#rhythm afterlife

[kawaii-and-spice]

Until Death, We Play Drums - Embrace the Beat with Our Reaper Drummer!

Dive into the rhythmic underworld as our Reaper Drummer marches to the tune of eternity! 🥁 Unleash the power of the afterlife with our captivating drumming sensation, guaranteed to send shivers down your spine and pulses racing. Whether you're a mortal seeking thrills or a soul traversing realms, join us in the cosmic symphony of life and death. Dare to drum with the reaper and let the beats echo through eternity! 🌌💀 #ReaperDrummer #EternalRhythm #DrumWithTheDead #SoulfulSymphony #BeyondTheGrave

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ mdni - sappy smut

“Wow.”

Simon sets both bags on the floor, forgetting them in favor of sealing himself around you, arms around your waist. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been here before. Didn’t realize it was so pretty.” The ocean is turquoise, a sparkling blue green reflecting the sun’s midday peak. His lips graze your cheek, and you giggle. “I still can’t believe we’re on holiday.”

“You deserve it.” You turn in his arms, nose to his neck.

“You think Orion is okay?” He rubs your back, trying to soothe your worries. You’d been a little apprehensive when he originally mentioned going on a quick getaway, nervous about leaving the baby, but Gaz and Cami insisted they were up to the task, and he finally coaxed you out the door.

It was much needed. You were bone weary, and with the team set to leave again in another week or two, he was desperate to get some quality, alone time.

Logistically, it took a lot. You’d need to pump this entire time to keep your supply up, not to mention you’re still adjusting to your new medication for POTS. Simon had to do extensive work to ensure the security of this town, evaluating each rental and placing endless phone calls, painstakingly combing through each one until he found something perfect.

“Orion is fine. Gaz and Cami have it all under control, you know that. We’ll FaceTime with him tonight, okay?” You nod, still burrowed against him. When you finally pull away, it’s with a coy smile.

“Can we go to the beach?”

Simon leads your past Porthcurno beach with a promise of something better, a secluded craggy cove he knows will have almost no one on it. You gasp when it comes into view, more brilliantly blue water meeting white sand, framed with dark cliffs. As he suspected, only a few other people dot the beach. It requires some effort, a steep descent on uneven ground, but he holds you steady, keeping your hand on his shoulder as he leads. If you slip, you’ll only fall right into him, cushioned at his back instead of the sharp rocks.

“Oh my god…” you trail off, dropping your backpack in the sand. “Simon this is… it's perfect.” He laughs. It’s so easy with you. To laugh. To smile. He’s never felt lighter, staring at you in the sun, honeyed heat in your eyes as you peek up at him through lush lashes. You slide your shorts down, cheeky purple bikini bottoms barely covering your ass, and then shuck your t shirt, revealing the matching top. It's skimpy, to say the least, velvet skin and curves on full display, full breasts and hips, soft belly all accentuated by the lilac hue of your bathing suit. Your cheeks swallow the stretchy fabric, and he thinks about hooking his fingers between them and digging it out. His cock hardens, nearly solid and aching for you. He's already in heaven, could believe he's died and reached some sort of twisted afterlife where he doesn't end up in purgatory, and he searches for the side of your bathing suit, tugging on the strap.

"C'mere mama." You read the husk in his voice, the heavy weight of his lids, and shake your head.

"I wanna swim," you're coy with your smile, fingers tucking into the waistband of his trunks, "take me swimming daddy."

The water is warm. He's almost resentful to it, wishing it was a little cooler, enough that you would cling to him more, searching for heat.

Still, he's not complaining. Watching you wade into the water and float with the rhythm of the sea, it's enrapturing. Intoxicating. Better than bourbon. You frolic in it, beaming, carefree and weightless, heaviness of motherhood left behind for a moment, a moment where you're just you... and he's just some poor sod who's never deserved you in the first place. You've piled your hair on top of your head, wet tendrils sticking to your neck, framing your face, shrieking and giggling each time your lifted from your feet with the crest of a wave.

Finally, you come to him. Wrap your legs around his waist and heave your arms onto his shoulder, smiling in the sun. Your skin is brine soaked and glistening, wet and slick in his hold, and as the ocean rolls the two of you together in its sway, he goes with it, using the motion to press himself against you. Everything about you is his undoing, every breath you draw filling him with life, the widening of your eyes as you feel the heft of his cock pulsing between your legs, the nervous glance you give the shore at the few people bathing in the sun. His fingers trace your belly and dip into the side of your suit, swirling down your slit and then pressing your clit. You gasp into his mouth, but the water washes away your natural desire, and he pulls away.

"Si..."

"There's a nook over there," he sucks a mark into your neck, licking at the taste of your skin, the droplets splashed across your shoulder, "it's sandy, and sheltered."

"Oh." Your eyes widen. "B-but there are people... on the beach."

"They won't see. Or hear. The ocean will drown it all out." You gnaw on your lip until he places his thumb there instead. "Y'trust me?"

"Yeah."

He lays you on your back in the sand. The rock arches up like a cathedral, hallowed ground, and he takes his time pulling your bathing suit away, tugging the bottoms down to your knees, tits falling free once he unstrings your top. They're too tempting, round and full, your head tipping back when his mouth closes over your nipple, warmth spilling across his tongue.

"Feel this?" He unfolds your hand and presses it against where he's hard in his trunks. "Feel how bad I want to be inside you, honey?"

"Fuck, y-yeah."

"You're gonna take it all for me mama. Jus' like last time." You nod frantically, and he takes a quick moment to strip, palming your thighs and then spreading them open.

You seize when he burns his face in your pussy, tongue circling around your clit, one finger, then two, working themselves inside, stretching, scissoring, trying to get you ready. You thrash and moan, shuddering when the orgasm rushes through your blood, legs closing around his head until he pulls away, still holding you wide.

His entry is gentle and slow. Fingers laced together above your, a holy crown like you deserve, kissing away the crinkles of discomfort around your eyes and even the tears trailing down your cheeks.

"Jesus." You moan, and he glances down, breaking out in a full body shiver when he sees he's barely halfway there. He remembers how it was the first time, in your bed, in the moonlight, the way you strangled him, shoved him into his orgasm far before he was ready, and though your body has changed from having his baby, you've never been more beautiful, and never felt so good. "Big, Si," your brow creases, and you whimper, "you're too big-"

"Y'can take it. You were made for me." He presses against your belly as he sinks to the hilt and you mewl like the kitten you are, sweet in his arms, fingers clawed into his shoulders. His nose drags down your cheek, thrusting slowly, easy pressure stretching you out on his cock. "How's that feel?"

"F-fuck, it's... good, so good." Your lashes feather closed, and he shakes his head.

"Keep your eyes open, mama. Keep them on me." He has to see every refraction of light, every kaleidoscope of emotion and pleasure in your gaze, the overload between the two of you as he fucks you deep and fills you with come.

He wants to give you another baby so badly it burns, mark you, fill you, watch you grow heavy with his child, be there for it all this time-

But that’s not for tonight. Tonight is not about the claim. It’s about love. Showing, telling, promising. Branding vows into your skin, burying himself so deep your body never fits another, giving you his last name, keeping and loving you forever. More than a claim, even more than a promise. Something he’ll never walk away from. Someone he’d burn the world for, walk to hell and back, pulling you behind him, eyes fixed on the horizon.

His life, his past, drops like a stone to the bottom of the sea through his mind, every trial, every loss, all now serving a greater purpose, teaching a grander lesson, though no less painful. Love. Something that used to be so distant he hardly knew its name, and now it’s everywhere. The torture, the loss of his identity, his existence, even his name, all of it once lost, only to be found by you.

He’d rip his heart out and lay it at your feet if he could.

It’s slow. He’s never been particularly patient outside of work, but for you, he tries to make it last forever. Tastes each syllable of your moans and cries, paints your body with his sweat and spit. You yield for him, bloom for him, learn him the way he learns you, and as the two of you chase the end together, his face hovers just above yours, gentle fingers as a necklace under your neck.

“I love you.” He murmurs it, and your eyes shine. “I love you mama. You’re mine. Til death.”

At the precipice, the moment before the two of you shatter, your forehead meets his, you share his breath, his words, his life. It’s now yours too, intertwined like the dna stitched with yours, and when you come, the only words on your lips are a vow of your own.

“I love you too.”

[chososdiscordkitten]

Synopsis: The faces the jjk men make before, during, and after they cum ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

Includes: 𝑻𝒐𝒋𝒊, 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒐, 𝑵𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊, 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐, 𝑯𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊, 𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒐, 𝑵𝒂𝒐𝒚𝒂 Cw: mentions of penetrative sex, no gendered pronouns nor desc of readers no no square (?)

(a.n) I wish I can stream the faces and the noises I pictured to y'all while I wrote this. heavenly

MDNI

Toji Zenin

His face when he first feels your warmth surrounding his fat tip- it's like a scowl. Almost infuriated that you could be so fucking warm and so welcoming.

Eyebrows furrowed and squinted eyes, his lips pursed in an almost pout. As slow as he tries to be as he's sliding into you, he would rush it- being able to feel the sting as he stretches you. Needing to desperately be fully shoved inside of you- so badly he could feel it run down his spine. 

I have yet to express this, but I think Toji makes such a cute face when he's close. During the act itself, he can control it- making sure to keep his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together. 

And when he feels that all too familiar feeling pooling in his tummy, Toji knows. He knows the face he makes when he cums is embarrassing. (It's not, it's so hot)

So every time he's close, he drops his head, allowing the black strands of hair to cover his expression as he quickening his pace. 

Toji’s eyebrows pinch up, unfurrowed, and almost like he’s getting lost in his pooling orgasm. His eyes squeeze tight together, his nose scrunches- barely present but he feels it happening. 

His lips part in the cutest way- bottom lip quivering as he fucks himself into you- trying to keep his moans low. And god- the light blush on his cheeks- so fucking cute.

All too embarrassed to let you see him like this- so he’d keep his head dropped. 

The first few times Toji did it, you assumed he was looking down at his cock thrusting into you. But all it took was one glimmer of his ‘o’ face for you to find determination in seeing it next time, somehow finding yourself on top. 

Riding him as his eyebrows threatened to unfurrow- he was practically using all his strength to keep them pinched.

In that moment Toji was so close to turning you into a reverse cowgirl position, his hands on your hips ready to turn you- only you planted your hands onto his chest. Over excited to see the long-awaited expression.

Toji tried turning away, only for your hand to cup his chin and turn him to face you- pressing a sloppy kiss to his parted lips with half-lidded eyes, grinding yourself onto him as quickly as you could manage, just to see. 

And there it was- in all its glory. Verging on pathetic the way his lip quivered against yours. His light blush and the little glimmer in his eyes. 

But as quick as it arrived, it was gone even faster when he realized you did this on purpose.

Which only caused him to start mocking the faces you make during intercourse. 

Choso Kamo

Awe poor Choso, I hate to say it but most of the time it looks like his soul is about to leave his body. Bordering on ascending to the afterlife. 

The second the first centimeter of his tip breaches your entrance- all the air in his lungs is knocked out.

Lip tucked between his teeth as he slowly glides into you, if his eyes weren’t closed- you'd see them threatening to roll back just from the feeling of your warmth surrounding him. 

If you asked him- Choso would say he was able to feel your warmth all over his body. Feel it shiver in his shoulders as he slid into you at an agonizing pace. Even if the fucked out expression he had, told you one thing- he was cautious enough to not slam into you. Fearing he would cum prematurely if he did. 

And that face only follows him during intercourse. It's even more evident in missionary- if that were possible. 

His hands gripped so fucking harshly on your hips as his eyebrows knit together. Choso’s thrusts start slow- gradually quickening and losing any pattern or rhythm.

I think with Choso, when he's so close he can feel it loom over him- creeping up his back and over his shoulders as he tries to control his hips. Not being able to keep a set pace, nor steady the way he breathes. 

With him, his thrusts are deep and rough once he gets close. And his face, god his face. Call me biased, (I am) but it's my favorite one to picture. Especially when he tries to breathe properly, practically hyperventilating as he tries. 

Choso unwillingly empties his lungs when he's close, caving his chest as his eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head. Eyebrows knitted and a droplet of sweat trickling down his temple. Teeth clenched with a pouty bottom lip, flashing his bottom row of teeth. 

When he's pouring himself into you- his shoulders shudder as he tries to inhale, one of his eyes daring to shut as they roll to the back of his head. 

And if we're talking JJK universe, you know damn well his nose stripe leaks a lil when he cums. Especially when he's overstimulated himself, because you just feel so fucking good. 

Choso’s hips don't hesitate to go lazy once he empties himself into you for the last time. Finally able to breathe properly since the moment he slid into you.

Idk why but I hc that Choso cannot control his breathing when he's fucking. Like either he keeps a somewhat steady pace and has to manually breathe, or he can focus on breathing and have unpatterned thrusts. It's one or the other, never both.

And after, he has a little glow on his face, a light blush on his cheeks as he smiles with a satisfied sigh. Eyes closed- too fucked out to even want to open them. Physical embodiment of :3 

Kento Nanami

The face Nanami makes when he first slides the tip of his cock into you- it's almost like a wince. A shuddering gasp leaves his lips as he slowly works himself into you. Fighting off every urge that's shouting at him in his mind to fully sheathe himself in your warmth. 

As he's working up his orgasm, Nanami tries to keep his eyes open. Practically straining himself as his grip tightens on whatever part of your body he's bracing on to. His lips part as he started panting lightly, a light blush adorning his cheeks.

Even more blushed, is his chest. The rosiness in his cheeks roams down his neck and chest- making the skin there warm to the touch. A light sheen of sweat on his pecs as his nose threatened to crinkle, to Nanami it was probably one of the most embarrassing things of his ‘o’ face. 

But it was always sooo cute, you always knew he was close whenever his nose would crinkle ever so slightly.

Nanami always tries to hold out as long as he can, wanting to be sure to please you before even considering himself. 

But when it's his turn, his eyes flutter closed, his eyebrows pinch upwards as he feels the coil in his tummy burn inside of him. Nanami never needed to voice he was about to cum, his expression did that job for him. 

Teeth gritted as his head tipped back- Nanami tries to keep the pace he held before, but the roll of his hips becomes sloppy- almost trying to push himself past that edge. And when he finally cums, he inhales a small gasp. His shoulders trembling as his hips tried to keep their pace, hoping he could ride himself down, only for his trembles to rumble onto his chest as he thrusted slowly. 

More of a groaner than a moaner in my opinion, like teeth-gritted throaty groans as he cums. It completely contrasts with how pretty he looks.

And after, his forehead still damp as he sighs. His eyes threatening to close as he feels the afterglow replace the blush on his cheeks. Small smile on his lips as he exhales with a content hum. 

Satoru Gojo

One of the few that hurry the process of being inside. His lips parted and eyebrows threatened to knit as he felt you pull him in.

Teasing you for the vulgar squelching of your warmth- that was practically sucking him in. Doesn't take long for him to bottom out- a shuddering exhale leaving him as he feels your warmth surround his shaft. 

Pretty known thing in the fandom that he looks like such a slut when he cums. Eyes half-lidded, teeth clenched with a pretty blush on his cheeks, and his nose crinkled in the slightest. 

Satoru’s eyebrows would pinch upwards and he would thrall his head back, unashamed moans coming from his throat as he pushes himself to another orgasm. 

I think we've all agreed that Gojo moans without embarrassment or shame, Satoru lets you know you make him feel good by just his sounds. God if I can put y'all in my head so you can hear how I picture him sounding. 

When Gojo cums, the face he makes is almost like he's practiced it a million times, like he's studied how pretty he looks when he cums. But nope, when you bring it up he's just like “I make a face when I cum?” Like yes you do, and you look so fucking pretty when you do. 

I'm sure if you tell him how pretty he looks mid-way through- he would probably start twitching and writhing at the compliment. All but telling you to shut up- threatening he’ll cum if you don't stop. 

Unbelievable how the light sheen of sweat on his forehead only accentuates it, and how delicate his eyelashes look as he tries to keep his eyes open. 

As he comes close, the knot in his lower tummy becomes undone- his pace starts faltering, relishing in the warmth you've so generously provided for him. Instead of thrusts, it's more like his hips start rolling against you, his back arching mid-way through dragging his cock out. 

When he finally cums, his hips shiver the tiniest bit, directing them into his shoulders as he huffs ragged breaths with whimpers sprinkled between them. 

And after, as he's winding himself down from the shivering orgasm, his face would be formed in utter bliss. An almost glow on his cheeks as the corners of his lips dare to curl into a smile. Practically fucking himself dumb from the continuous strokes he would roll with his hips. 

Overall, a very pretty face when he cums. Almost too pretty -.-

Hiromi Higuruma

When he first slides in; the corner of his lips curl into a smile, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief at how your excitement squelched around him. Almost perplexed at how your slick easily invited him in. 

And when he'd be fully nestled inside of you, all it takes is one mindless clench of the muscles surrounding him for Hiromi to place his forehead against your chest. Fearing if you continue he might cum too soon.

This man’s face betrays him when he cums. Looks like he's on the verge of sneezing when he gets close.

For sure Hiromi’s hands start trembling, almost like he edges himself but he doesn't stop thrusting. Making sure to hold out as long as he can, his head threatening to tip back as he starts huffing heavy breaths. His mouth goes slack-jawed as he lets out throaty moans from his lips. 

Hiromi’s eyebrows pinch up, eyes shut as he lightly flares his nose with the tip of it twitching. He tries to warn he's close- incoherent words smothered in moans leaving his lips as his thrusts start to falter their pace. 

And always, always. The millisecond before he cums- he inhales sharply. A mix of a gasp and a wince before he's pouring himself into you. His eyebrows furrowed with half-lidded eyes, his heavy breaths turn into louder groans as he tries to wind himself down from his orgasm. 

Most of the time Hiromi ends up overstimulating himself trying to stay inside of you for as long as possible.

If he has you bent on all fours, his knees give and his thrusts turn into lazy humps as he presses his chest onto your back. Causing you to fall with him onto the sheets, getting an earful of his grunts and ragged breaths for air. Not caring if his mouth is right next to your ear- 

If he's fucking you in missionary, his elbows planted on the bed, give. Causing him to press his chest into yours- bordering on crushing you as his hips try their best to move. 

Getting an up-close look at his face- fucked out and gasping for air. His light grunts take a certain raspiness he only gets when he's overstimulating himself. The very tip of his nose flushed and his lips parted as he rode out his orgasm.

The look on his face when he finally gets the strength in his limbs to look at you- he looks almost tired, with slow blinks and puffy lips. But it's full of almost tranquility. 

Hiromi looks at you with eyes full of peace, as though you were the one that granted him that. 

Suguru Geto

I think out of all of them- He's the only one who keeps a somewhat poker face while he slides in, a low gasp evades his lips slowly sinking himself into you. The occasional wince, pouting his bottom lip to flash his teeth when you clench around him with a quiet hiss. 

Suguru’s expression he tries to keep- slips through his grasp as he fully allows himself to sink into the surrounding feeling of your warmth. Letting his eyebrows quirk up in the slightest. 

The light blush on his cheeks deepened in the slightest feeling you pull him in. Even if it wasn't your intention, somehow you always welcomed his cock. Which only made it harder to keep his hips from roughly thrusting into you with no warning.

But Suguru was no monster, even if every single brain stem that pulsed in his skull- shouting at him to thrust and keep thrusting till his hips gave out. He always granted you the courtesy of slowly pushing into you.

And when he's fully burrowed inside, a low grunt shudders from his lips- being able to feel his cock pulse against your walls.

Another one that has such a pretty face when he cums. No matter what is happening- if his hips are snapping at an unbelievable pace, riding him, if you did something to piss him off- the churning face of his orgasm is always the same.

Suguru’s eyebrows furrow with a light pinch upwards, his cheeks blushed a rosy pink with parted lips. Feeling the warmth in his tummy overfill, he filters the light moans from his throat with his lip tucked between his teeth.

When he's close- Geto likes to keep his hands full, be it two hands on your ass groping harshly- on your tits, a handful of hair- whatever. I'm sure he likes keeping his hands full while he succumbs to the orgasm he tried to suppress. 

And as his hips threaten to lose rhythm, louder grunts fall from his nibbled lip, and his hands only grip harsher, no use in warning you he's cumming when it’s already being done. But his eyes are shut tightly, more grunts littered with small whines leaving his throat. 

Suguru’s lips part slightly, blushed cheeks tingling and a trembled bottom lip. A loud groan rumbles from his chest as his face scrunches, bowing his head down and focusing on trying to keep a steady pace. 

Geto’s grip on whatever part of your body he had his hands full with- gripping even harsher, so sure he would leave you sore whenever he let go. 

The best part was watching his eyebrows unfurrow, the way the proof of his orgasm melted off of his face as he came down from a pinnacle. The look of pure serenity replaced it as he inhaled every breath you exhaled. 

Naoya Zenin

Hmm, with Naoya it depends on whether you like him or not. 

On one hand, we have Naoya who makes the most absurd face when he first slams himself into you. Almost mixed with a grimace and a glimmer of a smile on his lips. The face he makes borders on ugly. I mean let's be real here, Naoya wouldn't give you more than a few milliseconds to get used to the sudden intrusion. 

Every. Single. Time, the sudden thrust into you almost makes him cum. And as you've told him- ‘that won't happen if you go slow’ he still would do it. Goosebumps rise on his shoulders from feeling you hug his cock almost too tightly. The warmth in his tummy shows him that maybe. Just maybe, you were right. Though he wouldn't admit it. 

If he holds out long enough, the face he makes as he's close is a stark comparison to his pretty sounds. I'll give Naoya that, he sounds very pretty when he's close. Little whimpers you can tell came out of his lungs unwillingly. 

And his face- it's almost painful. Like every thrust he stutters against you, pains him. Naoya's eyebrows furrowed so harshly, his nose scrunched and his teeth gritted. Shining when he parts his lips in a sneer. 

And on the other hand, we have Naoya, who is too pretty for his own good. 

If he allows it, his eyebrows slightly peaking up as his lips part. A shuddering exhale leaves his lips as he bullies his cock into you. Not as harshly as the other hand, but still tries to be fully nuzzled inside of you as fast as he can. 

As Naoya works himself up, the blush on his cheeks ever present as he feels himself start coming undone at the seams. 

I am a firm believer in Naoya making little whimpers and moans during any kind of intercourse, which he tries to hide. Of course. But they always come out, muffled or in an attempted grunt that he only forced from his throat to disguise them.

And when Naoya’s close, so close- he feels it rumble up his spine and surround his chest. He finally stops repressing his pretty sounds and fully enthralls himself in focusing on cumming. Not caring if you saw his crinkled nose or his pretty blushed cheeks. 

His eyebrows pinched in pure delirium as he unloaded himself into you, shoulders shivering and his eyes lightly blinking shut. Just fucked out enough to not care if you heard the unfiltered whimpers fall from his lips. 

Naoya’s jaw threatens to go slack as he rides himself down, his eyes clenched tight as he feels you milk him for anything he has to give. 

And after, even if he turns over without a care in the world, uncaring if you're clean or need help. His face is littered with undeserved ecstasy as he pretends to go to sleep. The light blush on his cheeks still evident even as he sighs contently. (bitch)

-

Shorter than my usual stuff but im planning a lengthy gojo fic for tmmrw. plus im incuding naoya more often, he might have a permenant spot now in my multi fics. hmmm

[popamolly]

‘ INTERNAL REDEMPTION ’ LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR

summary. In the fiery depths, she captures the attention of Lucifer, who senses a unique purity in her soul. With his help, (Y/N) finds herself on the path to redemption and self-discovery with dangerous trouble along the way.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE

warnings. lucifer morningstar x stripper!fem!reader, she/her pronouns, valentino exists, eventual smut, mention of death, biblical references, sex work, sexual themes, trauma, abuse, murder

author’s note. inspired by @punching-pentagrams and their amazing ongoing story “Love In as Hopeless Place”, it encouraged me to write my own fic about Lucifer. go check out their story, it is so good and deserves more love!

In the dimly lit, pulsating world of Club Elysium, where the air was thick with anticipation and desire, a mysterious aura surrounded a captivating figure on the stage. Under the flickering neon lights, you moved with a mesmerizing grace that defied the earthly realm. Dressed in glistening attire that caught the reflections of the vibrant hues around her, you became an ethereal presence, drawing the attention of every gaze in the room.

Your movements were a dance of contradictions – an alluring blend of sensuality and innocence. You twirled and swayed to the rhythm of the music, casting a spell upon the enchanted audience.

Unbeknownst to the patrons of Club Elysium, you were more than just an exotic dancer seeking to enthrall with her physical prowess. Your celestial grace, forgotten in the afterlife coil she now inhabited, manifested in the subtle elegance of her performance. As you moved, you felt a distant echo of a certain purpose, an inexplicable connection to something beyond the neon-lit stage.

In the hazy ambiance, Valentino, the enigmatic owner of Club Elysium, watched from the shadows, his eyes reflecting one of red burning lust, but it was more than just lust for you— no, it was something more— it was a thirst for power that had him grinning from ear to ear. Valentino knew that in this corner of Hell he owned everything, even you.

As the music reached its crescendo, your dance reached its zenith. The room held its breath, suspended in a moment where hell and celestial intertwined. You were always the ballerina in the jelwery box, the beautiful antique that Valentino had in his grasp to show off and praise. Though he may own you outside the building you made sure to show him through your dancing, that you were the one that owned the stage. He hated when you went off script or changed the choreography but you made sure to do it on purpose and on nights you knew he was watching you.

That was your little dose of rebellion, a little taste of freedom you could only wish to have. You were content with your situation though, it could’ve been worse. At least with Valentino you were paid, clothed, and feed with an overall decent place to live. Being one of his toys had its perks— you couldn’t complain. Especially when there were those who had it so much worse than you.

“You jus’ love angerin’ him, don’t you doll?” Your coworker, Angel Dust, asked as you entered the dressing room that you and the other dancers shared. The smell of makeup and cheap perfume filled your senses, calming you with the sense of familiarity, “Cause last I checked, that wasn’t what we rehearsed.”

“Well,” You chuckled as you sat on the couch, its fabric ripped and white stuffing nearly popping out the sides, “I just thought that my choreo was better, and by the sound of that crowd and the money on stage, it was.”

“Heh,” Angel couldn’t help but envy your confidence when it came to Valentino, who owned you both in more ways than one and yet you always found a way to yank on the chains without consequence. A part of Angel loathed you for it.

You could sense the mood shift in Angel, not that you cared but you weren’t exactly heartless either. With a sigh, you get up from the couch, ignoring your aching feet as you join Angel’s side, looking into the vanity mirror so you could touch up your makeup, “Trust me, if my act wasn’t purity and innocence it would be a different story. Lucky for me, bruises and marks on my body wouldn’t sell too well.”

“Yeah, count it on luck shortcake.” With that Angel left, pushing another girl out the way angrily while snatching the drink out her hand. You could only sigh, not intending on upsetting him more but as always, your intentions don’t matter when your words spoke otherwise. It had been so long since you had a decent human connection, you were just a bit rusty.

“My sweets,” The sudden sound of Valentino’s voice had the room go silent, the air becoming so thick you were sure you’d might suffocate in it, “Can I have the room please?”

With hushed scared whispers and nervous glances, you and the other girls make your way to the door. You had hoped you could sneak past him under the cover of the other women who all but rushed passed Valentino but his slender hand caught your forearm quick, gripping it with such force that you were slightly shocked by the pain he caused— it wasn’t like him to be rough with you, “Not you, darling. We have to have a chat, don’t we mio caro?”

You turn to look at him with a frown, “About what? My performance?”

“Oh I would love to talk about that little stunt you pulled but I need you for something a bit more important,” Valentino yanks you further into the room, locking the door behind him with his other hand before slinging you against the vanity, bottles of perfume falling over and onto the ground as the desk shakes violently. Your employer towers over you with ease making you shudder beneath his fiery gaze, “I need something done and I need it done right, I trust that you can accomplish this task, yes?”

What shit was he getting you into now? You were done with porn, you had paid a hefty price to alter your contract with him and you weren’t going to slip back into the void now, not when you were so far ahead, “I won’t be one of your pornstars, Val. We had a deal.”

Valentino laughs, his pointy fingernail dragging along your cheek while he licks his lips, “This isn’t about that principessa, this is a more delicate matter. Think you’re up for it?”

“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” You yank your head away from his hands, lowering your gaze into a slight glare.

“This is why I always liked you, dove. You learn quick.”

“If you were going to tell me to send in a whore Val, I wouldv’e just asked you to send Angel Dust!” Vox glitched with anger, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration as he turned around in his chair, his claw like hands gripping onto the table with such force that it left a mark, “What makes this slut is any different from him?!”

It was hard to bite back your tongue but you did, unwillingly submitting to your role as you stood before the V’s with your eyes to the ground, not daring to even look as confident at you usually were. Not because you were scared of them, no, you were scared of embarrassing Valentino. Your boss might have forgiven you for your countless stunts but when it came to matters of business with the V’s, you knew your place.

“Angel dust thinks he is on this path to redemption, let him stay in his delusion but until I can break him fully he will never be loyal to me. Not as loyal as (Y/N) here…” Valentino wraps his hand around your neck, forcing your head up to look at Vox— who for a split second was taken back by your beauty, “I have broken (Y/N) time and time again, she would do anything for me, isn’t that right (Y/N)?”

You closed your eyes, “Yes, Valentino.”

“Good.” Valentino pushes you toward Vox, making you stumble into him, forcing him to catch you in his arms, “Quite the vixen, she would surely catch the eyes of any overlord.”

“Even the King of Hell himself?” Vox tips your chin up with his index finger, looking into your eyes with a devilishly grin that makes you shiver.

“Asmodeus throws the biggest parties in the Pride Ring that is filled with all kinds of debauchery, especially for his birthday.” Valentino explains, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his right leg over the other, exhaling out a long drag of pink smoke, “Every one of importance will be there since it isn’t just a party but a show of status.”

“And..what? Your pretty toy is just supposed to waltz in there and get the attention of any overlord that wants to fuck her?” Velvette finally tears her gaze away from her phone, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Well it is an important party of one of Lucifer’s friends—”

“Which means he is bound to be there.” Vox grins, “Get close to the king and we get closer to controlling Hell.”

“And what makes you so sure he’ll entertain such..” Velvette looks at you with a roll of her eyes, “From what I hear Lucifer is loyal to Lilith, no one has seen him with another woman on his arm and it’s been 7 years, hashtag faithful.”

“Ah, well, 7 years is a long time to go without intimacy…I say the man is touch starved and would like some attention.” Valentino says, “Anyone can still get lonely, no matter how faithful.”

“I like the way you think Val,” Vox grips your chin as you grit your teeth. “And I think your little whore here will do just nicely.”

Before you know it was the day of Asmodeus’ birthday party. The V’s gave you the run down of the plan and how you were supposed to get close to the King of Hell himself— who you haven’t even seen in person for as long as you been hell. Which was a few years by now. You were a simple lowlife, you kept to yourself and tried to survive, only to end up within his grasp. Was he as cruel as people say? ‘What sort of question is that? Of course he was! He was the King of fucking Hell, which last time you checked, wasn’t given to just anyone.’

Of all the people, of everyone in Hell, it just has to be you. Because of your cursed deal with Val, you were stuck in a continuous limbo that you couldn’t escape from. Damn you and your loyalty, damn it all if it will end up with you dead ( again ) on the steps of Lucifer’s palace. This wasn’t fair— but then again, when has your situation ever been fair?

“Oh, you look just like a doll.” Valentino ruffled with the fake angel wings that adorned your back, fixing and prodding with whatever to make you more presentable, “Like an angel. Hell, upon just a glance mio caro you might have been able to get away with actually being one.”

And as you glance at your reflection in the mirror you felt a sudden sharp pain in the center of your forehead. Only fragments of memories came flooding your mind like a crashing wave. It was all so blurry but the word Angel held some sort of weight on you but you couldn’t place exactly what.

You held onto your head, trying to steady your breathing and relaxing your nerves as Valentino continues to add the finishing touches to your look.

“Get it together, dove.” Valentino meets your gaze in the reflection, “I hope you won’t disappoint me.”

“No..” The pain in your head quickly fades away as soon as it came, “I can do this.”

“Good, because it is just about your turn to be presented for the auction.”

The auction. Asmodeus does it for sport at every single one of his parties but now that this is his birthday party, this auction is the biggest one yet. It is where he finds Hell’s most beautiful prized possessions, not limiting to actual sinners. The hope was to capture Lucifer’s attention as he would be in the crowd through this angel facade, and pray that he would bet on you. And if that didn’t work, then you would have to move on to plan B. And you didn’t like plan b.

Valentino wished you luck as you stood behind the curtain to the center stage, disappearing into the shadows to leave you on your own and this mission that was screwed from the get go.

“And last but not least, I present to you—! what is the object’s name again?” The announcer whispers, putting his microphone away from his face to get a confirmation from another employee, “Ah! The pure and innocent, (Y/N)!”

The curtain suddenly opens, the spotlight from above blinding you in away that made you shield your eyes from the brightness. You squint, looking upon a sea of red lustful eyes looking over your figure with curiosity. You take a deep breath, as you played the part of a shy girl, slowly bringing your hands to cover yourself even though the white thin laced gown left little to the imagination.

“Hubba hubba! Would you look at that boys?” Asmodeus’ eyes nearly turn into hearts at the sight of you, “And I thought nothing could even look so angelic in Hell!”

“What a beaut’” Mammon agrees.

“Indeed.” Lucifer sat beside his friends, trying to cover his boredom with peaked interest as he looks in your direction. This whole thing was pretty fucked up to him but that was just the way of life down here, there’s no changing that— no changing people when it is just in their nature. Now usually he wouldn’t indulge such things but he was the King of Hell, and he had to play the part to maintain order even though he longed for nothing but to be constructing rubber ducks right now.

“500!” A man in the crowd closer to the stage shouts.

The announcer points in the man’s direction with enthusiasm, “I hear 500! What about 550? Do I hear 550?”

“600!” Another shouts.

“600 to the gentleman in red! But do I hear a 650? 650?”

Asmodeus sits back in his seat, taking another swig of his whiskey. Mammon looks at his friend in disbelief as the unknown sinners below them begin to shout various of numbers for you, “Is she not to the Lustful Overlords taste?”

“Ah, I have so many who do the innocent act. It gets boring after awhile. But if you’re interested…you should buy her.” Asmodeus smirks, shaking the single ice cube in his glass as he signals to the waitress for another.

“She ain’t my type, but—” Mammon gets a sudden idea, “Lucifer should have her. I’m sure he gets off to the Angel shit don’t you your highness?”

Lucifer tips his hat up with his cane, “I am married.”

“To a woman who you haven’t seen in seven years!” Asmodeus rolls his eyes with a loud groan before raising his hand to join the bid, “Lighten up! Good sir, I say 2500!”

“What a doozy! 2500! 2500! Do I hear 3000!?” The announcer nearly jumps from his stool at the amount offered, “Going once! Going twice—!”

“Asmodeus.” Lucifer warned. Not wanting any part in this sinful behavior.

The sound of a gavel rang through the air, finalizing the amount, “And sold to the gentleman in VIP! Your prize will wait outback until you are ready to retrieve it! Enjoy!”

Just like that the plan was working. In just less than five minutes you were sold off like some prize. Your life being in yet another’s hands that wasn’t your own, it was a bit ironic since this life is almost just the same as the one you led on Earth. It was getting harder and harder to distinguish which one was truly Hell.

© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost in any other social media.

Be sure to leave a comment & let me know if you want to added to the tag list for this story so you’re updated whenever I drop a new chapter! xo

[greenandsorrow]

I'm really curious about how you think Alastor would handle a deaf sinner (revenge plot gone horribly wrong). The reader is staying at the hotel.. actually, it'll probably be challenging for everyone! Reader (f/gn) can read lips fairly well, but when Alastor does the whole "face made for radio," shtick his mouth doesn't move.. can't be threatened if you dont know what's said. It looks weird, though! Reader uses a phone to communicate mostly due to convenience, doesn't use signs because deafness comes as a bonus with death, also carries a pen but rarely paper so ends up writing notes on arms. Habits that linger from life are low self esteem covered masterfully with sass and sarcasm, humming and singing to themselves, remembering perfect pitches and how they felt to sing, can also match pitch by matching a vibration and drumming or tapping hands when needing to focus or is anxious.

Platonic relationships all round, not looking for romance here, just a place to belong for a bit, familial/sibling ribbing and sass!

I'm sorry in advance if it is a lot, but you do ask for details!

"This face was made for radio."

The Hazbins with a deaf!sinner!reader

You'll never forget the day you landed in Pentagram City. The world around you on mute... It will always stay carved in your memory... the way you had screamed until your throat ached and then had come to the conclusion that even though your voice worked fine, your ability to hear hadn't come with you to the afterlife.

Your sass did save you on multiple occasions that your lack of hearing left you with double the insecurity you carried from your days on Earth. The good news is that, eventually, you learnt to read lips and use your phone to communicate, making your afterlife a bit safer and easier.

However, some -Charlie- would say that your biggest achievement is willingly asking for residence at the "Happy Hotel"! It was a welcoming change to the constant battle of survival, that the streets of the City of the Damned are.

You have your own room and belongings. You have access to food and even made... friends. With your little notepad and pen you scribble your thoughts and answers when interacting with them. In all honesty, you like your new neighbours more than you ever thought you would.

And the feeling is mutual amongst y'all.

You enjoy how Charlie is always putting on a show and how she sings more than she talks. Not only that, but she makes sure to let you know how impressive it is that you can match the rhythm of her songs, by tapping your fingernails on your notepad.

Vaggie makes an effort so you're always safe and that was before you even got close. She's a bit overprotective in your opinion, but then again... kindness in Hell is scarce and more than appreciated.

Seriously though, you're not handicapped, but it's no use explaining it to her.

Even the famous Angel Dust speaks slower when addressing you. Just like Vaggie, he's protective of you. It's rare for Angel to try to not make a fellow sinner uncomfortable.

In a way, the spider demon has adopted you and Niffty, concerning himself with your wellbeing. You want something but don't have your pen on you? He's willing to play pantomime just to make sure he can provide it to you.

And then there's Husk. The bartender is surprisingly gentle when it comes to you. Caution mixed with fondness. He doesn't mind that you speak too loudly in the rare occasions you use your voice. He doesn't mind having to wait for you to write down your jokes. He actually enjoys your company more than he lets on.

Just a detail, you became part of the crew around the same time Sir Pentious did. Consequently, in the beginning you two kind of stuck together, both seen as newbies.

You're so grateful for how he still washes your arms from the ink of your trusty pen.

To put it into a few words, all families are colorful and yours is no exception. Dysfunctions, disagreements and some sappiness are all part of your every day life. But the Hazbin Hotel has become your home and that's all that matters.

Noticed how I overlooked a very special sinner??

Yep. That's right. Alastor.

The radio demon didn't pay you much attention when you first moved in. You have come to the conclusion that your lack of hearing just underwhelmed him.

He's the radio demon. Sound is his weapon and you're immune to it.

Obviously, his animated personality didn't go unnoticed to your observant eyes. Still, the old radio effect of his voice, the static he produces and all those flamboyant aspects of him are thrown out of the window when it comes to you.

He can't intimidate you. Not that he's tried. Not yet.

You have kept to yourself and maybe even subconsciously avoided him during your settlement in the hotel. It's not out of fear. But what fun is a fellow sinner that speaks more than he moves his mouth? Thank Lucifer he's expressive, otherwise he'd be muter to you than you're to yourself.

And that permanent grin doesn't help either. You've discreetly been relying on his shadow's expressions to make out what's going on in his antlered head.

Today is no different.

He's just stranding there. Black cane, an ignorant and simultaneously arrogant aura, the same infuriating smile and Pentious's egg-bois around him.

Meanwhile, you're sitting in the lounge, inspecting a very 2000's looking camera. It's a way to kill time, watching your surroundings through the lens. At some point the camera lands on Alastor's figure.

It immediately starts glitching.

You burrow your eyebrows in confusion. When you look again, Alastor isn't where he was a few seconds ago.

You sigh.

"What do you think you're doing there, dear?"

Silence. No reaction. You keep looking through the camera at the place Alastor occupied just a few moments ago.

Alastor narrows his eyes. He's standing almost next to you.

But of course you didn't hear him.

The intensified static in his voice... wasted.

He clears his throat loudly, but to no avail.

Eventually, he gives in and taps your shoulder. You blink, lowering the camera to your lap and looking up at him, head slightly tilted.

Taking in your expression, Alastor secretly enjoys the animated scrunch of your brows, a clear indication of confusion.

He's not saying anything, so you shrug to yourself and absentmindedly focus the camera on him once more.

Alastor's eyes narrow with a sadistic glee as the camera suddenly breaks, fume coming out of it, the lens now cracked. You drop it, a bit startled but not on the degree he was hoping.

You don't bother standing up but you do glare at him in exasperation.

"Well, well... Aren't you a brave one?"

Finally! Something you can make out coming from his razor sharp jaws.

You pop the lid off your pen, but before you have time to write "What's that supposed to mean?" on your arm, he has already dimmed the lights and leaned down so he's at eye level with you.

"Let me tell you something while we're at it."

His neck bends unnaturally and his eyes turn black. It's not exactly a sight to enjoy, but it doesn't matter since you're too focused on trying to read his lips.

"This face was made f......"

For?

For what?

What could it have been made for?

His mouth stopped pronouncing the words before the sentence was finished, so it's not your fault that you're chuckling now.

Alastor's chest literally deflates at your reaction.

His ears droop.

It wasn't even full on laughter but his pride took a big hit.

While he's frozen in shock at your lack of fear, you finally scribble down at the back of your hand "Was made for what?"

You extend your hand for him to read with an apologetic gaze. He does look kind of wounded.

Alastor takes in your words and accepts that you didn't laugh at him on purpose. Not to humiliate him at least.

Placing a gloved finger under your chin, he makes you look at his face before speaking slowly, moving his lips almost comically.

"This face was made for ra- di- o."

You let out an "oh" of realization.

Your eyes have a new light of interest in them as you write down your answer.

"I used to listen to that, when I was alive."

"Mhm, that's a pleasant piece of information my dear!"

From that day on, every time before he broadcasts, he makes sure to give you his notes to read, even making them more elaborate just for you.

For him, the only downside of your loss of hearing is not being able to enjoy his radio show.

At least you now get along.

Hazbin Hotel masterlist ❤️

Tips are highly appreciated! (PayPal)

Shout-out to @buggieluv79 for helping me with the deaf POV 💌 I also want to point out the fact that the wonderful being that made this request is both kind and patient, having waited three months for me to write this and supporting me in the process❣️

I'm open to writing for a deaf!reader again, whether you want it to be the same person we met in this fic or a different one. (Wait till reqs open again please!)

[herlondonboy]

arms tonite, clarisse la rue

summary: I cry in the afterlife I cry hard because I have died, and you're alive I try to escape afterlife I try hard to get back inside your arms alive VERY loosely based off of this request

warnings: mc death obviously, sad everyone, my lack of knowledge on the battle of manhattan because i read the books 7 years ago

wc: 1.7k

you sit against the ancient tree, the bark rough against your back, a painful reminder of the chaos that unfolded. your fingers clutch your stomach, the pain intensifying with each passing moment, a stark contrast to the distant roars of battle. your chest throbs where the drakon's claws had viciously slashed you moments ago.

the air is thick with tension as you watch your friends and family, armed and determined, engage in the fierce battle of manhattan. the clash of weapons, the echoes of spells, and the monstrous roars resonate through the air, creating a cacophony that drowns the world around you.

your gaze shifts from one familiar face to another, each caught in the chaos of combat. the weight of your injuries pales in comparison to the heaviness in your heart as you realise the magnitude of the conflict. the realisation that more lives are at stake than just your own sends a shiver down your spine.

tears blur your vision as you witness the sacrifices being made for the greater good. the ground beneath you trembles with the resonance of battle, a painful reminder of the fragile line between victory and defeat. you wipe away the tears, a silent vow to honour those who fight alongside you.

despite the searing pain and the exhaustion that threatens to consume you, you summon the strength to stand. your every step is a battle against your own limitations. as you move towards the frontline, determination replaces despair. the stakes are too high, and you refuse to let the sacrifices of those around you be in vain.

with each step, you feel the weight of responsibility on your shoulders. the tree, once a refuge, now seems like an anchor holding you back. but you press forward, driven by a desire to protect the ones you love.

the battlefield unfolds before you like a tapestry of chaos, but you find a rhythm within it. your own pain becomes a fuel, transforming into a relentless determination. you join the fight, your weapon cutting through the air as you face the challenges that threaten your world.

in the midst of battle, you catch glimpses of your friends, their resilience mirroring your own. the scars on your chest throb in sync with the beating heart of the battle, a constant reminder of the price of survival. yet, you fight on, not just for yourself, but for the future of those you hold dear.

the battle of manhattan rages on, a testament to the strength of the human spirit in the face of adversity. and as the dust settles, you stand amidst the fallen, a survivor, a witness to the sacrifices that define the heart of heroes.

locked in the chaos of battle, your eyes meet clarisse's across the tumultuous field. the concern etched on her face speaks volumes, a reflection of the scars left by the loss of silena beauregard. the memory of silena's sacrifice lingers, and clarisse fears history may repeat itself.

summoning every ounce of energy within you, you manage a reassuring smile for clarisse, a silent promise that you'll make it through. the connection between you two transcends the battlefield, a source of strength that fuels your determination.

as you let out a ferocious battle cry, it echoes through the turmoil, a proclamation of defiance against the forces that threaten your world. the resonance of your voice, joined by the battle cries of others, creates a symphony of resistance that shakes the very foundations of the battleground.

with renewed vigour, you charge back into the fray, your weapon slicing through the air as you engage with the enemies that stand before you. clarisse fights by your side, a formidable duo that refuses to be broken by the looming shadows of kronos.

the battlefield becomes a dance of blades and magic, each movement a calculated effort to turn the tides of war. your connection with clarisse strengthens your resolve, and together you weave through the chaos, fighting back the forces of darkness.

clarisse's concern transforms into determination as she witnesses your tenacity. the bond between you becomes a beacon of hope in the midst of despair. silena's sacrifice, though painful, serves as a reminder of the strength that arises from unity and love.

amidst the clash of weapons and the eruption of spells, you and clarisse carve a path forward. the battlefield is a canvas of struggle, but your shared commitment to each other becomes a driving force that propels you through the hardships.

as the battle unfolds, you find moments to lock eyes with clarisse, exchanging silent reassurances that you're still standing, that the darkness hasn't claimed you. the weight of her worry lessens with each shared glance, replaced by a growing confidence in your resilience.

the battle of manhattan rages on, but your bond with clarisse becomes a source of inspiration for those around you. the echoes of your battle cry reverberate through the hearts of allies, spurring them on to face the challenges that lie ahead. together, you fight not just for survival but for a future where love triumphs over the shadows that threaten to engulf the world.

tears stream down your face, mixing with the dirt and blood on your cheeks. the pain radiates through your body, each breath a struggle. clarisse's hands, stained with the battle's residue, continue to apply pressure to the wound, her movements desperate and unyielding.

"sorry," she mutters through her own sobs, her voice breaking with every apology. but despite the pain, you recognised the strength in her touch, the fierce determination to defy the cruel hand fate has dealt.

you wince as her hands press against the wound, the searing pain intensified by the pressure. your breath catches, and you find it harder to form words. finally, you manage to muster the strength to speak, "sto... stop!"

clarisse's hands fall to the side, and she looks at you with a mix of sorrow and regret. you can see the pain in her eyes as she watches you, helpless in the face of impending loss. "stop, please," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible over the battlefield's cacophony.

she apologises again, her hands cradling your head as if trying to shield you from the cruel reality. you can feel her trembling, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. in this shared vulnerability, the world around you seems to fade, leaving only the raw, painful connection between two souls entwined by love and loss.

as the battle continues to rage, clarisse stays by your side, her gaze fixed on your face. the chaos unfolds around you, a stark contrast to the stillness of this intimate, heartbreaking moment. in the hushed pauses between your sobs, you confess the fear that grips your heart, the terror of facing the unknown, of losing everything you hold dear.

"clarisse, i’m scared," you admit, your voice a fragile whisper.

clarisse's eyes well up with tears, but she brushes them away with the back of her hand. "you're not going anywhere," she insists, though the lie hangs heavy in the air, a bittersweet attempt to offer comfort in the face of inevitable tragedy.

the battlefield's rhythm continues, a cruel reminder of life's relentless march forward. you feel the grip of mortality tightening, each breath becoming shallower. clarisse leans in, her forehead touching yours, a final act of closeness in the fleeting moments that remain.

in the quiet between the clashes of war, your final breath escapes you. clarisse's hands still cradle your head, her eyes closed, as if trying to hold onto the fragile threads of your presence. the battlefield's chaos, now distant, becomes the backdrop to a heartbreaking silence.

clarisse stays there, lost in a mix of grief and disbelief. the world around her continues to turn, but in that stillness, she remains with you, holding onto the memory of love and loss amidst the echoes of battle.

clarisse, fueled by the searing pain of your loss, rises from the ground, her eyes reflecting the torment that lingers within. the battlefield, now stained with the blood of the fallen, becomes the canvas upon which she paints her grief and rage. without you to return to, her actions are untethered, reckless in the face of her newfound solitude.

she charges into the fray with a ferocity unmatched, each swing of her weapon cutting through the enemy lines. the air crackles with the energy of her relentless assault, a testament to the storm of emotions that rages within her. clarisse fights not only for victory but to drown out the haunting echoes of your final moments.

as she carves a path through the chaos, a determination burns in her eyes, a fire fueled by the memory of your courage. the world around her blurs, and she becomes a force of nature, unyielding in her pursuit of justice. her every movement is a declaration that your sacrifice will not be in vain.

the battle rages on, and as percy confronts kronos, the culmination of their struggles unfolds. in the aftermath of percy's victory, clarisse stands amidst the wreckage, alive but changed. the victory is bittersweet, and the reality of a world without you sets in.

chris rodriguez, battle-weary and scarred, kneels beside clarisse. he sees the turmoil in her eyes, the weight of a heart burdened with grief and guilt. without a word, he offers her a silent comfort, a presence that understands the scars etched into the soul.

clarisse, attempting to remain stoic, fights against the torrent of emotions threatening to consume her. but as the battlefield falls into an uneasy silence, she crumbles. tears stream down her face, a torrent of pain and regret released in a torrential downpour.

"i couldn't do it," she chokes out between sobs. "the one thing i was born to do, and i couldn't protect them." the realisation of her perceived failure gnaws at her, leaving her vulnerable in the aftermath of the war.

chris, with a gentleness unexpected from a seasoned warrior, places a hand on her shoulder. he understands the depth of her grief, having faced his own demons. in the quiet aftermath, they share a moment of shared sorrow, acknowledging the harsh reality of a world that demands sacrifices, even from those who fight with everything they have.

as the first light of dawn breaks over the battlefield, clarisse rises from her emotional abyss, a survivor forged in the crucible of loss. the scars of battle may fade, but the wounds of the heart linger, a reminder that even in victory, the cost can be immeasurable.

you cried that night. because you died in the arms of your lover, and it couldn't have been more perfect.

[daisynik7]

Fortunate

cw: ~900 words, established relationship, fluff, happy ending, some angst, implied Season 2/Shibuya arc spoilers, smut (but very brief) - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Author’s Note: This is for @honeybleed's 90s r&b collab, congrats again on the amazing milestone! This is inspired by the song Fortunate by Maxwell. Thanks for reading! Divider by @/cafekitsune.

Nanami wakes up in the cold sweat, gasping for breath to fill his lungs, as if he’s been drowning in his sleep. His heart races, pounding so hard against his chest that he’s sure it’s about to burst out of his ribcage. The entire left side of his body tingles, the remnants of a traumatic injury from almost a year ago. 

It takes him a few seconds to realize that you’re holding him, clinging to his right side, staring at him with concern in your face. “Bad dream?” you ask, eyes wet with tears you try to blink away. Your voice trembles, attempting to hide it, though Nanami can still tell.

He recalls the moment from right before he woke up. He was engulfed by fire, every inch of his skin scorching from the flames, gradually burning him away. Flashes of memories and familiar faces played out like a montage in a movie. Gojo’s cocky smirk, Yuji’s eager expression, Haibara’s bright smile. What you wore on your first date, how soft your hand felt in his the first time he held you, the song the two of you danced to the first time he said, “I love you.” Breakfast every morning at the dining table, mid-afternoon naps on the couch, making love until the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms.  

No matter how many times he relives it in his sleep or how vividly he remembers the pain from that night in Shibuya, nothing will ever hurt worse than that split second into the afterlife, when he was sure he’d never see you again. How lucky he is to be able to say that never came true. 

He walked through fire, fought through hell, dug out of his own grave, all that to return to you. And he’d do it again and again and again. How fortunate he is that he doesn’t have to anymore. It’s one of the biggest perks of being a retired Jujutsu Sorcerer.

He shifts in the bed to face you, breathing steady now. “Absolute nightmare,” he says, giving you a half smile. 

You swallow hard, brushing away strands of blonde hair to wipe off the perspiration beading on his forehead. “Well, you’re awake now.”

His smile grows into a full one as he scoots closer, nuzzling his nose to yours. “Thank god for that.”

You wrap your arms around him, squeezing him tight. “You’re still shaking. Pretty bad, huh?”

He closes his eyes, cherishing this feeling of being surrounded in your warmth. “Yeah.”

“The same?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, not elaborating. You already know what he dreams about. The nights you stayed up with him as he twisted himself into the blankets, tossing and turning from the fight that still weighs heavily on his mind. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you weren’t there beside him, to comfort and console him back to sleep. He wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you. 

You take his face into your hands, cupping his cheeks tenderly. The skin on his left side is taut from his injuries, which have healed nicely since that incident. You trace his scars, marveling at how beautiful he is. Evidence that he’s alive. What’s more beautiful than that? Closing the gap, you kiss him softly on the lips. His hands slide around your back, pulling you in deeper. 

Sometimes, words aren’t enough to put each other back to sleep. On a night like this, with only the glow of the full moon barely peeking through the shutters and the even rhythm of your heartbeats filling the quiet space between you, it’s only right to melt into one another. 

His thumbs hook to the waistband of your pajamas, pulling them past your bottom, now exposed for him. He squeezes your flesh in his firm grip, using little strength to roll you on top of him. He loves it like this. Something about having your body on top of his makes him feel safe. Secure. You trail along his neck, kissing his scars, whispering, “I love you,” into his skin. He relaxes into the pillows, letting you worship his tattered body, the same way you would as before. You never treated him like a broken man after the horrors of Shibuya. Instead, you’re a constant reminder that’s he’s in one piece. 

Slowly, with no rush to fall back asleep, you undress each other. He twitches slightly as you palm his erection, craving more than your fist. You don’t make him wait long, reaching for the nightstand to retrieve the bottle lube to properly coat him. Straddling his lap, you guide him inside you until you are stretched perfectly around his cock. You stay still for a moment, relishing the sensation of being completely full of him. “I love you,” he says, cradling you as you begin to rock back and forth. You kiss lazily, taking the time to savor each other. 

After you’re finished and cleaned up, you’re both back on the verge of sleep. You nestle into his broad chest, listening to his heartbeat to ease you into a peaceful slumber. Before you’re gone, you whisper, “We’re so lucky, aren’t we, Kento?”

He smiles, placing a delicate kiss to your forehead, snuggling you tighter. “You have no idea.” 

[allmyocsarebritish]

Domestic bliss <3

Pairing: Alastor X Reader

Warnings (?): Fluff, old timey dancing, the song I imagine they were listening to is linked at the end!!

The soft jazz of Alastor's radio accentuated the cozy atmosphere, as rain pattered against the glass of your window. Streaks of red light infiltrated the room, basking it in a warm scarlet glow. The scent of pine and the taste of fresh, woodland air emanated from the marshland that spread over half of your shared hotel room.

With a short sigh, you rose from the mahogany desk, wandering over to Alastor, who crouched beside the radio, fiddling with the dials. His coat was draped over the back of your classy chair, the sleeves of his button up rolled back and fastened in place, exposing scarred, slender forearms, which faded from his skin tone to ebony black. He reached out a hand to you, soft smile playing on his black lips as he rose from the floor.

"Shall we, my dear?" He offered, to which you intertwined your fingers with his own.

"Of course, love."

He brightened, free hand delicately resting on your waist, testing the waters to ensure you were comfortable. You leaned into his touch, your own arm draping over his shoulder. Together you waltzed and swayed to the gentle rhythm of the song, and, as the music continued you drew closer and closer towards eachother. Alastor's clawed fingers lightly traced grounding circles across your back, sending slight chills gracing your spine at the gentle sensation.

The drawl of Duke Ellington became nothing but background noise to Alastor's rhythmatic and comforting humming. It drew your attention away from the radio, capturing your undivided attention onto him and him alone. Where it belonged, entirely captivated and enthralled.

Slowly and almost tentatively, as if expecting him to jolt away, you laid your head on his chest, feeling the vibrations in time to the song. But instead of pulling apart as you expected, Alastor leaned further into you, hand separating from your own to soothingly stroke at your hair. Your own arm came to rest on his hip, hugging his waist. The two of you swayed in time to the beat, parting on occasion as Alastor twirled you, which left you giggling and flustered each time before swiftly joining back together.

Eventually, when the music began to fade and the song drew to a close, Alastor's humming also ceased, leaving the room feeling still and silent. You sighed your contentment, though your breath hitched in your throat due to surprise as you were jolted upside down unexpectedly, your back folding over his arm in a dip. He chuckled at your shock, and you chimed in upon catching your bearings.

Alastor pulled you back up in a much more elegant fashion, tugging you in close, your still-heavy breathing matching pace. Your cheeks were flushed and eyes were wide, staring admiringly and adoringly into his own, half closed as ever, to which you were met with the smallest foreign glimmer of emotion.

Affection.

To most it wouldn't be remotely noticeable, but to you, it may as well have been a dramatic love confession. Domestic moments such as this with such a powerful overlord did nothing if not secure your love towards the radio demon. The softening of his smile, the way his tail (which was never exposed to anyone else) wagged in contentment, the occasional slight flick of his ears. They were all permanently ingrained into your memory, as cherished as an age-old family heirloom. This was the way you intended to spend the rest of your afterlife, blissful and content with the one you loved.

Song link:

[broomsick]

I want to ask a question. Would Freyja be considered a Goddess of Grief? Considering her tears brought amber over Odr’s disappearance. I know that is more so the realm of Hel, (alas Freyja is a death Goddess in her own right too). I just haven't noticed that aspect delved into. And I've been thinking about it a lot.

In my grief over a recent passing of my father, I immediately felt her presence and from being so tired lately from it. I used my grief and cried as a devotional to her. Healing isn't linear and I go through a lot of bad days but her immediate strength came through after.

Of course we all experience the Gods differently, I just wanted to ask your thoughts! 🐈‍⬛🪻

I love this observation, and I absolutely agree. I'm sorry for your loss, and I'm so glad Freyja has been able to guide you in your journey through grief. It's an experience that's difficult beyond words to navigate.

I've actually associated Freyja with similar concepts for quite some time. If my experience may be brought to bear, she tends to manifest in times of emotional distress, such as when you’re depressed or anxious. I suppose that’s why devotees and people who have worshipped her for a long time sometimes refer to her as a “big sister”, or any other such protective figure. My experience is the same: she’s loving and kind, reaching out to those who are experiencing intense emotions and are having trouble processing them. She will help you to feet, at your own rhythm, and walk alongside you.

Plus, you've made a very good point, and one I've always tought was too often overlooked. She is heavily associated with passing and the afterlife. In a sense, she can be regarded as a figure that welcomes the dead with open arms. While I know it's not a topic that's easy to address, the passing of a loved one can be more easily accepted with the help of spirituality. While I know different people deal with grief in different ways, that's the case for me. And worshipping a Goddess of death to help with grief is not unheard of. You're actually not the first person to ask me such a question! I think turning to figures who have a say in what goes on in the aferlife is a natural instinct for a lot of us.

Now, to make a long story short, I think Freyja could very well be associated with grief. To me, she's a tribute to the fact that emotions, both good and bad, are beautiful. She's proof that even the Gods are not immune from them. You have my sincere condolences, and I pray that no matter how you choose to navigate your grief, you have a gentle journey to healing.

[interestofthemonth]

Alastor includes himself on couples' dates.

He follows Cherri and Pentious on a date every now and then just solely to be a nuisance. Cause some mayhem on the night out. Kill a waiter here, blow up a building there. It nearly ruins the dates every time, but Cherri is a freak and finds positive twists each time. "That waiter was my second cousin who was a dick anyway, at least I don't have to see him at family reunions now." "I'm an arsonist, what part of the building exploding did you think was gonna be a turn-off for me?" He continues to tag along out of the sheerest of boredoms.

Going along with Chaggie is more common. Charlie can (and has) straight up invited Al on dates. Hell's princess takes any bonding opportunity she can get - especially with Alastor who is most standoff-ish during her redemption lessons. It drives Vaggie mad how he worms his way into their day, but she loves her girl because of that impossibly good heart of hers so she always allows it. Charlie is just so happy to have a second dad who is interested in her life the hotel's benefactor take an interest in their way of life. As a trio, they'll take walks around the city, visit art museums (i would love to see the type of art a museum from Hell keeps), and go on picnics together. Tame to the point of tedious, but Al still enjoys the company and Vaggie's sour face.

But when Husk and Angel start having actual dates? 8/10 times Alastor is with them. Mostly bc he lives to be an annoyance for Husk. Cause, you know, Husk actually tries to be romantic for Angel Dust. After a life of repression and an afterlife of abuse, Angel doesn't really have a sense of romance even though he has a longing for it. The former Overlord wants to give him everything he deserves. They go to carnivals, to the drive-in theatres, to the beach, ice skating, dancing, stargazing. However, a candle-lit dinner looses some flare when your cannibal boss orders toes as an appetizer for the table. But Angel is still smiling so Husk is satisfied. Without knowing it, Al being a creep ends up helping Angel get better into the rhythm of going on real dates. It takes some of the pressure off of him to be perfect - to not fuck things up like he knows he always does. Plus Angel kind of likes Al - they both have a certain . . . draw to entertainment. Can't be bored for too long. So every now and then, they team up to cause chaos have fun and the poor kitty hangs his head as he goes along with his boyfriend's and contractor's every whim. Occasionally Al will bring Niffty as his plus one, claiming he needs to air her out a little bit so she might as well join their fun. Those turn into the most hectic nights but also the ones with the most laughter. And, truth be told, despite how everyone thinks Charlie is the biggest Huskerdust shipper (practically crying rainbows when they first became official) Alastor can and will do everything in his power to keep these fools together. He gets far too much enjoyment out of the pair. Hell, he starts looking forward to Thursday night swing dancing dates. The Radio Demon third wheels so hard to the point that he is a salty, bitter bitch for weeks after finding out Angel assigned Fat Nuggets as Best Man for their (imaginary) wedding. His temper tantrum ends when the couple tell him he can be the officiant.

[cemeteryspider]

Dearie~

Alastor x Singer! Reader

Summary: Why the Radio Demon left and what happened to his lovely girlfriend

Trigger Warnings: Violence, gore, blood, injury, manipulation, emotional distress

Word Count: 1350

Next

The day you appeared in Hell, literally nothing changed. Everyone was still dealing in souls, threatening others, and everything worked as it had.

However, your life had turned upside down, quite literally. Minding your business, walking to work, you were killed in a robbery gone wrong. Then an instant later you were in Hell, your soul judged without mercy.

You scratched your neck where you remembered the knife sliding across, and took in your surroundings from your seat on the concrete pavement.

Everything was red and the people walking around barely resemble people anymore. Some were openly fighting, drawing weapons in the street. Others were, less than discreetly, doing drug deals. Some even had their teeth bared, and were ripping flesh off of decaying corpses.

Inhaling deeply, you continued your stride through the crimson streets of Hell, mirroring the casual walk you'd taken on Earth just moments before.

As you passed by a store, your reflection in the glass revealed the haunting beauty of Hell's transformation — the scar on your neck, the flapper-esque dress, and the crimson-hooved heels, each detail etched in infernal elegance. A huge coat with a fluffy fur collar and wrist cuffs. In your hair a single red feather.

It was a departure from your usual stage outfit but somehow it felt right in every single way possible.

With large eyes and a massive fur coat, you resembled a doe, the details carefully chosen to accentuate this striking similarity in the infernal surroundings.

With each step through the demonic streets, you couldn't shake the innate grace and vulnerability that now adorned you — reminiscent of a doe navigating the perilous woods.

As the crimson night descended, you graced the stage of an infernal club, your voice weaving sweet melodies and your body moving to the haunting rhythm, a living echo of your former life.

~~~

This went on for quite some time until your manager said they had someone you would want to meet. They wrung their wrists leaving you in an empty room.

In an instant a shadow turned into a smiling man with a microphone as a cane.

As his clawed fingers extended to meet yours, he greeted, "Hello, Miss, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I've been a fan of your performances for quite some time."

His voice sounded like it was straight out of the radio you used to listen to as a kid with your mother. You stood from your seat and met his hand with your pristine gloved ones.

"Likewise"

This marked the inception of a perfect union, and the palpable electricity between you and Alastor sparked a connection that transcended the realms of Hell and Earth.

Later that week you quit your job at the club and began singing on his radio show. Sometimes a couple songs a day and others you would sing for hours into the microphone, and Alastor, as you would come to know him, kept you busy. Meetings and lunches were a daily occurance. Running around the Pride Ring with him might just have been the highlight of your afterlife.

Soon the talk of the town was Alastor and his new "girlfriend". The Overlord who took Hell by storm was now bringing a new face into his empire, despite many listeners not knowing what they looked like.

~~~

"Lucifer, Rosie, I can't believe you would bring that up"

"What dear, it was just lovely when we heard your voice for the first time"

"Yeah and I cried after because I was so afraid everyone hated the performance"

"Everyone loved you dear not to mention the encore! Cannibal Town has never heard cheers so loud"

Alastor stormed into the Emporium where you and Rosie were enjoying cups of tea.

"Hello Rosie, Dearie, may I sit"

You gestured to the open seat next to you and he sat down, smile never faltering.

"What's wrong darling" You tentatively put your hand over his clawed one.

"Vox asked me to take part in his atrocious video service to aid him in acquiring new viewers" His smile darkened as he said this. "He wanted to use us for his monetary gain"

"We just won't do it then darling, it has always been us against the world, has it not", Your eyelashes batted against your cheeks and a calming hum emanated from your throat.

Finally, his fingers intertwined with yours, a subtle relaxation spreading across his stern features as a small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips

"We were just about to talk about Susan and her latest stunt" Rosie said, attempting to lighten the mood, and successfully Alastor's mind was off of Vox.

~~~

Still time passed and Vox could not seem to let the rejection go.

"So Sugar how's about a deal" Vox caught up to you after leaving Cannibal Town with the Venison that Alastor asked you to grab for dinner that night.

"Vox, neither him nor I will be taking a deal from you, and I would appreciate it if you stopped asking" Your pace quickened but he sped up to match you.

"But Doll think of the good things we could do together" The TV stood in front of you and grabbed your shoulders to keep you in place.

"I would suggest removing your hands before I remove them myself" Alastor appeared behind me, and Vox immediately let go and started his defense.

You just kept walking as the two started to argue in the streets.

~~~

Alastor paced the studio in the minutes after the broadcast ended. Finally you had enough of it.

"Alastor, what is the matter"

The deer in the headlights look would have made you chuckle in any other scenario. He stopped pacing and looked into your eyes.

"Vox has had the thought that he only needs one of us to make a success story for him"

Your brows scrunched and reached out to him.

"Darling we always have been a package deal"

"Yes, Dearie, but it seems that Vox will turn to violence in his child-like way of solving problems"

You embraced Alastor and inhaled his scent. A metallic musky scent that you have related to him the moment you were in a room alone together.

"I promise we will find a way to win, Darling"

"We shall, mon cherie"

~~~

Things got worse and worse from there. The two competitors just kept fighting and ruining the other's broadcasts. With the tension rising, something had to break.

A fight that left everyone with bruises and cuts, was finally over with Vox towering above you. The Vees stood victorious surrounding you and Alastor.

Vox made a deal with you, after the gruesome fight between the TV Demon and Alastor. For just two small things he would let the Radio Demon live and walk away. Just that Alastor had to leave town and that you stayed with Vox and became something of a co-host.

This was the deal. Everything you worked for had led to this moment. Alastor was on the ground bleeding heavily with Vox's new friends towering over him ready to end him with specially made angelic weapons.

As Valentino's blade pierced through Alastor's side, the Radio Demon didn't even flinch, his gaze fixed on you, the anchor in his tumultuous world. He tried to crawl closer to your spot on the ground. Vox's sinister smile loomed over you, and as you exhaled the breath you'd been holding, the realization settled in — he had won. Vox had you both right where he wanted you.

"Yes, Vox, just release him" A cold, blue flame materialized, casting an eerie glow on the contract before you. Your hands trembled as you reluctantly etched your signature at the bottom, sealing a fate you never anticipated. With the curly writing set in stone, your soul belonged to the Vees.

"Perfect, quite a lovely signature beautiful, I can't wait to see your pretty face light up all the screens in this city" Alastor tried to reach for you just as Vox zapped you into V-Tower.

"Wait just let me say good-bye"

Vox just chuckled.

"Sorry Babe, not in the contract"

[mollymagician]

Matthew didn’t go immediately.

When Death visited the Dreaming that day, it was just he and Lucienne she was there to see. A quick visit, she said. Informal. Just the three of them in a quiet corner of the library. Because, she said… if anyone deserved to know, it was them.

She smiled that smile of hers, and he swore something that had been broken in his little bird-sized heart started to knit back together.

He would have been gone in an instant, out the window in a flash and demands on his…er…afterlife?… be damned. But Death crooked a finger at him, and leaned down, conspiratorial, to whisper, “Matthew, give them time, okay? It won’t be easy, at first. He’s going to need it.” A quick hand stroking his back feathers, like an apology.

He coughed and studied the wood grain of the desk . “Uh…yeah. I mean…right. Of course. You…you got it, uh, Ma’am.”

But she was already gone.

So, he gave them time.

A month passed, in the Waking, by his reckoning.

How much time was time, Matthew wondered.

What did ‘time’ mean to someone who was a few billion years old? Was a month enough time for the anthropomorphic personification of everybody’s brain-stuff to become Some Guy? How did that even work, anyway? Did he need to, like, solidify? Like a pudding? Probably not the instant stuff. But what the hell did he know about pudding, he’d only ever eaten it out of a little plastic cup.

While he pondered the pudding-to-Endless equivalency method of time measurement, another month passed.

Then one evening, as he perched on one of the palace spires and watched the sun sinking down towards the rippling mirage that concealed the horizon, his patience snapped completely, without warning, and he found himself winging his way into the Waking before his own common sense could sweet talk him out of it.

He landed on the narrow sill outside of a very familiar window. Mellow lamplight spilled through the glass. He could see inside, across the comfortable living room with it’s well-worn couch and cluttered dining table, to the two figures standing together in the small kitchen.

Holy fucking shit, Matthew thought.

He lunged foreword to tap out that familiar little rhythm on the glass— shave and a haircut— and Hob was hustling over to open it in an instant, grinning like a searchlight. Then he was skidding to a stop in the middle of the kitchen counter and before him was

Before him stood

If possible, he seemed even thinner than before— whatever had happened over the past two months had happened to him hard. But he was also…softer. Was that a thing that could be? Standing in the kitchen in a faded blue (blue. blue?) tshirt and threadbare gray sweatpants and smiling. SMILING. He was Some Guy and he was looking at Matthew and smiling.

He was exactly the same. He was entirely different.

“Holy fucking shit,” Matthew said.

Dream leaned his forearms against the counter, bringing himself down to ravens-eye level and said, “Hello Matthew.”

Very eloquently, Matthew said, “Dude.” Then, the floodgates opened and he couldn’t seem to stop. “DUDE. Fuck…it’s…you! It’s you! Look at that! Holy shit! I can’t even…I mean why am I surprised I died and woke up a fucking bird but I mean…look at you!! FUCK!!” He flapped his wings emphatically and stomped, as best he could with his spindly legs. “Goddammit! These…fucking…ARRGH. No thumbs! An’ no arms! I just wanna…HOB. My dude. Would you help me out here????”

Hob, who had been standing by with the expression of someone who had sprained an internal organ with the effort not to laugh, drew a shaky breath and a hand across his mouth and stepped foreword.

“Okay, I think I see. I get you.” He stepped up to Dream, laid broad palms on his narrow shoulders, and said with great formality, “Dream…from Matthew.”

And tugged Dream forward into a crushing, bone-creaking hug, compressing the breath clean out of him.

Dream squeaked like a squeezed balloon and that…that, more than anything else, made it real.

“Yeah,” Matthew said, “That’s the stuff.”

When Hob released him a solid minute later, Dream staggered a bit and caught himself on the counter, looking slightly stunned. But the smile was back, tugging up the corners of his mouth.

“I…I thank you, Matthew,” He said. “I missed you as well.”

Matthew looked down at his skinny little bird feet, listening to the sound of his claws clicking as he fidgeted. He felt…what was this? Shy. When the hell had shy ever happened to him? Never, that’s when. Fuck that. Matthew cleared his throat and looked up at the pair standing there beaming at him under the gold kitchen lights. “So, uh. What’cha up to? Got any big plans for…uh…for your afterlife tonight?”

“Ah. Hob is teaching me how to.” Dream paused. “Not set the stove on fire. We are making—what is this?” He plucked a small box off the countertop and studied it. “Pudding. Apparently.”

The sound Matthew made would have been pppPPPpppffffftttttt if he’d had lips. Which he didn’t, so the noise that actually came out was more or less indescribable.

“It’s a step up from tinned soup,” Hob said. “Progress is being made.”

Dream slanted him a look and picked up the can of whip cream, fiddling with the nozzle. “I did make perfectly adequate tinned soup. The second time. I believe I will be more than capable of—“ The rest of the sentence was obliterated by the sound of aerosolized dairy product spurting across his face.

Dream sighed.

Hob turned around to face the refrigerator, his shoulders shaking silently, organs once again in peril.

“…Oh man,” Matthew said. “This is gonna be great.”

[loveindefinitely]

00. prologue

༊*·˚ ALWAYS HAVE, ALWAYS WILL — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, slow burn, friends to lovers, drama, action, hurt/comfort, mystery, polyamory, angst, mental health issues, minor character death, angst w a happy ending

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

You’ve been to more funerals than you can count on your blood-stained hands.

Family, friends, teammates, superiors – at the end of the day, you’ve always found yourself staring at a casket being lowered into the earth. Or an urn.

Sometimes, there’s not enough of the body to bury, or burn. Just an arm, a jawbone, a blood splatter with a trace of ripped hair. Even then, the ceremonies are similar – morose and stagnant with the tension that only comes with grieving humans, merely waiting for the moment that their hourglass will fully tip. For when, they too, will be grieved. Lowered into the ground. Cremated.

If there is such a thing as an afterlife, you’re not too sure that you’ll want to endure more living, when the end goal is such a cruel one.

To love, to cherish, and then to wither away into nothing.

A fucked up joke.

The muddy ground squelches as you take a step back, hands tightly clasped together in front of your chest. Not a prayer, but a gesture similar enough to the patrons around you that you won’t be given a second glance.

Rain falls in thick sheets, but there’s no wind, and most of the people around you are underneath the dark grey marquee set up in front of the ceremony.

You aren’t. There’s something familiar about the clothes soaking your body, your body trembling just slightly from the chill, the dampness. A small punishment for your actions, small enough to not be noticed, but enough to repent just a thousandth of what you owe.

The Funeral Director gives his speech. Some religious nonsense, you’re sure, and the words wash over you like the torrents of rain.

You almost wish they could wash the guilt off of your mind, wash the blood that still feels sticky in your hands.

When you look down, they're pure and clean.

There’s crying. You’re not sure who from, how many, where. All that you register is the sound of gut wrenching heartbreak in the most raw, most physical of forms.

You swallow, once, your throat dry and tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth.

Needles, drugs, passing out, cells, torture –

“Sergeant.”

Even years of military training doesn’t keep you from flinching at the title. Turning your head, you’re greeted by a man that’s never failed to make your blood run cold.

His grey hair sticks to his forehead, his wrinkles highlighted by the dreary, bleak sky.

“General,” you incline your head respectfully. He stands to your right, arms folded behind his back. He’s suited in full black, and your stomach roils at the idea of this man grieving.

“You have been assigned a new unit,” he states, as one would discuss last night’s game over morning tea. “You’re set to leave at eighteen-hundred.”

You nod.

What else is there to do? Get down to your knees and beg for some time off, when you know that’ll leave you rotting in your bed for two weeks? Ask for him to be kind in his placement, because you’re not sure you can handle more of the emotional torment you’ve dealt with over the past three years?

Instead, no words fall from your cold-bitten lips, and your legs don’t buckle.

General Shepherd walks away without a simple ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. You’re sure that even if he had said as such, the words would’ve held no earnesty, no warmth.

It’s perhaps better this way.

So, you stand, and the rain hits your body in a relentless rhythm. So different to the torture of waterboarding, the cruelty of drowning.

Although, you can’t say that the mental whirlwind you’re stuck in the eye of is any less impactful. If you open your mouth, you’re sure that water will flood every crevice, leaving you to scream soundlessly for eternity, death sweeping you in with the turn of the waves.

You wonder, for a single moment, how many grievers would attend your ceremony.

By the time the rain stops, if only for a short period, everyone has left. The marquee’s been taken down, and there’s only you and your guilt left behind to stare at the stone. It takes everything in you to walk to it, your legs almost as weak as your will.

The headstone and rectangle of dirt dedicated to the fallen are both covered in flowers.

Bending down to your knees, you softly place a single blue hyacinth at the base. You allow yourself just a moment to close your eyes, deeply exhale, and revel in your guilt.

When you stand once more, it’s with a renewed strength.

Your Captain would have been proud.

The other seven fallen men – the ones that were under your care to heal – would’ve laughed in your face. You would’ve let them.

Now, you can only hope that their bodies will be found soon, so that they too, can be put to rest beside your Captain.

a/n. jus a VERY short prologue/teaser. this is by far my fav piece i've been writing yet. each chapter will be about 7-9k words long, so it'll take much longer to update, but i'm SO excited for it!! i hope u all will enjoy this journey as much as me :)

[cl-01-kestis]

The Reef - Neteyam Sully x Female Na’vi!Reader | Soulmate AU

Summary: You’re a gifted tsakarem from the mountains of Pandora and travel to the reef islands to seek out your dead soulmate.

Warnings: slow burn, HEAVY on the angst, character death, Neytiri and Jake basically adopt you, hallucinations of the afterlife

(I’m so sorry for this hehehe)

The moment you felt it, you fell to your knees, devastated when you felt the light of your soulmate flicker out. Leading up to this moment, you felt his fear, his worry and his anger. He was fighting and lost the battle. Neteyam had died.

Neteyam was a name you listened to for 14 years, hearing him speak his name in your sleep or randomly hear a whisper in your mind during the day. It was the soulmate link, it was a bond that never broke even through death. But unfortunately for you, there would never be a day of relief from the pain you felt.

You were the youngest in your clan at the time of his death, the future Tsahik, with such a heavy burden to carry at 14 years old. You blamed yourself for not leaving to find him sooner, knowing you’d never get the chance to see his face or meet or touch him.

Your clan was horrified, many screamed and cried as they cradled you in their arms, especially your mother. For healing, you tried making yourself soothing ointments and medicine for your aching heart. But nothing worked. Your family all prayed in a circle as you stayed silent, eyes damp and purple from hours of sobbing.

As a destined Tsahik since birth, you put your entire faith in Eywa, taking life one step at a time so you didn’t ruin her plans for her you. But you couldn’t help but ask her why, when your soulmate died, why she took him from you. Why she took the one person you were meant to be with for the rest of your life before you returned to her.

You never got an answer, but that didn’t stop you from travelling around Pandora, from tribe to tribe, asking for the name Neteyam. Many were trusting towards you and offered help wherever it was needed, giving you directions to the next village and offering weapons and plants for medicine.

During your journey you discovered more about your gifts from Eywa and tried to be at peace with the nature and life surrounding you. Few wanted your blessings and came to you to receive word from Eywa. You were her messenger, but it wasn’t your place to tell them their future. You became almost a priestess, offering hope and rituals to those in need. But you couldn’t help yourself.

You were on the journey to find Neteyam’s grave for 2 years until you finally stumbled upon the Metkayina tribes territory. There was a certain spiritual atmosphere that knocked you off your rhythm as soon as you entered the reef people’s waters. Specifically under the water, where many ancestors were laid to rest.

Ronal, the chiefs wife, greeted you warily at the shore, her husband standing behind her. The Mother of the clan was cold to you at first, inquiring sharply about your reason for your arrival. You travelled by ikran, but you noticed she flew off to join other ikrans who weren’t from the reefs. At first you weren’t sure if you wanted to explain your situation to the entire village, who were all watching you intently, so you asked permission to speak to the chief privately.

Tonowari wasn’t as hostile as his wife, but he still kept a close guard as he led you to their tent. They noticed the significant beads and braids in your hair, relating to the culture of the mountain na’vi, they also seemed to visibly relaxed when they noticed your 4 fingers.

A discussion ensued, mentions of your spiritual journey and then the topic of your soulmate. The two were surprised, knowing this bond only came once every one hundred or so years, but they weren’t expecting you to start crying. You explained your soulmate was dead and you needed closure, hoping to find his grave and find out who he was and who his family was. They were both saddened by your confession, Ronal suddenly became much more maternal towards you and offered tea to calm you down, stroking your hair and sharing her wisdom through rituals and recitals. From Tsahik to Tsakarem. Tonowari asked his name, and you offered it willingly.

You noticed both of them freezing the moment you whispered his name, realising Ronal stopped uttering her incantations and leaned away from you. Tonowari cleared his throat, urgently telling his wife to collect a woman named Neytiri. You sat confused, the effects of the incantation and tea wearing off as you felt nerves begin to creep up your neck.

“Are you positive your soulmate is Neteyam?” Tonowari leaned forward, a frown taking over his tattooed face as he tried to process what you were saying.

“I am positive, it’s the name I’ve been hearing until I was 14” You whispered.

Tonorwari looked at you sadly, nodding his head and reverting his attention to the entrance of the tent as Ronal returned with a different looking na’vi woman with darker blue skin and shorter braids. She noticed you immediately, but kept her focus on the couple.

Neytiri was one of the most beautiful na’vi woman you’d ever set your eyes on, she was taller than most na’vi women, with the hands of a warrior and eyes that have seen many wars. You guessed she was related to your soulmate in a way.

“Neytiri, we’ve called you here in regards to this woman, a witch from the mountains, who believes your son is her soulmate” Tonowari didn’t sugarcoat as he spoke to the forest na’vi, noticing her expression distorted as she looked at you.

“Lo’ak?” She frowned, growing wary of you as she took a step back and pressed a palm on the ground.

“Neteyam” Ronal corrected gently, walking over to sit down beside you in case Neytiri lashed out of shock or anger at the mention of her deceased sons name. But instead she gasped, covering her mouth with her hands and tearing up immediately.

“Oh great mother” Neytiri whimpered, placing a hand on her chest. Her golden eyes gleamed over with sudden grief, fingers shaking slightly.

“What is your name?” The forest na’vi asked, voice trembling.

“(Y/N)” Your heartbeat was intense, vibrating through your body as you watched Neytiri begin to cry, a tear running down her cheek as she leaned forward and cupped your face so she could inspect you.

“He used to say that name in his sleep” Her lip quivered as she studied your appearance, tracing her hands along the jewellery hanging from your lobes and the swirling tattoos along your arms and legs. You were just like Neteyam imagined.

“Did you know him?” You grew emotional, eyes growing damp with tears as you leaned into her touch.

“My child, I am his mother” Neytiri choked, running her hands through your braids and treating you like her own immediately.

You sobbed, collapsing into her arms in relief as she accepted your embrace happily. She cried with you, causing Ronal and Tonowari to wipe their eyes a few times as they watched the soulmate bond take its toll on the both of you.

When Neteyam was alive, he spoke of you to Neytiri every single day of his teenage years. The moment he was aware of the soulmate bond, he was no longer confused by the voice singing in his head at night. He realised it was you, the voice of the one he was destined to be with. At first he was terrified of telling anyone, he knew a soulmate bond was a very rare occurrence and it just so happened to him. People would flock to ask him questions, and it wasn’t until he died that people realised he had a soulmate. Neytiri always knew, he would mumble a name in his sleep every night, even Jake would notice.

Now you were right here, the (Y/N) that would bless his sleep every night and keep him going everyday until the unfortunate event of his premature death. Neytiri wished you could’ve come sooner and experienced Neteyam, you were the most worthy person of his love and presence. But that light was taken from you so soon and so young. It made her cry for you.

Neytiri offered to stay with you all day, knowing Jake wouldn’t ask too much about it. Ronal and Tonowari trusted her enough to show you around and keep you safe until further notice.

She held onto your hand like your own mother, walking through the village and telling you stories of her son. She said he spoke of you everytime he had the chance, worshipping you before he even met you. You tried not to cry but you failed whenever his name was mentioned, ending up in the arms of the older na’vi woman.

Night dawned on the Metkayina reefs and you needed to find a place to sleep, but Neytiri insisted you meet Jake, Neteyam’s father. At first you weren’t sure, everything was happening at once. But Jake caught wind of your arrival and was determined to speak to you after Neytiri informed him of your connection to his eldest son.

He had a domineering presence, towering over you as soon as he stood up from his seat in their hut. Their other children were out with friends from the tribe, so none of them were aware of you except Jake and Neytiri.

Jake was hesitant to accept the truth of your soulmate being his son, he kept a hard expression to stop himself from tearing up when he studied your face, to your braids, to the markings on your body. He realised Neteyam would’ve been your age if he was still alive. But he eventually pulled you into his arms after a silent conversation through your eyes, realising you were just like Neteyam described.

Sometimes his son would open up to his father about the girl he saw and heard in his dreams. Her soft skin, striking tattoos and swirling markings. Your name and voice matched the description as well. You were his soulmate.

Neytiri and Jake accommodated you in their hut for a few days, allowing you to meet their other children, Neteyams younger siblings.

They were confused at first, yet you and their parents decided not to tell them who you were to their brother. To them, you were just seeking Uturu.

Weeks passed and Ronal spoke with you about the possibility of connecting with Neteyam through Eywa. She explained their burial ground to you, it was a beautiful glow of amber and yellow under the waters surface where many returned their energy to Eywa. Neteyam had been laid to rest there 2 years ago.

She explained it would’ve been a tricky situation regarding the connection to Neteyam, if you decided to take the route of meeting him through the spirit tree underneath the water. There was a chance you could die, either by drowning or deciding to die to be with him. But you immediately agreed, even if it meant losing your life. Either way, you could finally meet Neteyam.

-

Neytiri was the one who swam you out to the spirit tree, she explained the two of you must connect to the tree at the same time so you could be in her memories and not your own. You’d gone through weeks of breath training and swimming lessons, considering you didn’t know how to swim since you lived in the mountains all your life.

Neytiri held your hand as you both swam through the depths of the burial ground, the amber light aiding with navigation and your sense of direction. You were scared, admittedly, and at first you weren’t sure if you could go this long without breath. But you put your trust within Eywa and let her guide you through this experience.

You eventually reached the tree, grabbing onto one of its tendrils and watching Neytiri as she grabbed her queue. You quickly grabbed yours, looking at the kuru coming out of its hiding place and swirling through the water. You and Neytiri both counted down from 5 after she reassured you everything would be okay, holding onto your hand the whole time as the two of you connected your queues to the glowing tendrils of the tree.

Immediately, you were transported into a realm of peace, but not from the living world. Everything was quiet for a moment, until you heard the sound of rustling trees and calls from various wildlife. You opened your eyes, wincing at the sudden sunlight bursting through the branches, but you soon realised you were standing meters away from a tall na’vi boy with shoulder length braids. His back was turned to you as he crouched into a pond between a few thick trees, pulling out an arrow from a fish carcass.

You looked over to find Neytiri, hiding behind one of the trees as she watched the boy in the water. This was the moment you realised the boy, who just turned around to show his face, was Neteyam.

You fell to your knees as soon as he looked up to meet your eyes, a shaky breath of disbelief leaving your chapped lips.

Neteyam. You were finally seeing him for the first time.

You whispered his name like a prayer, suppressing the tears bubbling up in your chest. Neteyam cocked his head to the side and took a few steps towards you before he slowly crouched down to match your level. He was the same age as he was when he died, but you weren’t even sure how old he really was. Was he 16 like you? Maybe he was older, or younger?

“I don’t believe I’ve met you before” The sound of his voice broke you, a soft sob releasing itself through your lips as you wiped your eyes. His voice sounded just like it did in your dreams.

“It’s me, (Y/N)” You whimpered, noticing his posture stiffen as his eyes widened and his jaw slacked.

No words were spoken as he sat down cross legged in front of you, the fish now discarded by his side as his hands took your face. You closed your eyes, nuzzling into his touch as his thumb caught a stray tear.

“What took you so long to show up?” Neteyam chuckled, studying your face with his hands. You felt his fingers prod your jaw and nose, until they traced around your eyes and your generational markings.

“I’m so sorry, I really am” You weeped, holding onto his wrists as his hands returned to your cheeks. Neteyam shook his head, smiling as tears leaked down his blue face.

“Don’t be, I’m thankful you finally made it” Neteyams voice wavered, and soon he was crying with you. He leaned forward and wrapped you up in his arms, his touch was warm and welcoming. You settled against his chest immediately, wailing against his skin as he traced patterns onto your back. He pet your braids, kissing your head and rocking you back and forth as you unleashed all your grief and guilt.

“Ma (Y/N), why do you cry?” Neteyam asked gently, picking you up into his lap so he could he cradle you protectively. You didn’t answer at first, pressing your hands against his chest and feeling no heartbeat.

“I’m just happy to see you, Neteyam” You sniffled, leaning your head back and smiling to mask your internal pain. Neteyam grinned, wiping the tears from your eyes and kissing your forehead tenderly.

“You’re so much more beautiful than I imagined” He whispered, tracing the shape of your face with his knuckles as his eyes stared deeply into yours.

You traced his jaw, your fingers trembling as they pressed against his skin, memorising the feeling. Neteyam pressed his forehead against yours and smiled, closing his eyes as you kept touching his face and trying to cram in as much memory with him as you could.

“I see you, Neteyam” You breathed out, closing your eyes as well and settling your cries as you felt him kissing your palm.

“I see you, ma (Y/N)” He held you tighter, opening his eyes and smiling as he watched you lean your full weight against him, giving him your trust completely.

From a distance, Neytiri witnessed the entire act play out, trying to keep herself together but the tears kept coming until she was a complete mess. She knew this would never be reality, for either of you. Neteyam was a memory, this version of him was a memory. Although his spirit was fully present, Eywa allowed him to meet you through this vision. He was dead still, but his soul had been revived by you in the afterlife.

Neteyam pulled away from you and gave you his queue, knowing the bond would finally he complete once you connect your souls. You weren’t sure if this would even work, if this was all just a cruel vision. But Neteyam was here, you felt his warmth, his skin, his braids. This was really him. You were in his afterlife.

You picked up your queue and gazed into his eyes as your kuru intertwined, causing both of you to gasp as your pupils fully dilated. A moment of silence erupted, your heart full and complete as you fixed your eyes on your soulmate who was already looking down at you. You both laughed, pressing your heads together once more as your kuru’s interlocked, a soft pink glowing between them.

“It’s time to wake up, ma (Y/N)” Neteyam cooed softly, rocking you back and forth as you drifted off to sleep against his chest.

You nodded, realising you had to leave. You knew you’d drown in real life if you didn’t wake up soon. As you slowly woke up from this vision, Neteyam sang you a soft melody, one like his mothers song chord.

His melodic voice was the last thing you heard before you opened your eyes, waking up by yourself underwater as your queue detached from the glowing vine. You turned to your left and noticed Neytiri had disconnected as well, still holding your hand.

The two of you swam up to the surface, your lungs screaming for air as your head came out of the water. You coughed as you inhaled jagged breaths of salty air, tears running down your wet face as you remembered the vision of Neteyam. Neytiri swam over and held onto you as you burst into tears, hearing you wail as you grasped at her shoulders, raw emotion tearing it’s way through you.

The two of you swam back to shore with the help of Neteyam’s old ilu, knowing Ronal, Tonowari and Jake would be expecting the both of you at shore. Neytiri calmed your cries the entire ride back, holding your back to her chest and whispering reassurance.

You were broken, you barely managed to make it to the hut without stumbling over and curling in on yourself. Jake had to pick you up from the sandy ground and cradle you in his arms as if you were his own daughter, his hand placed behind your head as he carried you into his family hut.

You barely registered anything, your mind blanking anything that happened as you constantly thought of Neteyam and his connection to your soul. Jake sat by your bed and urged the others to get to sleep, but Neyriri stayed awake watched from her bed.

Jake had never been in this type of position before, but looking after his sons true love turned out to be an act he grew accustomed to quickly. The father of 4 petted your hair and moved your body so you were comfortable in your hammock, looking around to make sure everyone was asleep before he spoke.

“I’m sorry” He found himself tearing up, not sure why he was apologising for something he didn’t cause, but your eyes opened and your lip quivered.

“You’re so young to go through something like this, but… I understand” Jake’s voice broke as he stroked your braids, a tear falling from his eye.

“I was holding onto Neteyam when he died, I felt every cell of happiness rip away from my soul, not even Eywa could help me heal” the father looked away and wiped his eyes, but a sob was bubbling up in his chest.

“Neteyam thought of you in his last moments, and that gave him the greatest possible comfort before Eywa took him” Jake moved the position of his hand to hold yours securely, squeezing it gently to offer some unknown assurance in the dark expanse of the hut.

“I wish I could’ve done more, for you and him” The crack in his voice made you shake your head frantically, squeezing his much larger hand as you whimpered out a pitiful reply.

“It was no one’s fault we couldn’t save him, I constantly hate myself for not finding him sooner, knowing I could’ve done something if I met him before he died,” Your words were shattered by the lump in your throat, lashes wet and fogging your vision as Jake offered you a sad expression.

“It’s a burden I dread to carry every day I wake up, but I have seen Neteyam, and he has seen me, we are connected through Eywa’s energy” You manage a slight smile through your tears, watching Jakes eyes flicker with hope.

“You’re part of our family now, (Y/N), we’ll do whatever we can to make this easier for you” Jake whispered, looking to his side to notice Neytiri walking over and sitting down beside him. The couple looked over you, Neytiri leaned down and pressed a soulful kiss to your forehead as her hand joined yours and Jakes.

“We’ll get through this, eventually” Neytiri sniffled, holding your hand to her face.

It made you wince to imagine it, but you realised Neytiri and Jake treated you like a fraction of Neteyam. He lived through you, and you were now a token of comfort for the two grieving parents.

Any and all faith you harboured was now placed in Eywa, you prayed you could heal. But a part of you was scared it would only get worse.

[hymnism]

release the list

(i feel like i should mention these are all games ive personally played so if any of these make you go "why isn't [GAME] on here it's probably cuz i haven't played it. anyway)

(obligatory mention to hades/disco elysium/omori since they're some of my favorite games but im sure everyone already knows about them. they are lovely games and you should play them 👍)

darkest dungeon ($25) - turn based roguelike where you recruit mercenaries and send them on dungeon explorations and make sure they don't die of stress or starvation alongside the regular monster attacks. notoriously difficult. imagine bloodborne but turn based

ftl: faster than light ($10)- real time roguelike where you control a small crew and pilot a spaceship on the run from a rebel fleet. manage power and weapons on your own ship while targeting critical systems on the enemy

loop hero ($15)- a roguelike where your character will automatically walk in a loop while you use cards to add terrain with different effects such as spawning monsters to give you loot or increasing your healing. very unique with a beautiful pixel artstyle and banger soundtrack

moonlighter ($20)- a roguelike rpg where you go dungeon diving and try to bring back as much loot as you can so that you can sell it in your shop

shadows of doubt ($20)- early access. a first person sandbox detective simulator where each case is procedurally generated. randomly generates a town with npcs that all have names and addresses and relationships. put together clues from a crime scene and try to catch a killer before they strike again. work odd jobs between cases to keep yourself fed and housed

ultrakill ($25) fast paced first person shooter with a style system ala devil may cry. you play as a robot fighting through the layers of hell. mankind is dead. blood is fuel. hell is full

crypt of the necrodancer ($15)- a rhythm based roguelike dungeon crawler where you and your enemies are only allowed to move on beat. banger soundtrack goes without saying

everhood ($10)- a rhythm based rpg where you play as a red doll who had their arm stolen and is trying to get it back. battles involve moving between 5 lanes to avoid enemy attacks. if you like undertale you'll like this

spiritfarer ($30)- management and adventure game where you play as a spiritfarer who needs to care for spirits on her boat before leading them into the afterlife. incredibly charming and touching game. you will cry

let's school ($20)- management sim where you build and manage a school and help students graduate by setting up different courses. addicting and has a very cute artstyle

let's build a zoo ($20)- management sim where you. well where you build a zoo. a very silly game that includes a morality system where you can choose to be eco friendly and help repopulate endangered species or you can exploit your animals for their meat and produce. also has an animal splicing mechanic. haven't you ever wanted to make a giraffe with a duck head

the wandering village ($25)- early access. a city builder with the twist that you live on the back of a giant wandering beast named onbu. you help care for onbu as he wanders though different biomes that force you to adjust your resource production as some things become unavailable (such as water in a desert)

frostpunk ($30) a survival city builder where you build around a central core and try to prevent everyone from freezing to death in progressively colder temperatures

monster sanctuary ($20)- a metroidvania style creature collector with a unique combo meter that will continue to build and increase your damage based on the number of "hits" you can perform (healing buffs and shields also count as hits) and each monster has different skill trees that you can upgrade and customize

coral island ($30)- farming life sim with a unique underwater area where you can live and farm and raise aquatic plants and animals. you work to help restore the island after and oil spill ruined the surrounding ocean. i should mention that although this game is technically not in early access it is still unfinished and missing large chunks of gameplay/interactions/story. however there is still a healthy amount of content and is still a fun game as it is

apico ($20)- a beekeeping sim where you keep bees to make and sell honey while also breeding and releasing them to help restore their numbers in the wild

spirittea ($20)- a management and life sim where you manage a bathhouse for ghosts and help the townsfolk who think they're haunted (they're right). basically a cross between stardew valley and spirited away

cloud meadow ($20)- early access. this is a porn game ⚠️ a farming sim where instead of regular animals you have anthro characters and you can breed them either yourself or with each other and have them help in combat or on your farm. very cute artstyle and amazing animation work

[pupsmailbox]

JELLYFISH ID PACK

NAMES ⌇ aequora. aequorea. aether. agris. alatina. andromeda. anemone. angel. angeli. angelica. angelina. aquamarine. aquatique. astraea. astro. athena. atolla. aura. aurelia. aurita. aurite. baia. bio. biolumine. blanche. blu. blue. bluette. capillata. caru. cassiopeia. cephea. chiro. chrysali. chrysao. cnidaria. coral. coralle. cordelia. cosima. cosmo. crystal. crystalle. cyanea. cyanei. dentelle. divinity. dove. eleuth. eleuthiria. ephyra. ethie. ethy. evangeline. eve. fishie. fishy. flo. floa. float. floatesse. floatette. floatie. floaty. frill. frillice. frillie. frilline. frillisea. frillita. frillyn. frillyne. frillyta. frisweet. glow. glowesse. glowette. guppie. guppy. halo. heaven. hydridae. hydrozoa. idol. idolette. illuminette. innosweet. jefrill. jell. jellace. jelle. jellette. jellice. jellicent. jellie. jelliette. jellimer. jellina. jelline. jellisea. jellisweet. jellita. jelly. jellyfish. jellysh. lagoona. lumi. lumie. lumine. luminescence. luminesse. luminette. marina. marine. mauve. medus. medusa. medusae. medusanne. meduse. medusozoa. mer. mermi. monema. moon. moonie. moonlight. moony. muse. mysti. méduse. nadar. nager. neptune. noctiluca. nomina. nomura. ocean. oceania. oceanne. olindias. onceanne. ophelia. polyp. reef. scyfrill. scyph. scyphozoa. searene. selsi. seraphim. shim. shimmer. shimmerette. shimmerie. siren. sirene. smuckie. spottie. squish. squishie. squishy. sting. stinger. stingette. stingie, stingie. stingy. swefrill. tagi. tenta. tentaclesse. tentaclette. tenti. tide. twinkle. twinklette. ulma. velella. whimsy. wisteria.

PRONOUNS ⌇ ae/aem. afterlife/afterlife. an/angel. angel/angel. aq/aqua. atol/atolla. blue/blue. ceph/cephea. cherub/cherub. choir/choir. cloud/cloud. cor/cor. crys/crystal. dance/dance. decor/decor. deity/deity. divine/divine. dream/dream. dress/dress. dri/drift. drift/drift. drip/drip. drop/drop. feather/feather. flo/float. float/float. fluff/fluff. fri/frill. frill/frill. glide/glide. glow/glow. hi/hym. high/highnes. holy/holy. hy/hydra. hymn/hymn. idol/idol. illuminate/illuminate. immortal/immortal. inn/innocent. jel/jel. jel/jelly. jelly/jelly. jelly/jellyfish. lamb/lamb. light/light. lu/lumi. lumi/lumi. lumi/luminou. luminescent/luminescence. luminescent/luminescent. mar/marine. mari/marine. medu/meduse. mer/maid. moon/moon. nettle/nettle. nom/nom. ocea/ocean. ocean/ocean. pastel/pastel. petti/petticoat. pink/pinkie. pop/pop. pre/preform. preform/preform. pure/pure. regal/regal. rhyme/rhyme. rhythm/rhythm. rock/rock. sacred/sacred. scy/scyph. scy/scyr. sea/sea. sheep/sheep. shi/hyr. shim/shimmer. shimmer/shimmer. show/show. silly/silly. sing/sing. sing/song. smack/smack. song/song. splish/splash. stage/stage. sti/sting. sting/sting. sting/stinger. swe/sweet. swi/swim. swim/swim. tenta/tentacle. tentacle/tentacle. tenti/tenti. tide/tide. twinkle/twinkle. vae/vaer. wa/wave. wave/wave. wing/wing. 🌊/🌊.