#Death Metal producer

[inkcorperated-blog]

Rise - [Alch3misT]

[princessnicotine19]

Doe eyed cvnt!

[cj-doodlez]

hi, i do music too :P

and go on album/song/band frenzies/hyperfixations

song: Flesh Coffin by Lorna Shore

Just experimenting and attempting to recreate Adam De Micco's guitar tone in the album coz it's just scrumptious

[cyntrix]

‘strange device’ is an ambitious and immersive journey into the darker corners of the human experience. Created by the duo cyntrix and the pilot, the album weaves together a powerful blend of distorted guitars, heavy bass, breakcore drums, and choral-style vocals to create a moody and sinister soundscape. Thematically, it delves into complex emotional realms, exploring trauma, grief, and existential dread alongside deeper themes of generational curses, moral scrupulosity, and the psychological toll of CPTSD, anxiety, and depression.

At the heart of strange device lies the title track, a cinematic rock piece that balances the album’s extremes of sound and emotion. Featuring a dynamic range of distorted guitars, synth solos, and obscure sci-fi-inspired effects, this song embodies the duo’s signature blend of intricate sound design and emotionally charged storytelling. It draws listeners into a world where personal suffering is inextricably linked to larger existential questions, offering moments of both despair and resilience.

The album represents a significant creative leap for cyntrix and the pilot. Pushing themselves beyond the electronic realm, they embraced a wider sonic palette, incorporating electric guitars, six-string bass, drum kits, and even field recordings to achieve a massive and atmospheric wall of sound. These experimental techniques were designed to reflect the album's colossal themes—nihilism, spiritual psychosis, wrath, death, and the decay of both body and mind.

In ‘strange device’, the duo confronts the agony of being born into a world darkened by the weight of past generations. Through this sonic exploration, they pose a singular, poignant question: when surrounded by the darkness, do you surrender and darken with it, or do you rise to become a beacon of light?

out 11/11/24!

preorder at cyntrix.bandcamp.com presave on spotify: https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/cyntrixthepilot/strange-device 

[noise-misato-unbonked]

We're working on new material already so go listen to the old stuff! I hope you gay nerds like Zelda!!

[auroroboros1]

to produce these, i run the following c program (i named it latinify):

#include <stdio.h>

int main(int argc,char** argv){FILE* infile;FILE* n;char c;infile=fopen(argv[1],"r+");n=fopen("latinversion","w+");while(!feof(infile)){c= (char)fgetc(infile);switch(c){case 'u':c='v';break;case 'U':c='V';break;case 'w':c='v';break;case 'W':c='V';break;case 'j':c='i';break;case 'J':c='I';break;case 'k':c='c';break;case 'K':c='C';break;}fputc(c,n);}return 1;}

with the command: latinify inputfile.jpg;cat inputfile.jpg>outputfile.jpg

it theoretically works on all filetypes but it tends to brick anything that isnt jpg or mp3.if you want to make your own, go ahead, you dont have to attribute me. this is like first semester c stuff that i made for a joke but kept around and found a use for. use at your own risk, i am not responsible if you accidentally overwrite files you care about.

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

[depresseddepot]

holy SHIT the scene with the hijra fighting in the lobby is SO cool

[sonia-the-hedgehog-2369]

Not me standing half naked (putting on my pajamas) in my bedroom dancing to this

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Choose Wisely

It pains me to do this, but it must be done. For scientific reasons, obviously.

Photos and reasonings under the cut

He was smol baby, smol little bean. Couldn’t even jump into a helicopter or follow commands because he was too happy. Gave lots of puppy kisses to the most badass man and got away with it. Then he became a big boi- a ferocious and tough guy with an eyepatch who poses for the camera like a boss. Scary to the enemies, but lovable to everyone else.

A loyal boi. He kept lonely Sole company. He does little tippy-tappy dance when he finds something cool. He protec and he attac, but most importantly he always loves you bac. He doesn’t judge your decisions like everyone else, he loves you unconditionally even if you comp down on a corpse. He luvs playing with teddy bears and he brings you presents. How could you resist?

And then there’s HIM.

A musical boi. He’s been alive for over 20 years. He makes music, and he sings. He somehow plays the guitar. He’s held irl concerts. THOSE EYEBROWS!!!

[maretufan01]

MARETU Playing Slit Your Guts by Cryptopsy

[inkcorperated-blog]

Wash Away Your Sins - [Alch3mist]

[homunculus-argument]

Random worldbuilding idea: a culture where everyone is a goth, but for perfectly sensible environmental ressons.

Wearing mainly/almost exclusively black clothing because either the dye protects them/the fabric from something in the environment, black clothes are the most convenient ones to maintain, or then a century ago black dye was extremely difficult and/or expensive to produce and only the wealthiest of society could afford it, but now a cheaper dye method has been invented and after a huge trend of Now Everybody Can Wear Black, it just stuck and nobody even remembers why all clothes are dyed black. It's just tradition.

Everyone wears demonia-style platform shoes because the climate is wet and cold, and for most of the year the ground is either muddy or covered in icy slush, so knee-high tall boots are simply the most pragmatic way to keep the rest of your clothes reasonably dry and clean.

Silver and leather jewellery is widespread because the land is rich in metal ore - while the rich can afford to buy/commission delicate silver threads, even the peasants can afford some sort of rough iron chains and studs on their wristbands. Studded leather is more sensible than having metal rings touching skin directly, due to the cold weather. Studs and chains also double as armour and weapons which technically speaking don't count as such, allowing people to circumvent any "can't openly carry weapons during peace time"-laws. Law enforcement could not confiscate someone's bling without causing public riots.

Everyone is about as pale as their natural complexion allows since the climate is cold and dark and the sun does not rise much during the winter. Cold dark winters are also the reason why the culture is so morbid in general - in the heart of the darkest months there's fuck all else to do than write poetry about the moon's silver light and the howls of wolves and the beauty of death, while polishing your iron chains until they shine like silver.

Domesticated ravens are more covenient for messenger birds than doves are, as they're hardier and can manage the climate better. Even if more modern messaging technology has been invented, people prefer sending letters by bird because it's more romantic and poetic. Sending someone a raven message poem about how you'd like to be buried in the same grave together one day is a very standard way of flirting.

[auroroboros1]

to produce these, i run the following c program (i named it latinify):

#include <stdio.h>

int main(int argc,char** argv){FILE* infile;FILE* n;char c;infile=fopen(argv[1],"r+");n=fopen("latinversion","w+");while(!feof(infile)){c= (char)fgetc(infile);switch(c){case 'u':c='v';break;case 'U':c='V';break;case 'w':c='v';break;case 'W':c='V';break;case 'j':c='i';break;case 'J':c='I';break;case 'k':c='c';break;case 'K':c='C';break;}fputc(c,n);}return 1;}

with the command: latinify inputfile.jpg;cat inputfile.jpg>outputfile.jpg

it theoretically works on all filetypes but it tends to brick anything that isnt jpg or mp3.if you want to make your own, go ahead, you dont have to attribute me. this is like first semester c stuff that i made for a joke but kept around and found a use for. use at your own risk, i am not responsible if you accidentally overwrite files you care about.

[strangererotica]

An addition to this fic, as @plasticfangtastic kindly mentioned she’d like a second part ♥️

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

some big content warnings: implied character death, vomit, blood, menstrual blood, consuming of aforementioned bodily fluids by Art, breath play, choking, dubious consent, oral sex, vaginal sex, use of a sex toy

He was back.

Oh my god, he was back.

Your stomach roiled in a disturbing mix of revulsion and excitement. You wanted this. Despite how loudly your thinned grip on sanity was screaming at you not to want this, you did. You wanted him: this sick fucking clown, leaning menacingly in the frame of your bedroom doorway.

As before, he remained silent. The only sounds you could hear were the quick breaths you drew in and out, and the plastic crinkle of the black garbage bag settling at the clown’s feet. You knew what he kept inside that bag…terrible things, things that he used to hurt people. As he knelt to rifle through its contents, fear momentarily overrode the twisted arousal swelling between your thighs.

Your heart was pounding so hard you swore you could hear it, knocking against your ribcage like a frenetic drumbeat. The metallic sound of various weapons being shifted about scratched at your ears, making you gulp. The clown paused, making an exaggerated expression as if to say “ahh, there it is.” He produced something from inside the garbage bag you’d never have expected…something less likely to cause pain, and much more likely to cause pleasure instead…

His smile deepened as he met your eyes. The long, fat dildo looked strange held in the clown’s hand, lingering mid-air as he observed your response to it. Your lips had parted, words failing you and for a moment, making the two of you somewhat equal. Words were unnecessary to describe the confusion and anticipation you were feeling; the look on your face confirmed for the clown everything he already knew. He may have been a monster, but something inside him remained a man. The way your body had responded on his hand the day prior revealed your needs were just as human as his.

He approached you deliberately, taunting you with his slow pace. You made note of the open doorway behind him, wondering fleetingly if you could escape. The thought faded as quickly as it had formed, however, when the clown stopped at the side of your bed, and tapped the dildo lightly against your lips. All traces of common sense, all semblance of self preservation, evaporated in an instant. His other hand came to rest at your cheek, pulling tenderly along the curve of your jawline. You drew in a sharp breath, shock racking your body at the realization that the fingertips currently tracing your skin in a gesture of tenderness were also capable of unspeakable violence. The clown’s thumb dragged along your bottom lip, pulling it slightly downward. You gazed obediently up at him, tepidly offering your tongue against the tip of his thumb. His expression softened, his sharp features relaxing slightly at your offering up, of surrender when he was so accustomed to being met with fear. You, however, were proving yourself even better than prey. Offerings were always preferable to sacrifices, the clown had observed. Especially when they fit his cock as well as you…

He pressed the head of the dildo between your lips, his chest dipping in an exhale as you took the first four inches with no resistance. Your eyelids fluttered, lashes dusting up and down rapidly as your gag reflex was triggered on the sixth inch of the toy. The clown shook his head disapprovingly, and you felt a sting of disappointment. You wanted to please him, and his expression conveyed that your performance with the toy was coming up short. As if to compensate, you began to bob your head on the toy, silently asking the clown to try again. He cocked an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders amiably, before abruptly forcing another two inches down your throat. Your eyes flew open wide, your body lurching as a surge of vomit washed up your throat. The clown removed the dildo, watching as you sprayed the floor beside your bed in hot, slippery bile. Coughing hoarsely, you used your pajama sleeve to wipe at your glistening chin, tears forming along your lash line. The clown’s hand moved to your hair, gripping a handful of your tresses painfully hard. He threw your back against the bed, climbing astride you and casing you in between his legs.

He examined the toy, peppered with bits of your sick, before dragging his tongue along its surface and licking it clean. The act should have repulsed you, but somehow, in his presence you were beyond the confines of your normal sexual principles. The gesture was somehow tender, considerate; and when he tore the waist of your pajama shorts down, you didn’t even mind that it hurt, elastic snapping your hip with a sharp sting. The clown positioned the head of the dildo against your entrance, his smile fading to a look of concentrated arousal when he noticed the red liquid smeared between your thighs. He pressed the toy inside you, his cock stiffening against your thigh when you whimpered at being filled. Again, he thrust the toy into you, his breath quickening as he watched your menstrual blood gush out around the toy’s head. He continued to fuck you on the toy, his own cock needy and leaking against the inside of his costume as he thrust the dildo, and your blood, in and out of you over and over again.

When he did remove the toy, it was with selfish intent. Because rather than lay it aside, the clown pulled it to his lips desperately, sucking your crimson essence from the silicone toy like it was sustaining him. He then reached under you, gripping your ass and lifting your hips till they were elevated at his face. Before you could even comprehend what was about to happen, the clown had buried his mouth against your cunt, a mix of lips, teeth and tongue devouring you in rough, greedy pursuit. It was too much, the physical sensations and their emotional implications overwhelming you. The way he literally ate you was the most intense sexual experience you’d ever had. The level of intimacy having your blood consumed by sometime else created was unlike anything else; no ordinary orgasm could compare to this, no drug could ever match this high. You came screaming, fingernails tearing into the fabric of your bedsheets, heels kicking into the clown’s shoulders at a brutal force that no man could have withstood. He held you in place as if it were effortless for him, like your ass in his hands and your cunt in his mouth were weightless.

When he sank his teeth into the fat of your inner thigh, you yelped in pain, and he immediately lifted his head, face covered in your blood, locking eyes with you. The blue you’d seen in them earlier had vanished, replaced with something pitch black and haunting, as if consuming your blood had itself tinted the clown’s eyes with ink. He climbed across you, his erection prodding your stomach, your legs left trembling on the bed where he’d dropped them. Ripping the fabric separating his body from yours, the clown reached inside his costume and removed his cock. You trembled under him, his other hand closing over your throat, your pulse drumming against the soiled palm of his glove. Squeezing harder around your throat, the clown watched your eyes as he sank his cock inside you. You tried to exhale, but his hand wouldn’t allow it, your cheeks going puffy and red, eyes widening in alarm as he kept your breath locked away inside his grip. Your hold on consciousness began to waver, eyes drifting backward in surrender. Air was suddenly returned to you, the clown’s hold on your throat relenting long enough for you to suck desperately at all the oxygen your burning lungs could hold. His hips slammed forward, crushing your insides like a weight. His lithe fingers once again tightened around your throat, sealing off your access to the air and the world around you…

You jolted upward, your chest crushed beneath the clown’s weight over you. His smile was sadistic as usual, confirming that he enjoyed this game of control, of bringing you inches from the edge of death before lurching you mercifully back to consciousness. His cock was splitting you apart at the seams, bruising your cervix as he seemed to get bigger the longer he was inside you. It was as if his cock had continued to grow even after becoming fully erect, swelling inside you till not a single crevice of your cunt was untouched by his girth. He released your throat, grinning maniacally as you gasped at the air, watching the red imprint of his fingers rapidly form a bruise in your skin. Free to breathe as you needed, you began to feel all the other sensations the clown was stimulating inside you. His fat, engorged length fit perfectly inside you, lodged against your g-spot in a way that had your back arching, drool spilling from your lips to the bedsheets as you moaned for more, more, more. He knew what you needed, but he wanted to hear you beg. Holding your life in his hands wasn’t enough for the clown; he needed to hold your pleasure ransom as well. He’d already spoiled you with one orgasm, the best you’d ever had in your life or ever would have, and he knew it. Now your pleasure was optional; he wasn’t going to play with you much longer anyway. It was his time to get what he needed, to take what he wanted from you before his time with you was over.

Reaching again for your hips, the clown lifted them so he was fucking down into you, your back plastered to the drenched bed, a sticky mix of cum and blood caking the sheets to your skin. You felt yourself getting close again, the raw throb of an even more powerful climax than the first rolling up from deep in your core. The sounds that left your lips were unholy, hedonistic cries to the god of this earth for more and more pleasure, for unending ecstasy at the expense of all that is good and holy and right. Your teeth sealed over your bottom lip, breaking the skin as you convulsed in orgasm. Ripples of pleasure rocked through you, snapping your hips back and forth, jolting on the cock inside you so wildly that the clown didn’t even have to thrust, but rather watched as you fucked yourself on him. He grit his teeth as the first tug of his orgasm began, biting the insides of his cheeks till the soft tissue bled. Ropes of cum belched inside you, coating the walls of your pussy, his thrusts smearing your bullied cervix in creamy white.

He sank his fingertips into the fat of your hips, watching with interest as crescent-shaped marks bloomed red under his ministrations. You were too fucked-out to feel anything at this point, your body still shaking even after your orgasm had faded. Eyes clouded over, a sheen of sweat and blood covering you, the clown thought you looked even prettier than you had wearing his cum on your back the night before. And now, he decided, it was time to see how pretty you’d look from the inside out. He left the bed, taking a step toward his garbage bag of supplies by the doorway. You were too busy shaking and panting, and mumbling some incoherent string of nonsense to realize that the clown had removed a blood-caked axe from his bag. Returning to the bed, he climbed astride you once again, his knees at your sides. Art tucked his softening, satisfied dick inside his costume, sighed contentedly, then lifted the axe above his head… 🩸

@hippiegothrecs @megangovier @plasticfangtastic @jessieconstantine1999 @kakixii @theslvttysimp