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mattslolita · 21 days

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꒰ biker!matt sturniolo ꒱ ⟡ headcanons !

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

꒰ SFW! ꒱

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have met you at a party, no doubt — he noticed you in your short, black dress with the ribbon tied in your locs as you stood around uneasily among the crowd of people you didn't know. he made it his mission to have spoke to you by the end of the night. sweet, unsuspecting you wouldn't have realized he'd been standing near you until you accidentally get bumped against him as he's leaning against a wall.

"oh! m'so sorry bout' that, i didn't see you there."

"s'alright, sweetheart. why's a sweet girl like you doin' at a party like this anyway, huh?"

"my friend dragged me here, i'd be home reading if i had it my way."

"want me to take ya home?"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ take you on a long, late night ride whilst you fill his head with any random thought that pops into your head — and as time goes on, you find yourself on more late night bike rides around the city with him, your figure huddled up close to his as you enjoy the breeze that sifts alongside you both.

biker!matt would . . .

✦ keep you close to him when you guys go out — his hand hangs dangerously low on your hips just above your skirt, and when he feels you drifting away he's immediately pulling you back towards him.

"aht, stop movin' around so much."

"sorry..."

✦ when you're leaning against his bike, he's got both if his hands resting right above your ass while massaging your lower back area. and he enjoys how flustered you get when his hands are on that particular part of your body — it's fun watching you squirm slightly under his touch.

"s'got you so worked up doll, huh? stay still..."

"keep your hand up there, an' maybe i could!"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ love picking out your outfits — his favorites are the cute little mini skirts you wear paired with a cute cardigan and matching bows that go in your hair.

✦ doesn't hesitate to take you shopping, either per your request or just because he wants to do something nice for you. he'll watch you pick out whatever you like, then let you drag him into the dressing rooms as you try on various outfits.

"whatcha think about this skirt? is it too short?"

"makes your ass pop out nicely. put it in the cart."

"matt!"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ unfortunately not put a label on you guy's relationship — he's not one to trust easily, so he's not ready to give you that title yet. however, he'd do things to let others know you're off limits such as...

biker!matt would . . .

✦ let you wear his signature leather jacket, no doubt because he wants everyone to know that you're his. if you're at some kind of outing, he'll casually drape it over your shoulders and shoot a death glare to anyone who even thinks about trying it.

✦ he'll make you put his jacket on when you insist on straying away from him to join your friends, but the jacket made sure to serve its purpose as a constant reminder to anyone.

"y'keep this on, 'kay? don't need anybody thinkin' they can try it."

"i highly doubt they will matt, i'm-"

"y'know i don't take no for an answer, bunny. keep the jacket on, got it?"

"yes sir."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ never let you smoke cigarettes, yet he keeps his marlboros tucked in the pocket of you denim skirt or your pocket in your cardigan — you got a custom made blue, eeyore lighter just for him.

"here, come light this f'me sweetheart."

✦ he's holding the cancer stick up to his lips whilst you flick the lighter on, getting momentarily distracted by how the fire accentuates his features but you focus again as the fire catches onto the cigarette successfully.

꒰ NSFW! ꒱

biker!matt would . . .

✦ fuck you against his bike any chance you got — he'd have you bent over, your hands perched on the seat as he's pounding into you from behind mercilessly.

"fuck, gonna make a mess all over my bike, aren't ya?"

"thas it sweet girl, fuckin' take it."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have his hands all over you — his ring clad hands with either be wrapped around your neck whilst he's got you in missionary and doggy,

"fuckin' like being choked, sweetheart? wan' me to do it harder? such a naughty girl..."

✦ or they're groping your titties whilst you ride him.

"jus' like that doll, doin' so good f'me..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have a major corruption kink — everyone thinks you're his sweet, innocent girl clad in her cute bows and quiet personality; but matt knows better, and every chance he gets he's always reminding you about how he knows you're a freak ass on the low.

"always so quiet got nothin' comin' out ya mouth, now you're chokin on my dick like the good slut you are..."

"you like bein' fucked like this, don't you? such a naughty girl, so perfect f'me..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ make you cockwarm him at parties when you guys are sitting alone, on the couch or something — if you're moving around too much, he's thrusting up into you subtly to get you to stop.

"s'not that hard doll. jus' sit still, got it? don't you dare move."

"fuck, matt..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ be a brat tamer! you might be quiet and sweet most of the time, but when you act out, you're bratty — so matt makes sure to put you in your place.

"told you to stop actin' up, didn't i? now look, all fucked dumb on my cock..."

"you cum when i tell you to, got it? y'know what happens with you disobey me..."

"keep talkin' back sweetheart an' i'll give you somethin' to whine about..."

( lilly's corner 💌 )

i am all things biker!matt, y'all. this is mostly inspired by my biker!matt fic on my wattpad, so i thought i'd share it here🤭. feel free to spam my inbox with more biker!matt headcanons! 💌

@muwapsturniolo @thenickgirl @luverboychris @cottoncandyswisherz @chanelles-world

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rememberwren · 3 months

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/•Harmless Fun 5•\

Simon and Johnny talk.

The soft rain continues into the night, enhancing the petrichor of the city: metal and concrete and gasoline. You are tucked away safely in Simon and Johnny’s bed, your dress and virtue intact, where you will remain until the late afternoon if your quiet snores are any indication. Simon had slipped the shoes from your feet, rolled you onto your side, and covered you with a blanket just in time for Johnny to limp into the bedroom and ask him to smoke out on the balcony together.

Simon doesn’t smoke often anymore; it makes his night terrors worse. But he misses the lazy, relaxed feeling it gives him while awake, so it’s no real harm to say yes. Buttoned up in their jackets, they stand out on the balcony together passing a joint back and forth, the very image that he could have walked in on earlier that week only with you and Johnny instead.

Johnny opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” says Simon.

He throws his hands up, nearly dropping the joint. “How’d you know what I was going t’ even say?”

“I know you,” Simon reminds him. Johnny has had that look on his face ever since you passed out asleep in the car ride on the way home: brows pressed together, full mouth pouting in a way that is entirely unintentional. Simon has been the cause of that look more times than he cares to admit—and tonight is one more time added to that list. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hafta.”

“Says who?”

“Says I.”

“Leave it alone,” he says. That’s as close as Simon Riley gets to begging: repeating something twice.

“Do you believe me when I say that I would if I could?”

Simon glances at Johnny. The light flooding from inside the apartment casts his face in warm shadows. There is a pleading in his eyes, a begging to be understood. Johnny’s never had to beg for that; Simon’s always been able to read him well, the other man used to wearing his heart on his sleeve and Simon used to seeing much more than he ever says.

He sighs and impatiently reaches for the joint, taking a hit that burns his lungs. “Make it quick then.”

“You don’t want me to fuck her anymore. You’ve changed your mind.”

“Haven’t.”

“Aht, aht—look me in the eyes and say it.”

Simon does, and it makes Johnny frown.

“Then what is it? You’ve got a bug up your arse, I just can’t figure out the species.”

“I love your way with words,” Simon says, silently cutting himself off. He hands the joint back to Johnny, his head swimming a little.

The truth is simple and devastating: Simon’s jealous. It’s not an emotion he’s used to (though self-denial is often in his repertoire). He doesn’t know what to fucking do with it, like a man who has given up smoking and now doesn’t know what to do with his hands. When you had first arrived on their doorstep, the attraction you felt for them had been obvious—except was that Simon fooling himself? Were you attracted to him at all, or just Johnny, Johnny with his pretty pale eyes and charming smile and uncanny ability to make even the most unpracticed of people fall in love with him?

You smoke with Johnny, cuddle on the couch with Johnny, have movie dates with Johnny when Simon is away. The most interaction he’d had with you involved your anxious stammering and quick retreats.

Yes, tonight had really put it into perspective for him. When it came to the two of you, Simon was likely only ever going to be on the outside looking in.

“I’m losin’ yeh,” Johnny murmurs, his words tinted by smoke.

“Never.”

“Don’t put yer mask on, Simon Riley,” Johnny says with tenderness that Simon doesn’t deserve. “Not when it’s just the two of us. All that shite we said about her when we were fucking—it was just the sex talking, wasn’t it? You were talking out your arse.”

“When have you ever known me to do that?”

Johnny doesn’t say anything for a while. The rain is soaking through their jackets. Johnny leans against him, looking for warmth, and Simon is happy to slip an arm around his waist and pull him closer.

“I want her to want me,” he says at length, voice nearly lost to the nighttime city sounds. Somewhere, a siren is wailing. Simon sympathizes. “I don’t know why.”

“Everybody wants t’ be wanted.” The thought of being lumped in with everybody nearly makes him sick, but he supposes Johnny has a point. It’s human. Unfortunately, so is Simon. “She wants you, LT. Nay—it’s not up for discussion. For a man who sees everything, yer eyesight is broken.”

“It’s not worth the breath it’d take to argue with you.”

“Just how I win all our arguments.”

“Fucking her without talking to her first would be a mistake,” he says.

“I’ll talk to her. But I want you there.”

“When you fuck or talk?”

“In an ideal world? Both.”

“Keep dreaming, Johnny boy.”

“I don’t need t’ fuck her, you know,” Johnny reminds him. He looks up at Simon, all eyelashes. “You’re the only thing in this world I need. If fucking her puts any doubt in yer silly head—“

“It doesn’t. I know what keeps you coming back to me.”

“What’s that?” Johnny asks with a grin, feigning ignorance. He crushes the lit end of the blunt to ash on the metal railing of the balcony and tosses the roach over the edge. Finding Simon’s hand buried mostly in his jacket sleeve, he laces their fingers together, comfortable and lazy.

“My winning personality,” Simon deadpans.

“Oh, obviously.”

“My charming good looks.”

“That one’s true.”

“My cock.”

“She’s got one of those.”

Simon stares. The silence stretches on, Johnny’s smug grin unchanging. “Dunno how to break this to you, Johnny—“

“A toy, LT,” Johnny stage whispers.

Simon’s eyes narrow. “How’d you get this intel?”

“My own eyes. But it was an accident, swear to Jesus,” Johnny says, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you haven’t materialized behind him. “The other day when you were taking so bloody long in the shower and I had to piss—she was working, so I went into her bathroom.

“She didn’t have the curtain drawn on her shower and there it was, staring me in the eye, LT. Blue monstrosity with a suction cup on the end.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Big as you, at least.”

“Don’t fucking tell me that.”

“If I have to think about it, then you do too. Thinking about her in the shower, hands against the walls, bouncing away on that cheap bit o’ plastic, wishing it were one of us.”

Simon lets himself picture it: the water sluicing rivulets over your skin, creating constellations of drops on your closed lashes. Your mouth wet and open, hoping the roar of water against the tile covers up the sound of your moans and gasps.

“You’re a menace.”

“One of my good qualities, what keeps you coming back to me,” says Johnny. He shivers, half of it for show. “Can we go back in?”

They go back in and strip off their damp clothes right there in the living room, balcony blinds wide open. Simon opts to take the couch, though he hardly fits, and Johnny takes the bed to be with you in case you are sick in the night.

When Johnny slips into the dark bedroom, he can hear the soft sound of your snores. All seems well. A knot of worry in his chest unwinds, and he tugs on a clean shirt, determined not to look like an opportunistic bastard if you wake up in the night and catch him in bed with you.

You are still there when the sun rises, and Johnny with it. No matter how many years it’s been since he’s left the SAS, the internal clock is ingrained in his subconscious. He lets himself roll onto his side and stare at you: the shape of your brows, your softly parted mouth. You’re drooling on Simon’s pillow.

His heart throbs with fondness for you, and with anxiety. He’s nearly positive that you have feelings for Simon as well—he’s caught the way you stare, the way your eyes will track the other man’s movements when you’re all in a room together—but of course he can’t be sure. Not until you make a move or say as such.

Years ago, your interest in Simon might have made him jealous, back when all the attention needed to be his for him to feel anything at all. Maybe it was a sign of getting older, tamer; or maybe it was just about growing safe in his love with Simon, in knowing that they belong to each other absolutely and in perpetuity, but now it thrills him—the thought of sharing and being shared.

It turns him on, too—sharing. A thought he should not be having while in bed with your half unconscious figure.

Don’t do wrong by us, he thinks, reaching out to tug the covers up around your shoulders more. Give us a proper chance. Let us fuck it up for our selves, if we must—just give us the chance.

Out in the living room, he hears the creak of the sofa; Simon is awake.

Rolling onto his side, he shifts his bad leg out of the bed first, wincing at the early-morning stiffness which seems worse than usual. He’s limping more on his way to the bathroom, but left his cane in the other room.

“Genius, I am,” he mutters, flipping on the bathroom light. “Just another reason why Simon keeps me ar—what the fu-uck.”

Sometime in the night, part of the ceiling in the northwestern most corner has fallen, wet bits of ceiling tile congealing on the tiled floor. Through the hole (big as two of his fists held together) he can see ceiling beams. Water continues to drip, creating a vast puddle that nearly reaches his toes.

“Jesus fucking wept,” he says.

Sometime during Simon and Johnny’s perusal of the bathroom, two calls to the maintenance superintendent, and numerous Scottish curse words, you wake.

You have cotton mouth, your head practically stuffed full of the wooly substance. Your dress has ridden up around your waist, panties bared beneath the sheets and blankets. All around you are the scents of Simon and Johnny, and you have just enough time to wonder what they were doing in your bed before the bed depresses, Johnny at your side coaxing you further into wakefulness. You’re not in your bed; you’re in theirs.

“What’s going on?” you mutter.

“Maintenance is coming to look at the bathroom. Figured you’d want to be wearing something else when they got here.”

“What’s wrong with the bathroom?”

“Ceiling’s caving in,” says Simon from where he leans in the doorway of the bathroom, his hip cocked against it, arms crossed and closed off.

“Sleep well?” Johnny asks.

“Like the dead.”

“Never heard the dead snore like that,” he says, making your face flush with warmth.

You grab his pillow and lob it at him half heartedly. There’s a knock on the door in the other room, startling you the way knocks and doorbells always do. The imminent threat of strangers in your space. Jerking down your dress to the proper length, you kick off the blankets and scuttle out of the bed, doing the shortest walk of shame in history. The last thing you see is Simon at the front door waiting for you to disappear before giving the maintenance person entrance.

Heart thudding, you let your back rest against your bedroom door and wrack your brain to remember the finer details of what had happened last night.

There had been joy meeting up with your girlfriends for the first time in ages—you had saved for so long just to be able to afford a single night out. It was like old times—until it wasn’t. Then you were alone, single in a strange bar watching the last of your friends slip out the door with no more than a wave and a ‘what can you do?’ grin. You had shed some tears at the bar, earning the bartender’s pity. And the pity of a few others, though the name of the man who had given you attention for half the night escaped you.

After that, things got very fuzzy. You must have called to ask Ghost for a ride home. He had offered it, after all, before you had left the apartment in the first place. Even drunk, you had known better than to ask for a ride from a stranger.

Then—God.

Oh God. Johnny. The backseat. You had come on to him. He had even tried to stop you, but you hadn’t taken no for an answer. The memories rush over you like a tidal wave, one after the other, bringing with them mortification, horror, dread.

You bury your face in your hands, ashamed and terrified all at once. You had hit on your married friend, against his will, with his husband in the driver’s seat. There would be no coming back from this.

You needed to talk to Johnny and Simon, urgently. An apology was due at the very least. You wouldn’t be surprised if they kicked you out of the apartment altogether. Stripping out of your dress, you drag on the first clean clothes you can find and slip out into the living room, stomach rolling, to find Simon and Johnny speaking together in hushed voices. They stop at the sight of you.

“I need to talk to you,” you say to Johnny, before you can lose your nerve.

“I need to talk to you,” says Simon solemnly.

“Make that we need to talk to you,” Johnny amends, casting Simon a look.

“Well I need to talk to someone,” the maintenance guy says.

The three of you jerk, having forgotten the stranger’s presence and no one very eager to be the one to speak with him. Simon heaves a sigh and tilts his head toward the front door in a silent order. The two of them disappear outside, voices just audible on the other side of the door.

“We should wait fer Simon,” says Johnny.

“Alright,” you give in, choosing to sit at the far edge of the sofa. You clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking, feeling just as likely to panic as you are to burst into tears. Simon’s disappointment and anger are the last things you want to face, but you suppose that you have earned them.

After a moment of silence, Johnny asks innocuously: “While we wait—can I use your bathroom? Sorry, it’s just, since ours is out of commission—”

“Of course, my bathroom is your bathroom.” But then you remember... You stand hastily. “Actually, let me just…tidy up really quickly. It’s a mess in there.”

Johnny doesn’t grin, but it is a near thing. “Alright, lass. Whatever you need to do.”

#ghoap x reader #harmless fun

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sorceresski · 11 months

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Tipsy - Kylian Mbappé

Summary: y/n is drunk and gets a little naughty/bratty with Kylian.

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x reader

Tags/warnings: suggestive, none really

I’ve had this is in the drafts for months now. Read more of my work here

You were more giggly and jumpy than usual. He’d lost track of how many glasses you’d had, but you were definitely drunk now. You and alcohol do not go well together, which is why you stayed away. For the most part anyway.

Now, Kylian watched you try to talk Ousmane into doing shots with you, it was time to step in.

“You’re having a lot of fun,” he said coming up behind you.

You were a happy drunk. “Kylian!” You threw your arms around his shoulders, his arms falling to your waist. “Join us!”

Kylian gave the bartender a look as he was about to refill your glasses and he shuffled to other side of the bar. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“Booo.” You pulled away from him and leaned in to whisper to Ousmane, “He’s so boring isn’t he?”

“Y/n I have to be at work tomorrow, so do you. And so does he,” he looked to Ousmane for help.

“He might be boring but he has a point,” Ousmane chimed in.

You crossed your arms with a pout, “Fine.”

Kylian held his hand out, “Give me your keys, I’ll drive.”

“Don’t crash my car,” you said as you slapped the car keys into his outstretched hand, stumbling past him.

Holding his tongue about being the better driver, Kylian bid a bemused Dembele goodbye and hurried to catch up.

“Next time, we’re bringing your car, I don’t trust you around mine,” you slurred as the cold Paris air hit you, raising goosebumps on your arms.

He rolled his eyes. “Alright passenger princess, let’s get you home.” He steered you to your car, security helping keep his fans away. Once in the car, Kylian shrugged off his jacket, you must be freezing in that slip dress, he thought. “Here,” he said offering his jacket.

“I’m fine, I’m mad at you,” you muttered to the window, refusing to look at him. The city was a blur and you blinked as the occasional headlamp flashed into your eyes. Paris was very much awake even at this late hour.

You shut your eyes and opened them to Kylian rousing you to go up to his apartment, “Allez.” You sagged into him, enveloped in his scent, as warm arms held you up. You both stumbled into the apartment, Kylian fumbling with his shoes and then yours in the dark.

You fell into a heap on the bed. “Aht aht, you need to take off your clothes.” You looked up at him, a mischievous thought swirling in your head.

“Sure, if you insist.” You stood up, coming between Kylian and the bed. He put his hands in his pockets and held his breath. You grabbed the hem of the dress you wore and pulled it above your head. Your bra was next, joining the discarded dress at your feet. You watched him watch you, tingles travelling down your spine at his appraisal of your body, the buzz and feeling of freedom that came with the alcohol only serving to heighten your arousal.

You took a confident step towards him. “Y/n,” he warned, as you placed a hand on his abdomen. “You should go to bed.” A suggestion? A command? You didn’t care. Frankly, you liked how he got when you were being naughty and you hoped he would go there.

So you kissed him instead. Slow, tender. His hands flew to your waist despite his reluctance, pulling you impossibly closer, your breasts flush against his chest. When he pulled away, your vision was blurry. “Join me,” you said, slipping under the covers.

“One moment,” Kylian said and ducked into the closet to change, taking his time to find a pair of shorts to wear, hoping you would be drowsy when he returned. He had no intention of making love to you while you were intoxicated and he was sober. Sure enough, when he returned you were blinking away sleep.

He joined you under the covers, wrapping his arms around you and drawing you closer. After a beat, you spoke. “Why aren’t you kissing me?”

“Because,” he placed a hand on your chin and raised your head up to meet his eyes, “you are drunk and probably won’t remember most of this in the morning and when I fuck you, I want you to remember it all. Goodnight, y/n.”

#kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe fic #kylian mbappe imagine #Kylian mbappe fluff #kylian mbappe imagines #kylian mbappe x black! reader #footballer fic #footballer imagines

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emmedoesntdomath · 7 months

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warning: she’s back on her parkner bullshit

here’s the thing-

most americans will tell you they don’t have an accent. they’ll insist on it, in fact. but- realistically- even if someone doesn’t have an “accent”, they’ll have specific regional dialect traits and tendencies that they do that basically equate to having an accent. drawing out certain vowels, dropping your ‘r’, over-enunciating the ‘r’, using words that are straight up not used anywhere else in the country. etc etc.

so let’s make something clear here.

when I say that harley keener has a country accent, I don’t mean the overplayed accent that exists in hollywood (which, to their credit, DOES exist in the south, just not normally the part of tennessee that we typically shove rose hill in).

i mean that harley keener sounds like every boring american accent you see in modern television, EXCEPT for when he’s tired and his ‘t’s turn into ‘aht’ like he’s yawning mid-word. I mean that he sprinkles in a ‘darlin’ and ‘honey’ here and there, but ONLY when he feels like being a little shit or he’s too sleep deprived to have a filter. I mean that he moved to new york, noticed the way his vowels and ‘g’s seemed to slip and slide off of his tongue different from everyone else and decided that he was tired of being too much rose hill and too little harley and forced his mouth to sound like the streets around him.

and peter? peter will swear up and down he has no accent, and even if he did, it’s the right one, so shut up about it. it’s a mix of queens and jersey and the little bit of italian may imprinted on him, and it’s loud in the way that only big city accents are. you wouldn’t notice it in normal conversation, but then peter throws out a quip mid-fight, and yeah, there it is. him snapping at harley in the mornings with something that sounds like it came out of good will hunting, and going to class with a inflection like he’s from so-cal.

and they’ll both shove the accents down, on purpose and without knowing, like it’s a secret where their childhood is and how it isn’t home now. harley’s all country when he’s blaring george strait, but crisp and practiced when in a board meeting. peter’s loud and loving when he goes home to may, but quiet and slower when talking to the kid he finds lost on the street. it’s a practice, and a routine, and it’s both complimentary and grating on their ears.

just a thought.

#marvel #marvel 616 #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #peter parker #spiderman #spider man #peter 3 #bi peter parker #harley keener #peter x harley #harley x peter #parkner #parley #harley keener x peter parker #emme’s bad ideas

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earlyzakariya · 3 months

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I AHTE THEM SHHRVANGSHRGAHEGTHA A(notnal about kanaclpver siblings normal nronal im NORMAL AHRGGAHSH)

Context for drawing and deltarune yellow au ramblings under cut

The way Clover treats Flowey in geno route has me thinking; I think they'd be bossy when playing with other kids I think they just really like things to be perfect and get a little upset when it's not

Also the gun is a real gun and Clover's lecturing Kabako on gun safety (she isnt listening) ((there arent any bullets in it)) (((the gun isnt even real its just a really realistic fake gun))) ((((starlo lied and said it was real)))) (((((ceroba DOES think its real and is going to beat his ass)))))

Anyways this is supposed to take place in my deltarune au that I've talked about to one (1) mutual ever; anyways time to talk about it.

Clover was adopted by Starlo out of the foster system under circumstances, so Clover's been with Starlo since they were around maybe six/seven and are around 12 in this

Instead of Chujin dying, Ceroba and Chujin had many disagreements about the fact he was a workaholic leading to them eventually divorcing

Kanako instead of falling down has a chronic illness. I haven't really thought about what specific condition it is yet; I'm thinking something like chronic fatigue as of now; Ceroba has primary custody of her and Chujin gets summers

Also Clover is siblings with integrity, (they got separated in the foster system and integrity eventually was found and adopted by their aunt. The aunt wanted to take Clover too when she located him but he was already taken in by Starlo so Clover spends summers with her and integrity)

Ceroba and Starlo live together out of convenience but probably don't get into a relationship until Clover is about 16 and Kanako is around 13

How this would fit into actual dr would probably be that Kanako and Clover live a city over and Chujin lives in hometown and sometimes Clover joins Kanako over the summer and honestly i haven't put too much thought into it just. Just modern au yummy

#clover #clover uty #clover undertale yellow #kanako ketsukane #kanako #kanako uty #kanako undertale yellow #undertale yellow #uty #zariya doodles

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puckeyldigest · 7 months

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PWHL, LPHF : Comme des Garçons?

A Rink of One's Own : LPHF, PWHL, and the world of hockey.

= where to start? = The [draft, sorry so sorry] https://www.thepwhl.com/en/professional-womens-hockey-league-pwhl-announces-second-annual-draft-declaration-process is underway! What’s to be seen? A lightning-fast calendar launch. New rules w/six history-making teams selected. Game’s on!

More records, broken. More stories, being written [just not linked here….Phooey]. The league — originating from nearly a century of women’s ice hockey, obscured — offers a top-notch occasion for those attending, and purports to bring together the best players in the world.

= what’s a living without livelihood? =

The “Ice, Earned” podcast, ep.1, states — “pay well, and you grow the game.” Along similar lines, the more matured FIFA battle demonstrates adequate room and board are necessary for medal-winners of the beautiful game. It’s yet to be proven how a promised base salary of $35,000 compares to a living wage in the cities these athletes call home.

= with the birds?=

In Boston, station WGBH if you prefer, our B’s receive the usual affectionate daily coverage. With our girls playing in Lowell, what are five, hardly six, more syllables, and a couple of new skaters to the city bustle? Radio silence and puff pieces gave pause. I hear in the currents that “the girls are playing hockey;” Factually, these women are living hockey and loving it. WCBV’s words of encouragement for the team on the road shows us that hope is not lost.

In essence, the League of Professional Women’s Hockey harks to utopic visions in its aims. The message to girls, women, and hockey fans WORLDWIDE is clearing up:

If you can see it, you can be it; if you build it, they will come; Undoubtedly, hockey is for everyone.

League matches may be spectated on YouTube, via select television broadcasts, and, possin’tbly, a city near you! Don’t miss out, before you miss it. Game’s on!

Think something’s missing? Comments/Questions/Feedback? Feel free to Mail in at, none other than, **(no-stars-??)foobo(alloneworld) chider1 (aht)gee, whizze… electronic-snail-mail (dawt, you get it…).

— Puckey Digest

Written by Puckey L'Digest

also available via :

Substack .co,m

Medium .commahe

and, ofc, TuMbLr [¿r we getting meta nao? X3c]

⚘❃⚘⚜❃❁❀✿✾✽ maneyeyeye fllowerz 4 u~!! ✽✾✿❀❁❃⚜⚘

[last updated: 03-MAR-02024]

[PS: Dedicated to Judith Shakespeer, whose page i just can’t pull up.]

Don’t miss it before you miss it. Show the world of hockey what’sup, catsup.

PPS:

Surely, many links missing. I opine.. not citation worthy, frankly. 00001

⚘❃⚘⚜❃❁❀✿✾✽ Many Flowers 4 U~!! ✽✾✿❀❁❃⚜⚘ {prev verse below} [lost in transcription, found in spirit] The [draft, sorry so sorry] ...

[FIN]

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jikanet-tanaka · 8 months

Note

Some fanfic asks: 2, 13, 14 24 for Nornir, and 32, 40, 44

Thanks for the ask!

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

First is 'Spoilers' and second is 'Fluff', which aren't bad, but then, hahaha, oh man. I have 'Implied/Reference Child Abuse', 'Canonical Character Death' and 'Dysfunctional Family', so...

13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don’t anymore?

I'm not sure? I'm think I'm less patient with the bickering couple trope than I was as a teen, though.

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?

Probably a lot of popular, if not all, tropes found in romance, like enemies to lovers or love triangles or soulmates bonds. I usually dislike those, so I would only trust a very good author to write something I would enjoy.

24. Are there any easter eggs in Nornir, and if so, what are they?

Yep, the scene where Stocke and the gang take Aht to an indoor amusement park was based on my (then teenage) friends and I doing the same for my bestie's nine-year-old cousin (who had just moved to a new city, and was thus very lonely, poor kid).

32. What’s your ideal fic length to read?

Used to be a time where I read really fast, so I devoured long fics, but now I don't have the attention span, so I do prefer shorter ones.

40. Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

Hahaha, well, I reread them all the time, because I'm afraid that I made mistakes?? I tend to get self-consious about that...

44. If you take/write prompts: do you prefer dialogue or scenario/narrative prompts?

Probably depend on the prompt? I think both would be alright, really.

#thanks again for the ask!#writing asks #fic asks

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styrmwb · 11 months

Text

Favorite Final Fantasy Music (FFXI - Wings of the Goddess)

Expansion #4, the time travel one baby!!!!! The story for this one is neat, as it brings back what the base game had of choosing a nation and having missions based off that nation specifically, but also having a lot more of a unified storyline. You get to meet a lot of familiar NPCs from the past, but also get to revisit the base world, with slight changes. The entire world is at war, and all of the cities you're in are more like military forts. It's all very cool. The official soundtrack for this is weird; cause it includes Iron Colossus and Ragnarok, which are Aht Urhgan songs (Ragnarok being the final boss of that expansion (also fucked up that Odin is Iron Colossus and Alexander is Ragnarok)), but doesn't include its actual final boss theme, cause that was put in a different soundtrack later. I am not 1-to-1 following the official soundtrack for this list for this exception (spoilers whooaaaaaaaaa)

5. Snowdrift Waltz What if we made a song using the sound of throwing a rock against a very very large landmass of ice? That's this song. Which works! Cause it plays in a frozen tundra. I really feel like the title of this song fits it in particular, a lot more than a lot of songs; cause that's literally just what it is! It's a nice waltz that sounds like snowdrift. I don't have much to say other than it's a really good melody with a very unique sound in the back, perfectly fitting its purpose.

4. Run Maggot, Run! We've done a lot of parts for one game. The pro of this is I get to share a lot more songs that I enjoy because the game is so big. The cons of this though, are a few of the songs are just going to fall under the same general reasoning for why I enjoy them, because XI has that XI sound that I really like. This is ultimately, another XI battle song that kinda fits that same mold previous entries have, so I won't go too in depth other than I love the cool pan flute, the more intense than usual percussion, and the melody when the muted cymbal and starry noise come in.

3. Under a Clouded Moon This song was a lot like Tough Battle #2, where I hated it at first because of the really weird rhythm it had; but then I started really listening to it and I was able to find where the song was (does that make sense?). I love the strangely buzzy echo the song goes into when giving the main hits a break, especially when it adds the artificial choir sound on the second go. Finally, the part that plays right before that repeat reminds me of Dragon Quest IX's grottos, which makes me really happy cause I love that game.

2. Goddess Divine Hey remember when I made a whole paragraph saying that the actual final boss theme wasn't in the soundtrack? Here's that theme now! I feel like it's been a minute since I've put an actual final boss theme in the lists; RotZ's was good, but the first half is a little repetitive. And I never really cared for CoP's or ToAU's. But this one felt different. It's a lot more subdued than the previous examples. I love the choir in the start, giving you that same heavenly vibe that part 4 of Dancing Mad does, fitting the fight. The melody is beautiful, yet I wanna say the minor key it's in (I might be wrong on this) and the heavy strings/percussion bring in that sense of sorrow and tension that really reminds you 1) this is a fight for your timeline but also 2) this is essentially a fight against your friend. The final part of the song brings back that heavenly sound with the XI flair, and making the bells/glockenspiel an actually tolerable instrument! (middle school band has left scars on my heart) I also really liked the Dissidia NT version of this song, giving it a very techno feel.

1. Wings of the Goddess It's been a minute since I've used a final boss theme, and it's also been a minute since I've used a title screen theme. Other than Vana'diel March, Wings of the Goddess is my second favorite title theme. Whenever one of them starts playing as I boot up the game, I get nothing but a big smile on my face. While it has very similar percussion to a lot of the game, something about the snare in this one gives me more of that drummer boy to battle vibe than Vana'diel March had, befitting this expansion taking place during a war, but still giving you that hopefulness, that freedom, and that happiness in its main melody getting you ready for this open world. My favorite part is the final part of the song, with the horn solo playing off, and the flute repeating itself almost like it's fading away the song, telling you to start the game up already! It's a really nice composition that I love for a lot of the same reasons as Vana'diel March, but making it different enough to give its own story.

Honorable mentions this time are: March of the Allied Forces, Flowers on the Battlefield, Griffons Never Die, Echoes of a Zephyr, Thunder of the March, Royal Wanderlust, and Troubled Shadows.

#final fantasy #final fantasy xi #textpost #jared's final fantasy music opinions

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