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inkspiredwriting · 2 days ago

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The Empty Chair

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: I've decided to only post on Mondays. I just think that makes a lot more sense at the moment. I hope you aren't disappointed because of this.

Warnings: none

The Hargreeves dining room was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, a soft and inviting ambiance created by flickering flames that danced across the walls. Plates and dishes were carefully arranged on the long wooden table, the aroma of a lovingly prepared meal wafting through the air. It was a rare occasion when the siblings managed to gather together, a break from the chaos and unpredictability of their lives. Yet, despite the warmth and togetherness, a somber note lingered in the air, manifesting in the empty chair that stood starkly at the table.

Y/n Hargreeves sat quietly, her gaze constantly drifting to that vacant chair, its absence a glaring reminder of who was missing—Five. The table was bustling with chatter and laughter as his siblings tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, but Y/n’s heart ached for the man who should have been sitting beside her, his sharp wit and wry humor adding his unique flavor to the evening.

Luther was at the head of the table, carving the roast with his usual precision. He caught Y/n’s eye and offered a sympathetic smile, but it did little to alleviate the heaviness in her chest. Diego and Klaus were bickering playfully, their voices overlapping in a spirited debate about who had done the most daring thing that week. Allison and Viktor were discussing a new movie, their faces animated with excitement. Ben was teasing Diego, he chimed in with a sarcastic comment.

Yet, despite the lively conversation and the efforts to keep the mood light, there was a palpable tension, an unspoken acknowledgment of the empty space that haunted the room.

Diego leaned back in his chair, waving a fork at Klaus. “You can’t seriously believe that fighting a bear with a switchblade is more dangerous than defusing a bomb!”

Klaus snorted, taking a sip of his wine. “Oh, please. You just want to be the hero in every story, don’t you? Besides, the bear was huge. And I didn’t even have a switchblade. It was more like a really angry squirrel.”

“More like a hallucination,” Ben quipped, rolling his eyes. “You probably imagined the whole thing.”

Allison chuckled, shaking her head. “Let’s just agree that both of you are equally reckless and move on. How about that new movie we watched, Viktor? What did you think of it?”

Viktor nodded, his eyes lighting up. “I loved it. The storyline was so gripping, and the cinematography was stunning.”

As the conversation flowed around her, Y/n forced a smile, trying to engage, but her mind kept wandering back to Five. She could almost see him there, his usual scowl softening into a rare, genuine smile as he made some sarcastic remark about Diego’s bravado or Klaus’s outrageous stories.

Y/n’s gaze lingered on the empty chair, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. She couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at her, a void that the evening’s laughter and chatter couldn’t fill. Five was out there, somewhere, caught up in his work with the CIA. She knew it was important, that he was doing what he had to do, but that knowledge did little to ease the loneliness she felt in his absence.

Luther, noticing her distraction, cleared his throat. “So, Y/n, how’s work been lately? Anything interesting?”

Y/n blinked, snapping out of her reverie. “Oh, it’s been busy,” she replied, her voice soft. “Nothing too exciting, just the usual stuff.”

Allison leaned forward, her eyes filled with concern. “You know, Five will be back soon. He always finds his way home.”

Y/n nodded, managing a small smile. “I know. It’s just… I miss him. We all do.”

Klaus reached across the table, placing a hand on hers. “Hey, we get it. That little bastard is a pain, but he’s our pain. And he’ll come back with some ridiculous story about how he saved the world single-handedly.”

The table erupted in laughter, and for a moment, the heaviness lifted. Y/n chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

As the evening wore on, the laughter and stories flowed more freely, the family finding comfort in each other’s company. They shared memories, recounted old adventures, and teased each other mercilessly, the bonds between them growing stronger with each passing moment.

Y/n found herself relaxing, the warmth of the evening seeping into her bones. She laughed at Klaus’s antics, rolled her eyes at Diego’s bragging, and joined in the playful banter with Allison and Viktor. For a little while, the emptiness seemed to fade, replaced by the love and camaraderie that filled the room.

But as the candles burned low and the conversation began to wind down, her gaze inevitably returned to the empty chair. The evening’s laughter had been a balm, but it couldn’t completely erase the ache of Five’s absence.

As the others began to clear the table and gather dishes, Y/n stood and walked over to the empty chair. She ran her fingers over the backrest, her heart heavy with longing. She could almost feel his presence, a ghostly echo of the man she loved.

Luther approached, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “He’ll come back,” he said softly. “Five’s always found a way to return to us.”

Y/n nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know. It’s just hard sometimes, not knowing where he is or when he’ll be back.”

Luther squeezed her shoulder, his expression filled with understanding. “We’re here for you, Y/n. We’re all in this together.”

Y/n smiled, wiping her eyes. “Thanks, Luther. That means a lot.”

As the family began to disperse, Y/n lingered a moment longer by the chair. She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the wave of sadness that threatened to overwhelm her. She knew that she had to be strong, not just for herself, but for Five as well. He needed her to be his anchor, to keep the light burning until he could find his way back to her.

She walked to the window, lighting a single candle and placing it on the sill. Its warm glow flickered against the glass, a beacon of hope in the darkness. She knew it was a small gesture, but it felt like a way to reach out to him, to let him know that she was waiting, that she would always be waiting.

As she watched the flame dance in the darkness, she whispered softly, “Come home soon, Five. We need you here.”

The night outside was cold and silent, the stars distant and indifferent. But the candle’s light burned bright and steady, a symbol of the love and hope that would guide him back to her.

#five hargreeves imagines #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #number five imagine #number five x reader #the umbrella academy #number five #number five one shot #five hargreeves

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veronicaphoenix · 1 day ago

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zutto — chapter thirteen | wc: 6k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: Noah and Lia spend the day in Tokyo and visit a certain exhibition that leads to steamy things once they're back in their room.

Reading time: 25mins. aprox.

Tags and trigger warnings: talks/depictions of rope play and mentions of war and torture (related to historical events), wet dreams, explicit sexual content including teasing, dirty talk, Lia wearing a choker, Lia on her knees, oral sex (Noah receiving), p in v (protected and unprotected), praise kink, “good girl”, Noah restraining Lia’s wrists, slight dom/sub dynamics if you squint, fluff. Let me know if I missed sth.

Say thank you @bluestdai because the wet dream scene was inspired by her fanart of Lia and Noah. 💞

I wanted to post this before I leave on a roadtrip, so I didn't have much time to really revise it. Sorry for any typos or mistakes you might find.

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

“Will you stop looking at me like that?” Lia demanded, her cheeks tinged with a rosy hue as she struggled to speak around a mouthful of her fourth tamagoyaki of that morning. Her hand hovered in front of her mouth.

Noah’s grin widened. “No.”

A crease formed between Lia’s brows as she swallowed. She licked her lips before retorting, “It’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Is it?” Noah asked, his tone playful as he arched an eyebrow. “I love watching you eat. You look adorable. I can’t help it.”

Her face grew even warmer.

“It makes me self-conscious,” she mumbled, glancing at the empty plate in front of her. “That was my fourth tamagoyaki...”

Noah, who had finished his breakfast minutes earlier, continued to watch her, his elbows resting on the countertop of the kitchen isle. Grandma, ever busy, had flitted off to another part of the house barely five minutes ago.

“Want another one?” Noah asked.

Lia’s eyes widened in alarm. Before she could reply, he raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m not teasing! I’m serious! I love the way you enjoy food. That’s all.”

Lia hesitated, her eyes darting to the tray where the remaining tamagoyakis were arranged in two perfect rows. Temptation gnawed at her, but her stomach was already satisfyingly full.

“I’m good,” she said, brushing her fingers on a napkin. She made a mental note to ask Grandma for the recipe before returning to the States. No Japanese restaurant back home could replicate the unique taste of Grandma’s cooking, and she was sure neither could she—nor Noah, for that matter. But she was willing to try.

Just then, Hana bustled back into the kitchen, her white hair neatly gathered into a bun. She carried a pile of freshly washed kitchen rags that she quickly stored in a drawer.

“Why don’t you take the rest with you?” she suggested, gestuing toward the food tray and already pulling a plastic container from the cupboard. “You’re spending the day out, right?” she asked, glancing between them.

“Yep,” Noah confirmed.

“Better to have something on hand,” Grandma insisted. “Just in case.”

“We’re planning to eat out,” Lia pointed out, standing from the stool.

“For later,” Grandma said with a knowing smile. Without waiting for further protests, she began packing the tamagoyaki along with a couple of small juice bottles.

Lia shrugged, catching Noah’s amused expression. Despite herself, she couldn’t hold back a grin.

As Grandma finished packing their food, Noah and Lia headed upstairs to change out of their pajamas. Today, they were planning to explore Tokyo on their own after spending most of their stay so far indulging in Grandma’s company and taking her to places.

They made the bed together and Lia opened the balcony doors to let some fresh air in. While Noah was checking his hair in the bathroom, Lia stepped out and leaned against the railing of the bedroom balcony, dressed in black leggings, a white shirt, and a soft denim jacket that would later pair with her boots. She took a few deep breaths and admired the beauty of the scenery before her before plucking her phone out of a pocket and moving her fingers deftly over the display, the cold morning air tinging her nose pink as her eyes scanned the information.

“Lia, you ready?” Noah’s voice called from behind.

“Yeah.” Lia turned to face him, hesitating for a moment before adding, “Noah?”

“Hm?”

“I found this exhibition...” She waved her phone slightly, her expression both eager and uncertain. “I thought we could go.”

“What kind of exhibition?” Noah asked, crossing the room to get a closer look at her phone screen.

“It’s a... Shibari exhibition,” Lia explained with a casual tone. But her gaze was watchful, eyeing Noah and unsure of what his reply would be.

Noah’s eyebrows lifted.

Before he could say anything, she quickly added, “I’d like to see it.”

For a moment, Noah simply studied her. Then, with a shrug and an easy smile, he spread his arms. “If you want to go, I’m in. Where is it?”

“Not far from Tokyo’s center,” Lia added, relief evident in her voice.

“Then let’s do it,” Noah said. He extended his hand toward her. “Shall we?”

No matter how full they still felt after the hearty breakfast at Grandma’s, the bustling energy of Tokyo’s center and the amount of cafés was enough to draw them in for another warm drink—and Lia’s fifth tamagoyaki of the day—. After stepping out of the cab and strolling through narrow streets lined with shops and neon signs, they stopped at a cozy café. They talked idly as the indulged in steaming sencha tea and they watched the city’s rhythm outside the window. Lia connected her phone to the café’s free Wi-Fi and googled their way to the exhibition venue. The map showed it was only a fifteen-minute walk, so they set off and managed to make it there without stopping in too many stores.

The venue was tucked away on a quieter street north of the city center, its sleek modern exterior standing out against the older buildings nearby. The gallery’s enormous windows offered glimpses of the artwork inside, making Lia and Noah pause by the first window, leaning close to peer in.

The gallery was expansive. The walls they could see were adorned by vintage, A4-sized photographs. Beneath each image, a foam block appeared to hold neat inscriptions in Japanese and English, perhaps with details about the photos. Deeper inside the venue, Noah and Lia caught flashes of different lights, red ropes and abstract installations.

Lia turned to Noah, biting her lip briefly but eyes sparking. She grabbed his hand and tugged.

“Let’s go.”

Noah smirked, charmed by her enthusiasm, and let her take the lead.

At the entrance, they were surprised to learn there was no fee. The receptionist, a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a nice smile, welcomed them. She handed each of them a brochure and explained the exhibition’s layout: the first section showcased historical photographs from the Edo period. The following ones contained suspended rope installations, live demonstrations, and at the end they would find a workshop space for learning basic knotting techniques, and even a literary and philosophical corner for quiet reflection. Souvenirs, books, and rope could be purchased at the store located at the very end of the exhibition.

“Feel free to explore at your own pace,” the woman added. “There’s a live demonstration that will start in about thirty minutes, near the back.”

Lia clutched her brochure, her eyes already scanning the gallery, while Noah gave the receptionist a polite nod before following Lia inside.

Initially, the vastness of the gallery and the weight of the artwork’s themes made Lia hesitate. She lingered near the first exhibit, a collection of photographs depicting the use of rope in Edo-period hojojutsu, a martial art once used for restraining prisoners. The photographs were stark and evocative, showing the artistry that elevated the utilitarian knots into something symbolic.

Lia felt Noah stiffen slightly beside her, adjusting his black cap, his posture reserved. She glanced up to see his brows furrowed in concentration, perhaps grappling with the unfamiliar context and maybe wondering the repercussions of someone spotting him there. Wanting to reassure him, she reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

Their eyes roamed over the photographs, analyzing the intricate interplay of shadow and light that emphasized the delicacy of the knots. One picture captured a prisoner kneeling with a calm expression, their arms bound behind them in an arrangement so precise it resembled a lattice of branches. Another photograph showed a ceremonial display of knots, the prisoner’s posture one of poised dignity despite their restrained state. Each knot seemed to convey a story of its own, involving control, power, but also elegance and care. It was strange and yet, fascinating.

“Look at this one,” Lia murmured, pointing to an image of a woman dressed in a kimono, her hands tied with a flourish that mirrored the folds of her garment. “It’s beautiful.”

Noah nodded, his brow still furrowed. “It is,” he admitted, his voice low, almost reluctant. “But looks complicated.”

They moved into the next section, where the gallery shifted from history to abstract art. Ropes hung suspended from the ceiling, looping and twisting in gravity-defying arcs. Some installations were simple, resembling waves or vines, while others were chaotic tangles that seemed to pulse with energy.

Lia stopped in front of one particularly piece—a massive web of crimson rope that seemed to expand and contract with the airflow in the room. At its center was a suspended a gold ornament, bound so intricately that it seemed to hover like a captured treasure.

“How the hell did they do this,” Noah muttered to himself, his curiosity breaking through his earlier reserve. He stepped closer, crouching slightly to observe the knots securing the installation to the floor and ceiling. “It’s flawless. If you pull at one knot, the whole thing would collapse.”

“Kind of like trust,” Lia said thoughtfully.

He glanced up at her, caught off guard by her comment.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause. “Like trust.”

They lingered for a few moments before following the signs toward the live demonstration. The corridor opened into a large space with seating arranged in a semicircle around a low platform. A few people were already gathered, chatting quietly or flipping through their brochures.

On the platform, a man and a woman prepared for the demonstration. The woman was standing in the center, barefoot and wearing a beige tight bodysuit. The man was dressed in simple black clothes. He was arranging coils of rope on a low table beside him.

Noah and Lia found a spot where to stand on the side, close enough to see the details but not so close as to feel conspicuous. Lia noticed Noah’s posture relax slightly as he leaned forward, his cap shielding his face from view momentarily as his arm rubbed at Lia’s shoulder.

Moments later, the room quieted and the demonstrator stepped forward, bowing slightly before addressing the audience.

“Thank you for joining us today. What you are about to see is a traditional art form that blends discipline and creativity. It requires trust, communication, and respect between the participants.”

A mix of curiosity and reverence settled over the room.

As the demonstration began, the audience watched. The demonstrator moved with a calm, rhythmic precision, guiding the rope around his partner’s arms and torso in fluid motions. Each knot was a statement, each loop a deliberate choice.

The demonstrator began with a length of smooth, red rope, holding it as though it were a living thing. He stepped behind his partner and guided her hands together at the small of her back. With a single motion, he looped the rope around her wrists, his fingers dancing as he secured the first knot.

The room had grown so quiet that the soft rustle of the rope against the woman’s skin was audible, every sound amplified in the stillness. The demonstrator wrapped the rope twice more, forming clean, parallel lines that looked as though they had been measured with a ruler. He paused briefly to check her posture, a silent exchange passing between them before he resumed his work, the ends of the rope weaving into a decorative knot that held the arrangement in place.

Lia felt her breath catch as she watched. The movements were hypnotic. She could feel Noah’s steady breathing behind her, as well as the way his chest rose and fell a little more deeply than before.

As the man finished securing the final knot, the woman flexed her fingers, the subtle movement testing the hold. The demonstrator stepped back, bowing slightly to acknowledge the completion of the first step. The woman returned the bow, her restrained hands adding an unexpected grace to the gesture.

The audience remained silent. The room felt charged, as though everyone was holding their breath in unison.

Lia shifted slightly, and that was when she noticed how close Noah had leaned in. She could feel the faint warmth of his breath near her ear, each exhale brushing softly against her skin. His heartbeat was steady but insistent, a subtle rhythm she could sense through the proximity of his body.

For a moment, the gallery and the audience faded away. All she could focus on was the quiet intensity of the scene before them, mirrored by Noah’s quiet intensity beside her. The blend of concentration and restraint in his posture made her wonder what he was thinking—if he was thinking the same things she was.

Lia felt her own pulse quicken, her fingers tightening on the edges of her brochure. She didn’t say a word, afraid that even the softest whisper might shatter the spellbinding stillness of the room. Instead, she turned her attention back to the platform, where the demonstrator was already preparing for the next sequence. But the sensation of Noah’s presence intensified.

“Do you find that interesting?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety so that only she would catch his words.

Lia, so absorbed in the intricate process before her, missed the subtle suggestion in his tone. She nodded earnestly, her eyes never leaving the scene. Behind her, Noah smiled, a sly curl of amusement tugging at his lips.

The rigger moved smoothly, his hands working with practiced ease to loop the red rope over the woman’s shoulders and around her chest, framing her torso in a symmetrical pattern. The interplay of rope against skin, the way it both restricted and enhanced her form, was mesmerizing to watch.

Noah, however, had shifted his focus to Lia.

His fingers slid down her arm, brushing her wrist lightly before curling around it. With deliberate slowness, he brought her hand behind her back. Lia hardly noticed, her attention still on the stage, until she felt him take her other wrist and guide it to meet the first.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The brochure dropped to the floor silently.

Noah’s chest pressed closer, his body shielding hers from the view of the other spectators. His hand, large and strong, held both of her wrists in a resistant grip. The grip wasn’t painful—just firm enough to keep her still, to make her heart skip a beat.

She tried to look back at him, but her cheek met his.

“Imagine we’re in the bedroom,” he whispered, his voice dipping into a husky timbre that sent heat pooling low in her belly. “And your hands are tied at your back. Like this.”

To emphasize his point, he tightened his grip just enough to make her gasp softly. The edge of sweet discomfort prickled through her awareness, and she was acutely conscious of how exposed they were.

“Can you picture it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Noah’s grin deepened, his teeth grazing the shell of her ear.

“Good. Would you be willing to do anything I say? While you’re tied up? Like her?”

“Yes.” Her answer was quick and breathless, her heart hammering in her chest as his words wove a spell around her.

His lips brushed the corner of her jaw, his breath hot against her skin.

“Can I be honest? I can picture it, too” his tone was so seductive that Lia had to press her thighs together. “I’ve pictured it so many times already. I’d make you get on your knees...” With his thumb he traced circles on the inside of her wrist. “And after that, I’d do whatever I want to you, with the only intention of pleasuring you. How does that sound?”

Lia’s pulse quickened, her lips parting.

Before she could speak, the rigger on stage gave a gentle tug to the ropes, shifting the model’s position. The sudden movement pulled Lia’s attention back to the demonstration, her cheeks flushed with both excitement and awareness of the people around her—and at the hard thing pressing against her back.

Back to her senses, she muttered, “you’re getting a boner, Noah.”

She was not facing him, but she could tell he had looked down at his own pants.

“Yes, I am. Shit.” He released her fast and adjusted his trousers, taking a single step away from her and looking around coyly.

Lia looked at him over her shoulder and nearly snorted. Noah send her a playful glare.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “We’ll have time to finish this.”

As he stepped back slightly, giving her space, Lia felt the loss of his warmth but couldn’t quite shake the lingering heat of his words. She tried to get her attention back to the stage, trying to refocus, but her mind was already far away, spinning with possibilities Noah had just whispered into existence.

The demonstration ended and everyone clapped. A couple of minutes later, Noah and Lia walked hand in hand to the workshop section, where they tried to learn the basic of knots and ended up cracking up at clumsiness they both showed at it. Lia had stayed frozen for a full ten minutes trying to understand where the teacher had instructed to pull the rope through, and Noah had at least tried, only to get his own hands tangled in the mess of rope. Lia teased him about not having learnt anything from the book he had at home. He was quick to retaliate, stepping closer to nibble playfully at her ear, whispering that he hadn’t had anyone to practice with before.

“Now I have you,” he said, “and I plan on getting really good at it.”

At the souvenir shop afterward, they made a donation to support the various artists who had contributed to the exhibition. Lia bought a history book, paying for it along with a set of black-and-red cotton ropes that Noah dropped onto the counter.

“They might not let us take a katana home, but I’m sure there’s no problem with a few ropes,” he stated.

The day in Tokyo was eventful. They walked a lot, saw a lot, laughed a lot and shared plenty of kisses in hidden corners of the big city. They returned home with their hands full of bags and their feet aching, though the discomfort was soon forgotten when they sat down in Hana’s tea room. They enjoyed a quiet conversation with Grandma, recounting the things they’d done and seen—leaving out a few details, of course—as they sipped lukewarm tea before heading to bed.

Upstairs, with most of the lights in the house off and their shopping bags piled on the desk, Noah changed into his sleep shirt and sweats and waited for Lia to finish brushing her teeth in the bathroom.

He was about to flop on the bed when she called out to him.

“Noah, could you grab my sleeping shirt?” Lia’s voice came from the bathroom.

“You mean my shirt,” he replied with a hint of amusement, moving to her suitcase and rummaging around to retrieve it.

“It’s been mine for years now. You lost your chance to reclaim it long ago—” Her words trailed off as she entered the bedroom, only to freeze in place. She stood there in her bra and panties, and Noah, instead of holding her shirt, had something else entirely in his hands: the pair of kitty ears and the choker she’d impulsively bought in Osaka.

One in each hand, he lifted them slowly, inspecting them with raised brows.

“What... is this?” he asked, looking up at her, intrigued.

Lia’s shoulders slumped, her cheeks flushing.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Oh? And why not? What exactly are you planning to do with it?” He cocked an eyebrow, studying her reaction with growing interest.

She stepped forward, reaching to snatch them from his hands, but he quickly tucked them behind his back, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Did you buy these for me?”

She huffed, barely hiding a reluctant smile. “Can you just forget you ever saw them and put them back, please?”

“No chance.”

“Noah!” she exclaimed, her tone halfway between a scold and a plea.

“I think I need to see you wearing these,” he murmured, lifting the kitty ears in one hand, his eyes then drifting to the choker in the other, as though savoring the thought.

Lia gave him a pointed look, her lips pressed together to hide her amusement. “You will. One day. But not here. Now, please—put it back?”

“Put it on.”

“Noah…”

He paused, then added with a gentler tone, “Alright. Then, let me put it on you.” His voice softened, but his eyes held a playful gleam that made it impossible to deny him.

She took a slow breath, biting her lower lip as she debated. Part of her wanted to let him have his way, but they were at Grandma’s house, of all places. However, she couldn’t deny how his expression—the mix of pleading and challenge—made her pulse quicken.

“You’re trouble,” she finally said, her tone half-resigned, half-amused.

Noah smirked, tempted to raise his fist.

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice dipping into a more serious tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

Obediently, Lia turned. She started to lift her hair, but he was quicker, his fingers brushing along her nape in a deliberate, lingering caress. Her breath hitched as he fastened the choker, slipping it around her neck. His arms grazed her shoulders as he clasped it, and he gently tugged her hair free to let it cascade down her back.

When she turned to face him, her heartbeat thudding, she saw him struggling to maintain his composure. He handed her the kitty ears with a quiet intensity in his eyes. She took them, placing them on her head, pushing her long hair back with a shy smile.

As she stood there, arms falling to her sides, he took a step back to take her in fully. His gaze fell on the choker, and she saw the way his playful smirk vanished, replaced by something deeper, something raw.

“Fuck.”

There was a beat of silence. Lia blinked as she read his expression, then her eyes dropped to the bulge that had appeared down his front, and she felt a surge of power curse through her.

Yes, she thought. Fuck it.

Her hands went to the laces of his joggers, and the sudden motion snapped Noah out of his trance.

He caught her wrists. “No.”

She froze. She waited, her breath catching. Then he continued, his tone dropping lower, dripping with command.

“Get on your knees.”

Her stomach flipped. Oh, God.

Slowly, she sank to her knees, the soft carpet on the wooder floor brushing her legs as she looked up at him with brown doe eyes. Maybe it was a risk, but she took her hands back to his laces, and this time, he didn’t stop her. He let her undo them and pull his sweats down as he peeled his t-shirt off quickly, discarding it onto the floor. Lia pushed his underwear down, his cock springing free, thick and hard.

“You’re gonna suck me, right?” he asked with strain. “I need you to s—”

Lia cut him off by wrapping her fingers around the base of his length and lifting it slightly to drag her tongue along the underside. She started at the base, tracing the thick vein that pulsed beneath her touch, all the way to the head.

“Lia… Fuck.”

She took her time, savoring the weight of him in her hand, her tongue exploring every inch. When she finally began to bob her head, his sharp inhale was all the encouragement she needed. Everything that came out from his mouth after were moans and praise.

“That’s it. God,” he murmured, “the mouth you have…”

The pride that filled her was electric, and it must have shown in her eyes because Noah’s lips quirked into a grin even as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“You like that, Lia? You like sucking my cock?”

She couldn’t say yes—not with her mouth full—, so she doubled her efforts, hollowing her cheeks and taking him deeper. His features contorted as though caught between pleasure and pain, and she felt his fingers move to her head, his hands tangling in her hair as he helped guide her movements.

“Keep going, baby.” His words were choked, punctuated by grunts. “Just like that. Yes.”

He looked down at her again, thinking he must have done something extraordinary in his life to deserve this—to have such a beautiful girl on her knees with her mouth full of him. On top of that, her desire and enjoyment were palpable in every moment. Knowing he was making her happy by having her at his mercy ignited a possessive thrill that rushed through him.

His hands caressed her scalp, guiding her motions. Lia closed her eyes, her tongue working with deliberate twists and touches. She tried to take him deeper, twisting her tongue to draw more sounds from him, her confidence soaring with each groan that escaped his lips.

Then, with that voice of his, that low, deep tone that never failed to leave her weak, his hands tightened in her hair as she murmured, “You’re such a good girl.” The praise was so raw it almost undid her. Heat flooded her body as she thought she might come just from his words alone. “You look so pretty on your knees, baby.”

One hand slid from her hair to her chin, his touch gentle despite the fire in his eyes. He tilted her face upward, and as her lips released him, his cock slipped out of her mouth, a string of saliva connecting them. Her tongue darted out to lick it away before she bit her lip, wanting more.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he admitted, his voice rough as his dark gaze trailed to her neck and the baby pink collar still snug there. “I’m never letting you take that choker off.”

Lia thought he would let her finish him, that she’s have him falling apart in her hands—and mouths—but Noah had other plans. Taking himself in his hand, he helped her rise to her feet. His hands cupped her cheeks, pulling her into a kiss that stole her breath. He didn’t give a fuck about tasting himself on her lips.

The kiss was all-consuming, leaving her dizzy as he walked her backward toward the low bed.

Once her knees hit the mattress, he guided her down, his hands slipping to the waistband of her panties.

“Take off your bra.”

She obeyed without hesitation—she was Noah’s good girl—, unhooking the clasp and discarding the thin bra next to her. Noah tugged her panties down, tossing them aside before covering her body with his. He trailed a path of kisses from her lower belly to her chest, kissing and licking her nipples and then sucking at her neck at the same time his cock made its way inside of her, making her gasp and grab onto his shoulders.

With the friction of the bodies moving, the movements sent the kitty headband on her head slipping back. With a quick hand, Noah removed it, letting it rest on the pillow next to Lia’s head.

“The choker stays,” his voice declared against her ear. His voice was low, possessive, and his words were followed by another murmuring that sounded very much like a “you’re mine”. He buried his face in her neck and thrust into her again and again.

“Open your legs wider, Lia,” he urged. “That’s it. Good girl.”

She moaned in response.

“Say my name.” Noah instructed. It was a command, a desperate one. There was something raw in the way he said it—a need he couldn’t suppress. He needed to hear his name on her lips. Over and over and over.

“Noah, please.”

“Yes, Lia,” he groaned, his pace quickening. “Say it again. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything you need.”

“More, Noah. Please.”

He would give her more. He would give her everything.

“Lia.” His voice was a mantra as his lips found hers again.

“Noah,” she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut as her body surrendered.

“Lia,” he repeated.

“Yes,” she breathed. She was barely present, her words more a reflex than conscious thought.

“Lia, open your eyes,” he said, his voice softer now.

Her eyes fluttered open, and the world shifted.

Darkness enveloped the room, and her breath caught in her throat. Noah wasn’t on top of her anymore. He wasn’t naked—and neither was she.

He was lying on his side of the bed, propped on one elbow, his expression etched with concern as he patted her cheek.

“Lia,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

Oh, Jesus…

“Were you having a nightmare?” He asked.

Lia’s hands shot to her neck, only to find there was no choker clasped around it. Her movement didn’t escape Noah’s notice, and his gaze narrowed suspiciously.

“Was someone hurting you?”

“N—no, nothing like that,” she stammered, shaking her head.

“That’s what I thought,” he added, his voice turning into something more of a tease, “because you were moaning my name.”

Lia froze. Uh, oh.

So… She had been having a wet dream.

And Noah knew.

“Wanna tell me what you were dreaming about?”

Before she could respond, his hand slipped under the covers and under the waistband of her pajama pants and panties. His fingers grazed her, and he cursed in surprise as they came away with slick.

“What the hell was I doing to you that got you this wet?” he asked, his voice rough now, desire flooding his tone.

Lia could only close her eyes, her lips curling into a satisfied smile as his fingers began to circle her clit.

“You’re not going to tell me?” He pressed.

She shook her head, biting her lip to suppress a moan.

“Maybe I won’t let you come, then,” he threatened, his tone playful but edged with real intent.

Her eyes flew open, shocked, and her hands moved instinctively to his wrist to keep his hand in place.

“It’s a surprise,” she said, her voice breathy as his fingers circled her clit again. She moved her hand to his crotch, then, where she was met with his obvious erection, cock straining against the fabric of his sweats.

“A surprise?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I promise to tell you once we’re back home.”

“And why can’t you tell me now?” His voice dropped, his curiosity turning almost predatory.

“Because if I tell you, I don’t think you’ll be able to keep it together. And Grandma is a few doors down.”

That obviously only heightened his interest, his eyes darkening with frustration and amusement in equal measure. But he trusted her. She was smart, and her reasoning—even if infuriating—was probably sound. He could still have her anyway, and he’d be content by just being inside of her and barely moving.

“Fine,” he relented, but a low escaped him as he added. “You’re lucky I’m a patient man and you’re adorable when you’re having wet dreams.”

That only made Lia blush harder as she playfully pushed at him.

His hands moved quickly from then, tugging at her waistband as she helped him out of his clothes. Pajamas and underwear were discarded with a shared urgency, their hands brushings and lips touching as they worked together.

When the last clothing barrier was gone, Noah retrieved a condom from nearby and rolled it on with ease. He settled himself between her thighs and under the quilt. His weight against her was always comforting, grounding.

The way he looked at her, like she was his entire world, made her pulse race.

“I’ll take this,” he murmured, “but you’re telling me everything as soon as we’re back in the States.”

And with that, he surged forward, capturing her lips in a kiss that silenced any response she might have given, the night stretching out before them in whispered sighs and muffled moans.

At the first stretch, Lia gasped. The first thrust never failed to make her brace herself against Noah’s shoulders, her fingers clutching for stability as she adjusted to the feeling of fullness. She had learned in their short time together as a couple that Noah always watched her intently in this moment. His expression conveyed so many emotions. His jaw was tight. There was a small wrinkle between his brows, and a dark unrelenting hunger in his eyes that contrasted with the careful gentleness of his love for her.

As he began to move, her body relaxed. It was a dance, a symphony of shared breaths and whispered sighs, their connection running deeper than just physical pleasure.

One of Noah’s hands slid to cradle the side of her head, his thumb brushing her forehead tenderly. With the other, he gripped her wrist and pinned her arm above her head. Lia let out a soft exhale and moved her free hand to rest beside the one he held captive, silently asking him to hold her completely.

Understanding, a cheeky smile curved Noah’s mouth. He pressed closer to her, meeting her yearning expression with one of his own before he dived to kiss her, teeth and tongue and all.

It was slow, but it spoke louder than words. The eye contact making both weak in each other’s arms. Not even five minutes into it, Lia wriggled her wrist and Noah released her hands. Her finger found Noah’s face, and she dragged a finger along his lips, wet from her kisses. He caught it between his teeth with a teasing bite before letting it go, his features contorting with rising pleasure.

“I’m not far,” he whispered, his voice tight.

“Me neither,” she managed. “Can you…?”

“Yeah.”

He knew exactly what she needed.

His fingers found her clit, rubbing as he increased his pace. He was tempted to cover Lia’s mouth with his other hand, but instead, he let it be, allowing the tension between them to coil tighter and tighter, their breathing growing ragged.

When Lia’s orgasm took hold of her, Noah thrust one last time, making her back arch even more. A loud sob escaped her lips, and that’s when Noah did cover her mouth, muffling the sound as his face buried itself in the curve of her neck. His body trembled with his release, spasms overtaking him as he spilled into the condom.

Lia’s body shuddered beneath him, her legs locking around his waist as she bucked against him, riding out the last ripples of her pleasure.

In the stillness that followed, Noah’s weight pressed her into the mattress, and she kept hugging him tightly, not ever letting go. For a long while, neither of them spoke.

Noah’s mind wandered, and in the quiet of the night, with Lia’s heart beating against his own, he reflected on their past and every step, every scratch and heartbreak that had led them inevitably to this moment.

Feeling more settled and thankful than ever, he whispered against her skin, “All my life, I was waiting for you without knowing it.”

Lia blinked, adjusting to the darkness in the room to find his eyes. Her fingers traced his face, her touch reverent as she admired the man he had become. “All those years,” she replied softly, “you deserved a better version of me.”

“It doesn’t matter what version I deserved,” he replied, his voice filled with conviction as he touched her pink cheek with the bend of his index finger. “I had you. I have you now, and I’ve loved every version of you.”

Her eyes welled with emotion as she leaned up, brushing her lips against his as she promised, “You’re mine, Noah.”

— prev. chapter | chapter fourteen

Taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @thecoyotescry | @bluestdai | @lma1986

@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

@chey-h | @ferduttini | @dominuslunae

#the inevitability of love at second sight #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens #noah x lia #noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian fic

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lucygraysboy · 10 hours ago

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“you’re welcome. i really like the idea of using colors as middle names, very unique.” and yet shows that they’re a community. a family. “why would i want to do something nice for you? ‘cause it’s better than just sayin’ thank you, right? actions speak louder than words? and besides, why not help if i can? i can see reva blue means a lot to you.” he shrugs, still very much puzzled by her mindset — does she genuinely believe there’s no good in people? “poor reva blue, but at least her skirt still looks nice and she seems to be thriving.” speaking about the bear as if she were a real person because it feels right, proves that he isn’t heartless. “and how’d you like it? that lifestyle, i mean.” he has trouble picturing his brother, a spitting image of their father apparently, traveling from place to place and having a good time. living out in the woods? in district 12? no way. “i see.” putting pieces of the story together, he can see the bigger picture now and although there are still chunks of it missing, he can almost understand the enormity of her tragedy. “sounds like you and my brother went through a lot together. the games, the mayor’s daughter, and then he just turned on you?” he feels sorry for this girl, being alone in the world is a terrible thing, but being alone after suffering so greatly and being betrayed… it’s a nightmare. it’s one of the reasons why he seems to have unlimited amounts of compassion and empathy for her — he doesn’t know what he’d do if he were the one in her place.

“so you aren’t plannin’ on eventually returnin’? to twelve? where will you go? i mean, i don’t think you can live out here forever. winter’s coming.” what is she going to eat? he doesn’t believe the story about traps for squirrels. how is she going to stay warm? he can’t imagine her wielding an axe and chopping down trees. and this wound… he’s not sure if iodine can help it at this point. she might need actual help from a medic. what if gangrene sets in? “and this other billy? billy taupe? what’s his story?” is he still alive? is he looking for her? “i’ll be honest with you. it doesn’t look good.” part of him is tempted to keep this piece of information to himself as not to scare her, but he doesn’t want to sugarcoat or lie. she’s not a child even if she at times reminds him of one. besides, she probably already knows this. he can tell that she’s highly intelligent just by looking in her eyes. “look, if it gets any worse… if what we’re doin’ now doesn’t work, you might have trouble walkin’ on this leg and it will become a real problem.” would she let him take her to thirteen then? would he be able to carry her for miles and miles? or find a way? after all, he did get lost and that’s why he’s here. it begins to dawn on him what a terrible situation they’re in. “you can squeeze my shoulders.” if it hurts. left hand clutching her calf, holding her leg in place so that she doesn’t kick him in the head when the pain becomes too much, he looks up at her apologetically and begins to clean the wound. he uses the cloth, soaked in warm water, to scrub her raw flesh, get rid of any dirt that may be in there. fingertips pressing on the edges, making sure there’s no pus beneath the tissue.

“thanks, i guess i like a compliment like that one.” she loves a compliment like that one but it’s coming from him— so it’s hard to accept it. hard to thank him for anything. “i don’t get why you’d want to.” thinking out loud, thick brows pulling into a confused crease just for that look to deepen when he says back at the capitol. “just from wear and tear, carryin’ that poor thing around place to place through the years… us covey never stay in one place for long.” lucy gray reminds, since his memory has been completely wiped out. “they have no clue about my whereabouts. i had to flee district twelve after you killed the mayor’s daughter because she was gonna rat us out. mayor already hated me, so of course i was gonna be his suspect. target even. give him the perfect reason to hang me, with or without evidence.” the brunette grumbles, leaving out the part where she put the snake down mayfair’s dress to make the mayor hate her. afraid the topic of snakes might trigger something in him. “i can’t answer that exactly…hard tellin’ what goes on his head. your head.” she corrects herself, she doesn’t think it was jealousy because he liked her though. she believes it was jealousy because billy taupe was a threat, something possessive deep in coriolanus rotting his insides. “oh…okay,” wanting to disagree, but not having the energy to get on his bad side. “climbin’ over a rock and that happened.” easy to do when you grow tired and starved. giving a nod, she’ll keep her blouse like this because she doesn’t want to stain it until dries. “ow-” quietly wincing, biting into her lower lip as leg instinctively jerks at his touch. “it has, i think at this point i’ve gotten used to the pain of it. —almost.” until his finger tips explored and touched it barely, causing her stomach muscles to cave inwards. “no, i’m fine. i’m all right.” her shoulders are cold, but she doesn’t need tended to since her shivering has faded and ridding the wet clothes helped with that. feeling a lot better than she did.

#billysgirllol

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chaifootsteps · 3 days ago

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Hiya! If you don't mind a little bit of Hazbin-themed venting, I've got something I'd like to get of my chest, if that's alright!

I'll start this by saying that I'm...uh, well, a decently competent artist. The sort that can land some goofy roles here and there, those entirely irrelevant to this ask. Saying this not to brag, of course, but just to illustrate that I have spent years on my craft and take it very, very seriously!

My art has always generally leaned a certain direction, and that direction has overlap with VivziePop's art style, incidentally. I've never taken inspiration from her—my inspirations can be sourced elsewhere—and my artistic journey has not involved her whatsoever. Regardless, in real life, in the past recent years, people have repeatedly compared my art to Hazbin Hotel. Over, and over, and over. When the show came out, those comparisons ramped up, and I feel like by pure misfortune I have this shadow casted on me, as if I owe all that I've worked for to a coincidence.

I don't know. There's no real way for me to prove that I 100% did not take after Vivzie since I don't really have the Internet footprint for it. My friends and loved ones can attest to my work being my own, but...there's nothing I can do. People look at me and see someone else now. I've had comparisons before, but nothing like this. I consider art ultimately as an expression of the self, and to know that others hear a voice that's not my own is nothing short of distressing.

I would like to post my work online, and I'm itching to (if the dice rolls well on it) make my own cartoon, but I kinda sorta fear that those Hazbin comments'll end up dominating the space and, uh, I admit I don't trust the Hazbin Hotel fandom to be nice about it.

I'm considering the idea of changing my art to escape all the comparisons, but I also hate the idea of changing myself over something vain and, really, so, so dumb. I like my art. I think it's different, and I think it's me. It works for what it's meant to do! I just...wish other people could see that, y'know?

I've developed a sort of embarrassment over work that I've been chipping away at for over a decade because of this, and I find myself demoralized over making and showing art knowing exactly how other people are going to percieve it. I'll for sure still do what I do, but I find myself at a low point, and I felt the need to yell it out there. I'd be more than happy to welcome any advice on how to tackle this issue!

Trust me, Anon, you're far from the only artist who's run into this problem. You'd be surprised how often it comes up.

I think you've got to just do your own thing, even if some of the comments make you develop an eye twitch. There will always be people who see your hard work and unique style for what it is, and you can't hold back your talents just because Vivienne Medrano happens to be dooking up the Earth. The world needs more artists and more stories!

#Anonymous #viv stuff #actual blog post

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misssakuramochi · 3 days ago

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GENERAL RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS FOR SENKU

Age Rating: N/A

Warnings: None

Genre: General, Fluff

○ Senku is the most practically-minded and goal-driven man currently alive; romance is neither practical, nor his goal. What I'm trying to say is it takes both a person as unique and as patient as Senku himself to put it into his mind. Any romantic feelings on Senku's end are extremely gradual, and develop over time spent together, learning to trust and rely on one another. By the time Senku realizes how he feels he's too far gone to fight it.

○ Much as Senku can't fight his own brain, he still hopes things will pass over time if he focuses on other things. It probably takes Senku's romantic interest to initiate, picking up on him drawing away and confronting him about it, before anything will truly progress anywhere. It takes Senku some time to ease into the idea of a romantic relationship though, so he'll need some time to process before giving them a proper answer. In the end, he's upfront that his own goals and love of science will always be his first priority, but if they can put up with that he can't deny that he finds them exhilarating.

○ Dating Senku, honestly, isn't all that different from being his friend. For the most part Senku treats his partner the same way after he starts dating them as he did before. Mushy, flowery words that don't mean anything are a waste of time in Senku's mind, and cute little dates are a waste of valuable production time. He's probably the least romantic boyfriend in recorded history. That being said, there are some differences in how he treats his partner once they start dating - they just tend to be more subtle. Senku takes to teasing his partner more often to see their cute flustered face, is a touch more protective socially, and puts up with much more from them then he would most others.

○ Additionally, once Senku has settled into a relationship, he actually relies on his partner more heavily. If he’s dating them he certainly admires them in some way or another, and holding back their talents because he’s worried unnecessarily would be illogical - it would also hold them back from growing, and having a relationship where he and his partner constantly inspire and push one another to be the best they can be is important to Senku. As such, Senku makes even fuller use of his partner’s abilities once they’re together as he’s able to get a much more intimate understanding of the strengths, weaknesses, and limitations. Of course, they always have his support ten-billion percent behind them in whatever task he’s appointed them to, or anything they take on for themselves. They’re partners in every sense of the word, and they work together with full trust behind them.

○ Senku's lack of use for dramatic prose shouldn't be confused for either a lack of communication nor a lack of praise. Quite the opposite, in fact, Senku is an extremely honest and forthright partner. Though his bluntness can absolutely be harsh and hard to hear, Senku's partner never has to worry what he thinks or where they stand. He'll just tell them. While this does mean he's expecting to be able to have the hard conversations at least productively, it also means his partner knows he's not just flattering them when he compliments them. Senku encourages the same kind of honesty and communication from his significant other, too. After all, how can they work together if they can't communicate?

○ As aforementioned, Senku's first and greatest love will always be science. Sharing this passion is one of the biggest ways Senku tries to show his partner he loves them. Though he's perfectly happy indulging in his version of quality time (read as: being in the same room as his partner while he experiments and researches and they do… whatever they want, really) he's elated whenever he has an opportunity to explain something he's working on and how it works. Though he hardly expects his partner to follow every equation and formula, he can't help but feel his heart flutter when they ask questions and try their best to follow - just a little bit.

○ Eventually Senku sharing his love of science as a way to show his partner he loves them evolves into gift giving; specifically, he’ll make gadgets for them of varying complexity. Of course, these creations are always extremely practical in nature (Jewelry? Why would he make them something useless like that? Flowers? What, do they want to try making medicine?? You get the idea.) but they’re romantic in Senku’s own way. Very often whatever gift he provides them with is a direct solution to some complaint they’d brought up at some point or another, even if he won’t tell them that directly.

○ Which brings us to the point of Senku having an impeccable memory when it comes to his partner. Of course, Senku has a sterling memory in general, but he’s extra sure to keep any information about his partner locked away for safekeeping, regardless as to how mundane it may seem at the time. Senku wants to understand how the person he’s learning to love ticks, how they think and why. It’s rather often than Senku will surprise his partner by bringing up something they’d mentioned what feels to them like ages ago - though he always downplays their obvious surprise that he cared enough to remember as if was an obvious thing to do (it is for him, but admitting it would be cringey.) Senku’s genuine interest in his partner makes him a fantastic listener.

○ It’s also that genuine interest that makes him scarily perceptive when it comes to his partner. He’s studied them, consciously and not, and he knows their tells. If something seems to be wrong Senku isn’t the type to let it go, either, and his complete lack of fear around blunt confrontation make it almost impossible for his partner to lie to, or hide anything from him. If there’s a problem the most obvious thing to do is to find a solution and fix it, so that’s his goal and he won’t let up until he’s able to start working on that solution. Unfortunately, this also makes it almost impossible for Senku’s partner to surprise him with anything ever - at least without a little help from friends.

○ It’s almost subconscious, but Senku involves his partner in every consequential project he can get them on board for. It isn’t that he’s clingy; far from it, actually. Senku is perfectly happy to spend time on his own and has absolutely no trouble entertaining himself for extended periods of time. Senku’s partner is more often than not the one seeking him out to spend more time together if anything. All that is to say that it’s less that he requires his partner’s company, and more that he becomes rather attached to being able to share accomplishments with them. The closer they become, the more the idea of finishing a sizable project without their smiling face cheering for the victory next to him makes him feel dissatisfied.

xxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Dr. Stone has had me in a vice grip recently, and this perfect little leek will not leave my brain alone. I hope you enjoyed reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them!

Requests are currently OPEN, so feel free to ping my inbox with anything you'd like to see written!

Safe travels, reader!

#dr stone #dr stone headcanons #dr stone senku #senku ishigami #dr stone x reader #senku ishigami x reader #fluff

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ganondoodle · 2 months ago

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(probably very problematic opinion on the english voices in totk

watching skittybitty's totk video for the 27864269th time and i STILL get jumpscared by the english voices, anytime anyone ever opens their mouth it just sounds like they took some random person they caught on the street to monotonely voice a line in one take, and sometimes one of them rly likes to pretend their are doing a voice but it just sounds like a little child imitating their granpa or someone trying to overact to their toddler, its especially sad for ganondorf, its hard to hear any of them for me but gan i start laughing and have to skip it bc thats NOT gan, thats me doing my worst evil guy impression, or zelda, thats not zelda talkign thats me doing a sarcastic uwu lil princess voice

to be clear, i have nothing agaisnt the people voicing them and i know people like the guy doing the gan voice but none of them fit at all and none feel like they are actually coming from the character, much more so you muting your TV and talking over the people on screen making shit up as you go for shits and giggles, i dont know what happened here, why are these SO bad, i listen to plenty of movies and games and whatnot in english and i only ever had a similar problem with the english voices of ghibli movies -though that could be bc im jsut so used to the german ones, which are fantastic- or maybe an extremely old game that was just weird on its own even

i take no pride in hating the voices, espeically knowing how badly voice actors are treated and often replaced with some shitty celebtrity, but i truly do not get why they are so bad, the voices themselves never rly fit, and even if it would be passable, they are all speaking in a way where it either sounds like they are some guy sitting next to you reading a line for the first time or overemphasizing so much it sounds like someone playing pretend with toddlers

and its not in an indie game where the devs did their best to voice people themselves bc they didnt have the money, this is nintendo, how is it still like that, bc even the ones returning from botw, are STILL just as bad, i dont know if that can all be the fault of the actors, its so weird to me

and it makes it even harder for me to believe that people take this game as seriously as they do or as emotionally affecting bc a, if not THE, biggest part of the fandom is made up of english speakers who would probably never even think about trying a different language

...anyway, i needed to say that at some point)

#ganondoodles talks #zelda #ganondoodles rants #also not trying to make fun of anyone #i just CANNOT take any of them serious #to be fair the german ones arent that much better in this case #most characters were fine but gan also didnt fit at all there #zeldas french voice is pretty great #but admittedly i havent heard every single one .. or remember them clearly #the japanese ones are the only ones i fully played with though half my og botw playthrough was in german #which was fine but didnt work for totk bc .... gan #even his japanese voice could have been a bit more .. unique? like the little bit of voices in the older games sounded very unique #kind rough like an old smokers voice? hard to describe lol #he just sounds like an evil guy there too in a way but at least its spoken with so much emotion #maybe this is a me problem #i hate to be falling into the 'only japanese voices in anime!!' thing but .... welll i guess in this case i am #(.. arcane for example i only saw in english and it was fantastic)#(i dont get how nintendo cant find voices like that.. or whatever went wrong there)

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fragilefirstchance · 20 hours ago

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I actually have thoughts about this! I think Ford is a specific type of character.

First of all: Let's talk about fanon!

Something I think that a lot of us forget when we're doing fan analysis is just how caricaturized all blorbos are in canon. This is true of any work of media: the characters aren't real people, they're figments who only exist as we see them on-screen.

Fanon is kind of like those AI image sharpeners that take a blurred photo and make it look like a person's face: yeah, technically that is an accurate way you can interpret the blur, but there are hundreds of faces that would be just as accurate, and not only are they all very different from each other, they don't even agree on the most basic and obvious traits. The same blurry headshot could be a scowling white woman with a square jaw or a smiling black man with sharp features. In a similar way, when we see a character become stressed because they just saw a mouse in a cage, we could say they're scared of mice, or morally opposed to pets, or that they have cage-based trauma - any option that works is plausible.

I think that there are characters who are good characters, characters who are uniquely good subjects for fanon, and a ven diagram between the two. For example, a lot of kids' shows from the nineties are bad, but they managed to produce a really fun and rich fandom. Meanwhile, some really beautiful and culturally important stories don't leave a lot of room for fan works because they've already said what they need to say. I think the absolute best works for fandom are the ones that are objectively good stories, but have really simplified characters: Undertale might be the best example of this, because every single character suggests a rich and beautiful personality while only being on screen for a relatively short time.

So that leads me to part two: Ford!

I think Ford fills a particular fandom niche that was empty for a lot of us.

He's extremely traumatized, and the more we learn about him, the more traumatized he is. He's kind of pushing the limits of what's acceptable from a kids' show, to be honest.

He canonically has a lot of difficulty making friends; this is partly because he's quirky and seemingly neurodivergent, but partly because he has poor social skills. He's not a cartoony, Eeyore-style "has trouble making friends but we love him anyway" character, either; there are tangible, in-story examples of him failing to make friends.

He behaves badly sometimes. This is actually my favorite trait of his - anyone who reads my fanfiction knows how much I love giving people with real flaws a chance to find love and be treated with respect. Most characters have a flaw to overcome, but in his worst moments, Ford actually lashes out and hurts others in a tangible way and not just a child-friendly way. Showrunners don't always like to show that sort of thing.

It is very, very easy to read some severe mental health symptoms into his behavior. Bill is a literal character, but he's also a pretty good metaphor: you can use him to explain hallucinations, dissociative fugues, sudden mood swings, manic episodes, severe depression, paranoia - the list goes on and on.

(That last one is really important. There's a pretty damn big difference between a good metaphor for mental illness and a thoughtful portrayal of that mental illness in a story. It's kind of like how many of us were so starved for queer representation growing up that we read queer metaphors into everything. Well, there still isn't good mental illness representation in most media, so we'll take the metaphors we can get. Ford is a really good metaphor even as he's presented, and there are a lot of holes in his narrative where personality disorder symptoms, manic episodes, delusions, etc. can slot in easily.)

None of those traits make a good Disney character. They only really work because he spends so little time on-screen; the books were only possible because of Gravity Falls's massive commercial success. So, he's a very rare example of a character who's from a light-hearted, positive, optimistic show aimed at children, but who has all of the template features necessary for us to read him as deeply broken in some ways that aren't sanitized or socially acceptable.

So, there are dozens and dozens of Ford AUs in which we project very specific experiences, traumas, and symptom sets into this one man.

How many Ford AUs out there are reflections of our own insecurities, traumas, and just general unresolved issues? Is that, like, his whole purpose in the wider multiverse of alternate Gravity Falls characters? 'Cause I KNOW it isn't just me

#meta analyis #Oh hey #Maybe I should finally pull out my meta analysis pseud

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dissapointu · 20 hours ago

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ROUNDS Vi x afab reader (nsfw)

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The dim glow of the setting sun filters through the grimy windows of your apartment, casting long, dramatic shadows that dance across the worn-out floorboards. You're sprawled out on your couch, a glass of cheap red wine in hand, when a sudden knock at the door makes you jump. You're not expecting anyone, but the silhouette standing on the other side of the frosted glass is unmistakable. Those sharp, angular lines, the confident stance—it can only be Vi.

You open the door, and there she is, leaning against the doorframe like she owns the place. Her red choppy hair is a mess, and her grey eyes sparkle with a mix of mischief and lust. She's wearing her signature red leather jacket, and the tattoos on her back and arms seem to ripple as she moves.

"Hey, gorgeous," she says, her voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. She pushes past you, invading your personal space, and you can't help but inhale her scent—a mix of leather, smoke, and something uniquely Vi.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, but she just smirks, tossing her jacket onto the couch.

"I thought we could have a little fun," she says, her eyes roaming over your body. You feel naked under her gaze, even though you're fully clothed. She steps closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off her body.

Before you can react, she's on you, her hands gripping your hips as she pulls you against her. Her lips crash into yours, and you can taste the faint hint of blood—her latest fight, you presume. Her tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you can't help but moan as she explores every inch, claiming you as hers.

She pushes you back onto the couch, her body pressing against yours. Her hands roam over your body, rough and demanding, as she kisses you deeply. You can feel the cool metal of her rings as she slips her hand under your shirt, her fingers tracing the curve of your breast.

She pulls away, her eyes dark with desire. "I want to taste you," she growls, and you can't help but shiver in anticipation. She grabs the hem of your shirt, ripping it off in one swift motion. Her eyes roam over your body, taking in every curve, every imperfection.

She leans down, her lips finding your nipple, and you arch your back as she sucks it into her mouth, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. She moves lower, her hands working on your pants, and you lift your hips to help her. She pulls them off, tossing them aside, and you're left naked and exposed before her.

She kneels between your legs, her hands spreading your thighs wide. You can feel the cool air against your pussy, and you know you're already wet. She leans in, her tongue running along your slit, and you can't help but moan.

She takes her time, exploring every inch of you, her tongue darting in and out, her teeth nipping at your clit. You can feel the tension building, your body aching for release. She slides a finger inside you, and you buck against her hand, wanting more.

She adds another finger, and you can feel yourself stretching around her, your body accommodating her intrusion. She pumps her fingers in and out, her tongue flicking against your clit, and you can't hold back any longer.

You come, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure wash over you. She looks up at you, her chin glistening with your juices, a satisfied smirk on her face.

"That was just the warm-up," she says, standing up. She holds out her hand, and you take it, letting her lead you to the bedroom. You can't wait to see what she has in store for you next.

Vi's tongue is relentless, lapping at your clit with a hunger that sets your body ablaze. You're writhing on the couch, your hands gripping her red leather jacket, pulling her closer. Her fingers, rough from years of fighting in the streets, are buried deep inside you, pumping in and out with a rhythm that matches the pulsing of your heart.

"Fuck, Vi," you gasp, your voice a ragged moan. Her grey eyes glance up at you, a smirk playing on her lips as she feels your body responding to her touch. She curls her fingers, hitting that spot that makes your back arch and your eyes roll back.

"That's it, babe," she murmurs, her voice a low growl. "Come for me."

And you do. Your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you a trembling mess on the couch. Vi grins, her face glistening with your arousal as she sits back on her heels.

"That was just the appetizer," she says, her voice thick with promise. She stands up, offering you her hand. "Ready for the main course?"

You take her hand, letting her pull you up from the couch. Your legs are still shaking, but Vi's strong grip keeps you steady. She leads you to the bedroom, her stride confident and sure. Once inside, she pushes you gently onto the bed, her eyes never leaving yours as she sheds her leather jacket and starts to unbuckle her belt.

"I want to see you," she commands, her voice a low rasp. You quickly strip off your clothes, your eyes locked on hers. There's a power in her gaze, a raw intensity that makes your heart race.

She climbs onto the bed, straddling your thighs. She's naked now, except for the strap-on harness she's wearing. The sight of it, the sight of her, sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

"You want this?" she asks, her voice a low growl as she takes hold of the silicone cock.

"Yes," you breathe, your voice barely a whisper.

Vi grins, her eyes flashing with heat. "Good," she says, leaning down to kiss you, her body pressing you into the mattress. "Because I'm just getting started."

She sits back, her hands gripping your thighs as she positions herself at your entrance. You can feel the cool silicone against your skin, and you shiver in anticipation. Vi's eyes never leave yours as she slowly pushes into you, inch by inch, until she's fully seated.

You gasp, your body stretching to accommodate her. Vi gives you a moment to adjust, her thumbs drawing circles on your thighs. Then, she starts to move.

Her hips thrust against you, slow and steady at first, then faster, harder. You can feel the tension building in your body, the heat intensifying as she fucks you, her grey eyes locked on yours.

"Touch yourself," she commands, her voice a low growl. You obey, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in time with her thrusts.

The room fills with the sound of your moans, her grunts, and the slapping of skin against skin. You're close, so close. Vi leans down, her body pressing against yours as she whispers in your ear.

"Come for me, babe," she growls. "Let me feel you come all over my cock."

And with a final thrust, you do. Your body convulses, your back arching as your orgasm rips through you. Vi rides you through it, her own breath coming in ragged gasps as she finds her own release.

As the waves of pleasure subside, Vi slows her thrusts, her body gently rocking against yours. She leans down, her lips finding yours in a soft, tender kiss.

"That was..." you start, your voice trailing off as you try to find the words.

Vi grins, her thumb brushing against your cheek. "Round one," she says, her voice a low purr. And with that, she pulls out, leaving you with a promise of more to come.

You're lying in Vi's bed, a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin, basking in the afterglow of your intense fuck. Vi is propped up on one elbow, her red choppy hair a mess, her grey eyes tracing patterns on your bare stomach. She's got that smirk on her face, the one that promises trouble and pleasure in equal measure.

"You're fucking amazing," she says, her voice a low growl. You can feel her fingers tracing the curve of your hip, her touch sending shivers down your spine.

You grin, stretching out like a cat. "Right back at you, Vi."

She leans down, her lips finding yours in a slow, lazy kiss. You can taste yourself on her, and it sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. But Vi pulls back, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Not so fast, babe," she says, her hand pressing gently against your sternum, keeping you in place. "We've got all night. No need to rush."

You pout, but Vi just chuckles, her fingers resuming their exploration of your body. She traces the curve of your breast, her thumb brushing against your nipple, making you gasp.

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