time.

Shit.

Going behind the counter, Isla sighs and pulls her phone out from the back pocket of her denim shorts, lips twisting to the side in dismay as she texts Rafe.

don’t hate me. Holly had a family emergency so i have to close. might have to rain check :(

She pockets her phone after sending the text, sighing as she doesn’t bother to check the time, since she won’t be getting out of here as soon as she thought. Glancing towards the glass wall that looks out to the outdoor seating area, Isla notes that the sun is setting, painting the sky in a pretty combination of pink, orange, and purple. A plane flies overhead in the distance, its lights blinking as it passes by while Isla wipes a table. 

When she’s ringing up the bill for one of the tables, her phone buzzes, and she pulls it out to see that Rafe has texted her.

Rafe:

Are you closing by yourself?

She’s quick to text him back.

Isla: yeah

Rafe: 

When does the last of the staff leave?

Arching an eyebrow while reading his text, Isla’s pulse skitters as she replies.

Isla: 

9, why?

Rafe: 

I’ll be there.

Her eyes widen when she reads those three words, blinking at the message a couple of times, as though the words will change, before she forces herself to text him again. She asks what he means, what he’s planning, but all Rafe does is send her a smiley face emoji and doesn’t answer otherwise, which has her grunting in both frustration and amusement.

The rest of the time goes by without another word from Rafe, which only makes her suspicions grow as more and more of the other staff clock out for the day. When nine o’clock hits, Isla is the only one at the restaurant, the shadows of the chairs slanting against the floor and walls as she begins the process of balancing out the registers. Except, when 9:05 hits, there’s a knock on the front door of the restaurant, which has been locked, and Isla pauses, staring at the door in weary surprise.

Before she can even call out, she hears a familiar voice on the other side. “Isla, it’s me.”

A surprised exhale escapes her, the corners of her mouth turning up as she hurries from around the counter and to the door, unlocking it quickly before pulling the door open and grinning at the sight of Rafe. Her pulse quickens as he smiles back at her, blue eyes dancing with mirth as he takes in her surprised expression.

“I was looking forward to seeing you all day,” he says as he takes a step toward her, and Isla tilts her chin up to keep her gaze locked with his as he nears her. The breath hitches in Isla’s throat when his hands rest on her waist, her skin exposed thanks to the crop top she wears, the heat of his touch spreading throughout her body as he pulls her flush against him. “I’m too greedy for a raincheck.”

Isla laughs, a hand gently fisting the front of his shirt to pull him towards her. “That makes two of us,” she muses before standing on her toes, and Rafe is quick to oblige by ducking his head to press his lips to hers. The moment he kisses her, Isla moans softly against him, pulling him more towards her and into the restaurant. 

She can’t help but smile into the kiss at the fact that he came to see her, his lips soft as always and the taste of him making heat shoot through her, dampening her underwear the second his tongue slides along hers. Isla’s knees weaken, melting into him as they step further into the restaurant.

“Sorry I had to cancel,” she mumbles against him, her finger trailing along the sharp edge of his jaw.

“It’s okay,” he replies, pulling a giggle out of Isla as Rafe rains kisses down her neck, his hands sliding so his arms can wind around her waist as her skin electrifies everywhere his lips touch. “You’re just doing a friend a favor. You’ve got a good heart, Isla Carrera.” She can feel him smiling against her skin, a breath escaping her as his teeth teasingly graze that sensitive spot where her jaw meets her neck. “It’s one of the many things I like about you.”

She smiles dazedly at the ceiling, eyes fluttering in response to his kisses and words. Rafe has the dangerous, wonderful ability to overwhelm her with his touch, the delicious smell of him, his taste. “Really?” she asks, her voice breathless. “What else is there?”

Rafe chuckles, the sound low in his throat. “Maybe we should shut the door before I tell you, hm?”

“Oh, right,” Isla breathes out. Rafe laughs again, pulling away from her, and though she misses the closeness, she moves to shut and lock the door. But Isla giggles when Rafe’s arm remains winded around her waist, her hands gripping his arm as her back presses to his front. “You gonna let me go?” she asks as she steps to the door, Rafe coming along with her because of how he holds onto her.

“You can still close it,” Rafe muses unapologetically, his arm still protectively wrapped around her.

Isla laughs, but she doesn’t protest, not when she can feel the hard lines of his body against her as she reaches out and shuts the door. “Never thought you’d be the clingy type,” she teases as she locks the door, turning her head ever so slightly to look up at him behind her.

“Neither did I,” Rafe mumbles, loosening his grip enough for Isla to turn around and face him. He’s got that charming smile, the one that makes her heart skip too many beats. “Guess you bring it out in me.”

She shakes her head with a laugh again. “I need to close out the register,” she tells him.

He hums, nodding, and looks around the restaurant. As Isla walks back to go around the counter, he asks, “You need to get any other work done?” When she looks at him, he flashes her a smile, hands in the pockets of his pants. “I can help.”

“Really?” Isla asks, arching an eyebrow in amusement as she types on the register screen. With a playful tilt of her head, she asks, “Have you ever even touched a broom?”

Rafe throws her an affronted look before wiggling his fingers at her. “Where’s the broom?”

Laughing, Isla points to the closet door by the entrance to the kitchen, eyes tracking Rafe as he walks over to it in a confident stride and pulls the door open as she begins counting the money in the register. Her smile remains, a combination of surprised and amused, as Rafe grips the broom in one hand and the pole connecting to the dustpan and heads to the back corner of the restaurant to begin to sweep.

The fluttering in her chest returns as, while she counts, she watches him sweeping the floor, moving the chairs and getting under the tables. Much to her surprise—or maybe she just didn’t give him enough credit—he doesn’t fumble with the broom and pan, and isn't moving around stiffly or awkwardly. But either way, the sight of Rafe Cameron doing her work for her and sweeping her family’s restaurant forms a ball in her throat because much like everything else he does, Rafe does this with confidence, too.

He moves effortlessly around the floor, sweeping and gathering any dust or forgotten straw wrappers into the pan, and Isla loses her count more than once, too distracted by him. Much like everything else she has done with Rafe lately, this also feels surreal, as though if she looks away, he will disappear and that’s. . . Not at all what she wants.

It’s not until Rafe is dumping the dustbin’s contents in the trash that he arches a brow at her. Tone deeply teasing, he asks, “Does it normally take you this long to count the register?”

Heat pools in Isla’s cheeks, too aware of his playful grin because, well, he’s got a point. She usually does it in a few minutes, no problem. But Rafe’s presence is a severe distraction and judging by the gleam in his eyes and the smirk curving at his sinful mouth, he is well aware of the effect he has on her. Especially with how he stands with his hands gripping the top of the broom, standing tall with a straightened back and squared shoulders.

“No,” Isla huffs, locking the box with all of the cash that needs to be placed in the safe, which is in her parents’ office in the back. Picking up the heavy metal box, she mutters in embarrassment, “I’ll be back.”

It doesn’t take long for her to get her work done in the back. When she comes back out, she sees Rafe standing in front of the window that looks out to the outdoor patio of the restaurant, since Isla brought the blinds down on the other window panes save for one, which Rafe stands in front of. 

Her pulse is a steady beat as she approaches him, admiring the moonlight bathing his sharp, handsome features, and smiling shyly when he looks over at her. Despite the mirth dancing in his softening eyes, Isla rolls her bottom lip into her mouth and turns her gaze out the window, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment wash over her when she notes the sky has darkened, the stars appearing in the cloudless sky.

She bites the corner of her lips, inhaling sharply as she buries her hands in the back pockets of her shorts. And then Rafe bumps his hip to hers, noting the way he’s looking at her curiously when she looks up at him. “What’s that face for?” he murmurs, blue eyes looking over her face.

Isla’s expression turns to one of apology and regret, sighing. “I was looking forward to our date tonight,” she mumbles, distinctly hearing crickets chirping outside in the otherwise quiet of the night. Cringing slightly, she adds, “This is not what I had in mind.”

“Hey,” Rafe chuckles, turning to face her and her breath hitches when he grasps her chin between fingers to turn her face towards him. His thumb gently presses to her chin as he dips his own chin, maintaining eye contact as he tells her, “It’s okay. This is good—”

“Come on,” she cuts him off with a scoff, shaking her head and effectively making his hand drop away—which she misses already. “You cooked me dinner and I had you come here and help clean and close out my family’s restaurant. This isn’t romantic at all,” she deadpans, shoulders sinking in dismay.

The corner of his mouth curves up, hinting at a dimple. He hums in thought, head tilting back as he gazes up at the ceiling for a moment. “How about we make it romantic, then?” he asks as he looks back down at her. “This time. . .” His finger hooks around the loop of her shorts and Isla lets out a quiet gasp of a lap when he gives her a sharp tug towards him, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. “You cook for me.”

Isla blinks, eyebrows rising. “Here?”

“Why not?” Rafe asks. “We’re at a restaurant. There’s food here, right? I’m sure something can be whipped up.”

He’s not wrong—except she can’t really think straight because, while his finger remains hooked around the belt loop, his thumb grazes along her skin just above the band of her shorts. The featherlight touch shoots sparks of electricity from where he touches throughout the rest of her body. Goosebumps prickle her skin as he brushes his thumb back and forth, her throat drying as she tries to get her thoughts straight.

Rafe dips his head towards her and Isla’s breath stutters when he brushes his nose along hers. “Right?” he repeats in a murmur.

Get it together, Isla. “Right,” she says, clearing her throat a little too loudly, because Rafe smirks and she blushes furiously. “Um—” She glances towards the kitchen, running through the things she knows how to make and searching for something that’s quick and easy. Looking back at Rafe, she asks, “How do you feel about chicken tacos?”

Rafe grins. “Sounds delicious,” he says, jutting his chin towards the kitchen. “I’ll help.”

She raises her eyebrows in surprise, but grins when he gives her a nudge towards the kitchen. The first thing Isla does is gather all of the ingredients and then they split up the work; she slices the chicken breasts, while Rafe grabs a small bowl to mix together all of the different spices and seasonings. 

They work side by side as Rafe asks, “You think we could get away with spending a day in Chapel Hill again?”

Isla smiles, glancing up at him. “I think so,” she answers. “You gotta take me to Sutton’s, remember?” 

He glances at her with that boyish grin as he adds some paprika. “I haven’t forgotten,” he murmurs, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was relieved that she remembered their conversation about Sutton’s, too. 

Another sneaky date to look forward to.

*****

“This is fucking delicious,” Rafe mumbles after swallowing a bite, using a napkin to wipe at his mouth as his wide-eyed gaze meets Isla’s. 

She grins behind her napkin, swallowing her own mouthful of taco. “No need to sound so surprised,” she says teasingly. “I do work at a restaurant, y’know.”

He lets out a short laugh, going in for another bite. “Yes, ma’am.”

Isla chuckles, taking a sip from the can of Pepsi as she looks out at the water overlooking the outdoor patio of the restaurant. It glitters under the moonlight, a sort of replica from their first date at the Cameron house, but this time on Isla’s turf. The candle in the glass holder flickers between them on the table, her hair out of its bun and falling down her shoulders in waves, the breeze dancing through the strands.

Her phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a message from Kie. 

From: Kie🐬

soooo they’re playing a double feature, so i won’t be home until like 1 or 2, depending if Cleo and i get something to eat after

Isla’s eyebrows flick up, feeling Rafe’s gaze on her as she texts her sister back.

Isla:

all good, have fun!!!

“Kie’s not gonna be home until late,” Isla tells Rafe casually, tongue poking her cheek as she leans back in the chair, gaze lifting from her phone to meet Rafe’s.

His own gaze drops to her phone. “Oh yeah?” he asks as his eyes slowly meet hers once more.

The look in his eyes makes her stomach flutter, even if she put it there purposefully. But she can’t help it; she’s been imagining doing more than just kissing. The guy is a hell of a kisser, no doubt, and every time he touches her, Isla is sure her skin is going to alight with fire. In just those moments they have shared so far, Isla’s body reacts to Rafe in a way it has never done with anyone else, and she’s desperate to see how far that feeling, that sensation, goes.

Judging by the look in his eyes, she knows he is, too, and it only further intensifies the butterflies in her stomach. “Mhm,” she hums in reply, the corner of her mouth ticking up as she tilts her head to the side. “How about a change of scenery?”

Rafe’s eyes flicker over her face, like he’s searching her for any hesitancy, but Isla has never been more sure of anything. This thing with Rafe—this relationship—came quickly despite Isla’s initial hesitancy to even acknowledge her feelings. But now that she knows exactly how she feels for Rafe, knowing he feels the same, and acknowledging the way her body reacts whenever he just looks at her, Isla doesn’t want to pump the brakes to take things further.

He smiles, then. Charming and boyish as he tilts his head to the side. “I’m following your lead.”

Those four words are how, about twenty minutes later, Isla is pulling into the driveway of her house, eyebrows furrowing at her rearview mirror when she doesn’t see Rafe pull up on his bike behind her. “Where the hell is he?” she mumbles to herself as she kills the engine and hops out, shutting the door behind her and hiking her bag on her shoulder as she walks to the back of her car.

The automatic porch lights are on, as well as some of the sconces along the fence, so it’s not totally dark as she approaches the street, looking for Rafe. She spots him a second later, walking up the sidewalk towards her, and she lets out a confused chuckle as she asks, “What’re you doing? Where’d you park?”

“A couple blocks down,” he answers, gesturing with his head over his shoulder. “Just in case Kiara showed up early and saw my bike in your driveway,” he adds as he nears where Isla waits for him. Rafe comes to a stop in front of her, towering over her, as that slow smile curves his mouth. “That would’ve been fun to explain.”

Isla lets out a gentle laugh, her hand reaching for Rafe’s and her cheeks warm when he instantly intertwines their fingers together. “Come on,” she says, tugging him forward and leading him back to her house, welcoming the flurry of butterflies tickling her stomach.

The house is quiet, of course, when they enter, the only sound coming from her keys jingling together as she flicks on the floor lamp while Rafe locks the door behind them. When she turns to look at him, her stomach flips when she catches his blue eyes curiously wandering around the house as he slowly makes his way over to the long table along the wall that displays several picture frames. 

As she wanders over to him, Rafe muses, “You’ve always been shorter than Kie, huh?”

Isla huffs out a laugh as she stands next to him, looking at the pictures. Most of them are of Isla and Kie throughout many ages; because they’re Irish twins, their mom often dressed them up in matching outfits when they were younger, only difference being in color. They also looked quite alike as kids, though Kie always towered over her, and at this point, the differences in their features is prominent. 

“Yeah, Kie got Dad’s height and I got Mom’s,” Isla says, smiling. Her favorite picture of her and Kie is of the two of them mid-jump on the trampoline they used to have in the backyard, now long gone. They were eight and nine years old, wide grins on their faces, hair flying around them and hands up in the air.

She watches Rafe pick up a frame of Isla’s first grade yearbook picture, grinning widely to show off her dimples as well as the top two missing front teeth. Her gaze lifts to see Rafe smiling at the photo, soft and fond, making her cheeks warm as he murmurs, “Adorable.”

Isla rolls her smiling lips into her mouth, chin dipping in mild embarrassment. “If I knew you’d come here to look at all my baby pictures, I would’ve thought this through some more.”

Rafe chuckles under his breath, putting the frame down. “And why, exactly, did you bring me here?” he slowly drawls as he turns to face Isla.

She catches the knowing smirk that dances on the edge of his mouth, the kind that makes those butterflies in her stomach go into overdrive and heat curl low in her abdomen. The delicious kind of tension sparks between them, the breath hitching in Isla’s throat when Rafe’s hand settles on her hip for a brief second before his arm slowly slides around her bare waist as he steps towards her, effectively closing the gap between them as he looks down at her expectantly.

Her hand slides up his chest, the heat of his hand pressing to the small of her back, skin against skin because of her crop top, as she murmurs, “If you don’t know then I guess I haven’t been as obvious about it as I thought.”

His cologne wraps around her, her skin warming with their proximity as she watches the way his darkening blue eyes dip to her lips, which part under his intense stare. Rafe’s head dips, nose brushing along hers that sends electricity shooting throughout her body in an immediate, primal response.

Isla feels Rafe’s hand slide down from her back until he is cupping her ass through her denim shorts, heart stuttering when he squeezes. Desire mounts, throat drying with need as only inches of space remains between her lips and Rafe’s, every breath they take bringing them teasingly closer and frustratingly apart.

“Maybe try one more time,” Rafe says quietly, every word making his lips brush against hers, those electric sparks slowly growing into lightning strikes.

Isla leans into him, her pulse pounding in her ears and breathing already beginning to grow shallow as she is suddenly fueled by a surge of confidence and says, “My room’s upstairs.” Her bottom lip lightly drags along his. “Let’s go.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches, as though he’s trying to keep his own feelings, his wants, at bay. Isla watches him through lust-laden hooded eyes, wanting to know what it’d be like to see him lose control in this way. Kissing her and touching her in the way that he has so far is one thing, but Isla wants more. And if this guy is as good in bed as he is in kissing, then Isla would be in for a good, thrilling time.

His throat bobs once before he says lowly, “Lead the way.”

Her gaze meets his, immediately seeing the want and intention in his eyes, and as Isla’s pulse beats wildly, she takes Rafe’s hand in hers and takes a few steps back, pulling him along. Despite wanting to practically sprint upstairs, Isla teasingly moves slowly, gaze on him as she moves backwards, waiting to see how long it will take for Rafe’s resolve to snap.

They’re only halfway up the stairs when it does.

A low growl escapes him, and a startled—yet delighted—gasp escapes Isla when Rafe uses his grip on her hand to tug her closer. For a split second, Isla worries she’s going to trip down the stairs, but she should know better with Rafe. He immediately picks her up, muffling her squeal of surprise with a searing kiss as her legs instinctively wrap around Rafe’s hips, his hands gripping the back of her thighs as he carries her up the rest of the way. Isla’s own hands cup his cheeks, head tilting as she greedily deepens the kiss, moaning as her tongue slides along and tastes his.

“Which door?” Rafe grunts into the kiss and, through her lust filled haze, Isla realizes they’ve reached the top.

“Right hallway. Second door on the left,” Isla pants against him, reveling in the hard frame of his body against hers as her heart threatens to burst out of her chest when he walks.

He blindly makes his way, following Isla’s directions, and if Isla wasn’t too busy being totally lost in the kiss, she’d be impressed that he hasn’t tripped over or bumped into anything, having never been here before. In the dark, no less. But Rafe gets them to her bedroom, their kiss slowing as Rafe carefully lowers her and turns them until Isla’s back is pressed to the closed bedroom door, her body trapped between that and Rafe’s body.

She feels his hands slide to her bare waist, his touch igniting a fire just like his kisses, until the kiss slows until they’re pulling back ever so slightly to catch their breaths. Isla’s heart thunders wildly, hands on Rafe’s shoulders as her eyes flutter open to look at him with heavy lidded eyes. Her bedroom is dark, the only light coming through the windows between parted curtains, moonlight and the lamps in the backyard glowing into the room. It highlights Rafe’s silhouette, standing before her like some angel, and it does nothing to calm her racing pulse as Rafe cups her cheek, his thumb stroking her bottom lip.

Isla sees the subtle hesitance in his blue eyes that seem to be searching hers. She understands why when he gruffly asks, “You sure you want this?”

They’ve already crossed a line, Isla knows. But there’s also this acknowledgement that if they go through with this, then there really is no going back. And while that idea should have filled Isla with some kind of hesitation of her own, maybe double check if, in the long run, this was a good idea. But Isla doesn’t want to think. All she wants is the man in front of her, a truth she can no longer deny herself. She won’t let Rafe deny it, either. Come hell or highwater.

No matter what they may have to deal with in the future with her friends, they will do it together. Isla is sure of it.

To prove as much to Rafe, she doesn’t answer him verbally. Instead, Isla locks gazes with him and presses a hand to his chest and applies some pressure, forcing him to take a step back. She sees the disappointment—and understanding—flicker in his eyes, and she knows he thinks that she has changed her mind. Isla gently bites down on her bottom lip to keep herself from smiling too much, gripping the hem of her crop top before effortlessly pulling it over her head.

Her hair falls messily around her shoulders, but she doesn’t miss the way Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up, or the way his darkened gaze drinks in the sight of her in her lacy baby pink bra. Her layered necklaces remain displayed around her neck, body tingling when Rafe’s gaze dips to explore the newly exposed skin as, with a crazed pulse, Isla’s fingers find the button and zip of her shorts and she undoes those, too. A few seconds later, she stands in nothing but her bra and matching underwear, jewelry gleaming in the dark and blood rushing at the way Rafe looks at her.

She is rarely this bold, but something about Rafe spurs her, gives her a much needed push. Maybe it’s the look in his eyes as he takes her in that fuels her confidence, staring at her as though he is hopeless to look away. Just his stare alone has her wanting to clench her thighs together, wetness pooling in her underwear. It’s slightly cold in her room as the summer breeze flows into her room through the open windows, the curtains dancing in response, but Isla is hot in Rafe’s proximity, with the anticipation and hope for what’s to come next.

Isla takes in a silent breath when Rafe steps towards her, slow and deliberate, his own eyes darkened with lust as he meets her gaze. She lifts her chin and asks, “Do you need more convincing?”

Rafe is never one to back down from a challenge of any kind, Isla knows. Which is why she has to bite back a grin when Rafe closes the distance between them upon hearing her words, his hand gripping the back of her head and crushing his lips to hers. All bets are off after that.

Isla’s hands immediately fist the front of his shirt, easily parting her lips under his to greet his tongue with hers once more, reveling in the groan rumbles low in his throat as his warm hands grip her hips and he turns her, moving her backward toward her bed. When the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed, Rafe pushes her down and Isla happily pulls him down with her, still kissing him and loving the feel of his body, fully clothed, on top of her.

Her fingers thread through his hair as his lean, muscular body slots between her legs perfectly, Rafe’s fingers teasing the band of her underwear as he kisses the air out of her lungs. Isla gasps when he trails kisses down her jaw, her head tilting back into the mattress as he sucks on that spot in her neck, her grip on his hair tightening and moaning when he uses his teeth to gently bite, tongue to soothe. His hand slides from her hip to between her legs, and a whimper escapes Isla when he brushes his knuckles along the flimsy, damp cloth covering her pussy, her hips jerking with need.

“Rafe, please—” she says breathily, eyelashes fluttering at the ceiling when she is sure what she is feeling is Rafe’s finger hooking around the middle of her underwear that covers her. Then there’s the deliciously tight, stinging sensation of the fabric suddenly growing taut, thinning until it’s pressing sharply between her pussy lips, and her mouth drops open in a silent moan when she feels the wicked sensation of Rafe’s tongue licking up the center through the stringed cloth.

Oh, God. Her fingers remain in his hair, holding him right where she needs him. Stars already begin to dot behind Isla’s closed lids, heart pounding in her chest and head as Rafe’s tongue teasingly flickers, one hand pushing her thighs further apart. “How about it, Isla?” Rafe asks, his gruff voice making goosebumps break across her skin. She barely manages to open her eyes enough to look at him, to see him watching her with those eyes from between her legs, the sliver of moonlight bathing him just so to make his eyes glow silver. “Gonna let me have a proper taste?”

He is somehow her angel and all of her wicked fantasies come to life as she all but begs, “Please.���

She never thought she’d beg Rafe Cameron for anything, but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed about it.

Not when the corner of his mouth curls up into a smirk before he gives a tug to her underwear, pulling it down and moving her legs to the side to tug the flimsy material off, before Rafe wraps each arm around her thigh and pulls Isla towards him. She hears the faint sound of his knees finding the carpeted floor, raising herself up on her elbows to catch the moment Rafe licks a strip up her center and Isla damn near trembles at the electric sensation.

With his arms binding around her thighs and hands gripping her hips, Rafe keeps her close, having her on the edge of the bed, and the air is sucked out of Isla’s lungs as Rafe’s mouth works against her. Distantly, she can’t believe this is happening, but presently, she is already sensitive, feeling every minute movement of his tongue. When Rafe’s tongue flicks against her clit, Isla’s back arches off the bed with a sound that’s a half cry, half gasp. It makes colors dot her closed eyelids, Rafe’s grip on her hips unforgiving as he keeps her in place, his mouth continuing its delicious assault as he licks at her like a man starved.

Isla’s own fingers remain in his hair, keeping him close, her heart thundering so harshly it deafens her to anything else. “I fucking knew it,” Rafe growls against her, pulling away enough to brush a kiss against her inner thigh.

“Knew what?” Isla asks, panting, as she all but stops herself from demanding he keep doing what he was doing.

But Rafe doesn’t leave her hanging too much, his tongue teasing along her inner lips that has Isla moaning. “Knew you’d taste this good—better than I imagined,” he replies and then he sucks on her clit, and Isla can’t think of anything else but him and that sinful mouth.

“Oh, God, Rafe,” she moans, hips moving against him. She finds enough will power through her lusty haze to look down at him, stomach clenching at the sight of him eating her out—and so clearly enjoying it. Her head falls back against, gasping. “Please.”

She’s not entirely sure what she’s pleading for, but apparently Rafe does. “Greedy little thing,” he murmurs before Isla feels his finger sink into her opening, thrusting in and out in time with his tongue fucking her.

She can’t make sense of anything after that.

The combination of his finger and tongue electrify her from the inside out, her bedroom filled with the sounds of Isla’s moans, Rafe’s appreciative groans, and the crude sounds of his tongue lapping at her, bringing her closer and closer to that glorious edge. Then he does something with his tongue, curls his finger just the right way, and Isla is a goner.

Her climax hits like a tidal wave, white flashing across her closed lids and a sharp cry falling from her as her orgasm wracks through her body. Rafe doesn’t relent, licking her through it, taking everything she’s giving him. When her limbs become limp and eyelids heavy, trying to catch her breath, Rafe finally pulls away with one last kiss to her sensitive slit.

Isla’s eyes flutter open, breathing heavily as she watches Rafe stand at the end of the bed and begin to strip out of his clothes. Her already hyper pulse begins to race once more, not a moment of relief, with every inch of his skin that’s exposed as he rids of his shirt, and then his pants and boxer briefs in one go. Rafe’s darkened eyes look down at her still laying in bed, the desire clear in his face that it makes her skin flush even more as he runs his fingers through her hair.

Her gaze dips and the air hitches in her throat at the sight of his cock; hard and flushed at the tip, bigger than she expected. But it’s a mouth watering sight, and she’s not sure if she wants him in her mouth or her pussy first.

His lips gleam ever so slightly from his previous ministrations as Rafe slowly climbs back onto the bed, crawling over until he hovers above her. When their eyes meet, Rafe’s expression softens, looking at her in a way that makes Isla melt. She pushes up to kiss him, smiling when he instantly returns it, lips moving against hers as Isla reaches behind her to unclasp her bra and tosses it aside. 

Rafe’s hand slides up her side until he’s cupping her left breast, the feel of his large hand making her arch into his touch as the kiss deepens and he kneads her breast. “How is every part of you so perfect?” Rafe breathes into the kiss, his thumb flicking across her hardened nipple. “You drive me fucking crazy, Isla.”

“Good,” she murmurs, one hand in his hair. “Do something about it.”

“So bossy.” She can feel his smirk in his kiss before he pulls back slightly. “You got a condom?”

Isla arches an eyebrow up at him. “You don’t have one?”

Rafe snorts out a laugh. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t carry them around.”

Isla grins, cheeks pink. “Maybe you should.” She taps his shoulder. “Here.”

He pulls back to give her room to turn towards her bedside table, on her stomach and giggling when she feels Rafe’s hand lightly smack her ass as she pulls open the bottom drawer, digs blindly around for a second, and pulls out a condom. As Rafe puts it on after she hands it to him, Isla bites her bottom lip, the anticipation palpable as she pushes herself up to brush her lips against his.

“Can I ride you?” she asks, smirking slightly when she sees Rafe’s gaze tighten with desire.

She feels his hand slide to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair as he exhales sharply. “If I ever say no to that question, then I’d have officially lost my mind.”

Isla laughs breathily and Rafe, with an arm around her, turns them so he’s the one on his back, head at the pillows, and Isla bites back a grin as she straddles him and, with a thrumming heart, her hand wraps around his cock. Rafe’s hands settle on her thighs as Isla moves until she’s hovering right over his cock, and when she locks her gaze with his, his lips parted in anticipation as he gives her a single nod, she slowly sinks down.

Her own lips part and a sharp breath escapes her as she sinks lower and lower, unable to keep herself from moaning as Rafe’s cock stretches her until she is fully seated. And oh, God, it’s a feeling she has never experienced before, a beautiful sensation of completion that robs her of her breath. Rafe’s abs clench in response, making her involuntarily clench around him with a soft whimper.

Rafe’s fingers dig into her thighs, his head tipping back and exposing the strong column of his neck as he lets out a quiet groan through gritted teeth. Isla tries to catch her breath—hopelessly—as her eyes squeeze shut for a moment to gather her wits, to adjust to the size of him filling her up so Goddamn deliciously.

“Fuck, baby,” Rafe hisses, and that’s enough to get Isla to move as she lifts herself up, weight on her knees on the mattress and hands on his torso, the air expelling out of her lungs as she pulls up enough until just the head of his cock is brushing against her sensitive pussy. His grip on her hips tighten, but Rafe lets her have control, her eyes meeting his glazed ones as she sinks back down again, lungs tightening as she continues her movements to set a pace.

Already, Isla knows that Rafe has ruined her for anyone else. Up and down, up and down, she moves along his length, his touch burning and her skin on fire as he watches her, his blue eyes glued on the way his cock buries inside of her when she sits down before rising back up. “God, fuck,” Rafe grunts, pushing himself up and wrapping his arms around Isla’s waist, their fronts pressing together.

The sudden press of his skin against hers has Isla’s lips parting and head tilting back, feeling one of Rafe’s hands threading through her hair and gripping tightly to keep her head tilted back. She somehow maintains her rhythm with the new press of his skin, his fingers in her hair and, all of a sudden, she feels his lips on her throat, kissing and licking as she bounces on his cock, the warmth between them easily increasing into an inferno. Distantly, she can barely make out the sound of her bed creaking beneath them under the sounds of her pants and Rafe’s groans.

“Come here, come here,” Rafe murmurs and a gasp of a giggle escapes Isla when he turns them until she’s on her back once more, his fingers brushing away her dark hair that had fallen over her face before leaning back, knees on the mattress and hooking her legs around his hips.

He looks like a god in the silver moonlight, a thin sheen of sweat glistening his chiseled muscles, dirty blonde hair messy from her fingers running through it. Isla’s already fiery skin heats up even more, if possible, under his intense gaze and she finds herself reaching forward, nails teasingly scraping down his muscled torso as she rasps, “Please.”

Any semblance of control Rafe still had snaps and, with a low growl that makes her clench around him, he sets an unforgiving, delicious pace. Isla is hopeless in keeping herself quiet, a combination of moans and Rafe’s name falling past her as he pounds into her, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling her room as she fists the comforter beneath her, while her other hand slides down to circle her clit. 

Her head spins, pulse crazed, as Rafe grips her hips, tight enough to leave bruises that she could admire in the morning light. Isla’s head tilts back, eyes rolling back and shutting as she gets lost in the stars that explode behind her eyes every time Rafe hits her in the perfect spot, and she needs something to give her some semblance of reality before she loses herself completely—though, not that she would complain. Still, Isla reaches for a pillow, bringing it next to her and turning her head into it, muffling her cries and moans into it.

But it’s short lived, because the pillow is snatched from her and she gasps in both surprise and at the way Rafe’s pace suddenly slows out of nowhere, rolling his hips to slowly slide into her. The next breath shudders out of her as Rafe moves over her, his nose brushing against hers and Isla wants to kiss him again as he murmurs, “I want to fucking hear you. No one’s home, baby. Let it out.”

He pulls all the way out, Isla clenching on nothing but air as a whimper leaves her at the emptiness, and through heavy lids she sees Rafe’s mouth curve into a breathless smirk. The tension in his jaw, his neck, tells her he’s holding himself back from burying into her once more as he gently moves her hand away so his own fingers can tease and circle her sensitive clit.

Isla arches into him, lips parted as Rafe’s teeth gently latch onto her bottom lip, tugging it into his mouth just as he oh-so slowly slides back into her. The air is locked in her throat as Rafe growls, “Let me hear you.”

And then he pinches her clit and she can’t stay quiet even if she tries, her back arching off the bed with a sharp cry as her hand flies to the back of Rafe’s head, fingers tangling in his hair as he returns to his brutal, greedy pace. His name is a chant on her lips and Rafe hits that spot once again and it’s over for Isla right then and there.

Her second climax hits her blindingly, body shaking as it crashes over her like a tidal wave, Rafe’s thrusts unrelenting as she rides through it until she feels him tense up a moment later before he is also coming undone on top of her. They cling to each other like a lifeline, their breathing ragged yet still in time as Rafe collapses on top of her, Isla’s fingers in his hair as his body presses to her and she welcomes the weight of him.

Their bodies are slick with sweat, Isla staring dazedly and absently at the ceiling as she feels Rafe’s lips against her neck as he, too, catches his breath. Every hard, solid inch of him presses into her soft flesh, the feeling one Isla doesn’t think she will ever get used to—or get tired of. She’s sure Rafe can feel her thundering heart, just how she can feel his as they bask in the afterglow, catching their breaths.

Staring at the ceiling fan, Isla’s sluggish thoughts slowly catch up to her, but the one that is louder than the rest is I just slept with Rafe.

And it was mind-fucking-blowing.

Nothing else matters, nothing else is important in this moment as Isla tugs her bottom lip into her mouth, feeling herself smile and cheeks flush with a newfound heat. Her fingers continue to absently run through his hair, letting out a soft sigh through her silly smile, just as Rafe asks, “You doin’ okay?”

Her heart swells at his softly spoken question, breath hitching yet her smile remaining when she feels the tips of his fingers brushing up and down her side in a featherlight touch. “I’m great,” Isla answers truthfully, and maybe Rafe hears the smile in her voice because he lifts her head, resting his weight on his arm by her side as he gazes down at her with a searching look. As though he wants to double check, himself, that she means it.

The way Rafe watches her makes Isla feel exposed—more so than what they just did, which is amusing, as heat pools in her cheeks once more. There’s a pretty flush to Rafe’s cheeks, too, which makes her stomach flutter, as blue eyes drink in the sight of her. “Yeah?” he asks, his fingers retreating from his side to brush away strands of her hair from her cheek.

She looks into those eyes, like two pools rippling with a combination of emotions that tighten Isla’s throat. Later, there will be time for her to replay the night, to calculate and pick apart every single thing she has felt. But for now, Isla raises a hand so her fingers can gently play with his side bangs, the smile that tugs on her lips soft and genuine as she answers simply, “Yeah.”

[peacemaker-ic]

I know you don't do requests but I was wondering if you allow suggestions for your creative mind. I know the Life and Death pack just came out Thursday but there is something I think is missing from the pack and that is a sliding glass door. If you do start the idea I would love to see a sliding door for a balcony or patio. I also think it's missing some kind of interior door for bathrooms and bedrooms. And if I may make a even bolder suggestion I love the At Death's door double door so maybe make that into the sliding glass door. as for the interior I would like to see doors that are similar to the At Death's door. I would also love to see archways in the same design. Like I said I know you don't do request so that is why I am giving a suggestions. I would do these cc myself but sadly I am not smart enough to even follow directions to help me learn so I must rely on those that do know what they are doing and make suggestions when I can. I love your cc as they bring more life to my sims homes then if I was to stay with the in game choices. Happy siming

I am happy to take suggestions, but it does come with a caveat: I make no obligation to agree with, or act on the suggestion. So as long as that is clear for people, I have no issues hearing people's ideas. Since I make things for myself and release them, what I make not be representative of what everyone wants.

In this case, if I ever do an addon for the stone windows from the set, a sliding door doesn't really feel like the right vibe for the style. I would more likely see a glass panel door fitting the aesthetic, but whether I can make it from the base material is another matter. With addons, the base material very much dictates what I make, either stylistically or as a limitation.

Not entirely sure what you mean by interior doors though. The architectural style is very grand, but they did add smaller doors so not really seeing a necessity for extra interior doors. They are pretty good (and we finally got medium height interior door). Arches are definitely needed though. Often left out in a lot of packs.

[dark-konohagakure2]

sephiroth forcing himself on a girlie thats too shy to talk to him?

tw: noncon, power imbalance, size difference, humiliation, degradation, semi-public sex, misogyny, victim blaming, verbal abuse

All characters depicted are 18+

Sephiroth is well aware of his little fanclub of swooning fangirls who are all head over heals in love with him, he doesn't hate it, but he certainly doesn't like it either, he treats their existence with the same passive indifference that one would treat ants on a sidewalk, uncaring if they are there or not, Sephiroth has about as many love confessions under his belt as he does inches of hair on his head, but none of these women interest him very much.

That is the case for a while until his keen senses pick up on someone following him, he initially assumes it's just Hojo coming to pester him again, or Zack coming to ask him more idiotic questions, but instead he catches a glimpse of a girl peeking at him from around the corner, only to quickly hide when he turns around. Being a trained SOLIDER from birth, Sephiroth immediately assumes hostile intent from her, what other reason would she have to follow him whilst concealing her presence?

He'll almost immediately confront her, although not in a brutish manner, no, a man like Sephiroth is one to use cold intimidation over such savage tactics. He'll corner the little spy rather quickly, placing his gloved hand on the wall next to her head as he asks her what exactly she thinks she's doing. He'll watch as she flounders about like a fish on land, struggling to get a single word out as her face turns a bright red, that when Sephiroth will notice a very interesting looking note clutched to her chest.

Sephiroth will pluck the note from her hands the moment he sees it, holding it out of her reach with his superior height, ignoring her protests and pleas as he begins to read it, sneering at the flowery words and shoddy handwriting, it's pitiful how little effort she put into confessing her silly feelings to one as important as Sephiroth. He'll make it clear that her little crush is nothing but delusional wishful thinking, but that won't stop him from taking advantage of it, and of her.

"Oh... How cute. Did you really think a few scribbles on paper would be enough to win me over? How pathetic. But I suppose I can give you what you so clearly want..."

He'll pay no mind to her protests as he rips her shirt open right on the spot, Sephiroth doesn't see why she's protesting, she said she likes him, and now she doesn't? Are all woman this indecisive? Sephiroth has never really understood women, or men either for that matter, he's always had trouble understanding those beneath him, but none of that matters to him now, all that matters is giving this cute little stalker exactly what she deserves.

Sephiroth isn't gentle with her at all, it's just not in his nature to treat anyone with kindness, not even an innocent young woman who's only crime is having a crush. He'll cover her mouth with a large leather clad hand as his hips snap into her's from behind, fucking her just around the corner of the hallway and in the blind spot of the many security cameras in Shinra's hallways.

Despite forcing her to be silent, Sephiroth won't do the same, instead he'll whisper venomous insults into her ear, telling her that she's no different than his other admirers, that this is the most attention any man would deign to give her, and how this is what she wanted from him, so she should be grateful, he's practically a saint for humoring her pitifully misguided affection towards him, an affection that definitely won't replace after this encounter, instead being replaced with fear.

He'll be finished with her rather quickly, as if his body itself is in a hurry to be done with her, Sephiroth won't care if he cums directly inside her, even if he doesn't knock her up, she should be grateful for his attention and his seed, he doesn't give that to just anyone, only the shy little brats who don't know how to talk to people like a big girl.

"Hmpf, I have no more use for you. Now go back to your little hovel like a good girl, unless you want more of my attentions, that is..."

Sephiroth will watch her leave without another word, showing faint amusement at the sight of her limping away, her pussy leaking his semen as she does. He finds her very amusing, in fact he might even consider using his high standing in Shinra to get her alone again.

[lucimaaie]

dayum, i cant just not be liked by joel bro, its heartblade

petition to now make the ver. where u are like almost another daughter (almost because it'll be kinda weird 😝) to joel while dating/flirting his actual daughter

i got uu

the door swung wide open as you and ellie came in exhausted from patrol. it was still day but the cold had ran you guys from outside to the warm, isolated interior of joel's house.

ellie dropped her bag and flopped onto the couch. she stared at the fireplace longingly. "there's no way i'm sleeping in the garage tonight." she almost shivered at the thought.

"there's no way i'm letting you do that." you moved ellie's legs to sit on the bottom of the couch. "you could just sleep in my room." you said casually, slipping her shoes off and setting them by the couch. you lived with joel, but he wasn't your dad. not biologically, but after finding you almost freezing to death in a blizzard, he practically was.

ellie sat up. "grumps is not gonna like that," she tried not to show how your offer had peaked her interest. she barely got the time to be alone with you the way joel insisted on keeping the door open and being careful-all the trademarks of a dad speech.

"he doesn't have to." you said with a hint of mischief in your voice. that same mischief that ellie loved and joel most definitely didn't. "c'mon." you intertwined your fingers with ellie's, pulling her off the couch and up the stairs.

"you're gonna get me in trouble, just being in here."

you gasped. "now, i'm closing the door." the door shut with a soft click. " it's punishable by death. whatever shall i do?" you fell back on the bed dramatically.

"oh come off it." ellie smooshed your cheeks between her hands, hovering her face over yours. you could feel the developing calluses on her fingertips against your cheeks.

"never." you whispered, pecking her lips.

ellie would never get used to affection you shared now that you were dating. it took a minute to even realize that you weren't just best friends and another to get joel on board (luckily, you did with the promise that you'd be safe and never hurt each other.)

she wanted more. ellie chased your lips as you pulled away. her hands fell down to support her weight. she almost pouted. “we can’t kiss upside down.” you sat up, ellie did the same.

“why not? spiderman does it.”

“surprised you know who he is.”

“i’m gonna pretend that isn’t hurtful and kiss you.” and she did. it was as gentle as she always was, but not hesitant. she’d kissed you enough times to know you wouldn’t break if she wasn’t the gentlest person in the world.

so she let her hands roam. one on your jaw, like always. she liked being able to feel your speeding heartbeat there. the other was on your thigh doing nothing too crazy, just a slow rub across the skin.

not that she hated short kisses, but she found the extra time your lips across hers was usually the exact thing she needed. maybe that’s why did she didn’t notice joel’s voice yelling downstairs or his footsteps getting closer.

you were quick to split as the doorknob was turned. you had forced on your headphones and ellie had picked up a book on your nightstand.

“hey, you okay—” joel froze as he took in the sight before him. you were on opposite sides of the best preoccupied with things that weren’t each other, which let’s be honest, was never the case. he knew something was up. “huh.”

“hi pops.” you said in your best attempt to not sound outta breath.

“hey. y’know, i do remember saying something about keeping the door open-“

“heard.”

“loud and clear.”

joel felt placated. the whole reason he’d been hesitant on you two dating was just how close you were. that kind of thing, so young and fast, was worrysome for him. so yeah, he wasn’t ignorant to what two teenagers in love were doing behind a closed door. he would have words for that later, but seeing you both grinning like you held some secret he wasn’t privy to, made it okay for now.

thank you for reading!

[gliphyartfan]

The au in which hylia is teh one who sealed or cursed Y/N. After discovering this the chain decided since to side with the villain of their stories for example. Skyward sword link works with demise and so on.

Aaaah, makes more sense. But still not clear enough? (Wait did I write this Au?) most of final big bads are uh…dead? So they can’t just resurrect them all Willy Nilly.

Maybe this is a list for each individual and not the chain as a whole but I dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Alright! Time to Wing it!

(I genuinely hope I answered this correctly 🥲🥲🥲)

But also that’s actually rather tricky if you GENUINELY think about it.

Cause yes, With Sky

Sky’s trust in Hylia is shattered when he learns she orchestrated (Y/N)’s suffering.

And he seeks out Demise, swallowing his hatred and disbelief to work alongside the Demon King.

And while working with Demise’s forces, Sky becomes hardened and more brutal.

Sky’s newfound drive may even surprise Demise, who quickly recognizes Sky’s tactical mind. Sky uses his knowledge of Hylia’s weaknesses, strategically placing Demise’s forces where they can inflict the most damage on her temples and followers.

But honestly? I doubt Demise survives, Sky

isn’t siding with Demise in spirit but probably manipulates their partnership to weaken Hylia. He gives Demise enough power to serve his plan, sowing just the right amount of discord to make Hylia vulnerable without letting Demise gain full control.

And while subtly sabotaging Hylia’s temples and weakening her mortal influence,

Sky’s primary goal is still to kill Demise, only after he’s used him to dismantle Hylia’s power. Sky plans to drive the final blow himself. (She probably escapes anyway. Much to his rage)

With Warriors

Warriors would joins Cia and Ganon, leveraging his knowledge of Hyrule’s soldiers to disrupt and weaken them.

Well, he’d play the part of hero until Ganon shows up and then just joins up with him…..or maybe…no…nah he has to wait, Cia would have spotted it before the darkness split her. (He still doesn’t like Cia tho)

Warriors knows every tactic the Hyrulean army will employ, and he’s relentless in using that to his advantage.

He becomes a spy within Hyrule’s ranks, (he can’t be a traitor if HYLIA betrayed him first. Thems the breaks) sending misinformation and sabotaging missions, all to bring Hyrule’s forces to its knees for (Y/N)’s sake. Warriors never falters, his loyalty to (Y/N) driving his every action.

Honestly Warriors pretends to remain a loyal soldier to Hylia’s cause within the Hyrulean army while secretly coordinating attacks that amplify chaos, allowing Ganon’s forces to strike where it hurts Hylia the most. He’s playing both sides.

Considering he’d make a brief trip to Skyloft, (and Nintendo never makes things clear about time periods.) I’m gonna assume each era is close enough to the heroes of the era that it wouldn’t be odd that Sky could send messages to Warriors.

He won’t hesitate to manipulate people he once considered friends if it furthers Sky’s plan to weaken Hylia, prioritizing (Y/N)’s rescue over everything else.

With Time

Time would see Ganondorf as a means to an end. He joins Ganondorf’s cause, using his knowledge of the temples and sages to disrupt Hylia’s carefully laid plans.

To Ganondorf’s forces, Time is terrifying, silent, calculated, and nearly impossible to predict. He holds a deep, simmering rage within.

And just in case anyone asks, within the mask, the Fierce Deity watches Time closely, seeing how the hero’s loyalty to his sword brothers contrasts sharply with his rebellion against Hylia. While Fierce remains bound, observing Time’s darker decisions with approval, he’d subtly align his energy with Time’s intentions, lending strength where it’s needed most. (Gotta protect his vessel ya know?)

Fierce Deity understands vengeance, perhaps better than anyone else. Even without communicating directly, Time can feel this resonance. There’s an unspoken agreement, Fierce supports Time’s defiance against Hylia’s will, seeing it as a just rebellion.

Time might notice that the power of the Fierce Deity feels especially potent when facing those aligned with Hylia or when defending his brothers. Fierce Deity’s own ancient rage fueling each strike.

While fighting beside Ganondorf, Time would have to craft a careful facade, (kinda like Sheik except he doesn’t have a magical disguise to hide his features….does he??) and considering the war of eras, he’d also be able to help Warriors with his side of things.

Ooooh the heroes that join Warriors could easily play the part of brainwashed heroes~

With Twilight

Well, bitter and heartbroken isn’t enough describe his feelings. He’s been heartbroken once by Midna. And maybe for a brief period of time, he genuinely thought (y/n) left him too.

So to find out Hylia was the one to take her away was….the limit.

So he’d strike a deal with Zant and Ganon.

But given Ganon probably still hates the hero cause of Time’s little act of slaying. So he’d side with Zant for a while.

He and Zant would create a network of darkness across Hyrule, corrupting places once sacred to Hylia I suppose? (Aw but I like Midna….)

His ferocity increases tenfold, and he finds bitter satisfaction in seeing the land Hylia cherished crumble under his hands.

He just wants his darling back.

With Wild

Well….Wild’s trust in the goddesses was already unsteady before with his own insecurities and self-doubts, but now it’s shattered, leading him to align with Calamity Ganon’s essence.

Not much going on since Ganon destroyed everything already and Flora is holding Ganon back. I mean, he’d wait until she couldn’t hold him back no more and then just switch the chaos?

He probably infiltrates the Yiga Clan, rising to a powerful position within their ranks to wreak havoc.

With Legend

Legend throws his loyalty to….i guess Yuga? (Boy he has a bunch of journeys.) seeing in him a chance to finally defy Hylia.

Or rather, he’d aid Lorule in gaining Hyrule’s Triforce. OR maybe he can’t…

…actually…maybe he just speeds up the poisoning of the land. Make it more Rulie’s era, after?

With Hyrule

Well Hyrule has always carried a subtle skepticism of authority (have you SEEN his era??) , so learning that Hylia, the goddess he once revered, is responsible for (Y/N)’s suffering would strike a chord.

This betrayal would make him question every act of loyalty and every sacrifice he made in the name of serving a higher power. He would quickly become resolute, deciding that any being capable of such cruelty doesn’t deserve his allegiance.

Hyrule’s protectiveness over (Y/N) would intensify. He would view (Y/N) not only as someone he cares for but also as someone wronged by a divine power. He’d become ruthless in his pursuit of freeing (Y/N) from Hylia’s influence and would stop at nothing, even if it meant forging dark alliances and exploring forbidden paths

To stand against Hylia and her agents, Hyrule would seek out shadow magic, using it to level the playing field against holy magic and divine forces. While he might initially be cautious, his dedication to protecting (Y/N) would outweigh his reservations.

Hyrule’s gentle spirit might begin to darken as he moves down this path. His compassion would remain, but his disillusionment would leave a lasting effect, making him wary of kindness that comes without reason and promises that seem too good to be true.

He’d become a hardened figure, mistrusting of any higher power and willing to destroy anyone who stood between him and his goal.

With Four

Four’s fractured self allows him to see all sides of Hylia’s betrayal, making him perfectly suited to side with Vaati and , Shadow.

Each color has a different way of undermining Hylia’s forces. Blue is calculating, Red is fiercely defiant, Green becomes a spy, and Violet dives into dark magic.

Together, they are a force of chaos, and their unpredictability makes them especially dangerous. So long as Vaati can guarantee (y/n)’s return and safety, he doesn’t care what he has to do.

With Wind

Wind is lured into Ganondorf’s cause, using his knowledge of the Great Sea and islands to spread rebellion among those loyal to Hylia. (Which aren’t a lot given most don’t remember Hylia in that era. But it doesn’t make it easier for him to make her out to be the devil.)

Wind adopts a reckless, defiant attitude, channeling his anger at Hylia into everything he does. He becomes powerful weapon in Ganondorf’s hands. (But remember folks, the heroes loyalty only stick to eachother and ABSOLUTELY their darling so Ganon dies if he can’t deliver on his promises!)

[vidavalor]

I think that the two, specific times when Aziraphale feels the flashes of love in S1 tell us a lot about what, exactly, it is that he is picking up... especially when you also factor in how he describes that feeling to Crowley.

Aziraphale is hit with the flashes of love in two, specific moments: in The Bentley on the road at night on the way to Tadfield and in the moment when Crowley looks directly at Tadfield Manor again as the two of them are on their way inside. With these waves of love, Aziraphale isn't picking up Crowley's love in a general sense. If that were the case, he'd be feeling waves like this non-stop in Tadfield the whole time. Instead, he's picking up very intense waves of it-- flashes of it, as he said-- in specific moments.

Why the intense waves and why these moments? I think we actually have enough information to say why and look at exactly what Aziraphale is picking up.

While, in S1's present, Aziraphale has never been to Tadfield before, Crowley has and we were there in the story with him in 2008 in the first episode. When we watch him and Aziraphale arriving in Tadfield, we are watching Aziraphale now go with Crowley to the place where we first watched Crowley deal with alone when they were separated in 1.01 on the night Armageddon started. As a result of us knowing what that night looked like for Crowley, we're able to know what Crowley is remembering when he and Aziraphale go to Tadfield in the present of S1 and we can then see why it is that, in these specific moments, Aziraphale is picking up intense flashes of Crowley's love.

Aziraphale first picks the flashes of love in The Bentley on the way into town. They're driving on a dark road to Tadfield at night. Crowley hasn't been to Tadfield since he had to deliver the baby in 2008. He did that alone, in the dark, driving there after being non-consensually possessed by Satan and almost hitting a person in an on-coming truck as a result. (To emphasize this parallel, it's seconds after Aziraphale starts talking about the flashes of love when, this time, there is a car accident when they collide with Anathema.) Crowley spent time when driving to Tadfield and back desperately trying to call Aziraphale, unable for most of the night to reach him until he found the phone booth on the way home.

As Crowley is driving them to Tadfield in the 2019 present of S1, he's thinking about that night in 2008 when he was separated from Aziraphale and went through all of that Hell-related hell. What Aziraphale is picking up is Crowley's love for him radiating off him, as Aziraphale is beside him while Crowley is undergoing something that would otherwise be re-traumatizing. It is something Crowley can handle better, though, because he has Aziraphale quite literally going on the journey this time with him.

The other moment that Aziraphale feels the flashes of love is when the two of them have arrived at Tadfield Manor. Specifically, it's when Crowley looks up at the entrance as they walk towards it. Why the flashes of love here?

While Crowley knew about Armageddon needing 11 years to fully get going by the time he met up with Aziraphale in St. James' Park the day after delivering Adam, the earlier scene when he arrived at Tadfield Manor told us that Crowley didn't actually already know that information when he was first tasked that night with starting Armageddon. Mistaking Arthur Young for someone affiliated with Hell, Crowley asked him if he knew how much time they had left until the end of the world, indicating that this was the big question on his mind that night and what Crowley was remembering in S1's present that prompted the flash of love that Aziraphale felt.

While this scene with Arthur is really comical because of all the misunderstandings happening here, it's also clear that Crowley is desperate here to find out how much time they have left or if it's all going to end this same night. He is this desperate because he began that evening thinking it was just a quick check-in with Hastur and Ligur before he could meet Aziraphale for their sushi date, only to then wind up separated from Aziraphale, having to start Armageddon, attacked, and having no idea how much time until the world might be over. He spent the whole night we were watching him in 2008 thinking it possible that the world was going to end *that night* and being unable to get through to Aziraphale on the phone.

He was worried he might not see Aziraphale again.

In 2019, all of that comes flooding back to Crowley when he looks at the entrance to Tadfield Manor and remembers asking the guy at the door if he knew how much time they had left. Aziraphale is hit with another wave of Crowley's love for him here because Crowley is feeling one himself as he remembers how desperate he was that night to get to Aziraphale at the same time that he is feeling relief at having him beside him in the present as they go back to this place from his past that Crowley would really rather not have to revisit.

Aziraphale is not feeling love that is tied to Tadfield Manor or the town of Tadfield; he is feeling waves of Crowley's love for him cresting in different moments when Crowley's feelings from 2008 collide with his feelings in the then-present of 2019. It's the past influencing and overlapping with the present. It's a story in the present about flashbacks to the flashback we saw first so we could understand what Crowley is remembering.

When Crowley asks Aziraphale to describe what Aziraphale means by the place feeling "loved", Aziraphale has a fascinating reply:

Aziraphale could have described this feeling of love as the opposite of how he himself feels in a spooky place. Instead, he's describing it as the opposite feeling to Crowley's lack of peace and sense of unease. Aziraphale chooses to describe this in such a way as to say that he knows what Crowley feels when Crowley is ill at ease, as when he is, Aziraphale is affected because he loves him. Aziraphale is defining love as the opposite of that feeling of unease.

Love is the feeling of calm that comes from trusted, caring friends living life together without judgement and, as a result, making the world feel safer and more peaceful for one another.

Loving someone is going together with them on whatever life brings and dispelling their sense of unease by not leaving them on their own.

Love is a balm-- peace through connection.

It is the antidote to loneliness.

What Aziraphale might not realize is that Crowley's flashes of love? They're also caused by Aziraphale's own love for Crowley. By him loving Crowley by going with him to Tadfield and soothing Crowley's anxiety and fear with his presence. Love is making someone feel seen and supporting them in their life without judgement.

While Aziraphale might be being hit with particularly high waves of love in Tadfield in S1, it's not really an unusual event. After all...

[maxdibert]

Lily. Is she just a popular Petunia? On the surface they’re two sisters that could hardly be more different, the elder unattractive, dull and untalented and the younger beautiful, vivacious and magical. But they both chose domineering upper class bullies. They’re both concerned with social respectability. They both place themselves in physical danger for their sons. And while I can’t see Lily shoving a child in a cupboard, she also seems to operate within the framework that violence is acceptable if she can justify to herself the victim deserves it. Lily gets called a Mary Sue a lot and I get why but I think JKR put just enough in there to make the case that that she’s as grey as her chosen company lol

This take on Lily as a “popular Petunia” gains even more depth when we consider their working-class backgrounds and how each ultimately chooses a partner who offers social mobility—though in questionable ways. Petunia finds security and an upward social shift by marrying Vernon, a man who embodies traditional middle-class respectability with all its rigid, judgmental values. Lily, on the other hand, ends up with James Potter, who, by magical standards, is akin to a wealthy, privileged elite. James’s status, confidence, and the power that comes with his family’s legacy mark a clear jump for Lily in the wizarding social hierarchy, just as Petunia’s life with Vernon marks a leap into conventional middle-class security in the Muggle world.

Both sisters align themselves with men who embody aspects of control and social status within their respective worlds, suggesting they value security and social respectability—even if it means overlooking or accepting certain flaws. Petunia tolerates Vernon’s small-mindedness and cruelty, while Lily accepts James despite his past as a bully and privileged figure. Yet Lily’s decision is often portrayed in a highly idealized way, with Rowling rarely delving into her motivations or background beyond her role as Harry’s mother. This lack of context is perhaps one of the biggest issues with Lily’s character: she’s preserved as an almost saintly maternal figure, untouchable and morally pure, which can feel one-dimensional and even hypocritical, especially when we learn about her past friendship with Snape. Rowling’s reluctance to explore Lily’s complexity leaves her moral standing somewhat hollow, given that she rejects Snape for his darker choices while forgiving James for his own troubling traits.

In the end, both Lily and Petunia are driven by a desire for social respectability and stability, but their different worlds shape those ambitions in distinct ways. By elevating Lily to an untouchable status as Harry’s “perfect” mother, Rowling misses the chance to flesh out the complexities that make her choices relatable, instead framing her as a near-flawless martyr. This leaves her character feeling almost like a “Mary Sue” figure, unable to reconcile the murkiness of her past or the double standards within her relationships.

[painfools]

" yeah, i think so too. " just wishes he could have felt comfortable enough to open up sooner. remembers what it was like when they dated, how long it took just to say that he loved her. " not too long, " he informs, glancing at his clock. can't help but feel a spark of hope light in his chest when she offers that they go to pick up soph together. glances up at her, unable to keep himself from smiling. " really ? " clears his throat, adjusting the tie around his neck. " i'd love that. i can . . . " steps over to his desk, stacking his case files neatly. " i can call out early today. he'll finish the rest of his work tomorrow, he decides. it can wait if it means proving himself to soph and ada. " i know it's still a bit early to pick her up. have you had lunch yet ? " might be pressing his luck now, but griffin has always been a risk taker.

"that's good, i'm glad you're opening up to someone." can't help but pang of disappointment at the thought of leaving, honeyed hues glancing at the clock of his desk for a brief moment before she meets his gaze again. "how long until you're done?" she questions, tilting her head slightly, a gentle smile playing on her lips. it’s a simple question, one that she isn't sure she should be asking but an attempt to bridge the distance that often seemed to stretch between them. "i know you’re busy, but maybe we could go pick up soph together ? " the brunette suggests almost hesitantly. " maybe take her to the park, she'd be happy to see you."

[ruporas]

can’t talk about it

[ID: Black and white comic of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. The comic starts with the sounds "thud, thud, click". Vash, mid-action of peeling an apple, turns to the sound, noticing who it was that entered, and says, "Oh, Wolfwood, you're back." He resumes back to his apple in the next panel as he speaks, "Where'd you go? You snuck out of bed quickly this morning..." Wolfwood's hand then enters the panel, hovering over Vash's cheek and Vash looks up as Wolfwood asks, "Can I?" Vash responds, "Not going to talk about it?" while using a hand to gently hold Wolfwood's hovering hand and presses a kiss to his inner palm.

Vash then gets up fully, setting down the knife down on the table and the apple onto a plate, He leans into Wolfwood as Wolfwood explains, "Had to meet someone. Nothing interesting to talk about." Vash kisses Wolfwood's left cheek and a hand moves to cup his other cheek while muttering, "You're being vague." Wolfwood says neutrally, "If yer really that curious, keep askin'. We  can talk about that instead of doing this." Vash leans back and responds, "Let's talk after, since... You look so tired."

The panel pans to a close up of Wolfwood's downcast eyes, bags heavy underneath his eyes. He doesn't allow Vash to sit in that moment for long though, then saying, "Yer not helping, Spikey. Being all slow with it... I could fall asleep right now." He moves his hand to start unclasping Vash's coat, starting from his collar. Vash with red cheeks, responds briskly, "Oh, shut up. I'm worried about you. I can't be worried?"

The final shot shows Wolfwood's back to the viewer while Vash's softened expression can be seen as he holds gently onto the side of Wolfwood's face and a hand firm on his waist. Wolfwood responds, "I'm fine, seriously," pausing for a moment before continuing, "Is it okay to still..?" Vash responds, "Yeah, it's okay."

The next image is a shot from later that night after the previous comic. Vash and Wolfwood are now in bed, half naked. Wolfwood's buries his face into Vash's chest, his arms wrapped around him, while Vash is petting at his hair. Vash reminds him, "Hey. You said we'd talk about it." Wolfwood pauses for a moment before piping up, "In the morning? I'm sleepy." Vash says, "Okay..."

The next two pages start from the morning after. Wolfwood is already fully awake, pulling on his outer jacket as he says to Vash, whos' still bundled in his blankets, "Breakfast is on the table. Make sure to eat it. I'm going to grab some things in town and then we're leavin'. Got it?" Vash says, "Mh." Wolfwood responds, "Good. See ya in a bit." The dialogue starts to shift into Vash's inner thoughts now, as he gets up and eats toast, thinking, "Wait. Weren't we supposed to... talk about it?" The next shot then shows him fully up, meeting Wolfwood in town. He carries a half worried expression with him while Wolfwood slides on his glasses for him. A quick panel shows Wolfwood's tired expression from the night before and quickly juxtaposes with Wolfwood in front of him who's smiling gently, the shades covering his eye bags. Wolfwood asks him, "Still not awake yet?" Vash pauses, his thoughts stirring, thinking, "Oh. I guess I was getting ahead of myself... thinking you owe me that kind of honesty." He smiles at Wolfwood and responds, "I'm awake!" His thoughts continue, "Maybe one day, you'd trust me enough to share your burdens."

The final image shows Wolfwood pulling at Vash's cheek and Vash complains, "Owwwww why..." Wolfwood quickly says, "You were thinking something stupid, right? It's all over yer face." Vash mutters, "Nooo, I wasn't..." END ID]

[welcometogrouchland]

Batman #149 by chip zdarsky is mostly unremarkable, but I'm really fascinated by how it makes a great case for 'good' endings not saving 'bad' stories*. Because there's a lot of interesting concepts in this issue (bruce having to deal with his rapidly aging and decaying clone making him think about his own life, re-establishing a 'nest' so to speak for his family after pushing them away, etc) but bc of the OOC slog that came before it, almost every moment w/ the batfamily comes off as unearned and disingenuous imo.

Like, everything with Damian is the perfect example in this. Because in isolation it's...fine. admittedly it's a missed opportunity to not go deeper into how Damian would feel about a clone of his dad who tried to kill considering Damian's relationships with clones of himself (the heretic rejects and respawn) or with former enemies who wanted him dead but who were manipulated and/or brainwashed (like suren and maya).

Zdarsky doesn't go into any of this but you could maybe excuse it as the issue not being about Damian. However, coupled with the previous bizarre characterizations of Damian in 147 and 148, it ends up not being fine- instead it starts to feel...icky how Damian (who, despite often being drawn and written as white, will never have his connection to the non-white al ghuls forgotten and will always be effected by racism even when not portrayed as a poc) is constantly written as overly violent, uncaring and narrow minded in this run. Coupled w/ trying to recanonize the morrison origin for Damian it's like. OH this is badly written and laden with subtle bigotry, sick**

That's me going into detail on it with Damian but it's applicable to other things in this issue- the way Cass, Steph and Duke have all been ignored or turned into jobbers makes their inclusion in the 'family' here feel hollow instead of satisfying. Bruce proclaiming that Zur was still a part of him and he needs to accept responsibility for his actions (when it means taking in clone son) wrings hollow when just last issue zdarsky was bending over backwards to separate Bruce and Zur bc otherwise the Jason thing would get really awkward. Ends are achieved through means that feel hollow or strange. I'm at my destination but damn why'd the bus have to do all that???

I only really have opinions on this latest arc of zdarskys Batman bc it's the one I've read the closest (bc I'm a hater, masochist and avid follower of even the bad damian storylines) but it's not saying great things.

Bc zdarsky can do one thing good in this book, and it's write Bruce and Tim. And yet this entire story, whether of his own volition or editorial mandate, includes other characters who aren't Bruce and Tim, the fabric starts to unravel in very telling ways.

(p.s, I think pennyworth manor is an interesting idea but I feel like in execution it's just gonna be 'bruce living in a house haunted by the memory of the people he couldn't save' but with a different dead guy this time. Illusion of change and whatnot)

*whether or not the ending is good is up to you ofc, as is your opinion on the proceeding arc! I saw some ppl complain that the ending was too "WFA" for them, which I get even if I dont think it'll literally be the same premise. If anything it's probably a lead into the new tec run. Likewise many ppl who aren't in the weeds of Damian and Jason characterization liked the previous arc! But I have my opinions and rest my case before the bench

**disclaimer, I'm white and portrayals of bigotry in comics are complicated and subjective, but I am basing my point here off what other poc comic fans on socmed have been saying about 149. Also the "sick" is sarcasm incase that wasn't obvious

[dailydegurechaff]

intrusive thought