#turning on the radio in maine is a living nightmare

[klanced]

we have joked about MCR keith. we have cried about mitski keith. but i firmly believe the True Keith Music Characterization(TM) is that keith actually has no discernable music identity at all. keith lists his top 5 favorite artists and they're all so completely different in genre and vibe and decade and sometimes even language that you're just like ???????? was this kid synthesized in a swedish lab or something

in my HEART i know that keith has the most eclectic taste in music known to mankind. i think keith grew up in the middle of bumfuck nowhere where his only sources of music were 1) his dad's extensive collection of cassette tapes from the 1970s and 80s (note: keith's dad did NOT carefully curate his collection of cassette tapes, he actually just bought a random box of tapes at a yard sale and then tailored his personality around them accordingly) and 2) their ancient clunky boombox that permanently resided on the wobbly picnic bench behind their house. said boombox specifically picked up only 11 radio stations: 5 different Christian radio stations, 3 stations devoted entirely to Christian country music, 2 stations that played nothing but static, and occasionally, when the stars aligned, whatever music the radio station at the local community college three counties away would play.

[hazelfoureyes]

The Safeword is RadioApple (part 1)

I’m gonna go ahead and apologize right now

Lucifer x FemaleReader x Alastor

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱ Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱ tidbit (cute, not smut) Part 4 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱✨NEW✨ ₊⊹⁀➴ Lucifer wins⟡Alastor Wins

Alastor would give you anything, all you had to do was ask. When you asked for Lucifer, he delivered. But after seeing just how much you enjoyed Alastor’s rough handling, Lucifer takes a turn and gets a little lost in the pleasure.

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader, Lucifer x Reader, smut, RadioApple in a sense, fem reader, creampie, breath play, rough sex, Alastor is an eternal little shit, soft jazz, hard jazz, Luci calls himself Daddy, 🗣️ READER GETS SPITROASTED, threesome, cervix hulk smashed, half assed blowjob, help I got too horny on main

Minors dni

“Sir.”

Lucifer jumped, whipping around and shoving Alastor’s face away. “You are a living nightmare, fuck!” He hated being snuck up on, as most people do. Adjusting his hat, he looked around the hotel lobby to see if anyone else witnessed his personal jump scare. Charlie and Vaggie were seated nearby, but hadn’t paid them any attention.

“I aim to please! Now,” Alastor gestured to the stairs, “I, unfortunately, need to show you something upstairs.”

“Ha!” Lucifer forced out a laugh, “Ha. Haaa- Not a chance, scarecrow. Find someone else to search for your brain.” He smirked to himself. “Did you hear that Charlie? I made a joke.”

But Charlie was not laughing. She finally turned her focus to them. “Dad, you have to start trying to get along with Alastor.” She looked to Alastor who was nodding along as if he actually cared at all, “He’s trying to spend time with you. Come on, Dad. For me?”

With a pout, he dramatically crossed his arms, “Fine. I’ll play nice, for you. Not for him.” Lucifer glared daggers at Alastor. “Fuck him.”

“Daaad!” She groaned.

“Yeah yeah, I’m going.” 

Alastor let his microphone follow behind Lucifer’s back, an unseen and unfelt safety net so he couldn’t back out. When they approached Alastor’s door, Lucifer put up his hands as if to physically stop the situation from progressing, “There is no way in all of hell I am going in your bedroom.”

Alastor’s eyes rolled, frustrated already with the interaction. “Are you sure about that?” He pushed the door open, using his mic to make contact with the small of Lucifer’s back. He stopped resisting when he finally looked into the room.

He took a step in, willingly, and as he saw you sitting in the center of the bed in just your silk sleep robe, he let out a quiet, “What the fuck is this?”

Then a louder, “Heeey, kitten…”. The sound of the door locking made his head whip back to Alastor, teeth bared.

“Luci.”

Softened under the sound of his own name from your lips he brought his attention back to the bed.

It was no secret to anyone that you two were fond of each other. It was the little things you did that endeared the fallen angel to you, how you doted on him. Filling his glass at dinner when you noticed it getting close to empty, holding the door for him, keeping eye contact when he went off on some excited tangent.

Everyone was also aware you were Alastor’s person. And Alastor would give you anything you wanted in death; and today you happened to want Luci.

You’d seen the broadcasts of the King of Hell defending his daughter during the last extermination. The power he gave off, even from your screen, brought goosebumps down your arms. So when you found your way to the hotel, you were elated to see Lucifer himself readily available for interactions. Your luck continued, as your father’s love of jazz had been passed down to you and allowed the radio demon to notice your presence among the sea of new residents. Following the sounds of Nat ‘King’ Cole, he found you one evening in your room, and a mutual fondness for music bore a new friend. And then, more. 

Soon enough you were a regular member of the Hazbin Hotel core crew, by way of Alastor.

That’d been some months ago now, and you finally had the courage to ask Alastor for a special favor.

No part of him understood your motivation, but the idea of making the king of hell pussy-whipped to his darling was understanding enough. And, of course, the pleasure of watching you enjoy yourself. While he was capable all his own, he was happy to allow someone else to fill in. Not to mention—- no, actually, definitely mention the fact it would give him a little more power in the tense dynamic between himself and Lucifer.

For Alastor, sharing you physically wasn’t an issue. Sex was something he did for your pleasure, though he did enjoy the control he held over you in those intimate moments.

Watching you mewl under someone else, knowing he gave the permission, that Lucifer would never have a chance in Hell if The Radio Demon didn't allow it, made his head dizzy with the loss of blood flow. Whatever pleasure Lucifer could give you was pleasure he has granted you both. The idea of someone pining for you but never having a chance unless he says so made him feel powerful.

“I have a request, of sorts.” You tried to keep your smile still, cheeks twitching with pure nerves. The room was lit by only two small lamps on either nightstand and the light coming from the half open bathroom.

Lucifer approached you, making a dramatic point of going past Alastor. The radio demon chuckled, the king of hell scowled. He placed one knee on the end of the bed, trying to forget this was the spot you shared most nights with Alastor. His smile encouraged you to continue.

“You can say no.” You added quickly. 

“Why would I ever do that?” Lucifer continued to smile at you, too sweetly for what you were going to ask.

“Many reasons.” You added quicker. 

“Come on, tell Luci.” He laughed softly at the idea of denying you anything.

You pressed the tips of your index fingers together nervously, “I want you to fuck me.”

He tried to blink but his eyelids only seemed to rise further and further up his face with every attempt.

“You what now?”

His eyes darted to Alastor, who was now crawling onto the bed and settling behind you. 

“It was a fairly straightforward statement, sir.” Alastor’s tone was always teetering on mocking when he addressed Lucifer, “My dear would like you, for some god awful reason, to bed her.”

If this hadn’t been such a shock, Lucifer would have quipped, “Oh because you can’t, you overdressed maitre d’?”

But when he opened his mouth, there was nothing. He just stared at you. Alastor’s long legs and lanky arms came down beside you, behind you. You looked like the enticing light of an angler fish’s lure, sharp teeth shining just over your shoulder. 

“I thought-,” he motioned between the two of you.

You nodded, “Alastor is happy when I’m happy. And right now, I’d be overjoyed to spend an evening taking care of you.”

Oh, why couldn’t you have said it so sweetly the first time? Take care of him? You always did. Every time he felt something lacking he’d find you close behind offering him just the thing.

Whether a smile, or supportive word, or just a sympathetic ear.

Shifting onto your hands and knees, you crawled toward Lucifer. His face was flush, his brows knitted together in some mix of worry and confusion.

“You don’t have to do that, kitten. I don’t need that.” He reached out a hand to touch your cheek but stopped himself; he’d never touched you before. He had gone out of his way to avoid it, because he couldn’t bear what it would do to him. He’d just be hurting himself, he had thought. His hand began to pull away but you reached out with both of yours and took hold of his wrist.

“I don’t have to do anything, ever, Luci,” Alastor’s grin widened as you said it. A hum of approval only he could hear. A silent, ‘That’s my girl.’

“This is about what I want.” You leaned up to rest your cheek in his open palm, “I’ll accept any answer from you.” Your eyes staring up at him promised safety, “So, what do you want?”

He buried his face in his free hand, opening his fingers to look over you once more. In the shade of the canopied bed, Alastor sat motionless. But Lucifer couldn’t see him, not because of the shadows but because his focus was so purely on you. He had absolute tunnel vision, which happened often when you two would speak. Lucifer made a low sound, coming from somewhere deep in his chest,  hidden beneath all his shame and sense of inadequacy.

Your question was answered as he removed his hat, tossing it to the chaise lounge near the wall. You sat back on your legs and gave him space to remove his coat. Your heart seemed to double its pace, skin practically vibrating. A not-insignificant part of you expected a gentle but firm, “kindly fuck off.”

He seemed to be avoiding eye contact as he pulled his bow tie loose, only returning his knee to the bed when he’d kicked off his boots. Just the shifting of the weight of the bed made your thighs twitch, finally. Alastor leaned backed and watched, Lucifer’s gaze was full of uncertainty as he crawled to you. 

Hilarious. Already worth the price of admission. 

Both on your knees, you leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on Lucifer’s lips. Pulling back, you looked at him and he felt like we’re looking at the sun. Your face was so bright, and warm. What light were you reflecting back at him? Surely not his own. That was long dead. Long buried under bruised wings and lost promises. 

You snaked your fingers into his hair and brought him in for a deeper kiss. When you bit gently on his bottom lip, he shakily opened his mouth. Your grin spread across both of your faces as you pushed your way past his lips.

Lucifer’s tongue was long, and tapered more than you’d expected. It moved, unsure, against yours. Your hands slunk out of his hair and down his chest, sliding until finding the buttons of his vest. 

You felt him gasp into you, and when you began to open his shirt he pulled away, “It’s been… a very long time.”

A scream echoed in your skulll, your own scream, thankfully entirely in your mind. He was so cute. So soft. He looked so worried, you wanted to rip him to pieces with affection. Was that possible? You were going to try.

Your hands fumbled over his belt, the tremble in your fingers making the pants button feel like an aptitude test. Your mouth returned to him, kissing down his cheeks and into the space under his jaw. Finally you could slip your hand down into his pants, and you hissed without thinking.

He was painfully hard, throbbing head pressed into his skin. 

Did you do this? Had you gotten the King like this with just a question and a kiss? Tip nearly purple with pressure, you rested your forehead on his collarbone and watched his stomach jump as you wrapped your fingers around it.

Alastor fought back a laugh, tongue nearly cut clean off with the attempt. This was better than he had expected. And he had just the idea to push it over the top.

When your head dipped to swipe your tongue over Lucifer’s cock, you both startled at the sudden sound of music. First you looked to the radio, then to Alastor.

One hand was loosening his bow tie, the other unbuckling his pants. 

“Don’t stop on my accord,” he bit his bottom lip, watching your attention return to Lucifer’s lap.

Lucifer raised a finger in protest, “I wasn’t aware this was a group activity.”

“The more the merrier.” Alastor whipped his belt off and tossed it to the floor, other hand pulling his member free.

“Three’s a crowd.” 

“Two heads are better than one.” When Alastor lifted your robe away and sunk himself into you, no preparation, you moaned into the blonde hair at the base of Lucifer’s cock.

Your breath over his shaft and now down his balls made his hips buck against you. Your hands gripped at Lucifer’s thighs, trying to get steady enough to return your mouth to his waiting heat. You could smell his arousal, your head dizzy with so many of your senses being assaulted by both men. 

“You okay, kitten?” A concerned hand came to your cheek. 

Your watery, lust clouded eyes met his, “It feels so good, Luci.” His dick jerked. When you finally managed to get him in your mouth his head fell back, legs under him twitching with the need to move along to the bobbing of your head. Lucifer was wider than Alastor, the corners of your mouth burning as you tried to take in as much of him as possible. 

Alastor’s hand raked long nails down your back, a whine ran from your throat and down Lucifer’s shaft.  He moaned in turn, trying to not connect the dots between himself and Alastor.

“I think you may need a little demonstration, from someone more–, “ Alastor leaned down, his face now inches from Lucifer’s. His hand wrapped around your neck, “experienced.” He pulled you up by your throat.

Lucifer watched, your knees no longer touching the bed as Alastor fucked up into you. One hand gripping your throat, one arm holding your body against his. Your face began to redden, and your thighs noticeably clenching as best they could, legs open and feet on either side of Alastor’s body. Lucifer winced, you looked pained, he wanted—

“Aa--Alastor,” Your voice was like honey, thick and sweet around Alastor’s name. Lucifer’s face fell flat, how could he have that? What did he need to do to have you say his name in such a debauched way? Why did that gangly sack of bones get all of the fun?

“See? She can handle more than you’d expect.” Alastor grinned, planting a kiss on your neck. You could see Lucifer watching through your wet eyelashes, his cock twitching repeatedly as his hand finally came down to touch himself. 

With the hand not holding onto Alastor’s wrist at your throat, you reached out for Lucifer. “Luci.” 

Alastor let you fall forward. Keeping your hips in the air and knees dangling just above the comforter, he continued his rough pace into your sopping cunt. Pulling your body on and off of his length with harsh drags he watched you lick from the base to the top of Lucifer’s member. Each thrust from him knocking your chin against it. 

When you popped the head back into your mouth and moaned around it from Alastor’s continued fucking, Lucifer gripped your hair with both hands. Alastor’s own erection jumped in you, the king of hell himself buckling from his dearest’s mouth. He could break him entirely by just pulling you off of Lucifer’s cock and refusing to return you. He was positive Lucifer would cry into his ruined orgasm if he did such a thing.

Tempting.

But, he promised to play along, for you. And he would, at his own terms. 

He pushed aside the thought entirely, instead returning to the task in front of him. Your tongue was pinned down when Lucifer was in your mouth, cock too fat to allow any room for movement. You abandoned trying to suck him off, and changed tactics to lick and kiss the sensitive flesh in your hands. 

Lucifer’s mind was—- he wasn't sure where exactly. His consciousness splintered around you. The feeling of you; your tongue was swirling around him, the first contact he’s had other than himself in literal years. The sound of you; your soft moans and huffs were both audible and physical, the hot breath ghosting over him. The sight of you; head in his lap as he leaned back, your ass in the air and making a satisfying slapping noise every time– 

Alastor. His eyes met Lucifer’s and a wicked grin took hold of his features. Lucifer could practically hear Alastor whisper across your body, ‘Watch this.’ Maybe Alastor had thought it, but he kept it to himself. 

Your hands began pumping Lucifer’s length while your body was slightly dragged away as Alastor backed up and let your knees find some solid ground again. 

Lucifer sat on his legs still, eyes flitting from between your face to the place you and Alastor connected. He could see Alastor disappearing inside you, and every intrusion had you gasping and mewling into the blankets. Your hand was still gently stroking him with outstretched arms, eyes clenched close.

Alastor smirked up at Lucifer, coming down over your back to reach around your body and find your clit with his middle finger. Immediately, you reacted. Legs squeezing together, hands stilling around your king’s cock. With a bite and lick to your shoulder blade, the radio demon set a bruising pace against you. That warmth in your core was spreading down as you felt him press against your cervix with every kiss of his hips. 

You choked out his name, a chant Lucifer had never wanted to hear before now. How could you make Alastor’s name sound so delicious? He wrapped his fingers around yours on his dick and began moving with you. Your eyes rolled up to him, a weak smile forming before your orgasm made your jaw lock. Alastor knew your body so well, bringing you to orgasm was like playing a well practiced song on the piano. Both required strong and fast fingers and a sense of rhythm. 

With a few more deeper, shorter moves Alastor stilled, too. Your knees slid down as your hips sank into the bed. 

Lucifer let your hand go limp, swallowing hard. He wasn’t ignorant to the way Alastor smiled at him as he reclined into the headboard, tucking himself back into his pants. 

“I have complete faith in you, for once.” Alastor teased Lucifer, hand motioning to your still limp body. His smile seemed to dare Lucifer, challenge him, to keep going even with Alastor’s release sitting pretty in you. 

Luci took a deep breath, steadying himself mentally, before pushing the hair from your forehead, “Hey there, kitten. What do ya need?”

With an uncharacteristic hunger in your eyes, you forced your line of sight up to him, “You, Luci.” Visibly shuddering, you sat up and brought your legs towards him, your knees touching each other in an odd display of shyness. Your hand felt at your entrance, Alastor’s seed just beginning to find its way from your relaxed walls. 

“Is it okay?” You asked, spreading the thick fluid between your fingers in front of Luci. 

Something between a grimace and a pout came over him, it wasn’t his ideal situation but the idea of — just how much he’d slip and slide between your folds with the added lubrication made him feel feral. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Alastor hoped to ruin you and sour his experience. He decided to not allow it. 

With a kiss to his nose, you wrapped your arms around his neck and lied back. You weren’t sure you were breathing anymore when you felt his scorching head slot up with your entrance. He rubbed the leaking fluid over himself and you with swipes up and down your lips. The difference between his heat and the cooled cum made him shiver in turn. 

As he began to press into you, your body instinctively scooted away. It took both of your hands hooked under his arms to stay still enough for him to make any real headway. 

Luci stopped, your face clearly pained. Your head shook in response, “Please, you just have to keep going. I’ll adjust.” While both of his heads swelled with pride – Alastor’s cock clearly smaller – Luci didn’t notice the wild eyes of the radio demon. 

Alastor brought a hand to his face, red eyes peering between his spread fingers, smile threatening to break at the seams as he watched Lucifer Morningstar fucking his cum into his darling doe. 

 What a pitiful sight. How humiliating.

What would Charlie think of her big bad daddy? What would the other sins say? If they could see their king now, slick and shiny?

Your nails cut into his skin, and you were sure you were tearing slightly. Instead of attempting to thrust his way in, he chose to just continually press. The way your body seemed to be splitting made you second guess your decisions. But when his head finally popped in, your hole got some reprieve. He stopped, taking deep breaths. 

Tears were collecting on your waterline, Luci noticed and leaned on an elbow to wipe them away. His blonde hair was falling forward now, tickling at your forehead. 

You nodded, answering a question he didn’t ask, and he continued to force your walls open to accommodate him. The only sound in the room was the soft instrumental jazz number playing from atop the dresser. Your voice was stuck in your throat, Luci was focusing too hard to form words. Alastor could speak, but the music was just too enjoyable to interrupt. 

Finally, after what could have been two minutes or twenty, you felt Luci bottom out. You had to just lie there for a second, never having felt something so solid in your otherwise soft body. No slight to Alastor, who was perfectly skilled in his abilities. Luci was just—- more than you had expected. 

As he pulled out, you thanked the heavens and hell and the rings within that Alastor had left you so wet and already softened. The first few thrusts were genuinely uncomfortable, the pleasure you felt almost entirely mental, drawn from the reality of who was pulling your insides back and forth. You were so tight around him that he too was almost pained; so much pressure but no way to move enough to get any release.

Slowly, the ring of your entrance relented and Luci could finally move at a normal pace. He would take himself out to his head before slipping back in. Every thrust made your body spread around him, a semi-truck through a field of sunflowers. Your body didn’t stand a chance, and you were grateful he chose gentleness for his entrance.

He leaned back on both hands, using the position to fucked up into you at an angle. He knew very well where to hit to begin gathering your pleasure.

Alastor dropped his head, yours between his legs. His hair made a short curtain, hiding the look he was giving you from Luci. He adores the faces you make when you are happy. Excited. Pleasured. You tried to offer him a smile, but you couldn’t manage it for long. Your eyes would wretch shut, lips tighten as you focused on the feeling Luci was providing. Focused on the sensations, of being so full, so wet, so wanted. But Alastor was still watching, the sight of Luci blocked from his view as he enjoyed every little twitch of your mouth, every whimper. 

It wasn’t jealousy, it was something more personal that stung Luci. While he couldn’t actually discern the looks you two gave each other, Luci felt very much the odd man out. But, he considered his position. Literally. He was leaning as far from your body as he could. He remembered the way you said Alastor’s name. Alastor had showed him exactly what to do, albeit in his usual obnoxious, showy fashion.

Sitting up, Luci adjusted your legs and slotted himself between them. Alastor leaned back, relinquishing your focus. Both of you looked at Luci though as one of his hands came to enclose your throat.

Alastor was almost impressed. Almost. You brought both hands to wrap around his wrist, glancing to Alastor behind you.

The words came out of Alastor as half warning, half instruction, “If she needs you to stop, she’ll tap two fingers twice on you, wherever she can reach.” Lucifer nodded, eyes not meeting Alastor’s. He kept them on your face, watching for any sign of distress as he tightened his grip. The way your pussy clenched around him earned you a hiss.

He began to move again, the new position causing him to rub against your clit as he buried himself in you. More clenching; He tightened his grip more. 

“Are you sure she isn’t hurting?” Luci asked, your eyes closed and nails digging into his wrists.

“Nonsense. Can’t you feel her? Or does she just grip me like that?” The cocky expression made Luci unconsciously clench his fist on your neck. A gentle tap tap snapped him back to you. He loosened up again, his eyes large and apologetic.

You tightened your own grip on his dick, grinding up into him for more friction. Your body had finally relaxed, pleasure freely flowing from where you and Luci tangled together. You closed your eyes, the pressure constant on the veins to your head. Blood flow restricted just enough to lower your oxygen levels and raise the nitrogen oxide in your body. It resulted in a dizzying feeling, maybe there was a primal panic that caused your body to feel heightened pleasure. You didn’t feel scared, or in danger. You felt —— ah there it was. You felt weak. You felt docile. You felt like you existed purely to give pleasure and the idea turned you on. In every day life you’d never allow someone to use you, to push you around. You were anything but subservient. That’s why it was so enthralling now. It was so strange a sensation. And to give yourself so fully to the king of hell, the originator of all sin? You groaned, head rolling back. 

Luci watched your head loll, drank in your groans and gasps and felt himself get dizzy too. More. Say his name like you did Alastor’s. Praise how well he fucked you. Reward him. Love him.

He pulled out suddenly, his head leaving you for the first time since it managed to fit in initially. Luci put both hands on your hips and directed you to roll onto your stomach. He pulled your ass up, knees bent. You crawled up enough to rest your forehead on the crook of Alastor’s leg, one lazily outstretched and the other bent under him slightly. Luci wasted no time pushing back in. He leaned over you and pressed his hand into your back, forcing your chest to be slightly crushed into the bed. He pulled out and slammed back into you, tearing a yelp from you as he hit deeper than he had before. 

He stopped, unsure, until he felt your hand reach under yourself and rest at the junction of his knee and calf. His other hand came to your right hip, and he used it to keep you from sliding up the bed. Letting his eyes close again, he focused on the feeling of you around him. His crotch and thighs were soaking wet, his balls tight against him. Every drag out of you made his body jerk back into you with need. It felt so good, too good. He needed more. He pressed hard into you, oversized tip of his cock threatening to push past your cervix. He made shorter thrusts now, ensuring he bottomed out every time. It was too deep, too much of a stretch. Your moans slowly devolved into screams, the pleasure mixed with a soft burning. 

You could feel him spreading open your womb. The feeling of your cunt pressing down on him from all sides including the front was driving him mad.

You were screaming. Actual, pleasured screams, threatening to alert the entire hotel to your activities. Screams that started shrill and dipped into a gutteral cry filled the room with every thrust of Lucifer’s frenzied hips.

A tiny part of your brain felt embarrassed, a dying animal shrieking into Alastor’s thigh.

An ever shrinking part of Lucifer existed too, the piece of him too preoccupied with your two fingers on his leg to enjoy you. It got smaller and smaller, no longer a blockade to his pleasure, but a safety net allowing him to walk the tightrope of sadism.

The radio’s volume dial rolled, smooth jazz now blaring and drowning out your painfully pleasured cries. Alastor was fine with allowing someone to take care of your needs at his permission but strangers had no business enjoying your sounds.

As Luci became lost in the sensation of your wet pussy trying to suck him in whole, his hand on your back began to press down. Your breaths got shorter, it got harder to expand your lungs fully.

Face turned and drooling onto the fabric of Alastor’s pants, you started gasping out his name, “Luci! Nngh Luciiii, Lucifer.”

Your lips dropped his name and it fell like lead into his thoughts. He fought the urge to close his eyes again as he felt his orgasm building. He watched your flushed skin jump beneath every punishing thrust, his name a spell you could now barely whisper, not enough breathe to scream. Your upper body was entirely buried into the mattress. It felt like your back might snap with Luci’s loss of control. You kept your hand on his leg, ever ready to tap out.

The yellow of his eyes turned red, just like the skin of your ass where his hip bones chaffed. “You take me so well, kitten.” He ground out, “Daddy’s gonna cum.”

Alastor’s eyes glowed a blood red from the end of the bed, a wickedly devious grin across his face at the opportunity before him, he looked up at Luci and said with a commanding tone, “Cum.”

Luci was already over that peak when his eyes flew up to catch Alastor’s, it was too late to stop his orgasm. He was helpless to disobey, despite his now desperate desire to never cum again. With a moan, and a hiss, he pressed your body fully into the mattress. Your body now flush, he waited until his cock stopped jerking his long overdue seed into your bruised womb.

Luci lied on top of you even after you were full to the brim with his cum. It was already forcing its way out around his softening cock when he managed to roll off of you and onto his back.

Staring at the canopy of the bed, he felt two emotions rise to the surface. First, concern. He turned to you, and you gave a weak thumbs up.

Second, rage.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Fuck you.” He looked to Alastor, who was grinning as he pet your head, whispering something to you. 

“Little late for dirty talk, your highness.”

Lucifer growled, but Alastor’s palm pressed against his forehead and pushed him back down to the bed.

“I sleep on the left. I’d prefer you on the right.” he gently moved your head from his lap, “Beside me, my dear. A darling barrier.” Alastor didn’t look at Lucifer, just slid off the bed and walked into the en-suite bathroom. “No outside clothes under the comforter.” Alastor called from the bathroom before the sound of rushing water poured in.

You rolled onto your back, still catching your breath. Body sprawled out on the massive bed like a starfish.

Lucifer turned onto his side, hand caressing your arm. “Are you okay, kitten? I didn’t mean to lose myself like that.” He felt shame, like he had done something terrible. “And— I didn’t help you finish. That’s pretty shitty.”

But it fell away when you smiled back at him, “I feel great. Sore, but great all the same.” You let your fingers clumsily lace with his. “I really like you, Luci. And I don’t need to cum to enjoy myself. You can always try again, ya know?”

Lucifer felt his face grow warm, but couldn’t press you to clarify what exactly that meant before Alastor scooped you up and carried you to the bath.

There was a moment where he was alone, noticing the radio was back to a tolerable volume, the water splashing softly out of view. He felt out of place, like he had accidentally walked into a stranger’s home. He wasn’t sure what to do next, where to go from there when Alastor’s head popped back into the room, annoyed, “Are you coming or not? Those are clean sheets.”

༻Masterlist༺

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Sterek Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous AU - Stiles knows everything about dinosaurs--or at least, he thinks he does. When he wins a trip to Jurassic World, it's a dream come true, he just never thought that dream would turn into a living nightmare.

At Camp Cretaceous, he meets Derek Hale - the nephew of one of the park's major investors; Lydia Martin - an influencer who was invited there to promote the camp experience; Allison Argent - a famous athlete who is sponsored by Jurassic World; and Isaac Lahey - a quiet kid whose afraid of dinosaurs.

But a few days into camp, things aren't going as smoothly as they had hoped. The camp leaders--Derek's older sister, Laura, and Jordan--try to get in touch with their boss but they're unable to reach them. Laura tells the kids to stay in camp while they go talk to their boss in person.

While Laura and Jordan are gone, the ground shakes. The kids race to the balcony to see if they can see what dinosaur is making all the noise, but the trees are too thick. They decide to go to the lookout, leaving the camp just as the emergency message comes over the radio. "Asset containment breach."

Once up at the lookout, they watch as a brontosaurus marches through the trees, a little disappointed that that's all it was. But something seems wrong. Stiles says a brontosaurus wouldn't have that heavy of a footstep or that quick of a gait. As Stiles says this, the brontosaurus goes down and two staff members come running to the lookout, shouting at the kids to get down and run. Before they have a chance to do as they're told, the Indominous Rex attacks.

Scared and alone, they come up with a plan to make their way to the centre of the island, where the main area of the park is, dodging the Indominous Rex, an overly aggressive Carnataurus who's escaped her enclosure, Pteranodons, spooked Parasaurolophuses, and all the other dinosaurs that have escaped their enclosures as they hurry to the south dock where the ferries are evacuating everyone.

But time isn't on their side. Isaac is thrown from the monorail by a Pteranodon, the others are attacked by the Carnataurus, and when they finally make it to the dock, the last ferry is gone.

They're the only ones left.

No one knows they're alive. No one's coming for them.

They build a shelter from the ruins of Camp Cretaceous, but even with the Indomious Rex gone, they're not out of danger. The Indominous was only the beginning.

[factual-fantasy]

25 askskssss

@elegysonnet

I don't know anything about Geno so he's not currently in the AU. But if I gathered enough info maybe I could add him somehow. Like I did with Rosalina! :00

As for the Error Sans thing, I'm actually not personally a fan of all the crazy Sans AUs. Error Sans, Ink Sans, Dream Sans, Nightmare Sans, Fresh Sans, Geno Sans, Horror Sansss,,, uhg, I'm personally not a fan. So none of these world destroying Sans or other similar individuals exist in my Multiverse. So my squad doesn't have to worry about them <XD

My redesign plans for Kinger was just to give him a fluffier coat basically XD And I didn't have anything in mind for Jax..

Also thank you! :DD

@deadspooderman (I blocked out the art, I don't wanna be a reposter!)

I think I've watched a few episodes before but I don't remember them..

Although I can see myself liking that Sensei character. XD What's his name.. Sensei Wu..?

Thank you, I hope the same for you! :DD

As for Jevil, the poor guy's currently still awake at like 2 AM to keep the groups fire going.. :(

GASSPPP.. THEY CELEBRATE HIS BIRTHDAY??? RUNNING TO NETFLIX RN-

@milk-powrit

Right now the main difference that I made up is that Undertale humans are significantly more powerful than Deltarune Humans.

DR Humans and Monsters are the same in terms of strength. For example, Kris and Susie's soul are of the same value and strength. Because they're both Lighteners. They're one in the same.

Meanwhile in Undertale, Humans and Monsters are very different creatures. Determined UT Humans, even determined children have the power to rewrite time. Meanwhile I headcannond that DR humans, even if they had determination.. cannot rewrite time like Frisk can.

All of this is completely made up and doesn't really align with the games, I'm aware- its just some fun XDD

@octonauts16

Becuase I haven't felt like it XD

THANK YOU!!! :DDDD I'M GLAD YOU LIKE WHAT YOU SEE! :DDD

@beryl-shade

I feel like canon Seam definitely does. But my Seam and Jevil don't have stuffing. The two of them are very much organic creatures with flesh and blood.

Spamton is fleshy too kind'a.. Spamton is a living creature but maybe less fleshy and more... bone..y...?? They're all strange XDD

Thank you! I don't intend on drawing anything new for my Kirby AU.. but who knows, maybe I will someday? Or heck maybe if I can remember to, I could dig around for some of the doodles I already made for it? :0

Also its not a FNAF comic that I'm working on.. but thank you anyway! <XD

He's meant to sound like a pirate, soooo yesn't? <XD Also thank you!

Ah, that's my bad. I've unblocked her. But take note! Part of the reason why I probably blocked that person was also due to a lack of posts. You're on Tumblr man, you gotta reblog stuff!

Ah don't worry, I'm likely to get back around to Octonauts sometime soon :}}

Upon Googling them I think I recognize them! I like the green one XDD

WAIT!! WHAT IF THEY'RE LACTOSE INTOLERANT???

@2006-stupid-thatsme

oooo that's a good question.. uhhhhh.... currently? I'd say maybe its the FNAF AU I've got going on :000

By father I assume you mean Natquik? If so, Barnacles was never angry or resentful towards him. My version of Barnacles thought Natquik was dead, because he disappeared many years ago and no one had any idea where he went..

Barnacles was rather grief stricken over Natquik. He wondered for years what happened to his old mentor and friend..

When it turned out he was alive, and had just been stranded in the Antarctic all these years? It was heartbreaking. Barnacles was so happy to see him alive but also so saddened by the situation he had been in for so long.. Barnacles immediately set to have the Gup-I repaired and a solid radio connection between it and the Octopod to be established.

Later on when he formed the Octo-agents. I headcannond that the very first person Barnacles went to recruit was Natquik. Telling him all the benefits of being an Octo-Agent. And he would say things like "If something ever happens to you out here, we have the funds and the means to be out here in less than an hour. If you're ever hurt o-or sick? We can be here. We can help you. You'd never be alone again.."

Natquik took the offer partially because Barnacles would clearly be more at ease if he did. But also to have a secure connection to the outside world? And if that connection is ever lost, a team of capable individuals will immediately go and search for him? It was just too good to pass up.

@djadecutie

When I get back around to the comics it will be just like it was before. A comic probably split into 2-4 parts and uploaded when ever I'm able to finish them. 🤷‍♂️

Also thank you! :DD

@crimson-thinker

What's Foxy's grief stereotype/virus method? I'm not quite sure I understand the question so forgive me if I give the wrong answer.. But I'm thinking that means "what is Foxy's mental situation in the swap AU?" If that's the case, his mental state can be described in 1 sentence. "He refuses to move on."

Partial Swap Foxy was deeply effected by the loss of Freddy and Chica. So much so that he kind'a acts like.. they're still around.?

The other animatronics have cut out anything Freddy/Chica related in their lives. But for Foxy, the act of removing/avoiding everything Freddy/Chica related just makes the grief more painful. To him it feels like he's discarding their memory. Like doing that is saying they didn't matter or shouldn't be remembered. It just makes them feel more dead..

Foxy is the only animatronic that will go back to that old show stage. Sometimes in his darkest times he will talk to the stage. As if Freddy and Chica are still standing on it and can hear him..

When talking to Gregory, he is similar to Freddy. Acting all chipper and like nothing is wrong. Though if Freddy and Chica are mentioned.. he wouldn't avoid the subject like Freddy would. He would talk about them, even if it rips him up from the inside. He would answer all of Gregory's questions about them and tell him stories. Even if it brought him to tears and their memory was almost too painful to bear. Foxy refuses to let go of the past. And despite how painful it is, he keeps dragging the past around with him like a dead weight. Freddy does the same thing but as he drags the past around he refuses to look at it. If.. If that makes sense--

Basically- Freddy and Foxy are both stuck in the past. But Freddy refuses to acknowledge that he is. And Foxy openly acknowledges it, even if it kills him inside..

(Also note: The main obstacle that Foxy would pose to little Vanessa is that Foxy is faster than Bonnie. And as a Glamrock, Foxy is pretty tough. So if he finds out that Bonnie is hiding a child in his stomach hatch? Well.. he might just have the means necessary to catch Bonnie and rip her out.. :x )

For the second question! Partial swap Freddy is more openly miserable than Classic Bonnie, yes.. But he doesn't miss the singing and the spot light. He misses his friends and making kids happy.

Seeing how sad all his friends are.. seeing how messed up Foxy is.. how defeated Bonnie is.. that's what depresses him. That's what makes him cry..

Thank you! I'm so glad you like him! :DDD

I imagined that Freddy just threw the old clothes away. They were really dirty and torn and Gregory didn't care about them.

He probably took some trash out of a bin, put the clothes in and then put the trash on top. Effectively burying the clothes so that no one would see it.

AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! :DDDD✨💜💖✨

@ocinstituterep

1: ReBLOGS, are allowed. RePOSTS, are NOT allowed. 👌

2: My Glamrock Freddy is probably pretty depressed :( and his depression has had years to develop and get slowly worse. 7-10 on the depressing scale.

But partial swap Freddy? His life just came crashing down. So he may also be depressed now, but he hasn't had any time to really develop it. Probablyyyy a 4-10?

@dragon-fly34

I'm glad you like my AU! But sorry! I don't take requests and I don't personally support that ship.. <:/

[fastcardotmp3]

watching too much of TLOU has me thinking of a stranger things au where the Upside Down wins the war before the Party ever has the chance to fight in it, right? so like. hear me out.

the UD makes it's go at invading topside when the older kids are young, like just old enough to remember what the world was like in the before, but the younger kids, the original party? They've never seen a version of this world that wasn't dark skies and crimson lightning and learning how to fight off monsters at the same time you're learning how to ride a bike.

It's not just Hawkins, Indiana that's been overcome by these forces that no one knows how to stop, although those of them trapped here at the point of origin by the military forces that started trying to shut it all down a decade-plus ago can't be positive just how far it reaches.

There are rumors of cities on the coasts still intact-- a California sunset in a clear sky, the water clean without having to go through intense filtration and people just going about living their lives without carrying three weapons on their person at all times, without preparing to run at the drop of a hat.

There are rumors of places that the twisting vines of a malicious consciousness can't reach, and there have been rumors like that for as long as Steve Harrington can remember.

But he doesn't believe them.

The Earth split open when he was nine years old and took his childhood with it, cracked the whole thing open and swallowed down the future of a boy who liked to play sports and sit on the counter while his mother cooked dinner to loud music on the radio.

The Earth split open and took her with it, leaving Steve a lonely kid made angry by his loss and made mean by his anger.

He comes of age in chaos, in military housing for kids with nowhere else to go, free soldiers to raise for killing, and they like him there. They like that he doesn't form attachments to the other kids, like that he's got a sharp tongue, like that he isn't afraid of a fight even when it's one everyone knows he'll lose.

They like that he's got a tough exterior, because they don't know what's hiding behind it. They don't see the him behind the bared teeth and snarling words until he falls in love with a girl in town.

Until they get wrapped up in a conspiracy because her best friend is missing and a kid named Byers is missing too and Steve's entire worldview gets dropped on its head because suddenly all the anger he has over his mother's death has a place to go other than fighting.

Nancy Wheeler slaps him and Jonathan Byers kicks his ass and they both break his heart a little bit and Steve realizes somewhere amidst heartbreak turning to friendship that they're angry too, but they're using it to help.

There aren't a lot of options for a kid without a family in a place like this, ravaged by monsters with too few resources to go around, but Steve isn't a boy that does things by halves, so leaving the training school is something of a no-brainer.

There are rumors about cities on the coasts that never had to face Hell crawling out of the ground, and Steve doesn't believe them when he stumbles his way into a cabin off the main drag of occupied Hawkins and into a half-decent living situation.

He doesn't believe them when he meets Robin Buckley while they're both trying to earn a few extra meal cards for their families doing shit grunt work that no one else wants, no one but the desperate among them.

He still doesn't believe them when a boy and his uncle, the girl named Chrissy they picked up along the way, come passing through town saying they're on a journey out West towards the rumored Free Zones.

For years he keeps not believing, keeps holding onto the understanding of the world in which this happened everywhere and no matter where they had been, his mother would still have died, that there was no saving her, that he couldn't have--

For years he believes, but Max starts having these nightmares...

And the cracks in the Earth begin to widen...

And everything goes to shit again again again again--

The Munson's have a mobile home and so does Hopper.

Joyce thinks with Eddie's help she can grab a third to be able to fit them all comfortably.

There are rumors about cities on the coasts, and maybe Steve can find a reason worth believing them now.

[palettehao]

I wanted to write some notes as I listen to Being Different and You're The Heart for the first time, and then together since the new discovery !!

(I don't know the technicals of music making, so this is just me sharing what emotions and thoughts the songs evoked in me ig..... I got real analytical by the end)

•Being Different

The beginning sounds very empty as if you're in a large, vacant room, the only sound being a draft of air

This song in general sounds very sad and even unsettling at times (giving me a bit of little nightmare vibes) with how the "beeping" sound is almost alien-ish or even reminds me of a hospital, plus it is very distorted

Around 2:38 is when the song really starts to feel unsettling, which also sounds like someone humming, but underwater like a sad song no one will hear.

This noise of the "humming" also starts after it sounds like a flatline on a heart machine

That beeping sound (a heartbeat?) Never stops even after it has "flatlined" it simply is overcome by the sad humming

What's interesting is before the flatline, the song actually picks up in a hopeful way, then cuts to being a sad drowning

I feel like this song, mainly towards the end, is exactly what it sounds like to sink. The song gets very heavy and distorted, I think it's even played backwards?? It's like throwing a radio in the deep end, and somehow it still sings while sinking further and further into the darkness of the unknown.

It feels like being forgotten, yet trying your best to live a happy life, perhaps to the point of fooling yourself you are, but you aren't and that lonely feeling of being different is like water flooding your lungs.

The song really does feel unfinished since it ends without much climax, the climax you do have ends suddenly after it swells into something hopeful, but instead it ends with the same sad humming till it drifts off into nothing for several seconds.

On my many listens that hopeful music does come back in the end, but paired with the humming it doesn't feel as good, it feels fake and much like it's building to something else before again getting cut off to turn into nothing.

•You're The Heart

Given the name, this song does not start off as I thought it would. I expected it to be overly happy or hopeful, kinda sweet sounding

It's a melancholy beginning and I think having it develop with that ringing, and weird whining sound it mimics a cry a bit

Then it starts to build, there's a sound that's like flapping that turns to quick tapping that grows into the main raising and falling synth (Another heartbeat??)

The beginning of this build up is very intense, like it actually feels heavy in a 'whats about to happen' kinda way, I can feel the pressure building in my chest during this part

It stays intense from 1:20 to 2:30. And this intense sound makes me feel like I'm running from something I can't see, like it's more of a feeling than a monster or something because it sneaks up on you unexpectedly, and it's a very gradual build up that only gets more impending the longer it goes on for.

it's only once the chime comes in does it start to feel slightly whimsical, giving the song an almost charming take amongst the intensity

At 2:30 when the chime really takes over, and the rapid rising and falling synth gets placed is when the song turns hopeful in the sweet way I originally expected, but a lot grander. It comes after the intensity that feels overpowering, and is overtaken by this hopeful and beautiful ending as it swells naturally in the end.

The few seconds at the end really make me feel so good, I can't even explain it, it's just so loud and beautiful. I wish I had a better way to describe the ending because it really is gorgeous and feels like a proper, good ending unlike the sad one we get from Being Different

Not at me struggling to fully grasp this song with words just like with Mike lmao

The song goes from melancholy, to intense (maybe fearful), to hopeful and grand

•Being Different + You're The Heart

First thing first, THE PERSON HUMMING IN BEING DIFFERENT NOW HAS A SONG TO HUM ALONG TO

I'm being so serious when I say I teared up realizing this ^^^ the humming in its own song feels isolated, alienated if you will, and comes off sad/unsettling. But when combined with the beauty and hopefulness that comes from You're The Heart it sounds so perfect, like it's meant to be there to further the sweet and hopeful swelling, to make it really whole.

The humming only feels right when paired with the heart

It feels like the humming sways with the instrumental of You're The Heart, I can't even make this up it simply belongs there and it truly feels like that.

I wanna say the humming being isolated other than being paired with the faint heartbeat sound (in Being Different) is like that person was singing along to their own, lonely heart, but adding it to You're The Heart (which also has heartbeat elements) and suddenly it feels angelic. That person no longer has to be alone, because they found their other half, a song to sing to rather than the beat of their own heart, they were a sad sound on their own that seemed out of place, they felt different as if they didn't belong, but then they found a song out of the blue that suited them and their sad melody perfectly, now the sad tune was a happy, hopeful one.

The first time a hopeful tone is built up in Being Different comes at the same time as the sudden intensity of You're The Heart -

Even after the flatline in Being Different the music is still growing, it doesn't get cut off, the heart doesn't stop or become faint it gets louder!!

God the build up of these two songs together feel like a combination of airy hopefulness mixed with an intense anxiety, it feels like there is an emotional story being told here and those emotions are fighting each other, however by the end of the song which one is louder? Which one wins?

Spoiler alert; it's the beautiful, straight from heavens gate melody that matches the lonely humming and pulls the person singing out of the dark water.

[its-deputy-caleb]

Hi! I would like to request a John Seed x Deputy/Reader fic please! I was thinking that the Reader is staying the night at John’s house and in the middle of the night she has a bad nightmare. When John wakes up and notices her, he helps to comfort her. He pulls her into his arms, whispering calming words, and caressing her hair until they fall asleep again. Thank you! :)

okayyy so i'm combining these two ideas cause i thought they worked nicely together. i kinda hate how this turned out cause i haven't written proper far cry 5 content since 2019 so it's rusty, basic and doesn't flow the best. bc of this i kinda reverted to gender neutral reader since i'm more comfy with that but you can def read it as fem so pls enjoy ya'll.

John Seed x Reader — Nightmares

The sound of the radio clicking off lingers in the car, leaving a ringing in yours ears that’s come to be familiar whenever silence settles over you. For a moment, everything is still as you sit in some borrowed car, contemplating your entire choice to drive to the Seed Ranch at the sight of lights flickering in the main wing of the house.

What the fuck are you doing here?

John’s not supposed to be a friend. Your whole job description these days is ‘take out every seed sibling’ and yet here you are, wandering up to the front door to unlock it and gently let yourself inside. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve arrived at john’s house late at night.

You’re aware of the ache in your body, the pain shooting up your side from the litter of bruises that now feel like apart of your body— not to mention the numerous bandages that are long overdue for a change.

The ache eases a little as your bags are dropped at the door, allowing you to roll your shoulders as you wander into the living room. The change is immediate, from the warmth of the fire to the soft carpet under your shoes. It’s a stark contrast from the harsh outside of Hope County and some part of you is starting to think of this place at home.

Taking in your surroundings like its the first time you’ve seen the place, you notice the gentle flicker and glow of the warm fireplace, the scattering of eden’s gate books amongst the law encyclopaedias and the music which floats up into the vaulted ceilings. A gentle laugh bubbles out of you before being replaced with curiosity as you notice the vintage record player which surprisingly doesn’t play any Peggie music but gentle and soothing jazz. 

You don’t get to think on it as John arrives beside you, holding two glasses of whiskey and a genuine smile you’ve become so accustomed to when it’s just the two of you. His tattoos along his forearm and hand seem to dance as the fire flickers, and his hand extends to drop the glass into your hand.

He doesn’t say much, just looks at you lovingly and the gentle silence is something you’ve both come to enjoy. John’s far less talkative without his crowd of loyalist and of course the other siblings. There’s no need to uphold that confident, nonchalant and sadistic persona that so many have come to associate the youngest seed with.

“You’re stressed.”

John sips his whiskey, a little tsk sound leaving him as he pops the glass down onto the dining table. He takes your hand in his and leads you over to the couch to be closer to the fire, both of your cheeks now rosy as warmth washes over you.

His hands gently settle on your lower back, trailing up to your shoulders with nothing but fleeting brush of fingertips to start before he begins rolling and kneading at the knots in your shoulders.

A groan leaves you as you physically relax under his hands, your head lolling to the side so he can brush his thumb over your neck as he attends to your tight shoulders.

Warmth elopes you as John plasters himself to your back, his head coming to rest on your shoulder as he holds his hands and squeezes. He methodically rubs circles over your knuckles, starting from your hands and squeezing every drop of stress, strain and exhaustion from you as he works his way up to your forearms. 

You hum softly, encouraging him to continue the way up to your arms until he’s made it back to your shoulders. You soak up every bit of attention he gives you, visibly relaxing under his touch as you savour such a peaceful moment which is so rare in Hope County.

John leans back, making room to begin rubbing the same confident and soothing circles down your shoulder blades and along the ridges of your spine. The tightness is almost drawn out of you, leaving you a puddle of mush underneath his hands.

Eventually, he comes to wrap his arms around you in a tight hug, kissing up your neck and behind your ear. You can’t help but chuckle softly when John’s hair flops forward in front of his face, simultaneously tickling your neck as his polished look is unravelled.

The sound of your soft laugh seems to shift the air as John stands, once again taking your hand. 

“Come with me.”

John’s hand never leaves yours as he takes you up to his bedroom, leading the way despite having been there enough you could probably find it with your eyes closed. He reluctantly lets go so you can both remove your layers of weapons and clothes but not before he gently squeezes your hand.

John’s room is just as lush and exuberant as the rest of the house yet it’s more cozy and lived in despite the grand windows and king size bed. His clothes are littered on an ottoman, his hair products are scattered between the on-site bathroom and the cabinet nestled into the corner of the room. 

The bedroom large enough for John to have an informal desk to work at on his lazier days. It’s scattered with his written notes to Joseph and old legal cases combined, the wood is littered with coffee stains and chips from where John no doubt threw pens and highlighters in frustration.

John removed his waistcoat and drapes it over the desk chair before the two of you climb into his bed and melt into the soft, silken sheets.

Sleeping in John’s bed is lush, a luxury you’re unaccustomed to even before eden’s gate decided to ruin everyones lives with their doomsday cultist act. No deputy’s wage could ever get you something as lavish as this— hell it barely covered the mortgage on your tiny one bedroom in the Henbane.

The blankets are drawn up over the two of you as John snuggles into your side, wrapping his arm around your torso to keep you flushed together. His soft, even breathing lulls you into sleep as your body relaxes into his warm and comforting embrace.

—

A butterfly wanders into your line of sight, a trail of bliss behind it as it wanders over to the Marshall and Virgil who are lying lifeless at the table in front of you.

Your heart drops at the sight. You’ve been here, seen this before— you saw what burke had done to Virgil and then to himself. 

You know this isn’t real, it’s not a quite a full dream and it’s not just the reminiscence of the bliss but each time you witness their lifeless bodies amongst the garden, you’re always too late— too weak to change the outcome.

The sound of Faith’s laughter all around you leaves bile in your throat and a heavy feeling in your chest. Her voice comes from all over, leaving you on the verge of hyperventilating as you start running away from the scene before you, or at least trying to you. Your legs don’t move as fast as you want, the grass swallowing up your shoes and leaving you in a swamp of bliss.

The air is heavy, thick with the toxic green bliss which has taken so many lives of those you’ve come to care about. 

In front of you, Faith stands in front of the gates, twirling on her heels before blowing a puff of bliss dust into your face and disappearing as fast as she appeared.

Your hands settle on the metal work of the gate, supporting yourself as you cough and heave from the chemicals blown in your face. Your chest aching and stinging with both heartache and poison.

Everything feels fuzzy, as if you’re losing the ability to control your own body as you begin to rattle the gates— needing to get out.

Nothing happens.

The gates are locked even as you shake them with all the energy you have left, the metal remains unmoved. Each time you pull on the chains holding everything together, the gates lock tighter— the grass looping around the metal work to lock it into the ground.

Panic starts to set in as the gates don’t budge— you’re stuck, there’s no way out as you’re swallowed up by the bliss. You’re screaming, crying out for anyone to come and save you. A last ditch attempt to bang on the gate and call out before you’re swallowed up by the bliss to become one of Faith’s angels.

— 

Jolting awake, you’re vaguely aware of that fact you’re still yelling and screaming but its muffled, distant and disoriented as if you’d truly been in the bliss just moments ago and not curled up in silk sheets.

The silk sheets. John.

You’re in his bed, in Holland Valley— his hands are cupping your face, soft blue eyes staring at you as the two of you rock together slowly.

Despite how sore your throat is, how wrecked it sounds, it tightens as a sob bubbles out of you and you collapse into his embrace. John settles onto the sheets, gently tugging you with him so your face is tucked into his shirt.

It occurs to you that his infamous blue shirt is being ruined by your tears but you don’t have it in you to care. Not when his clean and expensive cologne grounds you against the bliss which threatens to drag you under. His heart rate is rhythmic and steady and not to mention he emits warmth which only ushers you to snuggle in closer to him, with your nose pressed against his collarbone.

Arms are securely wrapped around your shoulders, tugging you just that much closer. John’s own nose is buried into your hair as he plants kisses into your hairline. His fingers brush away some of your hair which has gotten stuck to your temple with the layer of sweat that’s built up before he tucks it all neatly behind your ear.

John whispers gentle praises too you— sweet nothings which bring you back into your body. It’s nice, his voice is soothing and eases that fear from your chest, allowing you to focus on his on just the two of you together.

It feels like hours, but John never once complains. He stays awake with you, letting you cry and let it out. Every so often there’s another round of squeezes, of more kisses and more hushed whispers of how much he cares for you.

His smile into the mess of hair on top of your head is the last thing you register before your body finally slows down, exhaustion kicking in and you allow yourself to fall asleep in his arms for the second time that night.

[diana-bookfairchild]

@flufftober Day 21: Kiss For Good Luck

Ginny’s teammates ran amuck in the lockers.

Vaishnavi looked to be performing some sort of chant. Simone was drawing a pentagram on the floor, and Laura was. . . . fiddling with a radio?

“What’s going on?” The redhead asked Valerie, her closest friend on the team.

Ginny was the newly minted chaser of the Holyhead Harpies. Seeing as it had been her favourite team since childhood, her entire family had been ecstatic for her – except Mum and Ron. Mum fretted, like she did over all her children with dangerous careers: which was pretty much all of them, with the exception of Percy and maybe George. Ron, on the other hand, sulked about her not joining the Cannons. Ginny had pointed out that as a newbie, to be taken seriously, she needed to build a winning streak, not a losing one.

Ron had lost it. The ensuing events had not been pretty.

Honestly, Ginny was pretty relieved they could fight about petty meaningless stuff like that. It was better than the days of We-Should-Be-Allowed-In-The-Order-Too and We’re-All-Suffering-From-Spell Shock-Grief-and-PTSD-and-Taking-It-Out-On-One-Another.

Ginny got along well with all of her teammates, but none more than Valerie – born Valentine – Rutland, pureblood-by-definition witch (having one muggle grandparent), on the reserve team for less than two years and nearly as new to the main team as Ginny, who’d rebelled against Voldemort and his Death Eaters by using her family’s trunk business to give unlimitedly extended trunks to muggle-borns for them to hide in, and had lost an uncle during the Battle of Hogwarts.

The two women had bonded over loving quidditch and butterbeer, a lot of trauma and annoying brothers. Also amazing boyfriends.

“It’s the pre-game panic,” Val said, looking amused. Ginny had once asked her if the nickname reminded her of when her body hadn’t reflected her gender and her birth name, and her friend had denied it, saying that she had been lucky enough to have gotten a supportive family and an early Sex-Change potion. “Everyone has their own weird thing they just really have to do right before the game. Wait till Rhiannon gets here, nothing gets more ridiculous than hers.”

“What’s yours?” Ginny asked, interested. Hogwarts had nothing like this. The House League was pretty small time compared to something like this, she supposed.

Val hesitated before confessing in a small tone – “I like to look at my merchandise.”

“Val,” Ginny said in a mock horrified tone. “How arrogant. Merlin, fame really does get to one’s head.”

“Shut uuup,” Her friend whined. “Besides, says the girlfriend of The Man Who Conquered. You hypocrite.”

Ginny stuck her tongue out, even as she internally pulled a face. She loved being Harry’s girlfriend, being the Boy-Who-Lived turned The-Man-Who-Conquered turned Star Auror’s, though? More of a chore than anything.

Still. Harry was worth all the hassle, and much more. Harry was worth everything.

If she went back in time and told her ten-year-old self she’d grow to date the cute green-eyed boy on the platform, who just so happened to be Harry Potter, she’d probably explode. Ginny could only feel amused at the delusions of that naïve kid.

Harry wasn’t perfect. Ginny wasn’t either, for that matter. They fought over who took the last Cauldron Cake, over who had to do the dishes, over who had to tell Mum they wouldn’t make it to dinner; and much more serious matters – Harry hiding injuries, Ginny hiding nightmares, Ginny being left behind, Harry’s secrets, their careers.

But they also loved each other. Harry woke a complaining Ginny up to see a beautiful sunrise together, Ginny learned how to make her mum’s treacle tart for Harry, they fell asleep in one another’s arms even without sex, she held his hand when he landed in the hospital after one of his missions and Ron and Hermione held vigil beside the bed, Harry teased her about her childhood ambition to be a niffler and hippogriff hybrid, Ginny held Harry as he confessed that she had been the first one to properly tell him she loved him – Sirius had told him he and Harry’s parents loved Harry in passing during a long rant --, Harry screamed himself hoarse cheering for the Harpies, Harry helped Ginny document what she had been doing at which time in an effort to convince herself she wasn’t being possessed, and they played with Teddy and hosted his birthday parties.

And the sex was amazing. George often teased Harry and Ron for ‘settling early’ but she was pretty certain that he hadn’t shagged someone on a broomstick in the moonlight, while whispering his love. Not that she would know. She preferred staying out of her brothers’ sex lives.

Her relationship would be both less and much more than she had ever dreamed of during her childhood.

“What would yours be, then?” Val asked, breaking Ginny out of her reverie.

“My pre-game ritual? Better than yours, I’d reckon,” She smirked, and her friend rolled her eyes. Ginny considered the question. She didn’t feel the particular urge to do something new or neurotic. She felt nervous of course, but she also felt ready to go out there and prove herself.

Ginny loved being Harry’s girlfriend, but she wanted to be more than that. She wanted to be more than the girl who thought pouring her heart out to a diary that talked back and turned out to be the Dark Lord was a good idea. She wanted to do something she loved. She wanted her heart to pound, to be exhausted everyday but still get up and do it again, to be cheered on. She wanted a partner who could help her with her trauma, but still love her and respect her as a strong woman and her own person.

Harry was all that, and so much more. It was also good that he’d been family for a while, and so none of her brothers dared to disapprove.

“I don’t know,” She said finally. “Can’t really think of anything.” Val looked disappointed, and opened her mouth.

“WEASLEY!” Gwenog Jones yelled. “People for you. Get rid of them quickly!”

“As you command, Coach,” Ginny said, bowing dramatically and rushing out before Gwenog could react.

She wondered who it was as she hurried through the rooms – Gwenog would throw a fit if she was too late. A green blur suddenly threw itself at her, resolving all doubts.

“Ginny! Ginny!” The child shrieked.

“Teddy! Teddy!” Ginny imitated.

“We’re gonna see your game!” Teddy smiled his toothy grin while speaking in his childish voice, missing several letters. “Nana says to make sure ‘Ginny doesn’t break her head’.” His large green eyes, twinning with both Harry’s and the Holyhead Harpies merchandise he was covered in, blinked up at her. Every Weasley was a sucker for his eyes like that. “Whassa mean, Ginny?”

“Don’t listen to mum, Teddy Bear,” Ginny said seriously, kneeling in front of her boyfriend’s godson. “You know how adults say, like, super boring things?”

Teddy’s green hair melted into black – indicating sullenness – for a second, before rippling back. “Like grandmum’s bedtime?”

“Exactly,” Ginny said solemnly. “So we should just listen without thinking about it, or we’ll be punished.”

Teddy nodded just as solemnly, obviously forgetting his original question in commiserating with her.

“You’re a boring adult too now, Ginny,” Andromeda said dryly. “Come on Teddy, let’s go.”

“Never,” Ginny said, affecting a great deal of vehemence. Teddy hugged her, whispering good luck. She kissed him on his head.

As they left, both Harry and Ginny waved back at Teddy. Ginny turned to her boyfriend and gasped falsely. “My, my. The Harry Potter? Whatever did I do to deserve this?”

“I was looking for my girlfriend,” Harry said, grinning. “Have you seen her?”

“No,” Ginny murmured, sidling up to him. “Maybe I can be a … stand-in?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“I don’t know,” Harry said seriously. “She’s pretty irreplaceable.”

Ginny’s heart fluttered.

“Going to give the girlfriend a kiss for good luck?” She asked, dropping the pretense, and wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck. Harry’s hands came up to support her waist.

“Doubt she needs it,” Harry said. “She’s an extreme badass. I need one from her to make sure I don’t fall over the stands.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Don’t jinx it, Potter.” She paused. “And if it does happen, make sure you’re nowhere near Teddy. He’d take a dive after you.”

“How is it my fault that he decided a Gringotts cart was a good place to practice Muggle Superheroes?” Harry complained.

“We all know you telling him the story of your oh-so-wonderful heist was what inspired him, Harry,” Ginny scoffed. “You’d better not lose access to him.” She teased. Everyone knew there was nothing Harry could do that would make Andromeda cut him off. Teddy worshipped the ground he walked on.

“My access to Teddy what you’re dating me for, Weasley?” Harry asked in mock offense.

“What else is even there?” Ginny sighed.

“Well, I am the Chosen One.” Harry smirked.

“Oh, I’m swooning. Catch me, oh great Potter!”

“That’s Captain to you, Weasley.” He paused. “Maybe you do need that good luck kiss. From the youngest Seeker in centuries.”

“Former Captain, thank you very much. Who was it that captained Gryffindor to its win in their last year? And, oh yeah, who won the Cup the year you were Captain?”

Harry pouted. Ginny hated how much that made her want to kiss him. “No kiss then?”

“I’m afraid I can’t resist the famous Harry Potter charm.” Ginny got onto her toes and kissed him. He tasted of treacle tart – of course he did – and Ginny got the feeling she always did when they kissed. Harry nearly lifted her off her feet as they kissed fiercely.

“It’s patented,” Harry gasped for breath, and pressed kisses to her cheeks and jaw.

Ginny laughed at that. “I love you,” She said tenderly. She hated being emotional – came from all the masculine toxicity growing up, she supposed – but Harry changed that.

“I love you too,” Harry whispered. His tone was intimate, his voice was low and husky. Ginny could listen to it forever. She could hear the emotional vulnerability, the ‘my heart’s been broken enough, please don’t leave me too’ ringing through his words. Ginny kissed him again, one hand cupping his cheek, ‘I’m not. To the best of my ability. Not by my will. I promise.’

They parted, foreheads resting against one another. “You’re going to kick ass,” Harry promised. “You always do.”

Ginny hardly lacked in confidence. But when Harry told her that, it increased exponentially. “’Course I am,” She said. “You’ll be there? After the match?” She didn’t let the emotion through this time, but she knew Harry understood.

“Wild hippogriffs couldn’t stop me,” He said seriously. Ginny kissed him on the cheek, reluctant to leave him. But she was cutting it close. Their fingers were interlocked.

Harry slowly let her hand go, gaze never leaving hers. Ginny smiled at him. His lips quirked in response. She turned and went back to the locker room.

“So?” Val asked.

“So what?” Ginny shot back, grabbing her broom and keeping a ear out to the commentators’ talk.

“You look like you had an excellent pre-game panic,” Her friend noted.

“I didn’t do anything special,” Ginny protested, genuinely surprised.

“Well, your expression is the same as that,” Val said, jabbing her thumb at Vaishnavi, who now that she was done with her chants, was practically glowing and seemed determined to get out there.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Who was it for you?” Val asked, in investigator mode, apparently.

“Andromeda and Teddy. And Harry.” She felt her voice soften at his name.

“So that’s it,” Val smirked. “Pretty disappointing, Weasley.”

Ginny’s eyes furrowed. “What?”

“Harry. He’s clearly your pre-game nerves thing. Look at your face,” Val laughed. “The boyfriend, Ginny, really? How cliché.”

Ginny had to smile as she thought of Harry being her pre-game ritual. She wanted him to be there before every game. She wanted him for the rest of her life. “Personally? I think it’s pretty lucky.”

And lucky it was. They won the game. And Harry was always there, for the rest of both of their lives.

[bakugourising]

nope (2022) is on streaming i rewatched it :^)

“make you vile, make you a spectacle” oh ya love this quote

these horses are beautiful 

hollywood is such a nightmare this scene gives me such ick

oj is top 10 main characters of all time and im not even joking i love him

jupe on the second watch is very unlikable like he is feeding oj’s horses to an alien fuck off dude

“it was a spectacle people are just obsessed”

“he is a force of nature, he is killing it on that stage” :|

“i fuck one on occasion” lol

“what’s a bad miracle? we got a a name for that?” “nope” <3

theme: the power of giving something a name

“dyslexic ass” lol x2 em is so funny

“she booked a pilot on the cw” angel is so funny

angel: *ranting about aliens oj:“cool”

the characters in this movie r so good and play so well off each other like jupe and em r so funny and then angel asking them to give his service 5 stars it’s so good

such a scary scene and then it being the kids uhg i love it

also love that oj punches a kid and it’s actually not his fault

wow ghost is a beautiful horse

“what if it’s not a ship” he’s so smart and he’s so cool

i kno ppl don’t like the chimp stuff but i love the chimp stuff i think it works narratively with it being a jupe flashback of a pre established event, and is really important thematically (putting animals in positions where they are going to freak out and then killing them for it, using cgi instead of a real chimp cuz using a real chimp is bad, the rampage being already finished with (the chimp chose not to kill jupe because he didn’t look the chimp in the eyes/scare the chimp by running away and yelling) and only THEN does it get shot by the humans), it also establishes that jupe survived an animal attack once but doesn’t worry it will happen again with an animal (jeanjacket) that literally eats horses(which r as big as ppl! it could obviously eat people!)

“im gonna get lucky” oj is wonderful

“i swear on my wife and children’s lives” now don’t say that

“trained animals can be unpredictable”

like, jupe really thought it wouldn’t eat him and his wife and his kids like dude

sunglasses at night <3 love that song also the radio being on is such a good way to build tension/show when jeanjacket is close (and then then using it later to when they are drawing jeanjacket out)

the aesthetic of this movie is stunning

i love oj i love how he makes lucky feel safe by tapping the trailer i love that he knew not to look jeanjacket in the eyes where jupe looked straight up

the gaming chair and vr 😭 angel is so <3

“trying to tame a predator”

“ive been up under it a couple times now. i get him. it’s an animal, you don’t turn your back on a bear, you don’t wear red around a bull, it’s like that. you don’t look at it unless you want it’s attention”

“i call top hat” this is the real top hat monopoly player representation we need top hat monopoly players rise up

lucky is so well trained unbothered by the balloon man

camera guy is weird but he sounds like leonard cohen so i like him

angel with the reusable water bottle and camera guy just swallowing pills dry like these characters are immaculate

“sorry, im scared” i love angel

oj going to help the guy even tho he rlly has no reason to and the guy is annoying <3 he’s just a nice guy

“did u get that on camera?” lol

the run scene is perfect

non-flared jeanjacket looks like a sand dollar

again lucky just waiting patiently that’s a good horse

oj is the best he’s so brave and smart

em is the best she’s so brave and smart

this last action sequence is just too good i have no notes except that it’s fantastic

and then oj being there <3

fantastic movie everything is so intentional and brilliant 10/10 movie for me one of my favs for sure can’t wait to watch it again

i love how socal this movie is

[dark9896]

Day 5 [Klaus/ Steven/ Daniel]

Prompt: Worst way to find out your girlfriend is pregnant (kidnapping)

Klaus

The sight of police cars, and all the flashing red and blue lights clouded Klaus's vision. This... this couldn't be... surely this wasn't your apartment, right?

Klaus barely made it up to the front of the blockade around the doors, only for his worst suspicions to be confirmed. His heart sank faster than a stone in water, this couldn't be happening, right? Right!?

"Sir! Stay bac--"

"Klaus!" Daniel Law strode right over in a huff, "This is your girlfriend's place, right?"

"Yes it is Detective."

"Then you'd know more about if anything is missing." Daniel wasn't gentle about pulling Klaus into his worst nightmare, "Better to tell if this was a random attack or a targeted one."

Klaus tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he stepped into the torn-up living room. Everything was scattered about the floor, and apart from the empty feeling in the pit of Klaus's stomach it truly looked as if you were the only thing taken from your apartment.

Something clicked under Klaus's shoe. At first, he thought he had broken it completely, but there were only a few tiny plastic shards missing. Klaus had a feeling those shards were in the sole of his shoe but the plastic object had his full attention.

"What is it?" Daniel was peering around Klaus's arm, "Something finally out of place?"

Klaus just wordlessly picked up the pregnancy test he had stepped on. Upon further examination, his blood ran ice cold. Everything around Klaus stopped registering, nothing but this small piece of plastic in his hands was even real to him.

Whoever kidnapped you, had two reasons to be absolutely terrified when Klaus would inevitably break down their door.

.

Steven

As soon as Steven was finished with his work, he headed straight for your apartment. He had seen the numerous texts from you but he still had yet to read them all. He just knew that talking in person about whatever this was would be much better.

But the way the apartment was quiet was just too eerie for Steven's taste. Sure he knew you were likely fast asleep, but there was a feeling of unease hanging in the air tonight.

Steven took his time going through the whole apartment, flipping lights on as soon as he entered every room. And by the time he swept the whole place, it became crystal clear that you weren't here. Steven checked his phone to make sure you weren't just at his apartment tonight.

Steven felt something in the pit of his stomach, not a single message on here about being at his apartment but...

"I went to the doctor and found out I'm pregnant."

If anyone else were to see Steven, it would look like his very shadows were twisting and manifesting into clones of himself. However, this was simply his goon squad showing up, being given the orders to search for you wherever you were.

Steven would make sure that whoever did this would be buried in ice and shattered into dust.

.

Daniel

Daniel was hoping this was just someone getting the address slightly wrong, that you were completely safe and that it was actually someone else's house being robbed. But in this god-forsaken city who could really say.

For once there was nothing on the radio as he pulled into your driveway. His stomach turned as he looked at the front door wide open, something you'd never do. This was going to be bad.

Standing in the middle of scattered papers, broken decorations, and other random debris from what looked like your junk box, Daniel could only breathe as he tried to calm his nerves. Other officers were combing through the main parts of the house. It would be up to Daniel to check the bedroom and bathrooms, even professional officers weren't comfortable with this situation.

What Daniel did find was your phone sitting on the bathroom sink, next to a pregnancy test. It was clear that you were a random victim, and the most likely thing was that you were in here when the house was broken into. And interrupted the purp while he was searching for valuables, then forced into a car ride to escape quickly. Given there wasn't any blood or a body to speak of.

Daniel's hand gripped the bathroom counter until his knuckles turned white. All he could do right now was hope you were okay, that and maybe ask for help.

God, he hated the idea of asking them for help. But this wasn't a normal situation.

[hazelfoureyes]

Do you think you could do a male version of the radioapple is the safe word? Or maybe just a gender neutral pronouned story? I adore it so much

of course! I am happy to adapt my stories whenever possible 🥺✨ sometimes I can’t but this one was an easy enough shift! didn’t tag the horny deer cult, this is the same story but with the hardware swapped out. Will tag in new pieces 🙏 warning; I almost exclusively watch femboy gay porn and it shows

The Safeword is RadioApple (Part 1)

(RadioApple x MaleReader)

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱ Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱ tidbit (cute, not smut) Part 4 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱✨NEW✨ ₊⊹⁀➴ Lucifer wins⟡Alastor Wins

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader, Lucifer x Reader, smut, RadioApple in a sense, male reader, creampie, breath play, rough sex, Alastor is an eternal little shit, soft jazz, hard jazz, Luci calls himself Daddy, 🗣️ READER GETS SPITROASTED, threesome, asshole hulk smashed, half assed blowjob, help I got too horny on main

MINORS DNI BRUH

“Sir.”

Lucifer jumped, whipping around and shoving Alastor’s face away. “You are a living nightmare, fuck!” He hated being snuck up on, as most people do. Adjusting his hat, he looked around the hotel lobby to see if anyone else witnessed his personal jump scare. Charlie and Vaggie were seated nearby, but hadn’t paid them any attention.

“I aim to please! Now,” Alastor gestured to the stairs, “I, unfortunately, need to show you something upstairs.”

“Ha!” Lucifer forced out a laugh, “Ha. Haaa- Not a chance, scarecrow. Find someone else to search for your brain.” He smirked to himself. “Did you hear that Charlie? I made a joke.”

But Charlie was not laughing. She finally turned her focus to them. “Dad, you have to start trying to get along with Alastor.” She looked to Alastor who was nodding along as if he actually cared at all, “He’s trying to spend time with you. Come on, Dad. For me?”

With a pout, he dramatically crossed his arms, “Fine. I’ll play nice, for you. Not for him.” Lucifer glared daggers at Alastor. “Fuck him.”

“Daaad!” She groaned.

“Yeah yeah, I’m going.” 

Alastor let his microphone follow behind Lucifer’s back, an unseen and unfelt safety net so he couldn’t back out. When they approached Alastor’s door, Lucifer put up his hands as if to physically stop the situation from progressing, “There is no way in all of hell I am going in your bedroom.”

Alastor’s eyes rolled, frustrated already with the interaction. “Are you sure about that?” He pushed the door open, using his mic to make contact with the small of Lucifer’s back. He stopped resisting when he finally looked into the room.

He took a step in, willingly, and as he saw you sitting in the center of the bed in just your sleep robe, he let out a quiet, “What the fuck is this?”

Then a louder, “Heeey, kitten…”. The sound of the door locking made his head whip back to Alastor, teeth bared.

“Luci.”

Softened under the sound of his own name from your lips he brought his attention back to the bed.

It was no secret to anyone that you two were fond of each other. It was the little things you did that endeared the fallen angel to you, how you doted on him. Filling his glass at dinner when you noticed it getting close to empty, holding the door for him, keeping eye contact when he went off on some excited tangent.

Everyone was also aware you were Alastor’s person. And Alastor would give you anything you wanted in death; and today you happened to want Luci.

You’d seen the broadcasts of the King of Hell defending his daughter during the last extermination. The power he gave off, even from your screen, brought goosebumps down your arms. So when you found your way to the hotel, you were elated to see Lucifer himself readily available for interactions. Your luck continued, as your father’s love of jazz had been passed down to you and allowed the radio demon to notice your presence among the sea of new residents. Following the sounds of Nat ‘King’ Cole, he found you one evening in your room, and a mutual fondness for music bore a new friend. And then, more. 

Soon enough you were a regular member of the Hazbin Hotel core crew, by way of Alastor.

That’d been some months ago now, and you finally had the courage to ask Alastor for a special favor.

No part of him understood your motivation, but the idea of making the king of hell pussy-whipped to his darling was understanding enough. And, of course, the pleasure of watching you enjoy yourself. While he was capable all his own, he was happy to allow someone else to fill in. Not to mention—- no, actually, definitely mention the fact it would give him a little more power in the tense dynamic between himself and Lucifer.

For Alastor, sharing you physically wasn’t an issue.  Sex was something he did for your pleasure, though he did enjoy the control he held over you in those intimate moments.

Watching you mewl under someone else, knowing he gave the permission, that Lucifer would never have a chance in Hell if The Radio Demon didn't allow it, made his head dizzy with the loss of blood flow. Whatever pleasure Lucifer could give you was pleasure he has granted you both. The idea of someone pining for you but never having a chance unless he says so made him feel powerful.

“I have a request, of sorts.” You tried to keep your smile still, cheeks twitching with pure nerves. The room was lit by only two small lamps on either nightstand and the light coming from the half open bathroom.

Lucifer approached you, making a dramatic point of going past Alastor. The radio demon chuckled, the king of hell scowled. He placed one knee on the end of the bed, trying to forget this was the spot you shared most nights with Alastor. His smile encouraged you to continue.

“You can say no.” You added quickly. 

“Why would I ever do that?” Lucifer continued to smile at you, too sweetly for what you were going to ask.

“Many reasons.” You added quicker. 

“Come on, tell Luci.” He laughed softly at the idea of denying you anything.

You pressed the tips of your index fingers together nervously, “I want you to fuck me.”

He tried to blink but his eyelids only seemed to rise further and further up his face with every attempt.

“You what now?”

His eyes darted to Alastor, who was now crawling onto the bed and settling behind you. 

“It was a fairly straightforward statement, sir.” Alastor’s tone was always teetering on mocking when he addressed Lucifer, “My dear would like you, for some god awful reason, to bed him.”

If this hadn’t been such a shock, Lucifer would have quipped, “Oh because you can’t, you overdressed maitre d’?”

But when he opened his mouth, there was nothing. He just stared at you. Alastor’s long legs and lanky arms came down beside you, behind you. You looked like the enticing light of an angler fish’s lure, sharp teeth shining just over your shoulder. 

“I thought-,” he motioned between the two of you.

You nodded, “Alastor is happy when I’m happy. And right now, I’d be overjoyed to spend an evening taking care of you.”

Oh, why couldn’t you have said it so sweetly the first time? Take care of him? You always did. Every time he felt something lacking he’d find you close behind offering him just the thing.

Whether a smile, or supportive word, or just a sympathetic ear.

Shifting onto your hands and knees, you crawled toward Lucifer. His face was flush, his brows knitted together in some mix of worry and confusion.

“You don’t have to do that, kitten. I don’t need that.” He reached out a hand to touch your cheek but stopped himself; he’d never touched you before. He had gone out of his way to avoid it, because he couldn’t bear what it would do to him. He’d just be hurting himself, he had thought. His hand began to pull away but you reached out with both of yours and took hold of his wrist.

“I don’t have to do anything, ever, Luci,” Alastor’s grin widened as you said it. A hum of approval only he could hear. A silent, ‘That’s my boy.’

“This is about what I want.” You leaned up to rest your cheek in his open palm, “I’ll accept any answer from you.” Your eyes staring up at him promised safety, “So, what do you want?”

He buried his face in his free hand, opening his fingers to look over you once more. In the shade of the canopied bed, Alastor sat motionless. But Lucifer couldn’t see him, not because of the shadows but because his focus was so purely on you. He had absolute tunnel vision, which happened often when you two would speak. Lucifer made a low sound, coming from somewhere deep in his chest,  hidden beneath all his shame and sense of inadequacy.

Your question was answered as he removed his hat, tossing it to the chaise lounge near the wall. You sat back on your legs and gave him space to remove his coat. Your heart seemed to double its pace, skin practically vibrating. A not-insignificant part of you expected a gentle but firm, “kindly fuck off.”

He seemed to be avoiding eye contact as he pulled his bow tie loose, only returning his knee to the bed when he’d kicked off his boots. Just the shifting of the weight of the bed made your thighs twitch, finally. Alastor leaned backed and watched, Lucifer’s gaze was full of uncertainty as he crawled to you. 

Hilarious. Already worth the price of admission. 

Both on your knees, you leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on Lucifer’s lips. Pulling back, you looked at him and he felt like we’re looking at the sun. Your face was so bright, and warm. What light were you reflecting back at him? Surely not his own. That was long dead. Long buried under bruised wings and lost promises. 

You snaked your fingers into his hair and brought him in for a deeper kiss. When you bit gently on his bottom lip, he shakily opened his mouth. Your grin spread across both of your faces as you pushed your way past his lips.

Lucifer’s tongue was long, and tapered more than you’d expected. It moved, unsure, against yours. Your hands slunk out of his hair and down his chest, sliding until finding the buttons of his vest. 

You felt him gasp into you, and when you began to open his shirt he pulled away, “It’s been… a very long time.”

A scream echoed in your skulll, your own scream, thankfully entirely in your mind. He was so cute. So soft. He looked so worried, you wanted to rip him to pieces with affection. Was that possible? You were going to try.

Your hands fumbled over his belt, the tremble in your fingers making the pants button feel like an aptitude test. Your mouth returned to him, kissing down his cheeks and into the space under his jaw. Finally you could slip your hand down into his pants, and you hissed without thinking.

He was painfully hard, throbbing head pressed into his skin. Your own cock twitched under your robe at the feeling.

Did you do this? Had you gotten the King like this with just a question and a kiss? Tip nearly purple with pressure, you rested your forehead on his collarbone and watched his stomach jump as you wrapped your fingers around it.

Alastor fought back a laugh, tongue nearly cut clean off with the attempt. This was better than he had expected. And he had just the idea to push it over the top.

When your head dipped to swipe your tongue over Lucifer’s cock, you both startled at the sudden sound of music. First you looked to the radio, then to Alastor.

One hand was loosening his bow tie, the other unbuckling his pants. 

“Don’t stop on my accord,” he bit his bottom lip, watching your attention return to Lucifer’s lap. 

Lucifer raised a finger in protest, “I wasn’t aware this was a group activity.”

“The more the merrier.” Alastor whipped his belt off and tossed it to the floor, other hand pulling his member free.

“Three’s a crowd.” 

“Two heads are better than one.” When Alastor lifted your robe away and sunk himself into you, hole soft and ready for him already, you moaned into the blonde hair at the base of Lucifer’s cock.

Your breath over his shaft and now down his balls made his hips buck against you. Your hands gripped at Lucifer’s thighs, trying to get steady enough to return your mouth to his waiting heat. You could smell his arousal, your head dizzy with so many of your senses being assaulted by both men. 

“You okay, kitten?” A concerned hand came to your cheek. 

Your watery, lust clouded eyes met his, “It feels so good, Luci.” His dick jerked. When you finally managed to get him in your mouth his head fell back, legs under him twitching with the need to move along to the bobbing of your head. Lucifer was wider than Alastor, the corners of your mouth burning as you tried to take in as much of him as possible. 

Alastor’s hand raked long nails down your back, a whine ran from your throat and down Lucifer’s shaft.  He moaned in turn, trying to not connect the dots between himself and Alastor.

“I think you may need a little demonstration, from someone more–, “ Alastor leaned down, his face now inches from Lucifer’s. His hand wrapped around your neck, “experienced.” He pulled you up by your throat.

Lucifer watched, your knees no longer touching the bed as Alastor fucked up into you. One hand gripping your throat, one arm holding your body against his. Your face began to redden, and your thighs noticeably clenching as best they could, legs open and feet on either side of Alastor’s body. Your cock hard and bouncing with every thrust. Lucifer winced, you looked pained, he wanted—

“Aa--Alastor,” Your voice was like honey, thick and sweet around Alastor’s name. Lucifer’s face fell flat, how could he have that? What did he need to do to have you say his name in such a debauched way? Why did that gangly sack of bones get all of the fun?

“See? He can handle more than you’d expect.” Alastor grinned, planting a kiss on your neck. You could see Lucifer watching through your wet eyelashes, his cock twitching repeatedly as his hand finally came down to touch himself. 

With the hand not holding onto Alastor’s wrist at your throat, you reached out for Lucifer. “Luci.” 

Alastor let you fall forward. Keeping your hips in the air and knees dangling just above the comforter, he continued his rough pace into your tight heat. Pulling your body on and off of his length with harsh drags he watched you lick from the base to the top of Lucifer’s member. Each thrust from him knocking your chin against it. 

When you popped the head back into your mouth and moaned around it from Alastor’s continued fucking, Lucifer gripped your hair with both hands. Alastor’s own erection jumped in you, the king of hell himself buckling from his dearest’s mouth. He could break him entirely by just pulling you off of Lucifer’s cock and refusing to return you. He was positive Lucifer would cry into his ruined orgasm if he did such a thing.

Tempting.

But, he promised to play along, for you. And he would, at his own terms. 

He pushed aside the thought entirely, instead returning to the task in front of him. Your tongue was pinned down when Lucifer was in your mouth, cock too fat to allow any room for movement. You abandoned trying to suck him off, and changed tactics to lick and kiss the sensitive flesh in your hands. 

Lucifer’s mind was—- he wasn't sure where exactly. His consciousness splintered around you. The feeling of you; your tongue was swirling around him, the first contact he’s had other than himself in literal years. The sound of you; your soft moans and huffs were both audible and physical, the hot breath ghosting over him. The sight of you; head in his lap as he leaned back, your ass in the air and making a satisfying slapping noise every time– 

Alastor. His eyes met Lucifer’s and a wicked grin took hold of his features. Lucifer could practically hear Alastor whisper across your body, ‘Watch this.’ Maybe Alastor had thought it, but he kept it to himself. 

Your hands began pumping Lucifer’s length while your body was slightly dragged away as Alastor backed up and let your knees find some solid ground again. 

Lucifer sat on his legs still, eyes flitting from between your face to the place you and Alastor connected. He could see Alastor disappearing inside you, and every intrusion had you gasping and mewling into the blankets. Your hand was still gently stroking him with outstretched arms, eyes clenched close.

Alastor smirked up at Lucifer, coming down over your back to reach around your body and find your dick, now pulsing under his hand. Immediately, you reacted. Legs squeezing together, hands stilling around your king’s cock. With a bite and lick to your shoulder blade, the radio demon set a bruising pace against you. That warmth in your core was spreading down as you felt him press against your g-spot with every kiss of his hips. 

You choked out his name, a chant Lucifer had never wanted to hear before now. How could you make Alastor’s name sound so delicious? He wrapped his fingers around yours on his dick and began moving with you. Your eyes rolled up to him, a weak smile forming before your orgasm made your face tighten. Alastor knew your body so well, bringing you to orgasm was like playing a well practiced song on the piano. Both required strong and fast fingers and a sense of rhythm. His hands working your shaft, fingers ghosting over your balls and head with every stroke up and down. 

With a few more deeper, shorter moves Alastor stilled, too. Your knees slid down as your hips sank into the bed, your own release sticky and already cooling under you.

Lucifer let your hand go limp, swallowing hard. He wasn’t ignorant to the way Alastor smiled at him as he reclined into the headboard, tucking himself back into his pants. 

“I have complete faith in you, for once.” Alastor teased Lucifer, hand motioning to your still limp body. His smile seemed to dare Lucifer, challenge him, to keep going even with Alastor’s release sitting pretty in you. 

Luci took a deep breath, steadying himself mentally, before pushing the hair from your forehead, “Hey there, kitten. What do ya need?”

With an uncharacteristic hunger in your eyes, you forced your line of sight up to him, “You, Luci.” Visibly shuddering, you sat up and brought your legs towards him, your knees touching each other in an odd display of shyness. Your hand felt at your entrance, Alastor’s seed just beginning to find its way from your relaxed and stretched hole. 

“Is it okay?” You asked, spreading the thick fluid between your fingers in front of Luci. 

Something between a grimace and a pout came over him, it wasn’t his ideal situation but the idea of — just how much he’d slip and slide in and out of your with the added lubrication made him feel feral. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Alastor hoped to ruin you and sour his experience. He decided to not allow it. 

With a kiss to his nose, you wrapped your arms around his neck and lied back. You weren’t sure you were breathing anymore when you felt his scorching head slot up with your entrance. He rubbed the leaking fluid over himself and you with swipes up and down your ass, teasing your entrance with every pass. The difference between his heat and the cooled cum made him shiver in turn. 

As he began to press into you, your body instinctively scooted away. It took both of your hands hooked under his arms to stay still enough for him to make any real headway. 

Luci stopped, your face clearly pained. Your head shook in response, “Please, you just have to keep going. I’ll adjust.” While both of his heads swelled with pride – Alastor’s cock clearly smaller – Luci didn’t notice the wild eyes of the radio demon. 

Alastor brought a hand to his face, red eyes peering between his spread fingers, smile threatening to break at the seams as he watched Lucifer Morningstar fucking his cum into his darling dear. 

 What a pitiful sight. How humiliating.

What would Charlie think of her big bad daddy? What would the other sins say? If they could see their king now, slick and shiny?

Your nails cut into his skin, and you were worried you were tearing slightly. Instead of attempting to thrust his way in, he chose to just continually press. The way your body seemed to be splitting made you second guess your decisions. But when his head finally popped in, your bullied boy cunt got some reprieve. He stopped, taking deep breaths. 

Tears were collecting on your waterline, Luci noticed and leaned on an elbow to wipe them away. His blonde hair was falling forward now, tickling at your forehead. 

You nodded, answering a question he didn’t ask, and he continued to force your walls open to accommodate him. The only sound in the room was the soft instrumental jazz number playing from atop the dresser. Your voice was stuck in your throat, Luci was focusing too hard to form words. Alastor could speak, but the music was just too enjoyable to interrupt. 

Finally, after what could have been two minutes or twenty, you felt Luci bottom out. You had to just lie there for a second, never having felt something so solid in your otherwise soft body. No slight to Alastor, who was perfectly skilled in his abilities. Luci was just—- more than you had expected. 

As he pulled out, you thanked the heavens and hell and the rings within that Alastor had left you so wet and already softened. The first few thrusts were genuinely uncomfortable, the pleasure you felt almost entirely mental, drawn from the reality of who was pulling your insides back and forth. You were so tight around him that he too was almost pained; so much pressure but no way to move enough to get any release.

Slowly, the ring of your entrance relented and Luci could finally move at a normal pace. He would take himself out to his head before slipping back in. Every thrust made your body spread around him, a semi-truck through a field of sunflowers. Your body didn’t stand a chance, and you were grateful he chose gentleness for his entrance.

He leaned back on both hands, using the position to fucked up into you at an angle. He knew very well where to hit to begin gathering your pleasure.

Alastor dropped his head, yours between his legs. His hair made a short curtain, hiding the look he was giving you from Luci. He adores the faces you make when you are happy. Excited. Pleasured. You tried to offer him a smile, but you couldn’t manage it for long. Your eyes would roll back, lips tighten as you focused on the feeling Luci was providing. Focused on the sensations, of being so full, so sticky wet, so wanted. But Alastor was still watching, the sight of Luci blocked from his view as he enjoyed every little twitch of your mouth, every whimper. 

It wasn’t jealousy, it was something more personal that stung Luci. While he couldn’t actually discern the looks you two gave each other, Luci felt very much the odd man out. But, he considered his position. Literally. He was leaning as far from your body as he could. He remembered the way you said Alastor’s name. Alastor had showed him exactly what to do, albeit in his usual obnoxious, showy fashion.

Sitting up, Luci adjusted your legs and slotted himself between them. Alastor leaned back, relinquishing your focus. Both of you looked at Luci though as one of his hands came to enclose your throat.

Alastor was almost impressed. Almost. You brought both hands to wrap around his wrist, glancing to Alastor behind you.

The words came out of Alastor as half warning, half instruction, “If he needs you to stop, he’ll tap two fingers twice on you, wherever he can reach.” Lucifer nodded, eyes not meeting Alastor’s. He kept them on your face, watching for any sign of distress as he tightened his grip. The way your muscles clenched around him earned you a hiss.

He began to move again, the new position causing his stomach to rut against your returning erection as he buried himself in you. More clenching; He tightened his grip more. 

“Are you sure he isn’t hurting?” Luci asked, your eyes closed and nails digging into his wrists.

“Nonsense. Can’t you feel him? Or does he just grip me like that?” The cocky expression made Luci unconsciously clench his fist on your neck. A gentle tap tap snapped him back to you. He loosened up again, his eyes large and apologetic.

You unconsciously tightened your own grip on his dick, grinding up into him for more friction. Your body had finally relaxed, pleasure freely flowing from where you and Luci tangled together. You closed your eyes, the pressure constant on the veins to your head. Blood flow restricted just enough to lower your oxygen levels and raise the nitrogen oxide in your body. It resulted in a dizzying feeling, maybe there was a primal panic that caused your body to feel heightened pleasure. You didn’t feel scared, or in danger. You felt —— ah there it was. You felt weak. You felt docile. You felt like you existed purely to give pleasure and the idea turned you on. In every day life you’d never allow someone to use you, to push you around. You were anything but subservient. That’s why it was so enthralling now. It was so strange a sensation. And to give yourself so fully to the king of hell, the originator of all sin? You groaned, head rolling back. 

Luci watched your head loll, drank in your groans and gasps and felt himself get dizzy too. More. Say his name like you did Alastor’s. Praise how well he fucked you. Reward him. Love him.

He pulled out suddenly, his head leaving you for the first time since it managed to fit in initially. Luci put both hands on your hips and directed you to roll onto your stomach. He pulled your ass up, knees bent. You crawled up enough to rest your forehead on the crook of Alastor’s leg, one lazily outstretched and the other bent under him slightly. Luci wasted no time pushing back in. He leaned over you and pressed his hand into your back, forcing your chest to be slightly crushed into the bed. He pulled out and slammed back into you, tearing a yelp from you as he hit deeper than he had before, stomach lurching into your chest with the impact.

He stopped, unsure, until he felt your hand reach under yourself and rest at the junction of his knee and calf. His other hand came to your right hip, and he used it to keep you from sliding up the bed. Letting his eyes close again, he focused on the feeling of you around him. His crotch and thighs were covered in oil and cum, his balls tight against him. Every drag out of you made his body jerk back into you with need. It felt so good, too good. He needed more. He pressed hard into you, oversized tip of his cock opening parts of you never before reached. He made shorter thrusts now, ensuring he bottomed out every time. It was too deep, too much of a stretch. Your moans slowly devolved into screams, the pleasure mixed with a soft burning. 

You could feel him spreading open your body, soft walls helpless to resist his raging member. The feeling of your silky boy cunt sliding along his cock, your tight hole gripping him, was driving him mad.

You were screaming. Actual, pleasured screams, threatening to alert the entire hotel to your activities. Wails that started shrill and dipped into a gutteral cry filled the room with every thrust of Lucifer’s frenzied hips.

A tiny part of your brain felt embarrassed, a dying animal shrieking into Alastor’s thigh.

An ever shrinking part of Lucifer existed too, the piece of him too preoccupied with your two fingers on his leg to enjoy you. It got smaller and smaller, no longer a blockade to his pleasure, but a safety net allowing him to walk the tightrope of sadism.

The radio’s volume dial rolled, smooth jazz now blaring and drowning out your painfully pleasured cries. Alastor was fine with allowing someone to take care of your needs at his permission but strangers had no business enjoying your sounds.

As Luci became lost in the sensation of your body trying to suck him in whole, his hand on your back began to press down. Your breaths got shorter, it got harder to expand your lungs fully.

Face turned and drooling onto the fabric of Alastor’s pants, you started gasping out his name, “Luci! Nngh Luciiii, Lucifer.”

Your lips dropped his name and it fell like lead into his thoughts. He fought the urge to close his eyes again as he felt his orgasm building. He watched your flushed skin jump beneath every punishing thrust, his name a spell you could now barely whisper, not enough breathe to scream. Your upper body was entirely buried into the mattress. It felt like your back might snap with Luci’s loss of control. You kept your hand on his leg, ever ready to tap out.

The yellow of his eyes turned red, just like the skin of your ass where his hip bones chaffed. “You take me so well, kitten.” He ground out, “Daddy’s gonna cum.”

Alastor’s eyes glowed a blood red from the end of the bed, a wickedly devious grin across his face at the opportunity before him, he looked up at Luci and said with a commanding tone, “Cum.”

Luci was already over that peak when his eyes flew up to catch Alastor’s, it was too late to stop his orgasm. He was helpless to disobey, despite his now desperate desire to never cum again. With a moan, and a hiss, he pressed your body fully into the mattress. Your body now flush, he waited until his cock stopped jerking his long overdue seed into your bruised ass.

Luci lied on top of you even after you were full to the brim with his cum. It was already forcing its way out around his softening cock when he managed to roll off of you and onto his back.

Staring at the canopy of the bed, he felt two emotions rise to the surface. First, concern. He turned to you, and you gave a weak thumbs up.

Second, rage.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Fuck you.” He looked to Alastor, who was grinning as he pet your head, whispering something to you. 

“Little late for dirty talk, your highness.”

Lucifer growled, but Alastor’s palm pressed against his forehead and pushed him back down to the bed.

“I sleep on the left. I’d prefer you on the right.” he gently moved your head from his lap, “Beside me, my dear. A darling barrier.” Alastor didn’t look at Lucifer, just slid off the bed and walked into the en-suite bathroom. “No outside clothes under the comforter.” Alastor called from the bathroom before the sound of rushing water poured in.

You rolled onto your back, still catching your breath. Body sprawled out on the massive bed like a starfish.

Lucifer turned onto his side, hand caressing your arm. “Are you okay, kitten? I didn’t mean to lose myself like that.” He felt shame, like he had done something terrible. “And— I didn’t help you finish. That’s pretty shitty.”

But it fell away when you smiled back at him, “I feel great. Sore, but great all the same.” You let your fingers clumsily lace with his. “I really like you, Luci. And I don’t need to cum to enjoy myself. You can always try again, ya know?”

Lucifer felt his face grow warm, but couldn’t press you to clarify what exactly that meant before Alastor scooped you up and carried you to the bath.

There was a moment where he was alone, noticing the radio was back to a tolerable volume, the water splashing softly out of view. He felt out of place, like he had accidentally walked into a stranger’s home. He wasn’t sure what to do next, where to go from there when Alastor’s head popped back into the room, annoyed, “Are you coming or not? Those are clean sheets.”

༻Masterlist༺

[rockislandadultreads]

Read Alikes: Carrie Soto is Back by Taylor Jenkins Reid

The Singles Game by Lauren Weisberger

Charlotte “Charlie” Silver has always been a good girl. She excelled at tennis early, coached by her father, a former player himself, and soon became one of the top juniors in the world. When she leaves UCLA - and breaks her boyfriend’s heart - to turn pro, Charlie joins the world’s best athletes who travel eleven months a year, competing without mercy for Grand Slam titles and Page Six headlines. After Charlie suffers a disastrous loss and injury on Wimbledon’s Centre Court, she fires her longtime coach and hires Todd Feltner, a legend of the men’s tour, who is famous for grooming champions. Charlie is his first-ever female player, and he will not let her forget it. He is determined to change her good-girl image - both on the court and off - and transform her into a ruthless competitor who will not only win matches and climb the rankings, but also score magazine covers and seven-figure endorsement deals. Her not-so-secret affair with the hottest male player in the world, sexy Spaniard Marco Vallejo, has people whispering, and it seems like only a matter of time before the tabloids and gossip blogs close in on all the juicy details. Charlie’s ascension to the social throne parallels her rising rank on the women’s tour - but at a major price.

The Second Season by Emily Adrian

Ruth Devon starred for Georgetown Basketball back in college - until she injured her knee, married her coach, and found a new career calling games on the radio. Twenty years later, Ruth and her now-ex-husband, Lester, are two of the most famous faces in sports media. When Lester decides to retire from the announcers’ booth, Ruth goes after his job. If she gets it, she will be the first woman to call NBA games on national television. For now, Ruth is reporting from the sideline of the NBA finals, immersed in the high-pressure spectacle of the post-season. But in a deserted locker room at halftime, Ruth makes a discovery that shatters her vision of her future. Instantly, she is torn between the two things she has always wanted most: the game and motherhood.

The Cactus League by Emily Nemens 

Jason Goodyear is the star outfielder for the Los Angeles Lions, stationed with the rest of his team in the punishingly hot Arizona desert for their annual spring training. Handsome, famous, and talented, Goodyear is nonetheless coming apart at the seams. And the coaches, writers, wives, girlfriends, petty criminals, and diehard fans following his every move are eager to find out why - as they hide secrets of their own. Humming with the energy of a ballpark before the first pitch, Emily Nemens' The Cactus League unravels the tightly connected web of people behind a seemingly linear game. Narrated by a sportscaster, Goodyear's story is interspersed with tales of Michael Taylor, a batting coach trying to stay relevant; Tamara Rowland, a resourceful spring-training paramour, looking for one last catch; Herb Allison, a legendary sports agent grappling with his decline; and a plethora of other richly drawn characters, all striving to be seen as the season approaches. It's a journey that, like the Arizona desert, brims with both possibility and destruction.

Evvie Drake Starts Over by Linda Holmes

In a sleepy seaside town in Maine, recently widowed Eveleth “Evvie” Drake rarely leaves her large, painfully empty house nearly a year after her husband’s death in a car crash. Everyone in town, even her best friend, Andy, thinks grief keeps her locked inside, and Evvie doesn’t correct them. Meanwhile, in New York City, Dean Tenney, former Major League pitcher and Andy’s childhood best friend, is wrestling with what miserable athletes living out their worst nightmares call the “yips”: he can’t throw straight anymore, and, even worse, he can’t figure out why. As the media storm heats up, an invitation from Andy to stay in Maine seems like the perfect chance to hit the reset button on Dean’s future. When he moves into an apartment at the back of Evvie’s house, the two make a deal: Dean won’t ask about Evvie’s late husband, and Evvie won’t ask about Dean’s baseball career. Rules, though, have a funny way of being broken - and what starts as an unexpected friendship soon turns into something more. To move forward, Evvie and Dean will have to reckon with their pasts - the friendships they’ve damaged, the secrets they’ve kept - but in life, as in baseball, there’s always a chance - up until the last out.

[spook-study]

The radio. What is it about the radio? Even as technology has advanced, becoming something almost unrecognizable from the golden age of radio. The original radio play of War of the Worlds was aired in 1938. Let that sink in. The Buggles may have said it best in their 1979 bop: video, did indeed, kill the radio star, but that hasn’t stopped them from appearing in video.

There are so many great movies us radio as a foundation for the plot. Nightmare Radio (2019), The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986), and The Vast of Night ( also 2019), a movie I should really get around to doing a write up on because I loved it, all feature deejays as main characters, and they are far from the only ones to do so. On top of that, arguably every ghost-hunting movie ever made can wiggle its way in there, most feature some kind of antennaed communication device, and often use radio as a ghost/demon conduit. For whatever reason, we all decided and agreed that the dead can speak through the radio.

Pontypool (2008) certainly isn't John Carpenter's The Fog (1980), but nothing ever will be.

Despite the lamentable death of the radio drama, horror has never let the radio die. Those little boxes litter the genre. They remain steadfast, still showing up in movies even as Spotify takes over the music streaming scene and narrative podcasts attempt to fill the void left in the wake of live radio plays. There’s just something about it. Something alive. The fact that when you listen to radio, you’re listening to someone speaking to you in real time; someone is turning tables and transitioning between songs or segments in real time. Even live television can’t compare because it’s performative. Radio is alive, which means it can be dead- have dead air. If a person stops talking or spinning tables, you won’t be hearing anything until the emergency tape eventually kicks in. There’s just an activeness to that. And an aside to say rest in peace to television dead air; in my heart, no “6 Hours Soothing Sleep Static Sounds” video on YouTube will ever do you justice.

Radio is more personal than all that. Someone is speaking to you, that’s simply the way radio works. "If you’re just tuning in, listeners," that’s you. It feels personal, contained, call the number and talk to that disc jockey to win tickets, to offer your opinion, to be on the radio right then and there. It's a slice of fame: everyone listening is hearing you, learns your name, is reacting to what you're saying. I’m sure it’s thrilling. I've always been too nervous to even try to call in.

Now I'm a sucker for a bottle movie, so I'm sure you can imagine my delighted realization when it became clear that Pontypool is one! Talk about radio being personal, save for the first couple of minutes where disgraced shock jock Grant Mazzy is driving to his new job in the middle of nowhere Canada, we never leave radio station. One big room? Seems pretty personal to me.

For those of you who might be unaware, a bottle film, from ‘ship in a bottle’ figures, is a movie or episode of television that remains in the same location for most, if not all the duration. While characters may come and go, we, the viewer, remain. Hitchcock’s Rope (1948) and Rear Window (1954) both qualify, as well as the more recent Circle (2015), and Hush (2016). Horror certainly doesn't have a shortage of them, either. While there are bottle films which take place in locations with more than one room, like Funny Games (1997 or 2007, both great) or Clue (1985), I’m preferential to the smaller locations as exemplified in Pontypool. I like the claustrophobia, the containment, the way these movies can make both viewer and characters feel like the walls are closing in. I like the visual representation of being being stuck, the endings often culminating in the escape from containment. Give me a movie in a single room and I'm practically in love. There’s just something about it- breathing the same air as it gets stagnant, seeing the same sights, stuck with the same people. It’s The Yellow Wallpaper effect. The movie operates on a simple premise but leaves a lot to unpack if you're in the mood for contemplation.

Pontypool is a pandemic movie a 'zombie' movie, colloquially speaking. If people never die they aren't zombies, but let's not get into that right now. The movie leaves whether people actually die over the course of the illness taking hold unclear. While no one is rising up from their grave, they still become mindless killing machines who eat people. One way or another, the infected remain up and about when a human would definitely be dead.

Still, Pontypool does manages to set itself apart from the crowd: the infection is spread through words. Specifically English words. The idea itself is interesting enough to cover the convoluted explanation the movie gives, but that might just be due to the fact that it's almost impossible to wrap your head around. A disease transmitted through words? How the hell does that work? Just thinking about it gets my mind whirring.

The film follows the early morning workers of the Pontypool radio station. Grant Mazzy, who has found himself with a dreg of a job after his untoward personality and “take no prisoners” approach to hosting got him fired and basically blackballed. Tech assistant Laurel-Ann, who is a veteran for seemingly no reason, is amused by his antics. Station manager Sydney, a middle-aged woman who is tragically and typically devoid of a personality, is decidedly less so. In addition to the on-screen roles there’s another impactful character who is only heard through call-in, “eye-in-the-sky” helicopter reporter Ken Loney, whose helicopter is actually his beat-up car on top of the tallest hill in town.

A bit into the movie we get the irreputable town doctor Mendez, who miraculously made his way to the station despite his office being the first location we hear about being overrun. Running, violent hordes that are shown to chase people and the greying Dr. Mendez makes it out and across town, no explanation offered. We're talking breaking down the doors and piling on top of one another like a small town World War Z (2013), or at least that's how the situation is described. If you aren't contemplating the workings of the movie's universe, like my aforementioned fascination with how the infection works, "how" questions can be killer. For Mendez's entire appearance I just kept thinking, "how the hell did he get out of there?" It's easy to get caught up in things like that and my suspension of disbelief is no more. This is a reoccurring problem for the movie, which I'll get into more later.

Since the program is a morning news show, the group starts off by reporting what is only considered news in itty-bitty towns like Pontypool, Ontario, Canada. Mazzy clearly hates his job, drinking at the crack of dawn and making fun of the townspeople as news comes in. He tells nothing stories because there's nothing to report on. In a previous broadcast which serves as the opening narration to the movie he reported on a woman's lost cat. It's hard-hitting journalism, folks. The first report of the day of the film regards an altercation with the police with an ice fishing shed.

After taking one too many mild crack shots, Sydney chastises Mazzy. He jokes about alcohol being involved in the situation, which ended as soon as it began. But he finds out through Sydney that one of the men is indeed an alcoholic. She implies everyone knows it, but things like that remain spoken of only behind closed doors. It's later revealed eye-in-the-sky Ken is a pedophile. Well, not exactly, the people in town just all keep there kids away from him. The dirty laundry is to stay in the basket. So, whether he likes it or not, the people of Pontypool need their simple news- school closures, weather, traffic. Particularly during blizzards, like the one everyone is caught in for the movie. Power is likely to get knocked out, which means no television news. The first iPhone came out in 2007, only a year before the movie’s release, so smart phones are still a rarity. What you have is your landline, and not much else. It’s radio news, or it’s no news.

Ken Loney reports on what is first deemed a riot which is of course slowly revealed to be a pandemic that turns people into violent cannibals that creepily parrot words and phrases. A bit into the growing situation, a transmission in French intercepts their air time which urges everyone to stay inside, not speak, to particularly avoid pet names such like ‘honey’ and ‘baby,’ ending with warning not to translate the message. Oops, too late, it’s been translated and Mazzy relayed it on air. So much for that warning. Also, lest we Americans forget, Canada has two official languages, one of which is French. It's reasonable, then, for the movie to have characters that know at least a bit of French, rusty though it may be. Since it's only English that is infected, other languages remain safe. That is, if they need to speak at all. Pen and paper are pretty good workarounds too, but still they chatter away even after Dr. Mendez's entrance. His first bits of dialogue include him openly stating he believes the illness is transferred through sound, and English. We can extrapolate through the characters broken French from later in the movie that Pontypool is predominately English-Speaking, thus explaining why the earlier warning was related in French. Anyway let's keep talking.

As more of Ken’s scattered reports come in, he relates his escape from the oncoming hoard, subsequent hiding in a barn, and the sight of a boy he knows crying out with the voice of a child while missing an arm and despite the fact that he should be dead. The employees of the station become a bit more frantic as well, unable to get much information coming from the outside. As an additional strain the Station has no windows, so they are unable even to see what is happening.

This limitation seeds disbelief, leading them to open the front door and incidentally inviting the infected inside. Sound is what draws the infected, so they play a recording to the loudspeaker outside: Sydney Briar is alive. This draws the group back out. Laurel-Ann becomes infected, and Mazzy, Mendez, and Sydney take shelter in the sound-proof radio booth. Mendez hypothesizes that only certain words are infected, and that one must ‘understand’ the word in order for the infection to take hold. What in the world that means is sort of explained, but really it's anyone's guess.

Time passes to the sound of Laurel-Ann relentlessly banging her head against the plexiglass window to the booth. After her continued self mutilation, what’s left of their young station tech dies. Eventually, and I do mean eventually, the remaining group decides it might be best to stop talking after Dr. Mendez comes to the realization that it is only certain words of the English language which transmit the disease, the first indication of which being the host’s repetition of an infected word. They begin passing notes to communicate. But when Dr. Mendez exhibits the beginning signs of infection, Mazzy and Sydney leave him alone to the booth. This is the beginning of the end, which I’ll leave to you to watch on your own.

So what is Pontypool saying? A movie set in a radio station of which the very foundation is the power of sound, where radio itself is practically ground zero. Who knows what words may set the infection off. Did Mazzy, who as far as we can tell isn’t infected, start this whole thing with his half-truth reports? What this movie hedges its bets on is the power of language and of sound. Horror is nothing without sound, and we don’t need a movie about deejays or radio to know that. For tone setting, for jump scares, for themes, audio can make or break a horror movie. Who could forget the the crazy and wildly listenable soundtrack to Suspiria (1977), the sharp iconic sting in Psycho (1960), or the looming staccato of the themes from Jaws (1975) and Halloween (1978)?

For those of us whose hearing remains intact, sound has power- whether you’re conscious of it or not. It effects everything you do, and everything you experience. Mazzy’s show is a news program on top of everything. English as the infected language, which doesn't feel like a coincidence. Casual half-truths with little to no foundation. While the movie takes place in Canada, Americans should be able to relate much of the premise to their own experiences. When did the news become a thing of opinion? Why has fact become so convoluted? How did it come to this? Where is the impartiality that begets news in its purest form, as a way to conduct information? The dissemination of not only ideas, but ideals, is perpetuated in part by news media. How many of us have tried to wean an unsavory relative off of Fox? I’ll do you one better: how many have made fun of and decried shock jock radio host Joe Rogan?

Information is passed through language, and the bias of those reporting it then infects the listener.

Pontypool doesn’t reflect on this enough in its runtime, and most of these musings are my own. derived from but not included in the movie itself. While it may touch on the fear of misinformation and the doubt that can come from being unable to witness things for yourself, I feel it could have been a bit more keyed-on, a bit more contemplative. Maybe even a bit more heated. There was very little passion. It runs around itself, in a way. Most of the movie is just the characters repeating the sentiment of not believing the things that are being related to them are happening, and then, once they’ve confirmed it, they can’t believe it.

Pontypool spent a good portion of its runtime with the characters asking if the situation was real. That can get tired very quickly, and it did. We know it’s happening because we’re watching a movie. Stringing a viewer along with character disbelief loses its efficacy pretty quickly. While character reaction may be understandable in a semi-realistic way, we aren’t watching the movie for realism. It’s performance. The characters need to move a bit faster, the actions need to be a bit bigger, the body has to react a bit stronger. It’s a horror movie. Pontypool just spent too long on disbelief, which caused a disconnect. It stated to feel winded, despite only being 6 minutes longer than my ideal horror movie runtime of 90 minutes.

I think they relied on all the weight to be carried by the concept, which I thought was so interesting. Unfortunately my interest ended up being only on the premise. Almost as if presented as a piece of news itself, Pontypool didn’t have much of a point of view. The script just didn't live up to the idea, and that drives me crazy. Mazzy’s a shock jock, but whether he was an asshole or a martyr is never really answered. What exactly was he fired for saying? We never find out. Why wasn’t there a brief comedy relief moment where he just devolves into speaking only in swear words? Of course, he doesn’t swear much because of the FTC but when they stop broadcasting? Or when he starts to lose his cool?

Sydney knows everyone in town and all their dirty laundry, is she maybe a little meaner than we had initially thought? Or actually, is there anything interesting about her? Because besides being the “mother” figure who admonishes Mazzy and scolds Laurel-Ann, there wasn’t a lot going on. Embarrassingly, her only defining trait is that she cares. That's just bad writing.

Laurel-Ann is a veteran, but why didn’t she have anything else to show for that other than the one line, “We have enemy combatants.” This last one really grinds my gears. The fact that she was a veteran went nowhere. No badass moment, no kicking zombie ass, no bodying them in defense. It’s a pandemic movie; there’s always an excuse to have your army brat character do some stunts. She was young too! She looked like she was in her 20s. Why was she dismissed at such a young age, or was she a reserve? Obviously she worked in army radio, but she looks fit enough. And if she did work in radio, why did they give her that army brat line and have her move like she was infantry? Or, if she didn’t have a reason to know hand-to-hand combat, why wasn’t there a little joke about that?

And Doctor Mendez. Why was he allowed to still be practicing despite writing phony prescriptions, a crime which could potentially prosecuted as a felony? Why does he still have a license? Sydney knew about it, but did no one tell the police? There's keeping personal matters private, but I don't think this one counts. And why, when they realize it’s the English language, do they not immediately switch to French? Why don’t they start to write notes sooner? For the number of times someone said they should stop talking, they sure kept on doing it.

I’m getting frustrated again just thinking about it! Questions like these are easy to answer with standard movie dialogue. Plot holes, failed potential, trip ups, whatever you want to call it, this movie had a ton of them. It’s also a high-stress environment. So why isn’t anyone having a real argument, whispered or otherwise? You’re telling me stuck for hours in the same room with the same people wouldn’t beget a real argument? Why is no one scared to the point of anger? Anger, confusion, fear, it just was so pale. And here I go again! I can feel my muscles tensing the more I mull it over.

Pontypool took itself so seriously the fun was just sucked right out of it. The devil is in the details and nothing is more irritating to me than tiny unanswered questions. You can leave your overarching explanations vague, have a weird ending, make it whatever you want in my opinion. But you better answer how the hell Dr. Mendez escaped his office when Ken Loney’s first report included a crowd gathering outside the building. I mean as far as the viewer is concerned, it was the first place. And the infected people are strong! The person who ended up getting Ken busted through a barn door! A movie shouldn't bring up questions like these unless it intends to answer. Where's the payoff? I want to grab this movie by the neck and shake it. I don’t even have the words. Like come on. Ugh! I’m getting heated, girl. (Or guy…or other…you get it.)

Honestly this whole review probably feels incredibly disconnected, but that’s the split for me about Pontypool. I adored the premise, spent time thinking after it ended about the world it created, the rules, how one might go about counter-acting it, what does the virus actually do to someone. But the movie itself? Completely wanting. Of anything. It’s just such a bummer because the idea, at least to me, is so cool.

Not particularly funny, scary, or contemplative, I have to go on what the movie presented, not just the concepts. I could see the good movie in there, but I didn't see it on screen. Look, I'm still thinking about it much after watching it which is only a good thing in terms of staying power. But we also remember bad movies and tend to think on those just as much as the good ones. Still, Pontypool is quite the popular movie and continues to be well received to this day. I'm definitely in the minority when it comes to my dislike, so don't shy away from giving it a watch. As of now (December 20) it's streaming on Shudder. As for me? Well...maybe the book is better. It usually is.

Split down the middle in a case of execution not living up to the concept, Pontypool (2008) slips by with a 2/5.

[dstrachan]

Splintered Halo ‘Nightmares, Legends & Gore’

I urge you to wrap your ears around the audio treat that is, ‘Nightmares, Legends & Gore’, the second album from character metal band, Splintered Halo; a dark, musical tapestry woven from multiple genres, telling the tales of a range of prominent female characters from history and fiction: women from legends, history and pop culture.  Splintered Halo lend their instruments and voices to entrance the listener with these stories.

I was immediately won over by the blend of diverse genres and world sounds which intersect to create songs as unique and intriguing as the characters themselves, truly a wonderfully engaging piece of creative magic. So impressive that it has prompted me to write my first album review in two years. 

My awareness of Splintered Halo spans back to 8th December 2017 when, whilst waiting for Courtesans to take to the stage and debut the video for their latest release ‘Genius’.  During the opening set by Megalomatic I glimpsed a couple of masked characters towards the rear of the ‘Hellfire Club’ venue in Glasgow.  They, Splintered Halo, subsequently arrived on stage as the second supporting band.  Discussing my activities, the following week, on air, with another presenter at TD1 Radio proved a tad awkward as he is a minister at a local church, and he seemed a bit put out by the band’s name.  Nevertheless, that first experience of the band performing really impressed me and it has been a pleasure to follow their progress over the ensuing years.  Back then in 2017 the band’s USP was as a band fronted by a strong female supported by a number of anonymous musicians all wearing the same masks.  The intervening years has seen these seemingly identical anonymous band members become discreet entities.  That leads us now to 2023 when band leader Evilyn Van Der Hyden is now supported by discreet characters, Pumpkinhead provides soaring guitar licks and singing tones, Sawtooth brings the chugga chugga and tasty riffage, The Harbinger, has the power to destroy worlds at her fingertips as she brings complex and meaty bass riffs finger style and the band’s drum Demoness, Hellequin adds  double kick darkness.

This album presents a wonderful plethora of musical genres with lyrics that feature the appropriate first track, but don’t expect the obvious, ‘The First Woman’ is about Lilith, who came before Eve, and refused to bend the knee to Adam.  Track two is ‘The Curse Of Medusa’.  Medusa is generally described as a human female with living venomous snakes in place of hair; those who gazed into her eyeswould turn to stone.  Next is ‘Queen Of The Nile’ concerning Isis a major goddess in ancient Egyptian religion.  She was first mentioned as one of the main characters of the Osiris myth, in which she resurrects her slain brother and husband, the divine king Osiris, and produces and protects his heir, Horus. She was believed to help the dead enter the afterlife as she had helped Osiris, and she was considered the divine mother of the pharaoh, who was likened to Horus.  The following tracks delve into Norse mythology with ‘Go Home To Valhalla’, Japanese horror culture with ‘Ju-on’.  Then comes ‘Bride Of Frankenstein’ based around the fictional character first introduced in Mary Shelley's 1818 novel Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus and later in the 1935 film Bride of Frankenstein. In the film, the bride is played by Elsa Lanchester. The character's design in the film features a conical hairdo with white lightning-trace streaks on each side, which has become an iconic symbol of both the character and the film.  ‘You Died’ and ‘Ode To Odette’ progress the selection to the penultimate ‘Hansel and Gretel’ based on the classic German fairy tale.  Hansel and Gretel are siblings who are abandoned in a forest and fall into the hands of a witch who lives in a gingerbread, cake, and candy house.  The final track, ‘The Last Queen Of Scotland’, features the real life historical Scottish character who has fascinated me for many years, having visited many Scottish locations associated with her since my youth.  After eighteen and a half years in captivity, Mary was found guilty of plotting to assassinate Elizabeth in 1586 and was beheaded the following year at Fotheringhay Castle, one location that I have still to visit (relatively close to where Mad Wasp Radio is based).

We recently had our grand daughter stay over to help us decorate the house/garden for Halloween.  Later, when we got into the car and music started to play, she remarked that it was very appropriate – I’m not sure what prompted her remark, it might have been hearing the music or seeing the track details on the car display which showed my preview copy of Splintered Halo’s ‘Nightmares, Legends & Gore’.

Track listing =

1/ ‘The First Woman’

2/ ‘The Curse Of Medusa’

3/ ‘Queen Of The Nile’

4/ ‘Go Home To Valhalla’

5/ ‘Ju-on’

6/ ‘Bride Of Frankenstein’

7/ ‘You Died’

8/ ‘Ode To Odette’

9/ ‘Hansel & Gretel’

10/ ‘The Last Queen Of Scotland’

[grantgoddard]

Living on the frontline : 1985 : Dave Asher, 21 Aharonson Street, Tel Aviv

“There’s a bomb!” someone shouted. “There’s a bomb!”

I had just collected ‘NME’ from the newsagent that reserved it for me each week and had been lazily staring at a display of the new ‘designer’ stretch jeans in the windows of Gloria Vandebilt’s shop. All had been calm on the city’s main shopping street. Then suddenly it was chaos. People ran in all directions as if their lives depended upon it … which they did. Men, women and children screamed as they fled down side streets, their shopping bags flying behind them like parachutes. I was in amongst them, running at full pelt until I thought I was far enough away from the suspect device. How would I know? I didn’t. Did I hear an explosion? No. Was it really a bomb? I never knew.

On the walk home, I called in at the post office and joined a lengthy queue at the counter for overseas mail. Once I handed over my letter, the man behind the counter inspected it and adopted the withering look of an adult castigating a child … or a new immigrant.

“You cannot send this,” he said, visibly weighing up my ignorance. “We are at war.”

“Oh,” I said sheepishly, taking back my letter. “Okay. Thanks.”

Where I came from, you could send a letter anywhere in the world. I had spent much of my childhood doing just that, writing to radio stations as far away as China, Russia and Syria … and receiving replies. However, I was now learning that life is different during a time of war. I had written a fan letter to ‘Radio One’, an FM station in Beirut, Lebanon with English-speaking DJs who played the latest international hits, interspersed with familiar identification jingles stolen from ‘BBC Radio One’. Since radio transmissions ignore borders and war zones, I had become a committed listener in recent months. Now I had to return home with my unsent letter.

‘Home’ was temporarily a house at 21 Rehov Aharonson in Tel Aviv, where I was sleeping on the living room floor of the lower flat rented by fellow Brit Dave Asher. He was a well-known DJ in Israel from having presented the ‘Voice of Peace’ radio station’s breakfast show for several years. There were drawbacks to my accommodation. One morning I awoke to find ants nesting in my hair, while the nocturnal journeys of slugs from behind the adjacent bathroom sink gave me frequent ‘Alien’-type nightmares. But Dave had let me stay for free and I was grateful for his generosity. Weeks turned into months; how quick they pass.

Dave had a job as DJ at a city centre basement lesbian nightclub which he kept inviting me to attend. I did visit on one occasion, but was faced with the challenge of convincing two burly doormen that I wanted to enter a female-only club filled with scantily clad women because I said my male friend was working inside. Dave was also the DJ at a packed concert by American drag queen Divine in a huge former cinema, one of the most entertaining events I have attended. My crazy plan was to remain in Tel Aviv by finding a job in the record industry, for which Dave had helped me make contact with people he knew in the business. Pre-internet and pre-mobiles, this required a lengthy wait for replies to handwritten letters.

As summer was hot inside the flat, at the end of the day I would walk the short distance to the end of the street and sit on one of the public seats along the promenade. I could put my feet up on the sea wall, read the day’s ‘Jerusalem Post’ newspaper, watch the sun set over the Mediterranean and cool down in the onshore breeze. One day, a man seated near me asked if he could read my paper when I had finished with it. He spoke in Hebrew and I replied likewise.

By then, I had learnt enough of the language to hold a basic conversation. The frustration of not even understanding destinations displayed on the front of city buses had forced me to learn the Hebrew alphabet and numbers from a schoolbook. Every afternoon I developed my vocabulary by watching ‘Sesame Street’ (‘Rehov Sumsum’ in Hebrew) on television, where the first word I learnt was the ‘dustbin’ in which Grouch (Moishe Oofnik) lived.

I was suspicious of this man trying to strike up a conversation because, weeks earlier, I had been sunbathing alone on Tel Aviv beach when a man came and sat far too close to me on the sand and propositioned me for sex. He appeared to interpret my indignant refusal as merely ‘playing hard to get’ and continued to pester me, so I now avoided the beach and its potential for further unwanted attentions.

Thankfully this man on the promenade seemed different. Because our initial conversation had been in Hebrew, he found it hard to believe that I was not a recent immigrant to Israel struggling to learn my new language. After several rounds of questioning, he was eventually convinced that: I was not Jewish; I was British; I spoke English; and I was Christian. Only once these facts had been established did he have sufficient confidence to identify himself to me as a Christian Palestinian.

“Meet me here at the same time tomorrow,” he told me. “There is something I want to show you.”

Despite an incendiary device having recently exploded at the end of our street, thankfully with no casualties, I decided to risk meeting this man again the next day on the promenade. We walked to a walled compound a few hundred metres away where he spoke Arabic into the intercom, the gate opened and we walked through a garden into a house. He took me inside and knocked on what appeared to be a bedroom door. When it opened, it was immediately apparent that this was no normal small bedroom.

Bunk beds were butted up against each other on three walls of the room, leaving no space in their midst for other furniture. The small window had been covered so that the room was dark except for a single lightbulb on the ceiling. After my entrance, I was being stared at by six men, each sat on their bunk, their sweat thick in this non-air-conditioned room. My guide explained to them in Arabic why I was there, then he turned to address me.

“I wanted you to see how Palestinians have to live in Israel, the same land in which our families were born,” he told me. “Before dawn every day, we are employed outside to clean the beaches, sweep the streets and collect rubbish but, by the time the sun comes up and the crowds come out, we have to make ourselves invisible by returning to accommodation like this. As a fellow Christian, I wanted you to see how we are forced to live in our own homeland so that you can tell people what life is really like in Israel for those who are not Jews.”

A man arrived with a big bag of takeaway food which he started to dole out to each of the men in the room. I wondered to myself if I was to be included in their evening meal and how that could happen when there was no available space for a guest to sit. My guide quickly quashed that notion.

“The men will not eat their food in front of a stranger,” he explained. “We have to go now.”

It had only required a few minutes in that crowded room for the man to have made his point. He was understandably angry about his people’s situation. He told me that, having seen their conditions myself, I now had evidence to refute the disinformation that most of the world believed. We left the compound, he went his own way and I never saw him again.

After several months of messages, letters and calls from public phone boxes, I was finally offered a meeting with the head of an international record company’s Israeli subsidiary in his penthouse flat. There I explained that I had recently secured airplay on British radio for Israeli pop records through my knowledge of the UK radio industry. I believed I could do more like this to develop Israeli music’s presence overseas.

“You should go home,” he told me sternly. “Israel is not the place for you. There is a war going on. The economy is in bad shape. Things are terrible here. Go home and find yourself a job there.”

I departed Israel on the next available flight, disappointed by my failure to secure a job. I left behind an economy with an annual rate of inflation nearing 1,000% and a currency so devalued that it required a thick wad of banknotes just to buy a loaf of bread. Prices in shops had to be updated daily, written on post-it notes stuck along shelf edges. At checkouts, there were insufficient banknotes in tills to provide change, so customers were given the equivalent value in sweets and candies. Coins had become obsolete because they were worthless. I was carrying around several hundred banknotes stuffed down the front of my underpants because my wallet was now too small.

Back in Britain, within three years I had organised the release and promotion of an Israeli record that reached number 15 in the UK singles chart, accompanied by a ‘Top of the Pops’ television appearance. It became the biggest selling Israeli record in Britain since Esther and Abi Ofarim’s ‘Cinderella Rockefella’ in 1968, coincidentally my very first single purchase. Singer Ofra Haza became an international star, later recording songs for a Disney movie. Despite failing to find a job in Tel Aviv, I had managed to successfully pin music from Israel on the ‘world music’ map of the 1980’s.

It was Dave Asher who had first introduced me to Ofra Haza’s music in 1985. Two decades later, his job was presenting the breakfast show on a radio station … in Beirut!

[hjort67hjort]

The Patient's Life Story on Electronic Medical Records Software

In November 2004 the FDA approved the use associated with RFID tags (Radio-frequency identification) At the price computer technology is evolving it can take some imagination in order to picture how electronic advances will change health care within the coming years. Typically the economic and socio-political climate trends suggest that the prospect could possibly be less compared to idyllic. Down the road wellness care information may be kept in the centralized databank with the complete rundown of a personal identity; this signifies that whoever regulates the data handles the medical, economic, and privacy concerns of the personal. Thinking returning to the particular days of enjoying Pong on some sort of simple text pc, large and primitive by today's criteria, nobody would have got guessed we might sooner or later have nearly the total information worldwide available on some sort of tiny mobile phone. Miniaturization has been typically the trend as microchips get smaller in addition to more powerful. Industries like medical could obtain software that will gets ever extra sophisticated to combine medical records. The next step in connection with patient will end up being even more revolutionary. The particular associated with nanotechnology gives a new of possibility, since it provides typically the capability to put in nanometer-scale microchips to the body to perform electronic functions. Producing hand motions or even moving the sight may be the way we interface with typically the systems of the future with some point. Simply as electrodes in addition to RFID chips happen to be used on typically the exterior, additionally it is probable to use the particular technology internally. You would probably think that implanting such a chip would certainly be finished with limits of use beneath the law, which it truly is at the moment of this writing. With many regulations changing overnight and runaway centralization, it will only take some sort of new law in order to require citizens to have radio frequency identification chips placed in their arms which could serve as their bar codes. Typically the RFID chips at the moment utilized are injected in a patient's arm; imply carry medical files on their individual but when sought they provide gain access to to the databank where the records are on document. Greater technological progress will mean that a new person's history could be followed, providing an temptation to merge more data in to those chips. Study indicates that simply such a strategy is underway with the goal regarding having all professional medical records, financial information, criminal records, and so on being available to the authorities. Methods associated with keeping electronic clinical records will more than likely follow the trend involving accelerating technology to the stage of making this intrusive. It will be inevitable the ease of managing an inventory of the human population is not going to go undetected by governments within search of ways of easy control. Medical publications presented the final results of a survey done in February june 2006 of 253 Main Information Officers plus Directors of Details Systems at healthcare facilities (The 2004 Leadership Survey). get more info indicated that 55% of them regarded auto-identification as the particular IT solution that will was most critical in order to their institutions. The value would be significantly higher in military services and political groups. The march of progress goes on but there are two possible futures, possibly one of enlightenment where patients can count on new miracles of contemporary medicine to aid the particular living or possibly a potential of an Orwellian nightmare where a new totalitarian bureaucracy that will can turn off your current chip when it is displeased - kind of a big cable company. Another type involving chip has been developed that is consequently tiny it fits on the finish of a syringe and can attach itself to the particular cortex in the human brain. It would become competent at altering brainwave frequencies to make the subject either docile or thrashing. The potential regarding abuse is obvious and we can simply hope that privacy remains intact through the entire political power-grabbing. SEARCH ENGINE OPTIMISATION consultant Pat Boardman writes this in respect to medical -panel pc hardware consultant IT Medical Technological innovation, suppliers of laptop carts and wallmounted kiosks.