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sanriovin · 5 months

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Home Alone, or so you thought.

@evacoule I PROMISE TO FINISH PART TWO TO THIS AS SOON AS I CAN 😻😻😻

CW: masturbation / solo sex, sex toys - dildo, vibrator, clit suction toy, vouyerism, pornography, Gojo getting off to the sight of us masturbating, Gojo beginning to get a little handsy, use of pet names / nicknames, might be a few more???

A quiet and relaxing day, or so it seemed. No tasks at hand, no missions, nothing. A break day, it could be considered to some, yet to you, it was boredom. Of course, you appreciated the break from work and errands, yet, the day seemed so dull and plain with nothing to do. Even things that normally entertained you, such as movies, books, or your phone, seemed so irrelevant and useless right now.

Slumped on the couch, head resting on a pillow, staring up at the ceiling with an expression of frustration and boredom, you desperately wanted to find something to do. Anything. It felt as if you’ve read through every article online, seen every movie ever made, and read every single book you could physically get your hands on. What else could there be for you to do?

Your mind continued wandering, groans of annoyance slipping from your lips. Your eyes wandered the room, searching for something to entertain you; something to fill that empty and blank feeling in your mind.

Your boyfriend wasn’t home, so even talking to him wasn’t an option. Most likely being on a mission, meaning his phone would be off or on silent, making your calls go unheard. The lack of his presence at home these days made you feel lonely and bored. Missing him dearly, desperate to see those cerulean eyes again, which brought a feeling of intimidation and fear to others, yet to you, comfort and warmth. The way those eyes of his softened whenever he looked at you, or spoke with you, that smooth voice of his to you, it made your heart flutter.

And not only loneliness and boredom was caused by the lack of his presence at home.

You were a woman with a high sex drive.

It wasn’t your fault that you had been feeling sexually frustrated. You boyfriend wasn’t home to fuck you, so the feeling of neediness and desperation only grew. And of course, you could masturbate, but that was a last resort option, as it humiliated you deeply. And it seemed like you could never do it right yourself. It just never felt as good as having Satoru’s cock buried deep inside your pussy, prodding at your sweet spot, causing moans and whimpers to escape from your lips. The feeling of his long, slender fingers, rubbing against your clit, flicking at the little sensitive bud on your vulva, causing you to clench tightly around his dick, making groans leave his mouth as his pace sped up, oh how you missed that feeling.

The mere thought of Satoru pounding into you roughly sent tingles down to your pussy, a wetness that leaked out from you leaving a wet stain on your panties. Just how long would it take for Satoru to finally come back and fuck you?

The desperate feeling of needing to feel some sort of sweet release remained, only getting worse with every second that passed. You were getting tempted to masturbate, to ease the pressure, even if only by a little. You were so desperate and needy, that even going through the humiliation caused by masturbation was worth it if it meant getting rid of some of the sexual frustration that was felt within you. The real question was, would you do it though? Would you even manage to get off?

Satoru Gojo, your beloved boyfriend, was what some people would consider a ‘porn addict’ back in the day. Probably having watched every single video he could get his hands on, binning tissue after tissue until the box of them became empty. His knowledge on the topic of pornography and sex was impeccable. It should have concerned you, really, but instead, it made you feel slightly relieved in a way. At least one of you had prior experience with sex and such before the relationship.

You, however, had never watched porn in your life. No idea of how the videos looked, what the actors starring in the videos were like, nothing. Hell, you didn’t even know the names of porn websites, or how they looked. You were the more clueless one. That was one thing that Satoru loved about you; how he managed to be the one to corrupt your sweet innocence.

You had contemplated your decisions for a while, staring blankly at the ceiling, lost in thought, only the faint sounds of your breathing being heard, as you pondered about what choice of action to take. Either remain sexually frustrated, or get off. It didn’t take long for you to decide. But you wondered, would you really be able to get off without any visual or audible aid?

But would you also stoop as low as to go watch porn to help you get off?

Wouldn’t that be considered immoral as someone’s girlfriend?

But would he really have to know? He’s done it before.

You sighed, conflicted in what to do, before shaking your head, standing up, wandering off to grab your phone, being put on charge previously, a plan forming in your mind. One that would leave you humiliated, yet also one that would most likely relieve some of the sexual tension you had been feeling lately.

Reaching your room, you opened the door with a firm push of the handle, your room being revealed to the naked eye. Slightly messy, but that was to be expected. You almost immediately spotted two things; your phone, which was plugged into your charger, and a box under your bed, a black box, medium sized, hiding secrets unknown to others except yourself and a few of your friends.

As a gift for your birthday a few years back, your friends thought it would be a smart idea to gift you sex toys. Yes, sex toys. What did they expect you to do with them? You weren’t some horny teenager, at least, you didn’t act like one at that time. These days, your sex drive was high and healthy. Yet, the amount of times you had used the toys they gifted you was…

Zero.

You never had the confidence to use them, your fingers being embarrassing enough for you. Satoru didn’t know you owned the toys, and it was probably for the best. Knowing him, if he knew, he would tease you for days on end, hell, maybe even months, years if he didn’t get bored. You definitely didn’t need that.

For those reasons, you kept the box stored away, beneath your bed, out of the sight of others, to prevent unnecessary awkwardness and embarrassment for both you, and other people. Yet today, you would finally bring the box out and open it, revealing its secrets to the outside world.

With much hesitation, you knelt down onto the ground, breath hitched in your throat as you slid your duvet up, which draped over the edges of your bed, exposing the space beneath your bed to the room. Hands trembling slightly as you reached for the box, sliding it out from under, a soft noise heard as the box swept across the carpeted floor, coming to a halt in front of you. Your cheeks burnt red with humiliation, almost regretting the idea. Key word, almost.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you kept in, trying to take a few more deep breaths to calm your nerves. This was a normal thing, no need to be so embarrassed, right? That’s what you tried telling yourself, yet, it did little to calm the nerves racing through you, making you more and more hesitant and unsure to continue with your plan.

After moments upon moments of deciding whether or not to open the box, you gave up, ripping off the bandaid, pulling off the lid of the black box. You laid your eyes upon a variety of sex toys, varying in size, shape, and colour. Your eyes widened in shock, left breathless, jaw agape, taking in the sight before you, trying to process it inside your mind. You didn’t even know what most of the toys were used for, hell, you didn’t even know their names. You were left speechless, voice disappearing as soon as your fingers slid across the matte box lid.

Your grip on the lid loosened, as it fell onto the carpeted floor, a soft ‘thud’ being heard as it landed, then it went silent. Too silent. Your sight never left the box full of toys, as you slowly, almost involuntarily, reached for the phone which lay on your bed, unplugging it from the charger, bringing it to yourself. You gulped nervously, swallowing the lump that formed in your throat, and turned the phone on, typing on the browser with shaky hands, your finger pads barely meeting the letters on the keyboard without misspelling words.

You never thought you would do this, but here you were, searching up porn websites, acting like a horny teenager. You were nervous, embarrassed, yet in spite of that, a small, yet noticeable, feeling of excitement pooled in your abdomen, your thighs clenching together subconsciously.

You stared at your screen, lost in thought, your eyes glazed over as you thought about whether or not you should enter the website. A death grip on your phone, cheeks flushed red, breathing heavy and laboured, heart pounding, and the arousal felt in between your legs only growing stronger and more unbearable, pleading, no, begging to be dealt with.

The sight that appeared before your eyes as you clicked on the link would be one that would never be forgotten by you, no matter how much you would try to forget it. But honestly, would you even try to forget it?

Video upon video of porn showed up on the website, some seeming more intense than other videos. It left you stunned. This is what people had spoken about? This is what Satoru had watched? Your heartbeat picked up, seeming to go at millions of miles per minute, your mind growing hazy, as you scrolled through the thousands of videos. You may have not been an expert in sex, yet you still knew what would get you off, and none of the results shown so far interested you enough to click on them.

Your eyes drifted back to the box of sex toys, your sex drunken mind remembering that you had absolutely no idea on how to use the toys, much less even identify them. So what did you do?

With almost numb hands, you decided to search up on the website videos that included sex toys, and in less than seconds, many more results than you could have expected popped up onto the screen, making your jaw go slack, tightening the clench of your thighs even more, your body subconsciously growing hotter, and your clothes grew uncomfortable, as if there was some tension, restricting you from comfort.

You clicked on the first video you saw, propping your phone against a chair leg, sat on the ground cross-legged, unsure of what you would see, and what to do. Obviously, you had basic masturbation knowledge, and you have had sex before with Satoru, but sex toys were a whole new concept to you; one you had no understanding nor experience of. But were you curious? Yes. And would you push through the nervousness and humiliation to try them out? Also yes.

The video started, a female porn actress appeared on the screen, sat on a plush bed, lined with white silk sheets, body clad in white lacy lingerie, the bed lined with an array of sex toys; some resembled dick’s, some metal, some more silicone or rubber. She sat in an open leg position, legs bent to meet her torso, a wet spot on her lace, almost transparent, panties, darkening the white colour into a more of a pale greyish shade.

Her pale and slender fingers found their way to her lips, her lips opening, almost as if from instinct. Slid inside, her tongue danced around them, coating them in her saliva, small whimpers and noises of pleasure left her mouth. Swirling her tongue around her fingers for a few moments more, before she popped them out of her mouth with an audible wet ‘pop’ sound, which met your ears almost immediately.

The arousal and wetness you felt in your pussy only grew more intense and more unbearable as the video continued, shifting in discomfort as you tried to get comfortable, eyes focused solely on the video presented before you. The actress slowly inched her hand closer and closer to one of the toys laid on her mattress, her fingers wrapping around a small toy, one which you had never seen before. A small pink device, a little blue light emitting from what seemed to be the button.

You slowly looked over to the box of toys placed on your right side, and there, amidst the other toys, a similar looking toy stood out to you. You swallowed down your anxiousness and with a gentle and timid grip, you took the toy into your hand and brought it up to your eye-level, examining it. It didn’t seem to be anything that would hurt you, but, what would this toy be used for?

As your eyes drifted back to your phone, you saw the woman turn the toy on, and begin to run it along her erect nipples in small circles, whines and gasps escaping from her as her head rested against her headboard, cheeks red with pleasure and arousal.

Your expression morphed into one of confusion, as you glanced down to your own nipples, peeking through your shirt, hard and sensitive. Would this really feel good? When Satoru does it, it does feel good, but if you do it yourself, will it feel the same? Without any other further thoughts, you trailed your left hand down to the hem of your shirt, tangling your fingers in the cotton, before in one swift movement, pulling the shirt off over your head. Now left in only a bra and panties, shirt tossed to the side, your arousal was painfully obvious; both the wet spot on your panties, and the hard nipples peeking through your bra.

Slowly, your fingers faintly touched your skin as they made their way to the clasp of the bra, the faint prods and skims of skinskip sending shivers down your spine, breaths turning into something more resembling pants, sweat beading up on your forehead.

The cold, curled metal met your soft fingertips, and expertly, you unclapsed the bra, the straps losing their tension, growing slack on your shoulders, as you worked on removing it completely, exposing your chest to the cold air, a sharp gasp be made by your mouth. A pleasant tingle felt by you as you pushed the straps down your arms, leaving your chest bare, a pile of clothes forming by your side.

Leaving your drenched panties on for the time being, you looked back over at your phone screen, the woman’s ministration on his nipples still continuing. With a deep breath, you pressed the button on the toy, an almost inaudible ‘click’ being heard, as soft vibrations began to emerge from the toy in your hand. You almost dropped the toy out of surprise and shock, eyes widened slightly as you eyed the toy, assessing it. At a slow pace, your hand began to lift, and move closer and closer to the ignored erect buds on your chest, deciding to try the toy out with your left nipple.

The cold silicone toy touched your right nipple almost immediately, a shiver sent down your body from the cold. A small whimper escaped from your lips as the vibrations from the toy were felt on your nipples. Gentle and slow, almost taunting, as your breathing picked up slightly, looking directly at the video.

Gently, you began to rub sensual and soft circles around your nipple, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body, your noises growing louder. You were so grateful that you were home alone, no one being there to hear your sounds.

Your body jerked and twitched as you clicked the button on the vibrator a couple more times, the vibrations growing quicker and stronger, sending you into a frenzy. Would you actually cum just from having your nipple teased?

Your other hand made its way up to your left nipple, squeezing it lightly between the soft tips of your index finger and thumb, twisting it and rubbing it, making you bite down on your lower lip, trying to muffle some of the pleasured sounds that you were making. Your neediness only grew worse as you saw the actress reach down for another toy, her fingers snaking around a toy resembling a cock, bringing it to her mouth. Breaking your sight from the video, your eyes went back to the box of toys, looking through them once again.

A certain toy caught your eye, your breath hitching in your throat the longer you looked at it. A toy that resembled the one on your phone; skin coloured, approximately six, maybe seven inches, with veins visible to the naked eye, seemingly bulging out of the stiff toy. You blinked a couple of times, trying to process the sight before you, the hand that was teasing your left nipple betraying your body, as subconsciously, you reached out for the toy, grasping it in your trembling hand, dragging it closer to yourself, out of the black box. The woman placed the tip of the toy into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip, currently not taking the toy any further into her mouth. Being inexperienced in this area, you decided to follow her actions, also moving the dildo up to your mouth, slowly pushing just the tip of it into your mouth, your tongue rubbing itself across the tip, almost as if in a dance, as it muffled some of the whimpers that came out of your mouth from the feeling of the vibrator teasing your oversensitive nipples.

At a taunting pace, the actress dragged the dildo down her body, leaving a trail of saliva in between her breasts, her stomach, and then finally, the toy reached her vagina. Slowly rubbing it up and down the vaginal opening, louder and more intense moans began to escape from her mouth, struggling to keep them in. Her lingerie was now dishevelled, seeming as if more had happened than was shown in the video itself. The whole scene seemed so erotic to you, the throbbing in between your legs only growing worse and worse.

You repeated after her, slowly, and faintly trailing the dildo down the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, to your pantyclad pussy, rubbing it up and down where the vaginal opening was hidden, a sharper whimper escaping from your lips as you finally began giving your pussy the attention that it oh-so begged for for what felt like ages.

You looked down at your soaked panties, the tip of the dildo getting slightly moist from the wetness of your panties, causing you to place the dildo down, slowly hooking your fingertips under the waistband of your panties, pulling them away from your skin, before snapping them back in a taunting way, causing a small whimper to leave your lips. You quickly grew impatient, deciding to stop fucking around and just strip fully naked.

The fabric sliding down your legs from your pelvis, leaving your body fully bare and exposed, goosebumps all over from the rush of cold air that kept hitting your skin, unused to the sudden change in temperature. You tilted your head back as you grabbed the dildo once again, beginning to rub it over your soaked folds once again, this time, with more ease, and more friction, causing more satisfied and pleasured noises to leave your lips.

“Yes, yes, mmph just like that, shit…” You whimpered, as you slowly pushed the toy inside of you, your hips bucking slightly, body tensing, as it slipped further and further inside of you. At this stage, you would probably be able to figure out what to do next, with little to no visual aid. Starting off with a slow pace, you pushed the dildo inside of you, then back out, the veiny plastic dragging against your soft warm walls, a sticky wet residue left behind on the toy as it left your pussy, leaving it empty, clenching around nothing, yet wanting to feel something.

You inserted the toy back into yourself, another pathetic gasp escaping from your lips once again as you felt filled. The pleasure on your face was palpable, as you fucked the toy into yourself, your teasing on your nipples still continuing. It felt good. So good. Why have you never tried this before?

“Nngh, please, pleasepleaseple— Nngh–!” Such words with dirty implications left your mouth as the dildo continued entering your aching pussy, driving you crazy as you were being driven closer and closer to the edge. It felt amazing. Yet, you felt like something was missing. When Satoru fucked you, he would always pleasure you in each place; the pussy, the nipples, the clit— Of course, you forgot about the clit. You couldn’t just leave it neglected, right? But what could you use to pleasure your clit?

With your hand still pushing the dildo inside your pussy, your pussy opening swallowing the plastic toy, leaving only the base of it visible, you placed down the vibrator that was tormenting your nipples, turning your attention back to the box, searching for something to take care of your neglected red clit.

And then, you found a treasure. Something that would definitely help with the stimulation of your aching, desperate clit. A little pink toy, a mirror-like plastic on the end of the handle, the toy being no bigger than your palm, maybe even smaller. A small suction cup attached to the end of the toy, a button near the attachment, its use being to turn the toy on, and create the suction effect. You had found a suction toy.

Although you were inexperienced, you could easily figure out the use of the toy, as the suction attachment told you everything that you needed to know; it was meant to be attached to your clit. You took the toy into your hand after eyeing it for a while, teasingly dragging it down your now quivering body, making its way down to your cock filled pussy.

Stopping at your clit, you gently place the suction cup on top of your swollen and neglected clit, adjusting it accordingly, before your shaky thumb pressed down firmly on the button of the toy, another audible yet quiet ‘click’ being heard in the loud silence of the room, before a low hum of a vibration was heard, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body, resulting in a loud gasp and whine being torn out of your throat.

The pleasure was better than ever whenever you masturbated. One hand pumping the dildo deep inside of your dripping pussy, the other one rubbing the small bullet vibrator over your nipples teasingly, the suction toy latched onto your clit, creating both a vibrating and a sucking effect, slowly sending you further and further to the edge, hips bucking, back arched, as pathetic and feeble moans were strangled from your throat. You needed to cum. And badly. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold on for. The pleasure was becoming too much for you. Way too much.

Your thrusts sped up, increasing the pressure of the vibrator on your nipples, and grinding your hips up into the clitoral suction toy. The video on your phone long forgotten about, too lost in the pleasure you felt, mind hazy and blank, the only thing you could think about was how you needed to cum. How good it felt. “Shit, shit, fuckfuckfuck— Please, please, ‘needa cum, ‘m gonna cum, pleaseplease— Nngh—!”

You were so close. So so so close. The feeling was driving you insane. You were gonna cum, you just needed that small little push to send you over the edge. Just that little push to make you cum all over the dildo like a slut. Your mind still hazy, yet you tried to focus solely on the goodness of the feeling of a dildo brushing up against your sweet spot, creating a burning heat in the pit of your stomach, the vibrator which traced around your pelt nipples sending waves of pleasure through you, the clitoral stimulation driving you crazy, making tears pool in your eyes, your eyes losing focus on anything.

Just a little more, just a teeny bit more. That’s all it would take for you to cum. Pants and laboured gasps were heard in your feeble attempt to catch your breath, body trembling, lost within the pleasure. Suddenly, the thought of your boyfriend, Satoru, came into your mind. How it would feel if it was him fucking you. Fucking his cock deep inside of your warm walls, his fingers on your clit, rubbing it at a vigorous pace, whispering sweet nothings into your ears. That was what was needed for the building tension in your stomach to snap.

The loudest moan that you had released up to that point was released, the warm cum leaking out of you, all over the dildo inside of you, little droplets dripping onto the floor. Your body spasmed in pleasure, eyes glazed over and unfocused, rolled up to meet your ceiling, your hands shaking, barely managing to hold onto the toys. The orgasm you were having right now was one of the best ones you had ever had. Your cheeks red from both pleasure and physical exertion, little cries and whimpers leaving your throat as your thighs squeezed together and threatened to close at any moment.

Riding out your high, soft thrusts of the dildo meeting your pussy to help you through it, slowly meeting a stop as you turned off the vibrating toys. You were left verbally silent. Only gasps for air and spasms of aftershocks were left. You were speechless. You were shocked. That was one of the best orgasms you had ever had. You sat there, on the ground, processing what had just happened. You were still in disbelief.

Slowly, you slid the dildo out of yourself, a low whimper escaping from your lips as you felt empty once again. Your cum was dripping from both yourself, and the dildo, as you grabbed tissues from your nightstand to clean yourself and the toys quickly, before going to wash them off. Unlatching the clitorial toy from yourself, you were about to put it away, along with the small vibrator which was used for the stimulation of your nipples, before an all-too-familiar voice made you freeze in your tracks, your face growing pale.

“Who knew how naughty you could be, hm?”

Satoru Gojo.

When did he get home?! He was supposed to be coming back later! You were mortified to say the least, trying to cover up your nude body and hide the sex toys, turning to face him with an expression of dread and humiliation on your face.

“I-It’s not what it—” You tried to explain yourself, but you were quickly cut off mid sentence by Satoru.

“Ohh, but I think it’s exactly what it looks like.” He replied, that signature grin of his plastered upon face, making your face heat up even more, the wetness in between your thighs only growing more and more noticeable to you. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to get out of this situation. But you didn’t even have to reply to him for him to continue speaking.

“Seems like someone was all hot and bothered without me to fuck them, weren’t you? All needy and desperate, with that wet pussy of yours needing to be filled, hm?” He chuckled after he finished speaking, beginning to walk from the door frame closer to where you were sitting. You began to grow more and more embarrassed, trying to cover your body even more. But, instead of coming up to you, he took the chair which stood neatly near your desk, sliding it out into the open, sitting it right in front of you, before slumping down onto it, a smirk evident on his face.

“You gonna be a good girl and put on a show for me?” He asked, voice sultry and full of desire, his hand reaching down to brush stray hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear, the gentle touch enough to make a wave of wetness leave your pussy, shining in the reflection of the light. You were unsure of what to respond with. On one hand, you were desperate to cum again, but then again, could you really go through the humiliation of masturbating in front of Satoru just to cum?

“You gonna keep me waiting, huh? Guess you don’t want a reward then. Bad girls don’t get rewards, you know that, don’t you?” He questioned in a teasing voice, his hand slowly moving towards the obvious bulge in his trousers, struggling to contain itself in the barrier of the fabric covering over it. Even just seeing the bulge reminded you how big he was. Bigger than anything you had ever seen before. You felt compelled to follow his instructions.

Reluctantly, you reached towards the dildo laying by your side, when once again, Satoru’s voice stopped you. “Slowly. Listen to my words and follow my instructions, okay? If you don’t listen to my words, I’ll punish you instead. Is that what you want? Hm? To be punished like the dirty little slut that you are?” His words sounded teasing, yet you knew that they were true. If you ignored his instructions, he would punish you to an extent beyond words.

You nodded your head quickly in understanding and agreement, his words leaving your mind woozy once again, as your fingers slid against the dildo, inching it closer towards yourself, hands shaking slightly from the excitement and nervousness, aligning the tip of the toy with your drenched hole. “Spread your legs further.” He added, his large hand resting on top of his painful boner, gently beginning to palm himself through his trousers. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, complying, spreading your legs further, allowing Satoru easier access to see the glistening wetness that formed in your pussy, causing a low chuckle to escape his throat.

“My my, so wet already, all for me. It’s a shame that it’s not from my doing though.” He spoke, an erotic groan leaving his mouth as he pressed down slightly more firmly on his growing erection, his muscles tensing, acting as eye candy to your arousal. You wished he would just fuck you right there right now, but you knew him too well. He wouldn’t give into your pleas unless you satisfied him first. That’s the type of guy he was. A tease. You loved it yet hated it at the same time. You just wanted him.

You slowly pushed the tip of the dildo back inside you, earning a sharp inhale from you, as your head tilted back, looking up at Satoru through your lashes, eyes glazed over with pleasure, cheeks flushed, breaths shaky. At a slow pace, you slid more and more of the dildo inside yourself, before the base of it met with your aching pussy. Another whimper left your throat at the feeling, covering your mouth with your free hand, earning a ‘tch’ sound from Satoru, seeming displeased by your actions.

“Ah, ah, ah, good girls don’t cover their mouths. You wanna be a good girl f’me, right? Well, be a good girl and uncover your mouth, ‘kay?” He said, looking down at you, meeting your eyes with his icy ones, hand still resting on his trouser clad boner, pressing down, making small grunts and shaky breaths leave his lips.

His words left you wanting more. Much more. You very slowly peeled your hand off from your mouth, letting it fall to the side, allowing your noises to spill from your mouth freely. Still in the slow, taunting speed, you thrust the dildo inside of yourself, whimpering and breathing heavily, wanting to feel more. The way its plastic veins dragged along your soft wet wall, and the way the tip of the toy pushed against your needy g-spot, it made you want the real thing even more.

“Satoru, please, give it to me, please–! Fuck me, fuck me, pleaseplease, ‘lease..! I’ll be a good girl, ‘ll be a good girl for you–!” You cried out, tears beginning to pool in your eyes, threatening to spill out. The pleasure was there, yet it wasn’t enough for you. The way that the sound of Satoru’s groans and sharp breaths filled your ears, and the way that he had finally rid himself trousers off and palmed himself through his boxers with his half-lidded eyes was enough to send you crazy.

“You know that’s not how this works, don’t you? But, you can go slightly faster, since you’re being such a good, pretty girl for me, okay?” He replied to your pathetic cries and pleas. You were thankful that you were allowed to go faster, yet you knew deep down that it still wasn’t enough for you. At least not anymore.

Satoru sat there on the chair, the fingers on one hand teasing at his waistband, the other hand palming his hard dick, pressing and caressing it, making little whines and groans leave this mouth, only encouraging you to get closer and closer to your release. You began to pump the dildo into you at a faster pace, your noises increasing in both volume and pitch. By the end of this, your neighbours would hate you, surely. But that was if you actually had any neighbours that lived right next to you.

“Such a good girl, such a pretty girl. Following my orders. Such a pretty little thing for me.” Satoru spoke in between his own ministrations, looking at your pleasured face, tears of pleasure being the clear indicator of this. Oh how badly he wanted to pick you up, carry you to your shared bed, and fuck you so roughly that by the end, your face would be fucked out, your mind only thinking of his name and the feeling that his dick gave you, with the sheets being soaked through with both yours and his cum. How you wouldn’t be able to walk properly for a while, with your body littered with bites and bruises from his kisses and little nips on your skin. But he knew he had to hold back. At least for now.

He slowly slid off his boxers, an evident wet spot from his pre-cum on them, dropping them down to the ground, next to his trousers. His dick immediately sprang up, hitting against his bare abdomen, resting against the snow white happy trail which led to his v-line, which further led to, of course, his dick. The veins were clearly visible, his tip sensitive and swollen, begging for stimulation. His fingers laced around his cock, holding it in a firm grip, beginning to stroke and fist it as his eyes were solely focused on you, and you only.

You were beginning to feel the coil building up in your stomach again, your thrusts beginning to increase in pace, despite Satoru not saying anything. You were too lost in the pleasure, your mind clouded with lust. You needed to cum. You were so desperate to cum. You wanted, no, needed to feel Satoru inside on you, as quickly as you could. But you were quickly snapped out of your thoughts when Satoru spoke.

“Did I say you could, nngh, speed up?” He moaned as he spoke, his strokes being approximately the same speed as yours. He was clearly on the verge of losing self restraint. That’s what you wanted him to do. You wanted him to just fuck you. But he wouldn’t give in. He had some pride to upkeep. But by the way that his hips were bucking into his hand for extra friction, and the way his back began to arch itself off of the backrest of the seat told you everything you needed to know.

“I’m sorry, ‘m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, didn’t mean to– Need to cum, needa cum–” You moaned out, your thrusts slowly slowing back down to the pace you had before, tears of frustration and pleasure forming in your eyes once again. You could feel the tension in your lower stomach building. You could feel your orgasm oncoming. You just wished it would come closer. You needed it to come quicker.

Satoru’s strokes on his dick grew more and more sloppy, giving the indication that he too was also growing closer and closer to his inevitable release. His noises of pleasure and satisfaction grew in frequency, being heard more and more often as he pleasured himself and jerked himself off. “You can cum. Go ahead and cum. Be a good little slut and cum f’me, okay?”

You eagerly nodded your head, desperate to cum, relieved you finally were given the ‘okay’ to cum and speed up your thrusts. Your hand began to push the dildo into you at a quicker and harder pace, making your head tilt back with pleasure, eyes half-closed, as yet another ring of arousal pooled at the base of the dildo. Your thrusts grew sloppier and messier as the feeling grew painfully sweet, telling you that you would soon end up cumming. The tension was building up, making sobs of overstimulation leave your mouth, tears of pleasure running down your face.

“I’m gonna cum, gonna cum, ‘onna cum, please, please, pleaseplease, please– Need to cum, please–!” You cried out, body jerking forwards as the pleasure became too much, the overstimulation taking over your body. It began to hurt slightly, but it felt so good. You so desperately wanted to cum. You needed to cum. “You can cum. Go ahead and cum all over that dildo for me.” Satoru spoke, also on the verge of his own orgasm as he was fisting himself sloppily and quickly. His words of reassurance was all it took for the tension in your stomach to snap for the second time that day, releasing all over the dildo, a high pitched moan leaving you as you felt your cum drip over the dildo and leak down your body. You softly thrust the dildo into yourself as you rid out your orgasm, breaths shaky and laboured, spontaneous jerks from aftershocks occurring for minutes as you came down from your orgasm.

At practically the same time as you, Satoru also felt his release wash over himself, pumping his cock as ropes of cum left his cock, landing on his chest and lower abdomen, with some dripping down his fingers and hand. A loud moan left his mouth as his head fell back, eyes glassy with bliss, his hips twitching forwards as he rutted them against his palm and wrapped fingers to ride out his orgasm. His mind was lost, the only thing in it the pleasure he felt during his orgasm.

The room was filled with heavy pants and breaths, the smell of sex beginning to fill the room. A thin sheen of sweat begins to cover the both of you. Satoru was the one who regained composure first, sucking in one more deep breath as he looked down at you, your body finally stopping with its spasms of aftershocks, now looking more limp, as the toy began to slide out of you. He got up from the chair, sliding it to the side, as he gently and carefully pulled the dildo out of you, earning a quiet whimper from you. He brushed stray hairs away from your eyes, tucking them behind your ears, planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You did so well for me, so well for me. You want your reward now? You want me to fuck you? Fill you up with my cum?” He spoke in a whisper, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, before moving his hands to your body, picking you up, supporting you with one hand under your ass, and the other on your back as he carried the both of you to your shared bed. You rested your head on his chest, eyes half-lidded.

“Can’t, too much, ‘s too much ‘Toru…” You whine, but were quickly shushed by a kiss on the lips that came from Satoru. It was a chaste kiss, a small peck on the lips, just enough to get you quiet, and to leave you wanting more. “Yes you can. You can take it. You can take it like a good girl.” He spoke in a subdued voice, softly placing you on the bed, straddling your hips as he lowered his head back to yours, capturing your lips in a kiss now much more intense and heated.

(PART TWO COMING 😻😻😻)

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sadnymi · 3 months

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「 ✦ how would Slytherin boys react to you having a crush on them ✦ 」 [part2]

Regulus Black

Regulus might be rendered speechless. His eyes would widen momentarily, reflecting a mixture of surprise and something deeper, perhaps a flicker of hope. He might stammer slightly, struggling to form a coherent response.

A part of him yearns to reciprocate your feelings, to revel in the unexpected joy of your affection. But another part, burdened by family expectations and a sense of duty, might hold him back. This internal conflict could manifest in his behavior – becoming withdrawn, avoiding eye contact, or appearing lost in thought.

Regulus might shower you with subtle yet meaningful gestures. He might anonymously send you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, the kind you once mentioned admiring in Herbology class. He might "accidentally" bump into you in the library, leaving behind a rare book on a subject you expressed interest in. These unspoken acts of affection would be his way of expressing his feelings without defying the expectations placed upon him.

might yearn for a life where he could openly express his love, a life free from the constraints of his family legacy. This longing might manifest in fleeting glances exchanged across the Great Hall, filled with a bittersweet tenderness.

He'll initiate more physical contact, such as touching your hand, hugging you, or leaning in closer when talking to you.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco's usual composure might crack for a moment. Expect a stammer, a flushed face, or a poorly disguised attempt to act nonchalant.

To mask his fluster, Draco might resort to his usual arrogant demeanor. He could make snide remarks or try to downplay your feelings.

He wouldn't openly declare his feelings. Instead, he might subtly show his care: offering you his notes in class, anonymously sending you a rare magical ingredient, or "accidentally" bumping into you in the halls.

He might subtly brag about your crush to his friends, trying to appear nonchalant while secretly basking in the attention.

Despite his initial awkwardness, Draco would be a surprisingly protective friend (if not yet a boyfriend). He wouldn't tolerate anyone bullying you and might step in to "defend your honor" (even if you didn't need defending).

Tom Riddle

Tom wouldn't reveal his emotions readily. He'd observe you with a calculating gaze, trying to understand your motives and the potential benefits of your affection.

Tom might see your crush as a tool. He could use your feelings to gain your trust or influence your actions for his own agenda. A sudden "kindness" or excessive charm.

If he deems you valuable, Tom might become possessive and controlling. He might use threats or fear to keep you in line.

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Tom might confide a secret or hidden desire, testing the waters of your loyalty and trust. A deep sadness might cloud Regulus' eyes at times.

become obsessed with you, it turned dangerous. He might resort to dark magic or manipulation to keep you close, regardless of your feelings.

Blaise Zabini Blaise

would likely seize the opportunity to tease you mercilessly. Expect witty remarks, playful nudges, and a barrage of "friendly" jabs about your crush.

The teasing might morph into playful flirting. He'd test the waters with compliments, winks, and suggestive innuendos to see how you respond.

Blaise would exude an air of confidence, perhaps boasting about his irresistible charm (though secretly hoping you find him genuine).

If he truly likes you back, the teasing might lessen, replaced by genuine conversations and attempts to get to know you better.

Blaise might turn surprisingly protective if he senses someone else vying for your attention. He'd use his wit and charm (and maybe a subtle threat or two) to scare off any competition.

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genshin-obsessed · 5 months

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Hii! Hope you're having an amazing day! Can I request scaramouche, baizhu and dottore with a reader that can't sleep at night because of nightmares? They can only sleep 2-3 hours max before waking up because of another nightmare. I've been having night terrors recently out of blue so maybe some comfort might help with the issue ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

✧ Hiya! Super cute, thanks for the request! I believe this is my first time writing for Baizhu which is suprising bc he's one of my faves. Sorry this took so long btw! ✧ Also, I genuinely feel for anyone who suffers with night terrors, I couldn't imagine what that would be like.

✧ Characters: Baizhu, Dottore, Scaramouche

✧ Baizhu

Being a doctor, he did have some experience with night terrors before. He is wary of medication, as he knows that’s not a permanent solution.

Not only that, but night terrors have underlying conditions, which are easier to treat than the terrors, themselves. So, he'll try to work with that.

Of course, he's beside you every single night when you sleep. So, if you're thrashing or screaming, he can calm you and bring you back to reality. 2-3 hours a night isn’t enough sleep, so he’ll usually ease your stress and help you rest some more.

Getting better is going to take a long time, that's something you'll need to come to terms with but it is possible. One thing is for sure, Baizhu will never give up.

✧ Dottore

He’s certainly seen cases before. Both mild night terrors and severe ones. He does have a few ideas to help them.

The last resort is medication for him, since it’s not the best thing to use to treat night terrors. The lack of sleep is the most worrisome for him, 2-3 is detrimental to the body.

Night terrors are frightening for both parties to deal with, so he takes it extremely seriously. It’s pretty much top priority for him. As mentioned earlier, he works on your sleeping the most. You need to sleep at least 7 hours a night.

You can expect him to be beside you every single night when you try to sleep. He’ll bring his research with him or a book, or even if he’s sleeping with you. He’ll hold your hand and even talk to you until you fall asleep. Dottore asmr.

✧ Scaramouche

He understands as he probably has a minor case himself. Unfortunately, he’s no doctor so he doesn’t actually know how to treat it. But that doesn’t mean he won’t look for ways.

He knows doctors and so he’s quick to try and get any of them to help. When you had your visit, he paid attention to every single word spoken by the doctor.

Scaramouche takes it extremely seriously. Not only that, he understands how detrimental it could be both psychologically and physically. He tries his best to find ways to soothe you back into sleeping.

Scara will try to make sure you get at least 7-8 hours of sleep in a day. It’s ok if it’s not in one night. As long as you rest. He keeps a close eye on your diet as well to make sure you have enough energy and sugars in a day and not go overboard.

#baizhu x reader #dottore x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin baizhu #genshin dottore #genshin scaramouche #🖊─ pocky’s writings

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acourtofthought · 5 months

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"Elain draws away from Lucien because she doesn't like him and doesn't want him"

Really? An author who is notorious for hidden truths and "what you see isn't always what you get" yet some still believe she's resorting to something so simplistic for two of her future main characters? Two characters involved in Feyre's story from book 1 yet she's really gone the route of mating them in book 2 only to have them go absolutely nowhere together? To Elain ignoring her POC scarred mate because she's supposedly afraid of him though he literally does nothing but continue being as respectful as possible? Leaving her ex unharmed and not pushing her for anything?

This is the author who had Nesta push Cassian away time and again, looking to other males for physical release, only for us to find out she wanted Cassian from the first moment she met him and was terrified of what that meant.

But Elain definitely wants a relationship with Az because she was willing to kiss him and pushes Lucien away. 🤔

Wouldn't a more interesting reason for her behavior be something like this:

Elain was devastated by Graysens rejection.

She wept for hours at her father's headstone and continued to visit him at least once a month. We know she still mourned her lost life with Graysen in the novella as well.

Elain lost the two most important men in her life and it was very clearly a harrowing experience. She went from not eating, not sleeping, not drinking, and sitting silently in her room for months because of her lost humanity and separation from Graysen to Graysens rejection to the loss of her father.

And if those things felt that terrible, were that traumatic and she didn't even share a bond with either, then what do you think she'd feel if she were to open herself up to Lucien and he rejected her or he was killed?

In ACOWAR, she said that she could hear his heart, not just his heartbeat. And we know that part of what was in his heart at that moment was guilt over Jesminda's death and a feeling of betrayal towards her. .

If Graysens rejection of her stung as badly as it did, then what would a mates rejection feel like? Wondering whether she could ever compare to a female he pined for centuries after her death?

If her father's death was so painful, then what would the death of a mate feel like?

Certain parts of the fandom create a version of Elain that is so one dimensional rather than giving her credit for possibly having feelings toward Lucien that are deep and complex. That she could be dealing with the fear of opening herself up to him and is also in tune with his fears and his sadness and it's all overwhelming and scary. He's not scary but the intensity of what could be and what could then be lost is.

That maybe, just maybe, Az (for as nice as he's been towards her) was not a scary option because she knew any rejection would not cut deeply (evidenced by the fact that nobody noted her being sad after Solstice). If Elain is as observant as the characters say she is, then there's little chance she hadn't noticed the way he looked at Mor and knew on some level who his heart belonged to, though he's been starting to realize he isn't going to end up with her. Maybe Feyre was right in saying that Elain and Az might find peace and quiet together, but maybe it was never meant to last. Peace and quiet is not what legendary romances are built on. Maybe the peace and quiet was only meant to hold them over until she (and he) were ready to stop being afraid and finally face the things that scared them. Until she was finally ready to take a chance to truly opening herself up again, not just physically but emotionally.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #anti e/riel #pro lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #acotar mates #character deep dive

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stickymolasses · 6 months

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Hello! Can you write a nurse reader x harry osborn? :)

MAKE YOU BETTER

an: hello! i love reading ur harry fics so much, thank you for this prompt! i hope u like it <3 ps: reader does not know peter is spiderman, they just think peter got injured somehow and the symbiote transferred over to him. spiderman having a black suit, in their eyes, is just a coincidence. just imagine reader being totally oblivious, lol.

summary: You're Harry's nurse and you can't help him feel better physically anymore, so you resort to playing therapist. (fluff/a little angst if you squint) pairing: harry osborn x reader warnings: sick & irritable harry

You knock twice as gently as possible, trying not to disturb Harry too much. He mumbles something that resembles “come in,” so you allow yourself to slowly open the door. You close it upon entering and lean against it.

“How are you feeling today, Harry?” you ask, wishful thinking taking over, though you think you probably know the answer.

Harry shuffles a little in his bed and leans his head back. He swallows hard, and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat. His form has gotten frail over the past couple of days.

He breathes in deeply and his words come out in a whisper, “Never been better.” He smiles sarcastically and breathes out his nose, a laugh that does not require him to flex his stomach.

You can see his pain. You can feel it too. You don’t want to pry, but as his nurse, you have a job. You are supposed to make him feel better, get healthier. He can’t get any better, physically, that is. Your real task now is to change his mindset.

“What’s been bothering you lately? Any serious pain I should know about?” You cross your arms, still leaning on the door.

Harry is sitting up now, giving you a better view of the dark purple bags under his eyes. You wince and look down, avoiding his gaze. “The usual. My pain lately has been in my head. I’ve been mulling things over, got lots to think about.”

He looks down at his lap, twiddling his thumbs. His boredom has reached a new peak, having filled out four science-themed crossword books.

You nod at him as if to say “Go on.”

He furrows his brows in thought, still looking down at his hands.

“It’s Peter.” He looks up at you swiftly. “He’s… changed.”

You move towards his bed and take a seat nearer to him, to make him more comfortable. Your words come out slowly and very quietly, “Changed, how?”

He sighs, “It’s complicated. After his little… accident, having the symbiote- um, the suit- affects him in a way that it hadn’t done to me. He’s angry.”

You know he’s telling the truth. You’ve seen it. When Peter blew up on Harry and told him he should “pop some more pills.” From knowing Peter for a few months now, you would never have expected him to act that way towards anyone, let alone his best friend.

“Has he ever been angry like that before, with you?” You inquire, still pushing.

“Never. I was usually the one with the temper.”

“If you’ll allow me to play devil's advocate, I think you might need to give Peter the benefit of the doubt because-”

Harry gripped his comforter until his knuckles turned white.

“He wants me to die.” The words came out like a curse, laced with venom. His face falls into his palm, and he rubs his temples.

Once he finds himself calm, he opens his mouth again to speak, but no words come out. He looks at your face, eager to listen. Something about the way you look at him helps him find the words.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, he’s fighting his own battles. We all are.” He looks up at you, awaiting a response. You fall silent.

Your gaze is morphing under his. You feel like you’re melting rapidly under a heat lamp, but you’re just looking at each other. This moment feels more meaningful than the actual verbal conversation you were having just moments before. You’re beginning to feel different about him, and the feeling is dangerous, fatal even.

“Stop looking at me like that. Like I’m some sick child.” Harry turns his head away from you, like an actual child. A child who doesn’t want to listen to his guardian.

You scramble, “Like what? I wasn’t looking at you like anything; I was just-”

“You were pitying me; I can see it with my own two eyes.” The moment was fleeting, but you could see him changing his mind mid-sentence. Something about you kept him sane.

You breathe loudly, and he can hear the gears turning in your head. You were calculating a response so as not to irritate him further.

“I wasn't pitying you. I was just… I was thinking about how you were before. You were so full of life, seeing you like this makes me wonder what you would be doing if you weren’t in this position.” You reach for his hand and clasp it gently. His hand is cold, in contrast to your warm ones. Your thumb moves in circles over his knuckles.

“Can you help me stand up, please?” He flashes doe eyes at you, waiting for an answer. You grip his hand tighter and help him rise from the bed. When he is fully standing, he pulls you into a hug so swiftly that you wobble a bit.

He buries his head into your neck and mumbles something incoherent, and you don’t bother to ask him to repeat himself. You hold each other for just a second too long.

“Sorry, I just wanted to look out the window.” He hobbles over to the giant window and stops in front of it, placing a hand on the frame and leaning on it.

“New York City used to be so beautiful, don’t you think?” He continues to stare longingly at the world outside his room.

“I think it’s still gorgeous.” You stand next to him, placing a hand on his bicep to make sure he doesn’t lose his balance.

“Of course you would. Any world with you in it should be grateful to have you.” He turns towards you and removes your hand from his arm, placing a hand on your waist. He looks down at you with an unreadable gaze.

You look up at him and cup his face in your hands, smoothing your thumb over his cheek. His brown eyes sparkle with an ambition that you haven’t seen in all of your days of knowing him. He looks down at your lips and you notice. He leans in, and you follow suit, connecting your lips in harmony.

“You are the most beautiful thing in all of New York City, Harry.”

an: hello! i hope this was what you were looking for, i got a little carried away. this was a lot of fun! thank you for the ask again!

[more harry content here]

#harry osborn #harry osborn x reader #harry osborn x y/n #harry osborn ps5 #harry osborn fanfiction #msm2 #insomniac spiderman #spiderman 2 ps5 #spiderman ps4 #peter parker #spiderman #x reader #fanfiction #y/n

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idyllic-affections · 1 year

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dad!pantalone iii (ft. the harbingers).

summary. the harbingers all have their own choice nicknames for pantalone's child.

trigger & content warnings. dottore clones being... dottore clones. you know? yeah.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. dad!pantalone & reader, la signora & reader, acaramouche & reader, il dottore & reader, arlecchino & reader, columbina & reader, childe & reader, pulcinella & reader. 0.7k words. they/them pronouns for reader. prev | next

author's thoughts. i wrote this series quite some time ago but i think about it all the time. it was honestly so fun to write LMAO i miss it sometimes.....

the harbingers rarely seem to call pantalone's child by their name. they all have their own nicknames for the little one. let's see what they are, shall we?

starting off with the man himself, pantalone has a collection of nicknames he uses to refer to his kid, from something as simple and tender as 'little one' or 'my dove' to the more embarrassing 'my gem.' the latter becomes one of those nicknames that begins to embarrass his child as they get older, especially in their preteen years (by the time they're 15, 16, 17... they've gotten used to it). he finds it funny, the way they fluster and stutter and complain about that nickname being very embarrassing when he uses it in public. he's almost pouty when the time comes that they don't find it embarrassing anymore. he also takes fondly to a simple 'darling' or 'love.'

la signora's nicknames are a little more... extravagant, for lack of a better word. after they burned the balladeer's coat, she took to calling them 'my little flame.' all of her nicknames are oddly fire related. she has little shame calling them such things in public, and she likes to think her nicknames function as something of a warning sign; after all, they do have the capacity to be destructive. everyone should be aware that they are no easy target, she thinks. there are some, however, that she tends to only use when there are fewer people around, such as 'firefly.' additionally, she seems to call them 'dearest' rather often. it's the most "normal" of her nicknames.

scaramouche calls them 'pyromaniac,' and does so very bitterly, might i add. end of story. he will never forget what they did despite the fact that they were a child with poor pyro control when they did it.

il dottore, in his omega build... well, nothing he calls them is even remotely affectionate. 'brat,' 'menace,' the list goes on. he could fill an entire book with the mean nicknames he uses on them. they find it quite funny, actually. he can't physically or psychologically hurt them, so he resorts to shitty nicknames? pathetic. this, however, tends to vary between segments. some—keyword: some—of both the younger and older segments are actually quite fond of them, and use 'mon petit monstre' on them... is that a term of endearment or are they being harassed?? they have no clue. they speak the common tongue of fontaine, so they know what it means, and yet... they really can't tell if it comes from a place of fondness or not. zeta, more commonly known as webttore, will not hesitate to call them a bitch but if anyone else does it, he might end up adding another heinous crime to his already extensive list.

arlecchino, the woman who raised them until about the age of five, tends to simply call them by their name, unlike most of the harbingers. sometimes, though, she'll call them 'honey' or 'my dear' in a very gentle, tender tone. now, if any fatui agent catches her doing this... it won't end well. she's soft only for them and columbina but she doesn't need people knowing about that. she has a reputation, after all. the knave isn't all that kind, no, but she did grow fond of them, and she still holds a small grudge against the regrator for leaving them with her for so long.

columbina, oh, her nicknames are easily the sweetest—'angel,' 'sweetheart,' 'lovely,' it goes on. she and dottore are on opposite ends of the nickname scale. every pet name she calls them is laced with only the utmost saccharine sweetness. contrary to popular belief, it comes from a place of genuine fondness.

childe's nicknames are a little different. they're all friendly and perhaps a bit too casual, given the fact that [name] could ruin his life very easily. 'kiddo,' 'bud,' 'kid,' archons... its almost as if childe forgets that they aren't too much like other children their age. what other snezhnayan child their age is the most lucrative target in all of teyvat, yet simultaneously the most untouchable?... perhaps it's simply because he sees another sibling in them. who knows?

pulcinella's nicknames are the typical "old man talking to his grandchild" nicknames—namely 'dear' and 'young one.'

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion brainrots 🌸#platonic genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin x reader #pantalone x reader #la signora x reader #il dottore x reader #arlecchino x reader #columbina x reader #childe x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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justapigeonn · 3 months

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the thing i don't understand when ppl try to defend gray wing's constant bootlicking of clear sky is they'll always bring up the argument 'well DUH they're BROTHERS gray wing would never want to believe that clear sky's a bad person!!' but that entire argument goes out the window when you make them remember that gray wing literally threw hands with clear sky upon discovering he'd exiled their younger brother jagged peak after breaking his leg.

gray wing travels to clear sky's camp to confront him PERSONALLY and when clear sky outright admits that he cast out jagged peak because he was 'weak' and 'no longer useful' to him or the group because of his disability, gray wing's first thought is to get PHYSICALLY VIOLENT with clear sky because he understands how fucked up and selfish his mindset is - and this is only book 1 mind you. he KNOWS that clear sky is willing to abandon those less physically capable than him out of his own selfish interest and physically fights him over it and is still understandably seething over it when he gets home and then we proceed to never reeeally see that side of him towards clear sky again (until one notable scene we'll get to later) even as clear sky gets progressively worse and more violent.

this bit has been discussed time and time again but for the sake of expanding my point - later on in the books when the moor cats come across bumble on the verge of death, gray wing himself and the others hear clear sky sheepishly admit from his own mouth that after finding her alone on his territory starving and desperate, he beat her to the point that she fell unconscious and he left her to her own devices

clear sky severely downplays the situation and claims to only have given her a 'cuff to the ear' but because we've already witnessed him murdering a mother cat over a simple territorial dispute first hand through the eyes of thunder, the likeliness of this being a lie is almost absolute. and what can gray wing do all while bumble is bleeding to death on the ground and turtle tail mourns her? he worries about how clear sky's reputation might be tarnished in the eyes of the moor cats :( as if that wasn't already the case after his wrongful exile of jagged peak and his unnecessarily aggressive and territorial behaviour. all of a sudden keeping clear sky's name squeaky clean is of the utmost importance to him despite him not really caring about about that at all in the previous book and merely standing up for what was right and giving his brother the piece of mind he deserved.

but ok, what happens when gray wing witnesses clear sky murder a cat with his very own eyes? - not just any cat mind you, but an old tribemate and beloved friend/ally of gray wing. surely he'd believe it and act accordingly right?? yeah!.....

....for roughly 5 minutes. even CLEAR SKY HIMSELF appears shocked

later on in the early chapters of the blazing star it's only reinforced

but yeah while that's all the text i can be bothered to sieve through right now, all in all gray wing had like 2 notable moments standing up to clear sky before resorting to being a spineless apologist for him. we KNOW he is capable of standing up to him and gray wing KNOWS what clear sky is capable of and what he's done but then he switches gears for little known reason. there's compassion and then there's sheer stupidity and gray wing repeatedly displays the latter.

i have no problem with gray wing still retaining some level of nostalgia and love towards clear because at the end of the day, yes, they are brothers they grew up together and were at one point exceptionally close, but that doesn't leave him any right to downplay the god awful things he did and protest when others are rightfully hateful towards clear sky.

anyways stan thunder idk why the fandom was always so adamant about casting him to the side and cultivating a rivalry between the two brothers when thunder was always a far superior foil to clear sky in every conceivable way

also p.s. please don't let me stop you from liking gray wing if you want to this is sheerly an over the top rebuttal to a common argument i see used to defend the author's poor writing choices

peace and love ✌️💞

#warrior cats #dotc #wc #warriors #gray wing #clear sky #tw ableism #tw animal death

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coffeebeanwriting · 2 years

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10 Ways to Start your Novel

Here is a collective list of 10 ways to consider starting your story. Merge a couple, use none or just take inspiration:

1) Start in media res or in the middle of an action. This doesn’t have to be an epic battle scene, but instead just means to start with your protagonist in the midst of doing something.

2) Use your unique setting as a hook. If you have a lush fantasy world, a dark dystopian, or even a beautiful contemporary setting, consider opening with some unique descriptions of the location.

3) Begin with a secret or question that your readers want to solve. “Tomorrow, the Serving occurs for the first time in twenty years. I’ll be lucky to survive.” What’s the Serving? Why does it occur once every twenty years? How come the protagonist will barely survive it?

4) Have your antagonist affect the protagonist/plot from the very start. This doesn’t have to be directly, but can be. Think: a step-daughter being excluded at a ball by her evil step-mother. A detective is misled by false clues from the infamous crime lord. A warrior fighting off the henchmen of the main villain.

5) Internal conflict. Readers get to hear your protagonist's inner thoughts and struggles at the start of the book. Your protagonist might be unsatisfied with life and makes choices that change the story based on their internal struggles.

6) External conflict. Your protagonist is forced to act because of a physical conflict. Whether they cause it, or it’s caused to them.

7) Start with an interesting point of view. If your story has multiple viewpoints, consider starting with a perspective that will really intrigue your audience. Maybe an unreliable, sinister, crazy, or overly anxious character.

8) Create mystery around your characters. Introduce the protagonist, antagonist, or side characters with the intrigue surrounding them. Why does he walk with a limp? Why is her nickname “The Last Resort.”? Harry Potter is the “boy who lived” and Voldemort is “he who must not be named.” These phrases and nicknames create anticipation for the reader to figure out more.

9) Begin with interesting dialogue. In my opinion, opening with typical conversations can be lackluster. Consider starting with the character conversing about a secret, problem, or something unique to your world. Katniss and Gale discuss the Reaping and the Capitol.

10) Create an immersive mood. For example, if you’re writing a dark novel, plunge your reader into an eerie and spine-chilling atmosphere. This tells them exactly what they're getting into and should expect for the rest of the novel.

Extra Tip) Start with a compelling voice. Show the narrator or protagonist's unique attitude towards things. Is your narration sassy, dark, romantic, comedic, or something else?

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rosaaeles · 5 months

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I really want to hear some of your odesta hcs if you have any 🙈

omg of course! here are some :)

i feel like i mentioned this in the ficnick, but i headcannon that annie waits up for finnick in his house in the victor’s village on the days when he’s coming back from the capitol. sometimes she does things to keep herself occupied in the meantime like baking or reading or knitting, and sometimes finnick gets back so late that she falls asleep waiting. when this happens, he always carries her to bed, regardless of how tired he is. he’ll put whatever she’s baked on the cooling rack, or he’ll put a bookmark in her book to save the page, and then he’ll join her :’)

after her games, it takes annie years to feel comfortable with being in water again, but she misses the ocean often and finnick is always happy to go with her. they spend countless afternoons sitting on the shore shoulder to shoulder till she’s ready to go.

finnick likes to collect seashells for annie whenever they go. he knows annie likes them, but doesn’t feel comfortable enough with moving closer to the water which is where most of the shells wash up, so instead he brings them back to her. over time she builds quite a collection of seashells, seglass, and driftwood he’s brought back to her. sometimes she likes to braid the shells into her hair.

annie wears finnick’s clothes often when he’s away at the capitol – especially his sweatshirts and jumpers – because she likes the feeling of being wrapped up in something warm and loose that reminds her of home. when finnick realises, he starts leaving her a few before every trip. by the time he gets back, they don’t smell like him anymore, and annie has to resort to tucking herself under whatever he’s wearing.

the first time finnick hears someone in four making fun of annie, they’re in the market in d4’s main port. he and annie are making their way past stalls leisurely when he hears it. it’s an unmistakably cruel remark, and it’s probably only said because people don’t seem to think annie can hear them when they make these comments. one glance at the girl tells finnick that she definitely has. she pretends not to hear, but finnick notices her posture droop ever so slightly. the boy fixes the perpetrators with a glare ready to put them in their place, but before he can say anything, annie tugs on his hand. “can we go, finn? i just want to go.” finnick wants to tell her that if anything, the people who made the remark should leave, but annie’s gaze is pleading. generally, people don’t make many comments about annie when he’s around too, but he imagines that it must be bad when he’s not.

finnick always does his best to stifle any sound he might make when he wakes up from nightmares, unwilling to wake annie up too. somehow, she always seems to notice anyway -- they’re both quite light sleepers so it doesn’t take much to wake her up. annie almost always seems to know what finnick needs, but she always asks before initiating any type of physical contact. usually, he’s okay with it; practically falling into her arms, but when he isn’t annie limits herself to linking her pinky with his and taking deep and slow breaths until his breathing matches her own.

#im sooo self consious about writing for them bc i have more experience with everlark #but i hope u like these anon :')#i had a really good time coming up with these (see-procrastinating my assignments) so if anyone else has more odesta thoughts for me #please leave them in my inbox!!#❀ rosa replies #odesta #odesta fanfiction #finnick odair #annie cresta #the hunger games #thg

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popatochisssp · 7 months

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IM IN LOVE WITH ALL THE NEW BOYSS!!!! I was wondering what hobbies they would have? Would any of them skate? What about make art? Play piano, perhaps?

Quick sidebar, it would probably be easier to ask who can’t skate than who can—at least regarding ice skating—because the majority of the skeletons lived/grew up in Snowdin and had plenty of time to practice their ‘don’t pratfall on the ice’ skills, so they’d (almost) all be at least passingly competent at ice skating, and then whatever learning curve is involved with slightly transferable skills to not-ice skating.

That said!

…You know, I realized I never did an accounting of all this, even with the first two waves of boys, so…

This is by no means a complete list of everything the boys might enjoy doing—despite the fact that this is huge and completely got away from me, oh my god seriously do not open the readmore on your dash—but!

Sans (Undertale):

He’s a goofy guy, so it’s probably no surprise that he’s into comedy. He’s a lover of puns and pranks and jokes in general, just…maybe not as casually as he makes it look. He does a little stand-up now and then, open mic nights mostly nowadays, but he’s played to larger audiences before at the MTT resort. He’s also got a pretty sizeable collection of comedic paraphernalia—rubber chickens, whoopie cushion, snapping gum, you name it—just on the off chance he might get to use it in a prime moment. He spends a lot of his free time reading joke books, watching other pros perform, and even, on occasion, don’t tell anyone, but… studying the science of humor, what people seem to find funny, how, and why. He doesn’t like to let on, because he thinks it makes him seems a little less cool and funny if you know he goes out of his way to research this stuff sometimes instead of just vibing on improv, but he genuinely finds the subject fascinating and likes to read about it. Alas, he’s a nerd…

And as such, he’s also very into physics. Quantum physics as food for thought in his downtime when he just wants to chew on some conceptually heavy stuff, but classical and practical physics make for some great experiments and demos, especially as party tricks or ‘hey, you wanna see something cool?’s for interested onlookers and he’s so all about that. Want to try an egg drop from the roof with popsicle sticks and straws? He’s got tape and a fresh carton right here. Maybe make a magnet out of a battery? Sure, there’s wire and nails around here somewhere… Or maybe you want to bet him he can’t hold up a water bottle with nothing but a string and three matches? C’mon, 10G—no, 20G. But really, he’ll take any excuse to do a cool demo of stuff he knows.

As for stuff that doesn’t demo quite as well… It was a little less apparent Underground, but there was a reason he had that telescope of his and it wasn’t just because he liked pranking people with paint on the eye-piece. He did love doing that, of course, but he also genuinely loves stars and space, learning about it and looking at it now that he actually has the opportunity to—he’s got his telescope to use on clear nights, a yearly pass for the local planetarium, and you better believe he’s subscribed to NASA’s newsletters for regular updates on the goings on out there. He tries to play it cool, but stars and black holes and nebulae are cooler, it’s hard not to get invested in everything to do with them…

Papyrus (Undertale):

Of course, he’s the master of puzzles, and not just your basic jigsaw! …Well, maybe sometimes a jigsaw, he’s not morally opposed to them but really, he needs a challenge for his intellect! He doesn’t mind a word puzzle here and there—as long as it’s not a crossword—but physical puzzles are his favorites, anything to employ his spatial reasoning and impressively fine motor skills. Rubik’s cubes are fun, linked wires, interlocking blocks, really anything in three dimensions that he can fiddle with and manipulate until it surrenders to his incredible greatness. He’s very proud of his solving ability and definitely brags about it, but he’s not just blowing hot air. He really does have a great knack for observing disparate pieces and fitting them together conceptually to see what they can be before ever starting to physically assemble them and the joy of bragging aside, he loves getting to exercise that particular mind-muscle and show his smarts.

In a similar vein, he’s also a big fan of model-making. Planes, trains, automobiles and the like, and no small amount of action figures, he likes to build them up piece by piece with his own two hands. It’s fine to populate his theoretical battle scenarios with gifts from brothers and Santas, or stuff he found at the Dump, but it’s definitely his preference to start with a kit and put it all together himself, watching it gradually take shape with his diligent effort. Maybe he’ll go off-book from time to time, a little bit, but customizing things to his own unique specifications just seems the thing to do when he’s already doing the rest of the making. All the gluing and cutting and painting and lacquering by hand… it’s the art of creation—and what nobler pursuit is there than that?

Well, there may be one other thing. As a truly renaissance man, he’s naturally well-rounded in his interests, intelligent and creative and yes, physically fit too! For him, there’s no better way to stay in shape than by playing sports, most any kind! Basketball, soccer, hockey, tennis, he’ll play any sport, just explain the rules and give him the ball—or don’t, depending on the objective and rules of the specific game in question as you’ve described it. The desirability of the sportsball does seem to vary quite a bit, so he’ll need to determine whether he wants to obtain or get rid of the ball, puck, shuttlecock, whatev—no, that’s the accurate term, it is not! Whatever you’re thinking! Stars, be mature… But! He likes games and being active and having friends, all of which are part and parcel of engaging in sports, so he’s really always up for a game.

Sky (Underswap Sans):

He likes to bake! He’s not a professional and in fact, he finds it to be quite challenging at times—there’s way more restrictions than cooking on how much to add of this, making sure to do that before the other thing but after this step, the oven has to be at exactly the right temperature… There’s a lot of steps and rules, but that’s kind of what he likes about it. He likes trying to see if he can make a thing, and then if he can, what tweaks he can make to flavors and textures without compromising the end result. He’s not always successful—he’s definitely ended up with sopping wet cakes, burnt pie crusts, overly salty muffins—but frankly, the experimenting to get it right is all part of the fun! He tends to make more tasty treats than he does failures and he’s happy to share those around with friends and family anytime. Baking may be an exacting mistress, but he loves to tango with her all the same!

Speaking of which…well, he may not know the tango specifically but he does love to dance! He’s got a lot of energy and a solid sense of rhythm, and that combo tends to result in at least a little shimmy of a two-step when there’s a good beat going on—and all bets are off entirely if there happens to be a dance floor and a favorite song playing. He likes dancing with a partner, or in a group, but he’ll dance all by himself if he’s feeling the mood, like nobody’s watching…or rather, like everyone’s watching and he wants to impress and lure out a little company to join him. He even has a tendency to put on music and dance in place a bit when he’s doing otherwise boring chores around the house, like dishes or vacuuming, and while he doesn’t mind doing his dancing solo then too, he’s always delighted to find someone who’s willing to dance along.

He wouldn’t turn down some company for a bit of outdoor exploration, either. A hiking trail maybe? Or some rock climbing? A nature trail or just a walk in the park wouldn’t go awry either if something a little less strenuous is required! He does like the exercise but it’s mostly the nature and all things green that he wants to see and be out in—trees and flowers and even grass. His house would probably be packed with greenery if he…hadn’t…killed every single plant he ever tried to keep…but! Since he does indeed have a deadly black thumb, he likes to visit the plants, in their natural habitat where he has no control over whether they live or die (so they’ll probably continue to live).

Paps (Underswap Papyrus):

It’s no secret that he’s a bookworm. He loves literature and always has—his brother will tell you he was reading before he was even talking, and as embarrassing as it is every time he brings it up, it’s not untrue. He reads voraciously, with a preference for fantasy, romance, and poetry, but he’ll read pretty much any book he can get his hands on. It’s probably no surprise that he’s been inspired to do a little writing of his own, over the years. He’s pretty private about his own work (especially the poetry, oh god, he’d dust on the spot if someone saw his poetry) but he still loves to talk about the written word and techniques used in its conveyance and form, and the struggles writers face in trying to communicate the ideas they have stuck in their heads. He’s great for reading recommendations if he knows the kind of things someone likes, but his go-to recs will always be his personal favorites.

Pride and Prejudice is one such favorite. He’s seen all the film adaptations and miniseries, and branched out from there, first into stuff inspired by similar works, then originals, and then…okay, he’s maybe a little bit addicted to period pieces in general now. Whenever a new one comes out, anything about regency or royals or the nobility in a dramatic setting, he pretty much has to watch it, more only a question of ‘when’ and not ‘if’ he’ll be checking it out. Naturally, he’s happiest when it’s coming out on a scheduled basis, because if an entire season drops all at once he’s going to sit there and binge it and it’s much harder to deny he has an addiction when he just pulled an all-nighter about it. He can’t help himself, he has to see if the socially mismatched couple can make it work and be wed in the end, love winning out over silly class divides…

When he’s not actively obsessed with either of those things, though, he dabbles a bit in calligraphy. He’d probably hesitate to call it a hobby, he does have a couple of those fancy pens and some nice paper and ink to use them with, and he’s decent at it, but definitely needs to practice more to be able to do the really fancy flourishes without blotting the ink or scratching the page. He can certainly do some simple, clean lettering if needed! Like…if you want a poster or a sign to look neat and professional, or…maybe you want the ‘To Do’ list on the fridge to have a fancy header or something? (His end-goal is to be able to do his own drop-caps and an elaborate cursive title for the cover of his book, someday, maybe, who knows…)

Jasper (Underfell Sans):

He likes working with his hands, making things and having something to show for his time and effort. (Knitting? No, that’s, that’s not a hobby, that was a necessity, just for special occasions now, he’s not…naw, c’mon…) He’s something of a car guy. He likes engines and wheels and pistons and how they all work together to make something that goes fast, and he likes understanding how all the pieces fit together and how to fix them if something breaks. It’s something he practiced Underground with busted old engines and bikes that fell down, and a career he pursued on the Surface, but even in his free time he likes tuning up his car, his bro’s car, restoring glory to a classic bike he got at a steal of a price and she’s gonna purr like a kitten when he’s done—he’s just…happy, with his hands buried in an engine and grease all over his face.

And speaking of grease on his face, he’s pretty passionate about food, too. Not so much the cooking of it, though he’s not too shabby in the kitchen when he puts the effort in, but more the eating of it and appreciating the flavors and textures. He’s got a lot of strong opinions on how done a steak oughta be (medium-rare), what belongs on pizza (anything but candy), and how to eat chips with your sandwich (in it, for that extra crunch of texture). ‘Gourmet’ sounds a little too snobby for his tastes, food doesn’t have to be expensive to be good and in fact, it usually isn’t—some of his best meals have been from holes in the wall—but he does like going out to such places to eat and socialize, maybe have a chat and give his compliments to the chef (and definitely not try to wheedle any recipes), that sorta thing.

But after all that, when he really wants to wind down, there’s nothing he likes better than a bit of gaming. He’s not much for multiplayer, he prefers doing his own thing at his own pace, but he likes having some kind of objective and making it happen. It gives a nice sense of accomplishment that he can get while sitting down—which is great. He tends mostly towards puzzle/adventure type games more than pure battle scenarios and beat-‘em-ups, he feels like there should be some strategy and skill involved, or the satisfaction of the win just doesn’t come through as strong. (Protip: do not watch this man defeat a Dark Souls boss if you are easily stressed out. He taunts between strikes and dodges at the very last second because he’s got the timing down to a science. Maybe try Pokemon or Zelda instead…)

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus):

His first great love is and likely always shall be the theater. He didn’t have too many opportunities Underground to go see live stage plays, but he’s long since broken the spine of the collected works of Shakespeare that got him started and memorized its contents, water-stained cover to water-stained cover. He can recite any of the Bard’s work by act and scene number, of which he is incredibly proud, but he’s at least passing familiar with a handful of other manuscripts or popular stage-to-film adaptations mass produced enough to have a chance of ending up in the Dump in decent condition. On the Surface, he definitely wants to see some things live and gets only a reasonable amount of excited about specific productions’ quirks and narrative choices. Joining in on local theater himself? Well…he’s very busy these days… (Maybe after retirement?)

Another passion of his pulled from the depths of the Dump is his guitar—a bass so sturdy and lucky that it made it all the way down without breaking a string. He thought it was cool as soon as he saw it and really wanted to have it and learn how to play. It’s been an uphill struggle since he’s entirely self-taught with regards to his equipment settings, guitar maintenance, and even reading music notes, but the few sparse instruction manuals he’s managed to find were helpful. His own stubborn determination to figure it out and be the kind of cool guy who knows how to play bass has taken him a long way, and he’s starting to make some deep, pleasant sounds that he’s very happy about… But he’s still nowhere near ready to play for anyone, he couldn’t possibly, not until he’s good at it!

And when he’s having a bad time at that, or anything else is ticking him off and there’s no better outlet to blow off steam, he knows he can always fall back on a good work-out. Even in a Kill or Be Killed sort of place, it’s not always a good idea to go picking fights and yelling and cussing and beating the stuffing out of other people—so whenever he feels like doing that, he’s in the habit of beating the stuffing out of a punching bag instead, or lifting weights, or doing one-handed push-ups, something strenuous. He may not be a machine made of meat that releases good-feeling chemicals after a successful exertion, like humans are, but he still feels great after getting to work out and clear his mind of everything but what his body’s doing so he likes to keep up a regular routine. You don’t want to see him after he’s missed a few work-outs, he gets very testy.

Mal (Swapfell Sans):

Pretty much from the moment he came into existence, he’s loved math. Call him a nerd all you like, but numbers are his happy place, where everything is straightforward and exactly what it’s supposed to be and if he doesn’t understand something, he’s probably only missing a variable and when he finds it, everything will make sense again. He has apps and workbooks around with equations for him to solve in his downtime like some kind of freak, but lacking those he’ll sometimes just make up his own math problems and try to solve them in his head—how long will it take for the water cooler to be empty if the tap is dripping at a regular interval of one drop every forty-seven seconds, should no one notice and intervene to repair it? The drum holds up to five gallons, but has already been emptied by approximately—

Okay, that’s enough math. He’s also into whittling, though he’s miles less confident about his ability. He’s not terrible, really, just very self-critical so he tends not to show off the things he makes, but he likes having something to occupy his hands while most of his attention is elsewhere, with the added bonus of having a knife in one of said hands should someone surprise him—self-defense is important, you know! In any case, he’s not as good of an artist as his brother, or even as good as he’d like to be, but it’s something to do and he can only improve with practice. Someday, with the proper equipment, he might even get into full-on woodworking, with chairs and tables and cabinetry and such that are far more straightforward to make than fiddly little figurines, but for now he just has a whittling knife and wood and too much stubbornness to quit at anything once he’s started.

As for something a little (debatably) higher-brow, he also has an interest in wine. He’s no sommelier, of course, but he’s run in fancy (royal) circles for long enough to have tried his fair share of fermented fruit juices. There are some he likes (dry reds), some he doesn’t (sweet whites), and plenty in between—but the topic makes for excellent conversation at lots of dinner parties and formal occasions, so he felt it helpful to learn a few things here and there so he knows (or can pass as knowing) what he’s talking about. On the Surface, he actually gets to take a wine tasting class and put a formal polish on his book-learning and first-hand experience, and makes a point of trying new brands that catch his attention. (He’ll never admit it aloud, but he’s far more swayed by a cool label or an interesting bottle shape than a high price tag—even cheap wine tastes just fine if you aerate it!)

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus):

He’s an artist, first and foremost. His most frequent medium is pen and paper—it’s what he started with and what he’s practiced the most—but it’s never really occurred to him to limit himself to only one thing so he’s tried out a lot of different techniques and utensils and can use most of them effectively. He’s not formally taught, seen some pictures and read some textbook entries of famous pieces and art movements, but everything he’s learned he learned by screwing around with it until he figured out how to make it look like he wanted and in the process, he’s built up a pretty strong base of skills. Mostly, he likes to draw (or sketch or paint) things he’s seen, recreating memories like a photo without a camera, but sometimes he goes on more abstract style experiments, trying to express a vibe or a feeling more than a moment. He finds it meditative, grounding more than anything else he’s tried to relax and it makes him happy to have a creative outlet.

As far as other ways to relax and have fun, something that’s really blossomed on the Surface for him is his interest in fidget toys. Not too many made it Underground for him to enjoy then, just a lonely broken palm-tangle and about a hundred Rubik’s cubes in various states of disrepair—sadly he got so good at solving the cubes that he doesn’t even consider them puzzles, just color-block-pattern simulators—but the Surface! There’s so many stim and fidget toys for him to get his hands on, and so many Ultimate Super Satisfying Compilation vids online to show him new ones. Poppers, spinners, chewelry, clickers…some hit better than others but he likes trying things out, playing with toys that are brightly colored, or feel cool, or make a nice sound. He keeps his favorites and sells or donates the rest, gotta make sure to leave room somewhere if he wants to get a new one.

He also makes a point of walking to the stores and donation centers and post offices at which he exchanges these items because—at the risk of making him sound like a dog—he loves going on walks! He was a shut-in for awhile, afraid of strangers outside, and to an extent he still is (social anxiety), but the Surface has different rules and for a lot of reasons, it feels safer for him to be out and about now, and he likes taking advantage of that. Fresh air and sun and slow, easy movement without having to look over his shoulder, free attention to spare to his surroundings and the chance to stop somewhere and check out a new place… He really likes it and tries to make time to go on a walk at least once every couple of days, destination entirely optional.

Slate (Horrortale Sans):

He’s a rock guy, and he’s not talking about the music genre—just rocks, or crystals, the kind you find in and on the ground. He likes the pun potential (ask any geologist, there’s a million) but also it’s just something fun and low-stakes to do, to collect and find and examine stones and crystals whenever he happens to come across them. A lot of his facts and knowledge base predate the head injury, too, so it’s something he tends to know a good amount about and can have a high-level conversation about at length, of which he’s very proud. Plus, having a bunch of rocks around doubles as both home décor and paperweights, so you gotta admire the versatility of it. He's always on the lookout for new stones to add to his collection, or to talk about and pebble—I mean, gift to his friends and family.

He’s an animal lover as well, which is…not much of a transition from the previous paragraph. He had a pet rock once, does that bridge the gap? Not really. Ah well. The point is, he likes critters, usually ones smaller than him but that’s not hard since he’s a pretty big guy. His past and the things he’s done don’t matter to animals, all they care about is whether he’s an immediate threat (he isn’t) and if he has food to give them (likely), and not having to worry about that is a heavy weight off his mind. He can be totally relaxed around animals so he likes spending time around them whenever he gets the chance—fur and fluff is a plus but he’s got nothing against scales and feathers, creatures come as you are and he’ll get you some water and a treat and maybe a scritch.

But if he must be around humans, or other sentient beings (he must, he’s not built for social isolation), then magic is the ace he keeps up his sleeve. Not the real stuff, of course… Though he’ll naturally be happy to show an interested onlooker a bullet or two, real magic is something any monster can do, even if they were literally born yesterday. He likes fake magic, sleight of hand tricks and misdirection—disappearing and reappearing coins, spoon bending, levitating cards—y’know, the cheap gimmicky shit. It’s fun to learn and easy to practice, works very well with a lot of skills he already had. It also has the additional plus of being disarming for anyone who might be a little…intimidated by him, his size and spooky appearance, especially if he can’t get a joke out quick enough to show he’s harmless, so he likes picking up new tricks when he can and showing them off when he’s got ‘em right.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus):

He loves to cook! He’s gotten a lot better at it since the old days, trying to learn from Undyne’s lessons and it’s become a genuine passion for him to hone his skills in the kitchen and then (hopefully) show off to guests and friends and family who come over to share a meal. He considers it something of a puzzle in its own right—how to use these ingredients to get the most nutritional value with as little wasted as possible. He’s figured out a lot of ways to repurpose bits that usually get thrown out and in some cases, even make more tasty meals with the castoff pieces (his veggie-peel soup stock is to die for…not literally, but it’s very good)! His favorite part is naturally when people eat what he makes and shower him in compliments, but a close second is knowing that he’s fed his loved ones and they won’t ever leave his home hungry.

Since he does so much in the kitchen and, for the first time in a long time, he has an unfrozen yard for two or three quarters of a year and easy access to seeds, he’s also taken up gardening. Mostly, he grows his own vegetables and herbs but he has the space and the inclination so there’s plenty of colorful flowers in the mix too. He’s very attentive to his crops and flowerbeds and does everything his plants need to flourish and bloom. He delights in praise for his good work and the gratitude when he has a big enough harvest to share with friends and neighbors, or maybe to donate to the local food bank if they’re willing to take it. His garden is his pride and joy and no dirt or weather or pests will stop him from maintaining it!

Now he does have one hobby that’s just for his own enjoyment, not even peripherally related to others, and it’s pure unadulterated guilty pleasure: he adores watching soap operas. The more theatrical and contrived, the better, he can’t help but get sucked into the cheesy drama of it all. He started with just one hospital show and kept watching to tut and shake his head over inaccuracies, and then there was another show on after it that had a wild opening hook, and then…and then… Alas, he found the telenovelas. His enjoyment of them is only somewhat hampered by his inability to understand Spanish, but you’d be surprised how much you can glean from context clues and some things transcend language—it’s too late for him now, he’s recording every episode that airs during the day to watch later, he must know if Gloria’s twin sister will run away with her amnesiac fiancé!

Ash (Undergloom Sans):

Music’s the big one for him. He’s very low-energy and when you’re both depressed and physically fragile, it’s not always possible to go out to where other people are, even when you want to—but music can come to you, no matter how bad you’re feeling, and for that it’s become a huge pillar in his life. His favorite genre is classical (can’t get more classic than The Classics), but he’ll listen to most things, though he’ll always want a physical copy of it to keep if he likes it. CDs, tapes, even vinyl records, digital file only just doesn’t cut it for him. He plays his own music too, rarely with sheet music and mostly just riffing whatever feels right at the time. His trusty trombone is more than just a vehicle for incidental music, it’s like a pal that’s always been there for him even if he didn’t have the energy for it sometimes, and he makes sure to keep it in prime condition.

On his better days—of which he’s been having a lot more since reaching the Surface—he very much loves to be around people and one of his favorite things to get to do with those people is play games, board games to be specific. Monopoly might get a little too violent for his tastes, but stuff like Scrabble, Sorry!, Jenga, all up his alley. It takes a mix of skill and luck to win, which keeps things interesting, and barring a snack break or a celebratory dance of some kind, can be enjoyed entirely sedentarily, which is excellent. He probably shouldn’t be allowed to play cards (he counts them), and his brother swears he weighs dice (he doesn’t), but everything else is fair game and he likes having something he can shine at while also getting to hang out with friends.

But when he’s at home, or he can’t find a group to hang with, he spends a good amount of time cloud-gazing. Not star-gazing, though the sky and the stars are beautiful of course, but his interest is in the atmosphere, on the weather. There weren’t too many weather conditions to be found Underground—snow and rain and hot, basically—and the descriptions he’d heard and read of the kind of stuff that happened on the Surface had always captured his imagination. Clouds, storm cells, fog? It was interesting, and he read about a lot of atmospheric conditions without ever really expecting to see any for himself… but he’s actually up here now. And here, he’s the type of guy who owns a barometer, watches live Doppler radar feeds with rapt interest, and can tell you if it’s going to rain without even checking the weather app, just by taking a look up. His interest in meteorology actually has some practical applications now, go figure.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus):

He’s a cook, and though that may not be his job title, he takes it almost as seriously as if it was. For him, it’s both a passion and a language, a way to reach out to people and connect when there aren’t words—or when there are, but they’re not enough. He thinks of every meal he makes as a gift for the person he’s making it for and as such, it’s not enough for it to just be good food—it should be personalized to suit the recipient’s tastes, bespoke to what they like! That said, he primarily cooks comfort foods, stuff loaded with butter and cheese and salt because that’s what his depressed and struggling loved ones seem to like the most. It’s not always to his tastes, but it’s a point of great pride for him to have dinners at his home feeling like the end of Thanksgiving, everyone full and content and at risk of dozing off on the sofa.

He takes such pride in his cooking that he makes most everything from scratch, and that’s how he got into canning. To get to be such a good cook and to have such a discerning palate, you start to get a bit dissatisfied with store-bought spreads, and you start thinking of how you could tweak it, just a bit, and come up with something a little better. And well, of course he has a sweet tooth and doesn’t he deserve to gift himself a treat from time to time? Which is not to say he doesn’t share his jams and jellies and preserves when he gets to making them—which is anytime there’s a good sale on fruit—but at the risk of making him sound arrogant, he’s absolutely spoiled himself for even the big brands at the store. Sure, he could buy it, as-is, or he could make it and enhance the flavor with a bit of mint or cinnamon or whatever it’s begging for, exactly to his liking. …He does go through quite a lot of jars, though.

So it’s a good thing that he knows all the best home goods stores in the area to buy mason jars, and loyalty perks at every one that offers them because he’s such a frequent customer. He’s very particular about the way his home is decorated and spends a lot of time and effort into cultivating just the right homey, comfortable, clean vibe for the space, so of course he’s always thinking of ways to use his décor to do just that. He doesn’t like a static environment so he frequently moves things around, takes away old things, and adds new ones—scented candles, decorative bowls, accent pieces, really anything that catches his eye-socket. He’s a natural-born homemaker, really, it's a shame he doesn’t have a spouse to appreciate all his talents (yet~).

Brick (Horrorfell Sans):

Okay well now knitting is a hobby of his, now that he’s too big and scary to give a shit what anyone thinks about his yarn-crafting. It’s a skill from before the head injury (and the Everything Else) so it’s not like having to pick up a new skill and something you can be competent at is always nice. He finds it pretty relaxing too, if he’s honest with himself, and grounding—between the repetitive motions and the tangible product of his effort and time having passed, it’s a good go-to for him when he’s stressed and needs to calm down, or when he’s disoriented and has to reorient onto something real. It’s a pretty nice side-hustle too, selling what he makes online, but even if it wasn’t for someone, he’d still knit for himself.

…But it’s maybe not so much of a side-hustle because he doesn’t really have a main-hustle to be doing his knitting on the side of. He mostly hangs around the house as an unemployed self-employed bum. And if you’re bored, in the house, it’s probably only a matter of time before you notice something that needs attention, something broken or askew or in need of a fresh coat of something, and that’s what happened to him, and how he started getting into a lot of DIY home repair. He’s got a background in a lot of technical and mechanical stuff, the confidence to poke around in unfamiliar things, and he certainly has the time, so he’s become something of an all-purpose handyman, regularly sweeping the place to see if there’s something he can fix or tune up. Leaky faucet in the kitchen? Engine maintenance on his bro’s car? Heating ducts making a weird noise? No problem, he’ll check it out, probably an easy enough fix.

He doesn’t stay cooped up in the house all the time though. …Most of it, maybe, but he likes to sit out on the porch or hang in the yard sometimes and get a front row seat to all the wildlife lurking around. He keeps a bird-feeder topped up so the birds always come by, and he’s maybe not so diligent about making sure the bird-feeder doesn’t also become a squirrel-feeder, so there’s a few of them around, too. He has a bad habit of leaving food out for neighborhood strays—cats—and every now and again he’ll catch one and get it fixed, but the food’s also lured in a few other critters it wasn’t meant for. He shoos away the raccoons and possums and (on a couple occasions) foxes that end up on his doorstep, but he likes seeing them so he probably won’t ever really stop. There’s a local murder of crows who bring him offerings of bottle caps and buttons and other junk, and he’s half-convinced they worship him as a god but that’s definitely not going to his head or anything, don’t worry.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus):

He likes to meditate. That’s perhaps an understatement, he needs to meditate—even after abdicating his throne and resuming a civilian life, on the Surface with food and safety and funds aplenty, he has a lot of stress and on any given day, he’s wound tight as a spring. Old habits die hard, and old guilt and pain and fear die harder, and he has a tough time relaxing naturally. Having a set time and routine to sit and breathe and clear his mind, deliberately, is crucial for him. He’s got a room set aside just for it with only related paraphernalia—meditation music, incense holder, a zen garden—inside, a space empty of distractions where he can just relax and let everything else go. It’s either that or be more open and vulnerable in therapy and the latter’s not happening any time soon, so his meditation room is the only thing standing between him and a mental breakdown.

That’s a humorous exaggeration, of course. He also has his bonsai trees, which serve a similar function. He got his first around the same time he took up meditation, thinking it might just be a nice plant to set the ambiance, but as he started caring for it and cultivating it, it grew (pun not intended, how dare you?) into its own thing. He’s got lots of bonsais now and takes great deliberate care in their soil, their water, and meticulous pruning to keep them all growing healthy and strong and in exactly the way they should. There might be something to be said there about power and control and healthy, positive outlets to explore those needs, but for him they’re just his trees—his responsibility, his to keep alive, his to keep in line… And it’s nice to have plants in the house, they really add something to a space, don’t you think?

Something else he’s into that’s slightly more social is chess. He learned a lot about tactics and strategy during and in the lead-up to his reign, both from books and hard experience, and chess is a strategist’s game—all about studying the field of play and your opponent and thinking ahead to achieve your desired outcome. He started by playing against his brother, learning the game and gaining confidence, and then later against Toriel while he conspired to overthrow Undyne, which taught him more about thinking like a warrior monarch and how to strategize against one. Ever since, chess has been his preferred way to get to know someone and he finds the insight into a person’s thoughts (through their choices and idle conversation during the game) to be an invaluable asset. …It’s also somewhat fun, enriching he supposes, or else he probably wouldn’t keep so many chess sets in the house, or regularly go to the park to seek opponents at the public boards. But what business is that of yours?

Merc (Horrorswap Sans):

His physical…situation…is complicated. Until he gets his DT under control, he starts literally melting down whenever his emotions are too high which means that most of the things he would’ve done before for fun and exercise are out. His solution to that is yoga, a low-stress, low-impact way to stretch and move and keep his body functional, without the risk of upsetting himself and others by turning into a puddle! Going through the forms helps him focus his mind and ground him in his body at the same time, which he loves, and it’s something he can do solo or in a group, which is also great depending on his mood and need. He attends a studio at least semi-regularly, whenever there’s a class going on, and he loves it as a way to meet new people and socialize in a low-key way. Even after his melting problem gets sorted, he keeps the yoga as a part of his life and routine—it works for him, even when a lot of other things didn’t!

Escapism has also always been there for him: the sci-fi flavored genre specifically. He’s been in pretty dire need for distractions to take his mind off his condition and his frustratingly slow-going research, and fiction was a great fit, depictions of far-future times when technology is advanced but people are still people and the problems of today are all solved and done with—just the problems of tomorrow left to solve and there’s always hope somewhere out there in the universe. Yeah…he can use a little bit of that. Back Underground, he’d seen a few popular sci-fi series that managed to fall down—Star Trek, Star Wars, and a few others—but he falls back into it hard on the Surface when he discovers that the full collections are available, usually remastered and listed out in chronological order, and so many other fans to talk to about it, wow! And oh, the merch, so much merch… He’s only a mortal man, how is he meant to resist a phone case designed to look like a communicator from The Original Series? Or a replica of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s lightsaber? Or… Okay maybe he’s just enough of a nerd for it verge on a financial problem but he’s having fun, let him have this.

It's not like he’s not bringing in a paycheck, with his little home bakery business. He’s gotten serious about his baking and really ramped up his technical skill, and good flavor and texture is surely a way to keep a customer base, but he wanted to draw in the new customers and for that, he had to get good at decorating. As an amateur, he didn’t care so much if his frosting was a little messy, or really try to do anything at all beyond maybe some food coloring and sprinkles here and there, but in the interest of trying to elevate his business to the next level, he started experimenting more with design techniques—and he discovered he loves it! It takes a lot of skill and precision to execute on top-notch cake décor and he likes the challenge of learning something new and perfecting it until he’s ready to offer it as a technique to his customers. He’s the king of drip cakes, master of mirror glazes, and has the cleanest foil and luster work you will ever see. He’ll tackle geode cakes next, just you wait!

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus):

He used to hate spooky shit. Horror movies, ghost stories, creepy stuff meant to send a shiver up your spine and make your heart (if you have one) skip a couple beats—he couldn’t handle it and any hubris otherwise would leave him looking at pictures of kittens trying to forget about it so he could sleep. But then… Wouldn’t you know it, then he lived through a horror: a terrible creature from another world came to his sleepy little town and killed seemingly everybody they could find, and he survived but the world changed, and everyone went hungry, his best friend disappeared, his brother started melting and he almost died and then came back wrong… And now the fake spooky stuff doesn’t seem so bad. Actually it’s…kinda fun? Scary stories and creepypastas still freak him out, a little, but his tolerance for it has gone up considerably and now he seeks out the genre on purpose, to create and consume, because it feels a little good to get scared by something fake instead of all too real.

His new interest in horror turned him on to movies in general. Not that he didn’t like watching movies before, but being especially invested in a specific genre got him reading about analyses of themes and filming techniques, lighting and staging and all the behind-the-scenes choices made in casting and shooting, and he loves being able to point those things out. Watching a movie with him, any movie, will probably trigger a film-buff monologue about something—‘oh see that’s a long shot, they do that when they’re trying to…’, ‘that’s not cg by the way, it’s actually a matte painting and…’, ‘y’know that scene when he kicked the helmet, it turns out he…’ et cetera, et cetera. He’s not trying to be a bore or a know-it-all, he’s actually just really interested in the way all these things, choices or accidents, come together to make a movie and he can talk about it for ages…or complain about it, if it happens to be a crappy movie. He does so love to complain…

Throughout all of this, if his attention isn’t split by his laptop, he’s usually keeping his hands busy another way—with origami. He’s almost always got a lot of scrap paper lying around in reach and for lack of anything better to do, he’ll grab a piece and start folding it. He started screwing around with those notebook edges left over after you tear out a page, but those are messy and ran out of folds real quick, so eventually he looked up some deliberate things to make out of paper and even bought some origami paper specifically for practice and nicer looking results. He’s pretty good at hopping frogs and flapping cranes, and who can’t make a boat, but his go-to is definitely the little stars you make out of the long strips. He’s got a big jar of the stars and keeps making more to add to it, not for any reason, really, but…it’s fun to make ‘em and they look pretty so why not?

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans):

He’s a thrill-seeker. Not necessarily the death-defying stunt kind—though he cheated death once already and might be a bit cockier about his odds the next time around than he ought to be—but any thrill, even the cheap ones. He spent a lot of time Before hedging his bets and prioritizing just about everything but himself, and now he’s decided to spend the rest of his time doing the opposite, chasing excitements and novelties and things he was too cautious or restrained or just too spartan to go after. He seeks out new restaurants, trendy bars, relationships, activities, anything that catches his fancy at the moment. A lot of the things he tries out don’t stick, falling by the wayside after the luster of ‘exciting and new’ wears off—you really only need to try a PB&J burger the once, and if you’ve ridden one mechanical bull, you’ve ridden them all—but some things make an impression.

Boxing is one of the things that stuck for him. He always worked out to stay in good condition and it was a habit he kept up on the Surface, joining a local gym as soon as possible for access to the weights and the punching bag. Fisticuffs was a last resort for him when dealing with actual problems, but hitting things was a great way to blow off steam—and as repressed as he was, he had a lot of steam to blow off, so his form and footwork was always top-notch. He got noticed for it, invited to spar in the ring, and to keep a short story short, he loved it. It’s a challenge being blind in a fistfight, but in a very positive way for him, giving him a chance to use his reflexes and his soul-sense to take on his opponents and most of the time, win. It’s a visceral, almost primal pleasure for him to get to fight in a reasonably safe arena, with people who are also fighting for love of the sport and no aim to seriously injure or kill, like a dance but with someone who wants to knock you out and vice versa.

And speaking of dancing, he’s very fond of that as well for similar, yet less violent reasons. He doesn’t really dance solo, simply for joy of the music—his enjoyment is almost exclusively in the partnered activity, when he has someone to match steps and mirror movement with and combine his awareness of his body and theirs into a cohesive picture. He likes the give and take of it, the way that he can have a physical experience with someone, a conversation without a single word being spoken, all from movement and synchronicity with whoever’s signed his dance card. He knows a few formal dances already and hasn’t forgotten the steps so he’s well-prepared for a polite ballroom experience… but he’s also learned how to let his metaphorical hair down lately, and a bit of dirty dancing is hardly off the table, should his partner for the evening (or afternoon, morning, midnight) be so inclined.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus):

What happened Underground sent him into probably the worst art-block of his life. Even picking up a pen got hard to do with anything more than the intent to jot down a note for himself and he spent entirely too long with utterly dry wells of inspiration, not creating anything at all. In a desperate attempt to rekindle something creative, he ended up searching ‘art ideas’ online and discovered the vast world of craft projects. It was easier for him to actually make something when he had step-by-step guides and didn’t have to draw on his own (lacking) inspiration, and he quickly gained a liking for what he could make out of things he already had lying around the house and art supplies that were collecting dust—coffee-filter peonies, paper-straw wreaths, tin-can organizers, et cetera. He likes upcycling and getting to find use in things that might otherwise be discarded, and he really enjoys getting to put his own personal touch into crafts inspired from the internet.

He's proud enough of his works, in fact, that he wanted to show them off and—lacking real-life friends—he started posting photos of his crafts online. The response was positive but eventually, he started getting dissatisfied with the quality of the pictures he was taking, fuzzing details or altering colors, and he began looking into ways to improve the shots he was taking, lighting techniques, camera settings, angles and framing… By the time he invested in his own high-quality camera (and read the manual, front to back), he was seeing art everywhere, not just in the things he made but in the light through trees on a misty morning, in the waft of a curtain by an open window, in the people walking along the sidewalk out in front of the house. He has an eye-socket for it now and he’s always considering The Perfect Shot, how to capture the beautiful moments happening all the time with his photography. He’s good and getting better all the time, the more he practices his staging and editing.

He definitely wants to diversify his portfolio, though. Of course, he’s great at capturing domestic scenes, being a shut-in and all, but there’s more out there in the world, to see and photograph and be part of. It takes him awhile to get there but once he does, he’s very passionate about traveling. He spent such a long time stuck—first Underground, and then in his home on the Surface—and his scenery and his experiences were limited, but once he’s free there’s so much new and beautiful and exciting that he can access and he loves being able to pack up and go to it, right where it is. He wants to fill a passport and see unique vistas all over the globe, learn about cultures there, and make meaningful memories attached to every picture he takes.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans):

He likes stories, not the kind that come from a book, necessarily, but the stories people tell. The subject doesn’t matter to him much—folklore, local legends, big fish tales, ‘you’ll never believe what happened to me last week’s and more—it’s really the telling of it that he likes, how people describe what happened for an audience of their friends, family, or even strangers. He especially likes hearing the same story from different people to see how they tell it differently with their own perspectives or details that were unique to the version they heard. He’s always got a metaphorical ear open for a good yarn and a great memory for the stories people tell him, to the point that he can dispense them on cue whenever conversation’s slow, but he’s got plenty of his own experiences to make tales out of too, and the charisma and flair to make the telling entertaining.

This is a skill that comes majorly in handy for one of his other favorite hobbies, tabletop gaming. Whether he’s setting the scene for a D&D party he’s DMing for or keeping conversation going while he shuffles a deck for rummy, he loves having a table of people together to talk and play a game (or two, or three) with. It’s hard to get schedules to line up so he almost always has a few different game nights going on at any given time, in rotation depending on who can make what—and luckily, he’s a social butterfly so if someone cancels, getting substitutes to hang and make friends with over a game of something or other is never too difficult for him. He’ll go anywhere but his preference is hosting himself, he just loves having people over and showing them a good old fashioned time!

And speaking of old fashioned, his fashion is a little bit that as well. He’s a tad all over the place with it but nonetheless very interested in vintage and retro styles—the bold neon windbreakers of the 80s, the dated digital graphic tees of the 90s, the vinyl of the 00s, and even the holographics of the 10s. He tends to get a little confused about what was popular when and maybe that’s why he meshes it all together, but regardless, he loves his very eclectic wardrobe and adding to it. He makes a lot of trips to thrift stores and checks often on resale sites and gets very excited whenever he stumbles across a good find. Jackets are his favorite and he definitely has too many, but they spark joy and he’s probably not going to get rid of any or quit shopping around for more of the old school stuff anytime soon.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus):

He likes scrapbooking! Maybe not too surprising, but as someone who mysteriously came into existence one day with no memory of his past, he doesn’t like the idea of losing memories—at least, not any more memories than he’s already apparently lost. He likes keeping records of things he does and that happen in his life as a tangible proof of his existence in and impact on the world. He stores things digitally as well but having the physical album feels weightier and more permanent, so he takes great care assembling and arranging everything in it. He keeps photos of outings with friends and coworkers, fliers from lectures he attends, even receipts from restaurants and movie ticket stubs. It’s all extremely well organized and annotated to the point that it almost reads like a scientific article, but he has fun with the cutting and pasting and aesthetic arrangement of it all—a neat and tidy accounting of (as much of) his life (as he can remember).

It's probably no coincidence that his scrapbook resembles a science journal, though, because he reads a lot of them. He also attends lectures and conferences when available and open to the public because, though he doesn’t have a career in any field of science, he’s still quite passionate about it! He loves learning about new advancements and discoveries, and when he comes across something he doesn’t know or only knows a bit about, he tends to do his own research into relevant readings on the topic until he’s better informed. He loathes misinformation and willful ignorance though, and as a result he’s ended up in a few small scale social media wars where he arrives on a post with thorough corrections, arguments, and sources cited and continues to present the accurate information until he’s respectfully acknowledged or blocked. It’s…usually the latter, but he doesn’t mind a good argument and ad hominem attacks slide right off him, so…as long as he’s having fun, what does it matter?

However…for all his love of truth and fact, he is also—regrettably—truly, madly, deeply compelled by the paranormal. If asked directly, he would say that of course he doesn’t believe in (non-monster) ghosts or aliens or the supernatural, there’s no evidence of such things! At least…nothing credible. He’s read the first and second-hand accounts, reviewed the blurry inconclusive photos, entertained hypotheticals of what could have really caused the sighting or scenario in question, accounting for variables and probing with his own questions to determine more information. He may occasionally be inclined to physically visit some ‘hot spots’ or sites of infamy, just to get a better understanding of the location and potential factors in what’s been claimed… But! Obviously, he’s a devil’s advocate in this only, as intriguing as some of these concepts are, that’s all they are—concepts. The fact that he spends so much time and thought on such things does not at all validate them and it simply means that he is a man of both integrity and science, the real kind!

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans):

He likes swimming! Er…well…maybe that’s not the right word for it. It’s not diving either, really, it’s… He likes going to bodies of water, walking in, and staying under for awhile, there, that’s a more accurate description of it. He’s waterproof and he doesn’t need to breathe, so ducking under the surface for a good few hours is not only possible, but a great way to get near-total peace and quiet for however long he wants it. He wasn’t much of a swimmer when he had an organic body, so it’s a bit of a novelty as well—seeing the way things look underwater, the way sounds change, the way animals swim around him in their natural habitat. He finds being in the water to be very relaxing and pleasant, almost meditative in nature, and whenever he’s feeling especially tense or in need of some space to think (or not think), he’ll head to the nearest body of water and go right in. It would be better if he actually took his clothes off before he did this, but he usually doesn’t and has weirded many clothes with lake or sea water.

He’s also into urban exploration. Not that he specifically calls it that, but he’s a wanderer and he likes to keep a low profile so sometimes, when he happens to be in the heart of a big city and there’s nowhere anonymous enough for him to blend in, he disappears into closed, abandoned, or condemned buildings. He likes the quiet of places like these and the reduced likelihood of running into anyone trying to interact with him because nobody else is supposed to be there. Obviously sometimes people are there anyway, but usually it’s people who mind their own business or actively avoid him, which he’s completely fine with. He does also enjoy having a look around when there’s time and he can, getting to see the remnants of the people who used the building before, what they left behind and imagining what it would be like if it were actively in use. A lot of the places he gets into have nice views of the city outside, too, and it’s pleasant to find a ledge or some rebar to sit on and enjoy it.

Jewelry making came out of his preferred hangout spots, as well. There’s a lot of junk lying around in abandoned or in-construction buildings—chain-link fences, washers, nuts and bolts—and when one is sitting around in an empty spot in the early morning, waiting for the city to wake up so he can slip through the masses undetected again, one gets to fiddling with nearby things in reach. He’s no master jeweler, his creations tend to be very simple, metal bent and twisted by hand in loops and curls, maybe a shape if he’s feeling ambitious, but he likes making them regardless. Sometimes he’ll keep an eye out for interesting stones and hold onto them to incorporate them into one of his pieces, or pick up a bit of nicer wire to work with if he’s going to be passing through a more rural area where it won’t be so easily available. He never keeps the rings and necklaces and bracelets he makes, though, just leaving them on tables and benches and railings for someone else to find later. It’s the making that’s the important part to him, he doesn’t need the thing.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus):

He’s a proud and passionate DJ for partiers everywhere! He kind of fell into it, or at least into the idea of it when figuring out how to approach humanity and be a part of it, and he learned that it’s quite common for musical artists to have gimmicks that hide their real faces and identities. It seemed like it’d be easy to blend in, in a crowd like that, and when he found out about vocaloids and holographic performers he was all but sold on giving it a go. It didn’t take him long to learn how to mix songs and with a theoretically infinite track list to draw on, he’s a natural talent at playing the crowd and keeping the energy in a room high. He loves DJing for nightclubs and raves the most, but he’s starting to gain a bit of fame and notoriety for both his talent and his very advanced ‘avatar’ and might end up dropping some of his own music and playing to larger venues sooner than later.

In his spare time, of which he has a lot, he likes the challenge of hunting down lost media. He has full access to the internet as well as several archives he probably should not have access to, but it’s very hard to keep him out of anywhere he wants to be—luckily, he chooses to use his nigh unfathomable power for good, digging around here, there, and everywhere for things deleted, destroyed, or locked off from the public. It’s like a treasure hunt, following leads and connecting clues until he finds the impossible thing he’s looking for…or doesn’t. Sometimes things that are gone really are gone, but other times it’s just that no one else had the spare time and resources to try and excavate a mention of a grandmother’s VHS copy of an obscure, out of circulation film on a deleted forum post from ten years ago, track down the user, ask after the tape and offer to purchase it to convert to a digital format…and if that doesn’t pan out, the search begins anew! How exciting!

His do-gooding doesn’t end at tracking and restoring old tapes, though, and he likes to spare some time for bigger acts of justice now and again. He’s a part-time hacktivist—he takes note of ongoing crime and corruption in human society and when he can, he shines a light on it. Leaking emails, posting blacklisted videos, releasing incriminating financial records, he has little respect for the privacy of crooked CEOs and corrupt politicians and feels it’s only right that their customers and constituents know these things about the people they’re supporting. His intervention tends to lead to a lot of resignations and restructuring and legal action being pursued, so he tries not to overstep too much with the business of humans, especially not for any old small-fry in the pond…but the big fish, the guys in the news with allegations that don’t stick because of money lack of evidence… Well, he doesn’t mind digging up that evidence, if the proper authorities really lack the time for it—you’re welcome!

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans):

He’s very into spiritualism and all things mystical. His brush with the cosmically unknowable really expanded his perception and sense of things around him and he’s freshly fascinated by the things in this world beyond mortal comprehension, things he’s only glimpsed and felt more than he clearly understood. He loves reading or hearing about other peoples’ spiritual experiences—near-deaths, out-of-body’s, energies sensed and presences felt and many more—being let into the perspective of others who have been through things not easily explained and maybe getting a chance to share his own oddities in the process. He collects a lot of paraphernalia from the people and places he goes for these things, chakra bracelets, dreamcatchers, crystal pyramids and the like. He freely admits some of his items have stronger energies than others and theorizes that belief and intention in the creation of the object has an effect, you see the aura of this one feels—you get the idea, he could talk about it for hours.

He's also a very big fan of riddles! He knew a few before but has really gotten into them since, diving down the rabbit hole of riddles and tricky word puzzles. He finds the construction of them incredibly interesting, how specific words are chosen and phrases are structured to talk around the answer, carefully ringing around it to imply only and make the listener deduce the truth around its absence—just like how black holes are discovered by observing the warping of space around it! He has lots of riddle books and knows the answers to most of the basic ones out there, and he’s always open to hearing new ones, as well as coming up with some of his own from time to time. He takes his riddling quite seriously and will never look up the answer or allow anyone to tell him before he guesses—he wants to reason it out for himself, even if it takes him days to do it. If you manage to stump him, expect a call later on with the solution and exuberant praise for the gift you gave him!

A far more pedestrian and down-to-earth hobby of his, however, is pottery. Riddling and talking about the cosmos is all well and good, but it’s difficult actually meeting people to do those with—they don’t really have meet-ups for those sorts of things. But! They do have pottery classes, all over the place, welcoming beginners who are generally also open to making friends there, and he decided to go where the people were. It’s probably not something he would’ve been as happy doing before…Everything, reining in the urge to be great at it first try and do clean, neat work to impress people… but he doesn’t really think that way anymore, so he likes it! It's messy and mistakes are easy to make, both on the wheel and in the kiln, but that’s life and he’s learning same as everyone else. He gets to socialize, he gets to make stuff out of clay, and he gets so very many pots and mugs and bowls to give his friends and loved ones—a win-win-win!

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus):

He never used to put much effort into his wardrobe. He was anxious and introverted and never wanted to stand out too much, so he always aimed for under, rather than over-dressed. …But things changed. He’s more confident, he wants to stand out, he wants to look his best and dress himself in all the nice clothes he always thought he wasn’t cool enough to wear—so now, he does. He keeps his eye-socket on modern fashion trends, subscribing to magazines and tuning in to designer runways so he always knows what’s in and can coordinate his wardrobe accordingly. He's not necessarily a brand snob, he doesn’t subscribe to the idea that clothes (and accessories) need a label to look good, but at the same time, he won’t compromise on quality and sometimes that means paying for it. Still, he has a lot of fun keeping in style and taking more care in how he presents himself, and it turns into something of a confidence feedback loop—feeling good because he looks good because he feels good because…

With his newfound confidence, he’s also gotten into the habit of singing out loud. He hums tunes every now and again, surely everyone does, but now he sings, sometimes softly and sometimes belting out lyrics at full volume to whatever song floats through his head. What can he say? He’s started to like the sound of his own voice and it makes him feel good to hear how he sounds, and to feel how freely and beautifully the notes come out. Maybe it’s a little prideful but he doesn’t see the harm in making music and feeling good about it, so he sings when he’s occupied, when he’s idle, when he’s asked to—no special occasion necessary save for the joy of sound.

Of course, this also gives him something in common with some of his favorite creatures on the planet: birds. He likes animals and tends to be great with them—especially if he happens to use his ‘trick’—but he’s particularly fond of the feathered ones and the pretty sounds they make. He started learning how to mimic bird-calls (now that he’s not too self-conscious to feel stupid about it) and found he has a talent for it, getting all kinds of flighted friends to stop by and sing back when he chirps. He knows a lot of calls and can identify most local bird species by sound and sight, and it’s a favored party trick of his to push a little intent into his whistles and get wild birds to land on his finger like they were trained. He’s actually looking to break into falconry too, so he can keep and train a raptor someday, but there’s a lot of training and regulation involved in that sport and he’s not in any special kind of hurry. Plenty of birds to watch and sing to and play with in the meantime!

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans):

He’s been on his own for quite awhile. Granted, most of that time was unconscious in a semi-lucid dream-state, but that still left him pretty bereft of any meaningful company for a long damn time. He’s a social guy, he’s gotta make some connections with people at some point or it’s just gonna feed into his main character syndrome, so he starts getting involved in competitive team activities pretty much as soon as possible. At first it’s gaming—multiplayers, with mic enabled of course—when he’s still building his physical health back up, but once he’s clear for it he’s joining up with just about every team sport he can find. The Surface has plenty of options for him to choose from. Paintball? Definitely, get ready to meet your maker. Go-karting? Can’t believe it took so long to ask, let’s go. Axe-throwing? Oh hell yes, you know it! He’s competitive but a mostly good loser and hardly sore winner, so whatever the game he’s all in, just happy to be able to play.

When he’s solo and not actively burning energy, he…probably should be. He overproduces magic like a sonuvabitch, and if he’s not using it, that’s a problem—for him and everyone and everything around him. If he’s lacking something to do with his energy, and no other ways to expend it, the easiest thing to do is make a bunch of bullets. This, naturally, solves one problem while creating another and out of the abundance of bones lying around the place came the elegant solution of building with them. He uses his bone bullets like some (frat house) people use beer cans, stacking them together to make thrones chairs, tables, and towers. Sometimes he’ll jenga these structures, knock ‘em down to reuse the bullets for something else, but sometimes, if he's managed to stack up something particularly impressive, he’ll put in the extra effort to make them structurally sound and keep them as-is.

For all that he’s good at building things up, he takes just as much pleasure in taking them apart. He likes working with his hands, always has, opening something up and poking around inside to figure out what goes on in there. Unfortunately, and he’ll never admit as much out loud, he is…not very strong, physically—the big stuff, heavy duty machinery that takes a decent amount of elbow grease to get into is…a little bit beyond his ability, at least comfortably. By default, that leaves him with the little stuff to tinker with, clocks and watches, TVs and blenders, anything he can get his hands on and pop open without too much work. Clockwork mechanisms are his favorites to work with, the very tangible cause and effect of motion inside, but he’s no slouch with a soldering iron and more fiddly electronics are hardly any trouble. He likes fixing stuff that’s broken but it doesn’t have to be for him to want to disassemble something in working order, just for a quick look. Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing, he’ll put it right back—possibly in better condition than when he found it!

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus):

He has difficulty finding hobbies for himself, at first. Doing things he enjoys—much less expressing that he enjoyed them—was both forbidden and dangerous, so he’s in unexplored territory without explicit orders to do or not do something. Undyne gets him started with puzzles after noticing that he seemed to like solving them for her on patrols. A jigsaw seems as good as anything to start with, right? Well… yes, very much so, because he loves the medium instantly. One obvious solution (to assemble the pieces into a picture), no time constraint, and no way to do it incorrectly? It’s perfect! He graduates quickly from small, simple jigsaws to large, complex ones and loves being able to sit down with a few thousand pieces and slowly, steadily arrange them the way they’re supposed to be. He was given a massive, single-color monolith of a jigsaw once, as a joke…which completely didn’t land because it only took him a bit longer than usual and he loved it just as much. Go figure.

His brother gave him another hobby, upon remembering that he used to (as a toddler) like scribbling on paper, and gifted him a color-by-number book. It was a little juvenile, involved considerably less problem-solving than puzzles, but that’s really not a bad thing for him, giving him a task to do by rote that appeals to his creative side rather than the militaristic orders he got until that point. Eventually, as he gains independence and starts to feel more comfortable making choices of his own, he ditches the ‘by-number’ part but sticks with coloring, using watercolors and colored pencils to fill in pages of designs with whatever he wants. He finds it very relaxing and satisfying to do, and with encouragement even frames some of the pieces he’s proudest of. Friends and family may expect to receive them as gifts, especially if they’ve complimented one in particular—it’ll be theirs in short order without a second thought.

His most consuming hobby, however, is one he came to on his own: the care and keeping of fish. His first was a betta, a bright red fighting fish, drooping and still in a tiny little cup on a shelf—an impulse purchase he’d be hard-pressed to explain, especially with no animal experience whatsoever, much less specifically fish. But, he did it, and after that it was his responsibility to care for it, so he put in the research to determine its needs, the size of the tank, the pH balance of the water, the food and feeding schedule, environmental enrichment… It was a lot of work getting everything together but the reward in seeing the sad lifeless betta turn bright and active, thriving in the home he’d built for it, that was an addictive feeling. It wasn’t long until he was setting up more tanks, and buying lots more aquatic critters—tetras, cichlids, snails, guppies—to fill them with. He’s an extremely diligent and dedicated fish-dad and likes to sit and watch them swim the way some people watch TV.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans):

He knows his way around a needle and thread. He learned to sew out of pride necessity, learning to mend ripped and worn garments rather than having to beg for new on his or his brother’s behalf. It started as the lesser of two evils for him, but eventually he grew to enjoy it—work, of course, to have to close holes and hem and take in this and that, but work that he was generally left alone to do and not bothered for other things. It’s still that, but now that he doesn’t have a panopticon of a mocking prick judging his every action, he’s branching out into a bit more personal flair. He tried felting, with…poor results…but embroidery and needlepoint is working out considerably better. He’s still not especially creative so he prefers to work off patterns rather than freehand anything, and most of the things he stitches aren’t exactly to his own personal style, so a lot of his work gets donated but some things end up on the wall, others as patches for bags and jackets… It’s something to do.

…Making booze is also something to do. He didn’t exactly see it coming, something he kind of fell into. Per his brother’s preference, they’ve made their home in a wooded, mountainous area, and per his own preference, it’s secluded, a ways away from the town proper. Grocery runs every time there’s no more alcohol in the house (because somebody had company over and left a thimble in the bottle without telling anyone) is irritating, especially if he’s just getting home late and nowhere nearby is even open. A lot of locals get around the problem by simply brewing, fermenting, or distilling their own, and after looking into the process, he decided it was more than doable. He’s not much of a beer-drinker and never bothered with that, but he makes some damn good fruit wines if he says so himself, and a moonshine that’ll knock you on your ass if you’re not careful. His little operation is technically illegal—his favorite kind of illegal—but it's all for private use and he keeps to himself when he’s in town so he’s flying pretty low beneath the radar.

He is out of town a lot, mostly for work purposes, and passing through unfamiliar towns on the regular exposed him to quite a lot of postcard kiosks. He would look at them, think about his semi-estranged brother back home and how weird it would be, with their relationship being what it is, to call or text just to say ‘hey’ and… Well, eventually he bought one, scribbled a curt (coded) message on it, and sent it home before he could think better of it. Neither of them ever said anything about it, but he found it later on his desk when he got home with a scrawled reply back to what he’d written, and it kind of just spiraled into a thing from there. Anytime he goes somewhere, he finds a place to pick up a postcard to mail back, and when he gets home he tucks it (and the inevitable addition onto it) away in a binder for safekeeping. He takes a lot of care in the choosing and preservation of these cards and has a sizeable, growing collection.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus):

He’s a runner. There’s almost nothing he likes more than getting outside and taking off, jogging full speed to nowhere in particular until he’s out of breath and covered in sweat. He was cooped up for a long time in between specific missions and keeping pace on a treadmill just can’t compare to the free feeling he gets when he’s completely off-leash and can just go, as fast and as far as he wants to. Sometimes he’ll spice up his runs with a bit of parkour, clearing obstacles or scaling trees to take the branches for awhile, but he’s happy as long as he gets to let loose—sky above him, earth below, and nothing to call him back but his own limitations when he’s totally exhausted or he decides to be done.

For similar reasons, he’s interested in foraging. He likes nature and the outdoors, prefers it to anything indoors bar none, and the longer he can spend out in it without having to make his way back to civilization, the better. So, he started learning about the plants he sees—what’s edible, what’s not, what’s poisonous versus medicinal and so on. A lot of the info about it is geared towards humans rather than bioengineered skeletons so there’s still a learning curve, and a lot of things he's taken it upon himself to test out. He was built with a high metabolism and some natural poison resistance so he’s too cocky to be stopped from doing it, really, no matter how many times he’s called a reckless idiot for touching and ingesting possibly harmful substances. He's made a lot of interesting discoveries with regards to the local flora and only hardly gotten sick about it, so he counts it as a win.

He keeps track of said discoveries in his journal, which he takes out with him whenever he leaves the house for a nature walk (or run). He likes having it handy to note down things he does throughout the day, places he goes, things he sees… He never really got into art, not the way he could’ve, if things had been different, but he can scratch out some decent sketches to fill in the margins of his journal—the path down to the stream he found, the deer that only shed one antler, that berry that definitely did not agree with his metaphorical stomach, do not try again… His memory isn’t bad, exactly, but his mind and feet are both prone to wandering so it’s nice to have a log of his activities to look over later and put together things he missed at the time, or be reminded of stuff he wants to revisit. Most of his journaling is done halfway up a tree, sprawled along a branch with half an eye-socket on the view from up high.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans):

He wasn’t especially interested in plants or flowers, at least not until one started altering him—and the rest of monsterkind—in mind and body. That’s when he got interested and started studying. First the echo flower, its strange properties nearest and dearest to him, but gradually branching out to golden flowers, forevergreens, water sausages, any magical plant he can get his hands on to examine. Non-magical plants are equally fascinating, especially in their potential effects on humans—he knows probably an unsettling amount of flowers and greenery that are toxic to humans, the symptoms caused by contact or ingestion and how long it takes them to appear. Thankfully, he’s not much for the care and keeping of plants as keeping things alive seems like an awful lot of work. Still, he finds them interesting and has lots of botany and anthology books lying around, with leaves and petals dried and pressed between their pages. Did you know that the echo flower’s bioluminescence remains for up to three years after the bloom’s been clipped? Fascinating stuff.

Less of a passion but still at least an idle hobby, he can play a bit of piano. He’s self-taught—plunking out keys on the piano in Waterfall while passing through to entertain himself (and a little bit to annoy Undyne)—but though he can’t read sheet music or play any full length songs, he can tickle out a short tune by sound once he’s heard it at least once. He’s got a good ear for notes, despite not having any actual ears. It may actually be some kind of perfect pitch thing going on in his head but he should not be informed of this ever because he will hang on the word ‘perfect’ and be utterly insufferable about it. Mostly, he just uses this to play a few random notes whenever he comes across a keyed instrument, or to abruptly switch to an impromptu recreation of iconic horror scores to catch people by surprise. The theme from Halloween or the tubular bells from The Exorcist are favorites, but he’s unpredictable enough to learn more if you turn your back on him too long.

What he probably spends the most time on, however, is quilting. Perhaps a bit surprising, with his…everything else about him, but he’s a skeleton who values his creature comforts quite a bit, many of which have been made considerably more difficult for him to enjoy due to the ways his body has changed. In this particular case, it’s his reduced physical sensation making it nearly impossible to feel warm. He’s never cold anymore, not really, but he’s never warm either and he takes that quite personally, almost offended by the uselessness of thin clothing and scraps that dare to call themselves blankets. If there are no blankets thick enough and heavy enough get him warm, he’ll just have to make them himself…and so that’s what he does. Any passingly usable cloth in his possession tends to end up part of a quilt, with little care for patterning or overall design—his only priority is thick and heavy and warm, and if he doesn’t feel like he’s in a panini press by the time he’s finished, then it’s back to the drawing board.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus):

He maybe went a little bit nuts for awhile there after the human first left. Some might argue that he’s still a little bit nuts but he would agree he was pretty embarrassingly desperate in the first few years after. They were gone and they weren’t answering their phone and for everything they’d done, they had been his friend so…he was worried! But of course, monsters were trapped, with hope of leaving anytime soon soundly dashed, so he couldn’t just go look for them. He wanted to reach them, or just someone on the Surface who could relay a message. That’s how he started experimenting with radio, out of a misguided and impossible attempt to communicate out of the Underground with someone up there. He never reached anyone from down there, of course, but he found some comfort in trying—and eventually, enjoyment too! He likes fiddling with the equipment to tune into different frequencies, and the sound of empty static is soothing to him. It’s a lot more fun now that he’s aboveground and can actually hear other people, and he hopes to get his license to transmit himself soon!

Before the Surface, though, things were a little lonelier for him. Colder, darker. Too dark entirely—of course a dark environment was necessary to promote the growth of their staple crop and the artificial day-cycles were only making monsters waste more time sleeping than they already were, he understood the need for the dark…but surely, it didn’t have to be so complete? How was anyone to know that he was at home and available to host company if there were no warm, inviting lights in the window? Candles seemed the perfect solution, natural light from flickering fires that wasn’t too harsh, still a bit dim but plenty to see by! He started just collecting them so he would always have them on hand if needed, but eventually started making them himself with wax on the stove. Scent or color don’t matter much to him, but he really likes being able to customize the size and shape to his needs. And his needs…aren’t so much anymore, now that there’s regular sunlight, but candles are still great for when there isn’t, and when electric lights are little too intense. It never hurts to have more candles around, for emergencies!

He's also exploring a new hobby up on the surface, inspired by his and his brother’s new careers—bone collecting! Now, it’s not what you’re thinking, he’s not after human bones. Those are still very much in use by the deceased, and he's sure surviving loved ones would be very cross if tried to just take them! But his job was how he learned that humans and other organic, non-magical creatures all contain skeletons of their own and when they die everything but the bone rots away. He thinks it’s very cool and obviously humans are off the table to inspect more closely, but animals don’t mind. He takes note of any dead creatures he happens to find—mostly birds and squirrels—and after allowing the other local wildlife to have first pick at it, he collects the remains to take home. He isn’t overly fond of the smells and textures of rot and asked for his brother to help with the de-fleshing and degreasing with the first few things he brought back, but he's got a handle on it now and loves to artfully display his cleaned finds all around the house. Skulls are his favorite, but he has some lovely wishbones and plenty of vertebrae that he’s equally proud of showing off!

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ivesambrose · 1 year

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˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ June Mini Messages ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

1. 2. 3.

Apologies for being MIA for the past month. May was rather overwhelming but let's intend June does a complete 180 🤍

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Gif 1

The central theme for you this month is to spend time around those who keep you afloat.

It's also important for you to assess how you feel around, during and post interacting with some people, places, information and situations.

Additionally stay hydrated this month.

Infact your body might crave more fluids in the form of soups, smoothies, juices etc

Expect new friends who are more supportive and compassionate towards you given you return the same energy.

Some of you may be starting a business or work of some sort or maybe even investments. Might be slow initially but will be successful in the long run.

Anything that you have started with determination towards the middle or end of May or the very start of June will pay off by the end of this month. This could be something very physical related goal either body, health, studies of any kind, business, finances, creating something tangible etc

You might feel indecisive in regards to something this month. Go within for clarity you don't have to have to make the choice till you're sure. Alternatively, priotrize meditation and detachment instead of overconsuming media or information.

By the end of this month you'll feel more confident in yourself and your leadership qualities, more stable in your health and life aswell. Might even get a tattoo that means something to you.

Gif 2

Relationships is the central theme. Be it romantic, platonic, familial, interpersonal and self.

There is grief here that you have been suppressing and carrying. You may resort to comforting yourself with food for this.

Some of you might have gone through or will be going through some inevitable endings. Although rough will make room for the fresh start that you have been avoiding because the old felt too comforting.

You'll see a silverlining in your circumstances. Infact if you've been going through a sense of loss and disappointment for a long time this will finally come to an end. Some past traumas and experiences might mentally resurface for you so you can acknowledge and heal yourself as well as your inner child. Infact, this will be an excellent month to cater to your inner child the most. You deserve joy.

There will come a time you'll start feeling at peace. Some of you might even start getting proper 7 - 8 hrs of sleep.

You'll realize any form of supression and isolation that you've been feeling is mostly mental. But soon enough you'll break free from it too.

By the middle of June things will start speeding up as you feel more lively and renewed. Allow yourself to move forward, things aren't stagnant as they may have been.

Gif 3

Perfecting the balancing act in your life is the central theme this month. You're a great multitasker but for this month fixate on what's been you're calling for the longest time.

For a lot of you it's been all work and no play or you stretching yourself too thin trying to cater to strangers or people who take too much from you. You'll be pushed to drop it.

There is something that will bring you financial reward. Enjoy it without guilt.

You'll be priotrizing your success. It's all a matter of focus. 'I am successful' not, 'I'm working towards my success.' it's time you realize you can't constantly treat yourself as a 'work in progress' for so long that you end up associating yourself with the narrative permanently.

More focus on aesthetics and personal style too this month. Followed by team work and proper partnerships.

Keep some things personal to you not everyone has the best of intentions.

For some of you, there's someone who admires you deeply but you can't seem to open up or trust them even though they mean well. Give them a chance.

You'll be mastering your emotions and channeling them into creativity.

By the end of June you'll see that the universe has been looking out for you all along. Something unexpected that makes you enthusiastic and allows you to be free spirited. Seize that chance and let it take you where you've desired to be.

#free readings #tarot community #divination community #pick a card #pac #pick a picture #pick a card reading #tarot reading #tarot witch #tarotblr #divination #psychic readings #Pick a card readings

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neversetyoufree · 1 year

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Looking back through the first couple volumes of VnC, it's wild how much of what Vanitas does in early chapters is nothing but a series of transparent attempts to put himself in control when he feels uncomfortable. You don't notice the first time you read it, or at least I didn't, but he's really quite obvious once you have the knowledge of what subjects he's sensitive about.

I've touched on this before, but I think Vanitas's biggest defense mechanism is theater, specifically playing up his own power/unpredictability in order to make everyone around him uncomfortable. "Vanitas" is a character that he plays, and he weaponizes that character against others when the man behind the act feels threatened.

(Now that we're under the readmore, here's your warning for a VnC-standard amount of discussion of sexual assault).

Even starting in his very first scene in chapter 1, when we've yet to see Vanitas get anywhere close to vulnerable or upset, we get a hint of how he operates. His first attempt to get Noé away from Amelia isn't to physically fight him—it's to play sinister and deliver a vague threat.

He could have gone straight for the knives, or he could have told Noé the truth that Amelia herself was dangerous and urged him to get away. But that's not the person Vanitas is. He doesn't talk things out with honesty, and he doesn't resort straight to violence unless he's really over the edge. He threatens and plays up his dangerous persona to get what he wants.

He even uses the very same line with the security guards later in the chapter, playing sinister again to escape arrest because he might be screwed otherwise.

He's pretty much never authentic pre-catacombs, but moments like this where he dials up the act to achieve something show how in control he is of his own inauthenticity. And he never takes advantage of that control more than when he feels threatened, be that threat physical (like the security guards) or emotional.

When Noé asks him about how he inherited the book of Vanitas in chapter 2, something we now know is a sensitive secret, Vanitas immediately changes the subject. He gets in Noé's space, acting borderline flirtatious (and he often does get flirty as part of his persona), then returns to the topic of Noé being his shield (which is an act in itself, given how he really reacts to being protected).

It takes one poke to the chest and a couple of sentences to switch the conversation from "Noé insists on knowing Vanitas's sensitive past" to "Noé has to deal with the mysterious, overbearing Vanitas's whims," which is just how Vanitas wants it. Playing up his demanding, in your face side buries the threat of an uncomfortable topic.

Then, when Dominique suggests that he worships the blue moon during the bal masqué, we get a much more extreme incarnation of this same behavior. Domi's words threaten to undermine a huge part of the narrative he's built for himself as Vanitas, and they do so by dredging up a truth that he wants desperately to keep buried. He might not worship the blue moon, but he really did love Luna, and being reminded of that throws a big wrench in the narrative of his revenge against them.

He cannot handle having his narrative undermined at this point, and especially not by a reminder of Luna, who is arguably the most sensitive part of his whole tragic backstory. So he freaks out, and freaking out for Vanitas means throwing himself into his false persona as hard as he possibly can. He grows sinister, speaking darkly before breaking into maniacal laughter that startles Dominique and her attendants. Then he hurls his constructed narrative into public view, revealing himself and ensuring that every vampire knows his claim of "wanting revenge."

Nobody's going to forget the human that leapt onto a chandelier in the middle of a ball, revealed himself to be the kin of the blue moon, then swore his vengeance against that very kin, and that means nobody else is going to misunderstand him like Domi and dredge up the truth: that he never really hated Luna.

Going manic and theatrical like this is a defense mechanism, and it's one that ensures not only that Domi stops hassling him, but that, hopefully, he'll never even have to consider worshiping the blue moon ever again. It's a total rejection of an idea that made him uncomfortable, achieved through theater. It also takes a situation that was quite out of his control, his being chained up by Domi, and turns it into a scenario that he engineered, where he is in absolute control of the crowd for at least a few moments.

The best example of all this though, the time when Vanitas combines every form of weaponized persona I've talked about into one awful act, is the scene in which he forces a kiss on Jeanne.

As I mentioned before, Vanitas often plays up his flirtatiousness as part of his persona. He does it with Jeanne quite often, and he does a (usually) subtler version of it with Noé a few times as well. It's a great way to change the subject and make throw people off their game without resorting to threats, and his treatment of Jeanne in chapter 4 is an extreme, but not too surprising incarnation of this same flirty habit.

He might be attracted to Jeanne, but attraction alone is not a reason to force a kiss on an unwilling stranger while ending a fight. Vanitas kissing her was, as much as any other moment I've referenced here, an instinct to protect himself and gain control of a situation that otherwise threatened him.

Winning the fight or not, Vanitas is in a tenuous position in terms of control when dealing with Jeanne. Jeanne is an incredibly strong opponent, and she managed to withstand both a bite from a curse-bearer and a direct stunning hit from the Book. Vanitas has played all of his cards, and his only insurance that she won't murder him immediately is Noé, a man he barely knows, successfully keeping Luca hostage without realizing that's what he's doing. These are not great odds. He's also extremely attracted to Jeanne, and though his initial attraction to her isn't nearly as distressing as his full-on infatuation in mal d'amour, being weak to the sight of her represents yet another loss of control.

Then Jeanne tries to sacrifice herself. She tells Vanitas he can do anything to her he pleases, so long she can protect the child she's devoted herself to watching over, and there is no way on Earth that this moment isn't a trigger for Vanitas, because he once did the exact same thing. He's already in an unsteady situation, and then she reminds him of Misha and his own darkest moments, which means that conversation has to end immediately.

"Please don't hurt him," is the last thing Jeanne says before Vanitas flips suddenly from threats to advances, and his face when he gets close to her is manic.

So when Vanitas gets uncomfortable, what does he do? He changes the subject wildly, suddenly making the whole situation about him and his fickle, unpredictable moods and unreasonable demands. He cranks up the character of the wild, demanding, show-stealing Vanitas to eleven. He kisses Jeanne. And even though it's a cliche line, the fact remains that sexual assault is never really about the sex. It's about power and control. Vanitas does wild things and plays up his persona as a clutch for control when he's uncomfortable, and this is that to an extreme degree. This kiss gives him the power in their interaction.

Plus, the specific bad memories that Jeanne unintentionally triggers for Vanitas are all about bodily autonomy. His own "do what you want to me, just don't hurt the kid" moment was protecting Misha in Moreau's lab, which led to physical violation after violation. It was a complete loss of his agency and autonomy. And his memory of Misha is also deeply tied to whatever happened with Luna's death, and given the possibility of his being made their kin without consent, that memory may also be one of the loss of autonomy.

This scene is Vanitas not just getting triggered, but being reminded of his loss of control and ownership of his body. It makes a twisted kind of sense that the resultant clutch for power and control comes via him forcing his body onto somebody else. He manufactures a situation that is all about bodily autonomy, but he has all of it and the source of danger has none. And he does it all while stealing the show and rerouting the topic as he always does.

Just like so many other actions he takes early in the series, his most reprehensible moment is just another desperate grasp at control. He has to be threatening and showy and unreasonable. He has to be the kind of man that announces himself as savior to a room full of powerful enemies. The kind of man can force himself on a powerful woman like Jeanne. Because if he doesn't drive home the act well enough, somebody might gain access to the horribly vulnerable person underneath.

#vanitas is what happens when the most traumatized man in the world weaponizes being a theater kid as his main defense mechanism #the man was literally raised in a troupe of actors #and if everyone is busy focusing on how unpleasant he is #nobody is dwelling on the things he doesn't want them to see #and he can pretend those vulnerable parts don't exist #vnc #vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vanitas my beloved #vnc vanitas #english major hours #ID in alt text

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matttgirlies · 13 days

Text

Matt & Me Final🎀

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a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - get some tissues..

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 24

In time, it became evident that he was letting his health go. His behavior at times was deliberately self-destructive. On a few occasions he’d say, “I’ll never make it much beyond forty.” We’ve all made such statements, but with Matt the thought was deep-seated and chronic. Mary Lou had died at forty-two and, like Mary Lou, he wanted to go before his father, sensing that he himself couldn’t bear another loss.

From time to time, I’d hear that he had checked into the hospital. Concerned, I’d call, asking, “Are you all right?”

“Sure,” he’d say, laughing a little to show me it was all a big joke. “I just need a little rest, Sattnin.” Then I realized he’d gone to the hospital for the same reason he had during his Army days. It was his way of taking a little rest; he needed to get out of Graceland and away from all the pressures.

By 1976 everyone was becoming alarmed over his mental state as well as his physical appearance. His face was bloated, his body unnaturally heavy. The more people tried to talk to him about this, the more insistent he became that everything was all right.

The Colonel was even concerned about Matt’s actions while onstage. Matt started forgetting lyrics and resorting to sheet music. He was acting erratic by ignoring the audience and playing to the band. A few shows were canceled and no one could predict whether or not he’d appear onstage.

In the absence of any significant professional challenge, Matt created his own real-life dramas. His fascination with guns was now an obsession. He became paranoid over death threats, and from his association with the Boston local police, he had access to lists of local drug pushers. He felt he personally should get them off the streets. Phoning me late one evening, he said, “y/nn, you have anyone you want taken care of? Strictly top secret.”

The style, grace, and pride that for the past eight years had been the hallmark of a Sturniolo live performance now bordered on self-parody. Frustrated with the lack of challenge of each passing show, Matt resorted to sheer flamboyance, symbolized by his costumes, each more elaborate than the one before, loaded with an overabundance of fake stones, studs, and fringes. There were voluminous capes and cumbersome belts to match. He was performing in garb that added thirty-five pounds to his weight. It was as if he were determined to upstage himself instead of relying on his raw talent.

There were times in his final year that he would be criticized on how he related to his audience. Some people observed that he joked around with his band too much and left his songs unfinished. Once Matt even complained from the stage about “bad management” at the hotel, citing a certain employee at the Hilton who was being fired. The following day Colonel William asked Matt to stick to his own business—entertaining—and let the hotel handle its help. James tended to take Matt’s side on this as on every issue, but the Colonel had a right to be concerned.

One of the guys actually told Matt he was beginning to look more like a Liberace act in the hope that Matt would take the hint and come to his senses and rely on just his talent. But from the beginning Matt had insisted: “I just want to read positive reviews. I don’t want to hear any negativity.” As a teenager he’d been shielded by Mary Lou from criticism. When she’d filled her albums and scrapbooks, she’d used only the favorable clippings. If he hadn’t been so sheltered, he might have had a better perspective on his career. At least he’d have been aware of what was being written about him and possibly used some of the comments constructively.

No matter what he did, his fans still cheered him on. They were faithful to him through good performances and bad, and eventually their love was the only real gratification he received. They endorsed everything he did. Maybe as long as he was getting their cheers, he thought he was doing fine. But in fact Colonel William was right when he told Matt that he’d better get himself straightened out or his whole career would go down the drain.

His personal life was not helping the situation. He was seeing Ginger Alden, who was twenty years his junior, and the difference in their ages was becoming more and more of a problem. He’d say, “I’m tired of raising kids. I don’t have the patience to go through it all over again.” There were conflicts—many. Ginger did not like touring, one-night stands. She was close to her family and didn’t want to leave them. Matt tried bringing half her family with them, but that only created other problems. “She spends more time with her sister and mother than she does with me,” he complained.

In discussing his dilemma, I asked, “Do you think you can really live with just one woman?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Now more than ever. I know I’ve done some stupid things, but the stupidest was not realizing what I had until I lost it. I want my family back.”

I wondered if there was some way we could make it work. “Maybe it was just too early in life for us, Sattnin,” I said. “Maybe one day there will be a time for us.”

“Yeah,” Matt laughed. “When I’m seventy and you’re sixty. We’ll both be so old we’ll look really silly, racing around in golf carts.”

In April 1977 Matt fell ill and had to cancel his tour and return home to Graceland. Charlotte and I were there visiting Dodger. He called me up to his room. He did not look himself; his face and body were bloated. He was wearing pajamas, which he seemed to prefer these days when at home. He held Cheiro’s Book of Numbers and told me there was something he wanted me to read. His curiosity for answers had not abated. He was still searching for his purpose in life, still feeling he had not found his calling. If he had found a cause to espouse, whether a drugless society or world peace, he would have had the role he sought in life. His generosity was evidence of this part of his nature—his legendary penchant for giving, even to the countless people he didn’t know.

But he never found a crusade to pull him out of his cloistered world, a discipline strong enough to counter his escape into drugs. That night he read to me, searching for answers, just as he had done the year before and the year before that and the years before that.

It was August 16, 1977, overcast and dreary, not a typical Southern California day. When I walked outside, there was a stillness, an unnatural calm in the air that I have not experienced since. I almost went back into the house, unable to shake my uneasiness. I had a meeting that morning and by noon I was racing to meet my sister Michelle. On my way into Hollywood I noticed the atmosphere had not changed. It still seemed unusually silent and depressing and it had begun to drizzle. As I drove down Melrose Avenue, I saw Michelle standing on the corner, a look of concern on her face. “y/nn, I just got a call from Dad,” she said as I pulled up. “Nate’s been trying to reach you. It’s something about Matt in the hospital.” Nate Doe was Matt’s road manager and right-hand man. I froze. If he was trying to reach me, something must be terribly wrong. I told Michelle to take her car and quickly follow me home. the hospital all year; there were times when he wasn’t even sick that he’d check in for a rest, to get away from pressures, or just out of boredom. It had never been anything too serious.

I thought about our daughter, Charlotte, who was visiting Matt at Graceland and was supposed to come home that very day. Oh God, I prayed. Please let everything be all right. Don’t let anything happen, please, dear God.

I ran every red light and nearly hit a dozen cars. At last, I reached home, and as I swerved down the driveway, I could hear the phone ringing from inside the house. Please don’t hang up, I prayed, jumping out of the car and running toward the door. “I’m coming,” I yelled. I tried to get my key in the lock, but my hand wouldn’t stop shaking. Finally I got into the house, grabbed the receiver, and yelled, “Hello, hello?”

All I could hear was the hum of a longdistance line, then a stricken, faint voice, “y/nn. It’s Nate.”

“What’s happened, Nate?”

“It’s Matt.”

“Oh, my God. Don’t tell me.”

“y/nn, he’s dead.”

“Nate, don’t tell me that. Please!”

“We’ve lost him.”

“No. NO!” I begged him to take back his words. Instead, he was silent. “We’ve lost him—” His voice broke and we both began to cry. “Nate, where’s Charlotte?” I asked.

“She’s okay. She’s with Grandma.”

“Thank God. Nate, send a plane for me, please. And hurry. I want to come home.”

As I hung up, Michelle and Mother, who had just arrived, embraced me and we cried in each other’s arms. Within minutes the phone rang again. For a moment I hoped for a miracle; they were calling me back to tell me that Matt was still alive, that it was all right, that it had all been a bad dream.

But there were no miracles. “Mommy, Mommy,” Charlotte was saying. “Something’s happened to Daddy.” “I know, Baby,” I whispered. “I’ll be there soon. I’m waiting for the plane now.”

“Everybody’s crying, Mommy.”

I felt helpless. What could I say to her? I couldn’t even find words to comfort myself. I feared what she would be hearing. She didn’t yet know that he had died. All I kept saying over and over was, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Try to stay in Grandma’s room, away from everyone.” In the background I could hear a grief-stricken James moaning in agony. “My son’s gone. Dear God, I’ve lost my son.”

Fortunately a child’s innocence provides its own protection. Death was not yet a reality to her. She said she’d go out and play with Laura, her friend.

I hung up and walked around in a daze, still numb with shock. The news hit the media instantly. My phones did not stop ringing, with friends trying to cope with the shock, members of the family grasping for explanations, and the press demanding statements. I locked myself in the bedroom and left instructions that I would not speak to anyone, that I wanted to be alone. In fact, I wanted to die. Love is very deceiving. Though we were divorced, Matt was still an essential part of my life. Over the last years we’d become good friends, admitting the mistakes we’d made in the past and just beginning to laugh at our shortcomings. I could not face the reality that I would never see him alive again. He had always been there for me. I depended on him, just as he depended on me. We had a bond: We’d become closer and had more understanding and patience for each other than in our married life. We had even talked of one day . . . And now he was gone. I remembered our last phone conversation, just a few days before. His mood had been good as he talked about the twelve-day tour he was about to begin. He even laughed when he told me that, as usual, the Colonel had papered the first city they were scheduled to hit with his posters and that his records were being played constantly in advance of his arrival.

“Good old Colonel,” Matt had said. “We’ve come a long way. He’s still puttin’ out that same old stuff. It’s a wonder people are still buying it.”

I loved hearing Matt laugh, something he had been doing less and less. Just days before that last call, I’d heard that his spirits were down and he was contemplating breaking up with Ginger Alden, his girlfriend. I knew him well enough to realize that this was not an easy move for him to make. If only I’d known that would be the last time I’d talk to him, I’d have said so much more: things I wanted to say and never had, things I’d held inside me for so many years because the timing was always wrong.

He had been a part of my life for eighteen years. When we met, I had just turned fourteen. The first six months I spent with him were filled with tenderness and affection. Blinded by love, I saw none of his faults or weaknesses. He was to become the passion of my life.

He taught me everything: how to dress, how to walk, how to apply makeup and wear my hair, how to behave, how to return love his way. Over the years he became my father, husband, and very nearly God. Now he was gone and I felt more alone and afraid than ever in my life.

The hours went by slowly before Matt’s private plane, the Charlotte Grace, arrived. Behind closed doors I sat and waited, remembering our life together—the joy, the pain, the sadness, and the triumphs—from the very first time I heard his name.

We boarded the Charlotte Grace around nine o’clock that evening, just my parents, Michelle, Jerry Schilling, Amber Doe, and a few close friends. At first, I just sat alone, in despair. Then I went to the back of the plane, to Matt’s bedroom. I lay there, unable to believe that Matt was really dead.

I remembered the jokes Matt used to make about dying. He’d say, “It’d really take something for me to leave this earth.” Yet he wore a chain around his neck that had both a cross and a Star of David on it. He would joke about it, saying he wanted to be covered in all areas, just in case.

He’d had a fear of flying, but he never showed it. Matt never showed any of his fears. He felt he had a responsibility to make everyone else feel secure. So he gave the impression he was self-assured, because he didn’t want to let any of us down.

I thought of a time when we were on a flight home from Los Angeles. There was a lot of turbulence, and the plane was shaking badly. Everyone on board was frightened. Everyone but Matt. When I looked at him, he was smiling, and then he took my hand.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re gonna make it.” Suddenly, I felt safe. There was a certainty about Matt. If he said it was going to be, then it was going to be that way.

The trip seemed endless. By the time we reached Boston, I was numb. We were ushered into a waiting limousine, to avoid the crush of photographers. Then we sped off to Graceland, where we were met by frantic, disbelieving faces: relatives and close friends, the maids—the same people who had been around us for so many years. I had spent most of my life with these people and seeing them now was devastating.

Most of Matt’s close family—James, Grandma, her daughters, Delta and Nash, and others—congregated in Grandma’s room, while his friends, and the guys who worked for him, were mostly gathered in the den. Everyone else seemed to just be walking in and out of the rooms, silent and solemn, glancing around in disbelief.

Charlotte was outside on the lawn, with a friend, riding around on the golf cart that her father had given her. At first I was amazed that she was able to play at a time like this, but when I talked to her, I realized that the full impact of what happened hadn’t hit her yet. She’d seen the paramedics rushing Matt away, and he was still at the hospital when I’d arrived, so Charlotte was confused.

“Is it true?” she asked. “Is my daddy really gone?”

Again, I was really at a loss for words. She was our child. It was difficult enough for me to believe and confront Matt’s death myself. I just didn’t know how to tell her that she would never see her daddy again.

I nodded, then took her into my arms. We hugged and then she ran out and started riding around in her golf cart again. But now I was glad she could play. I knew it was her way of avoiding reality.

The night seemed endless. Several of us sat around the dining room table talking, and it was then that I learned the circumstances of Matt’s death. I was told that Matt had played racquetball with his cousin, Billy Smith, until four o’clock that morning, while Billy’s wife, Jo, and Matt’s girlfriend, Ginger, watched them. Then they all presumably retired for the night. But as Ginger slept, Matt stayed up to read. He called down to his Aunt Delta for some ice water and said he was having a hard time sleeping.

Matt was still reading when Ginger woke up at nine o’clock that morning, and then she went back to sleep until about 1 p.m. When she awoke, Matt was not in bed. She found him lying face down on his bathroom floor.

Ginger called downstairs, and Al Strada and Nate Doe came running up. After calling the paramedics, Nate gave Matt CPR until they arrived. As the paramedics were leaving to rush Matt to the hospital, his personal physician, “Dr. Joe,” arrived and rode in the ambulance, working on Matt all the way to Baptist Memorial. There the staff tried for another half an hour to revive Matt, but it was all futile. He was pronounced dead on arrival of heart failure. James then requested an autopsy. The body was taken to the Boston Funeral Home to be prepared for viewing in Graceland the following day.

As I sat listening to the events leading up to Matt’s last hours, I became more and more disturbed. There were so many questions. Matt was seldom left alone for any length of time.

Suddenly I knew I had to be alone. I went upstairs to Matt’s private suite, where we had spent so much of our life together. The rooms were more orderly than I’d expected. Many of his personal belongings were gone; his nightstand was bare of books.

I went into his dressing room and it was as if I could sense his living presence—his own unique scent filled the room. It was an eerie sensation.

From the dining room window I could see thousands of people out on Matt Sturniolo Boulevard waiting for the hearse that would bring his body back to Graceland. His music filled the air as radio stations throughout the nation paid tribute to the King.

Soon the casket was placed in the entrance hall and opened for viewing. I sat in Grandma’s room most of that afternoon as thousands of mourners from all over the world passed by, paying their last respects. Many wept; some men and women even fainted. Others lingered at the casket, refusing to believe it was him. He was truly loved, admired, and respected.

I waited for the right moment for Lisa and me to say goodbye. It was late that evening, and Matt had already been moved to the living room where the funeral was to be held. It was quiet; everyone had left. Together we stood over him, emotional. “You look so peaceful, Sattnin, so rested. I know you’ll find happiness and all the answers there.” Then I joked, “Just don’t cause any trouble at the Pearly Gates.” Charlotte took my hand and we placed a sterling silver bracelet depicting a mother and child’s clasped hands on his right wrist. “We’ll miss you.” I knew my life would never be the same.

Colonel came to the funeral wearing his usual baseball hat, shirt, and slacks. He disguised his emotions as best he could. Matt had been like his own son. From the old school, the Colonel was considered a coldhearted businessman, but in truth he had stayed faithful and loyal to Matt, even when his career began to slip. This day he asked James to sign a contract extending his position as Matt’s manager. He was already planning ways to keep Matt’s name before the public. He acted quickly, fearful that with Matt gone, James would be too distraught to handle correctly the many proposals and propositions that would be in the offing. James signed.

At the service, Charlotte and I sat with James and his new fiancée, Sandy Miller, Dodger, Delta, Patsy, my parents, Michelle, and the rest of the family. George Hamilton was there. Julia Ernst attended with her husband, Roger Smith. Julia expressed her sympathy so sincerely I felt a genuine bond with her.

J.D. and the Stamps Quartet sang Matt’s favorite gospel songs. James had chosen the preacher, a man who hardly knew Matt and spoke mostly of his generosity. Matt would probably have laughed and told his dad, “Couldn’t you have got a comedian or something?” Matt would not have wanted us to grieve.

After the service we drove to the cemetery, Charlotte and I riding with James and Sandy. It was three miles away and for the whole three miles both sides of the street were lined with mourners, and at the cemetery there were thousands more. The pallbearers—Jerry Schilling, Nate Doe, George Klein, Steven Wright, Billy Smith, Charlie Hodge, Dr. Joe, and Gene Smith—carried the casket to the marble mausoleum where Matt was finally laid to rest. There we held a short ceremony and, one by one, walked to the coffin, kissed or touched it, and spoke a few words of farewell. Shortly after, for security reasons, he was moved to Graceland in the meditation garden, his final resting place.

Before Charlotte and I returned to L.A., James called me to his office. He was overwhelmed with grief. Did I know anything that would help him to understand why his son had died? He never fully accepted it, and I believed his pain led to his own death, just as Grandma later never recovered from James’s death.

When Charlotte and I returned home I was torn, trying to decide what was best for her. Many conflicting stories were coming out in the national publications and I knew these could have a lasting negative effect on her memory of her father. I decided to send her to summer camp. There she could be protected from radio, TV, and newspapers and could be with her many friends, including Debbie and Cindy, Nate and Amber’s children.

By the time she returned, I’d already made plans with Michelle for a long trip to Europe. Anything to get away from the constant reminders that filled the media.

Matt’s death made me much more aware of my own mortality and that of the people I loved. I realized I’d better start sharing a lot more with the people that I cared about, and every moment that I had with my child or my parents became more precious.

I learned from Matt, often—sadly—from his mistakes. I learned that having too many people around can sap your energies. I learned the price of trying to make everyone happy. Matt would bestow gifts on some, making others jealous, often creating rivalries and anxieties within the group. I learned to confront people, and to face issues—two steps Matt had avoided.

I learned to take charge of my life. Matt had been so young when he became a star that he was never able to handle the power and money that accompanied his fame. In many ways, he was a victim, destroyed by the very people who catered to his every want and need. He was a victim, too, of his image. His public wanted him to be perfect while the press mercilessly exaggerated his faults. He never had the chance to be human, to grow up to be a mature adult, to experience the world outside his artificial cocoon.

When Matt Sturniolo died, a little of our own lives was taken from each of us who knew and loved Matt Sturniolo, who shared in his music, his films, who followed his career. His passion was entertaining his friends and fans. His audience was his true love. And the love Matt and I shared was a deep and abiding one.

He was, and remains, the greatest influence in my life.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - sad endings actually kill me. i cried multiple times. thank you so much for all the love & support on this story i really enjoyed it. let me know what kind of writing you would like to see next🎀

#matthew sturn #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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