#reek hills

[z2z-gaming-and-random-art-ai]

Mad Max - Game World Ambience - Reek Hills - A Sulphurous Stink

To the far west of Gut Gash's territory lies the Reek Hills, a volcanic area filled with jagged rocks formed by ancient underwater eruptions now lost to history. The area remains volcanically active, with vast pools of sulfuric acid and the unmistakable stench of rotting-egg sulfur—a clear indication of the activity simmering beneath the former ocean floor. 

For other game world ambience videos, check out this playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CFo5LyAEvdIcP4syymQaI50

[girlboss003]

Toji… blah blah blah blah blah.. SHIU KONG LADIES AND GENTLEMEN SHIU KONG!!!!

HELLO HES SO FINE AND UNBELIEVABLY UNDERRATED??? SLEAZY LOOKING ASS SMIRK

ok thanks for coming to my TED talk 😘😘😘

[sunny-honeytears]

I don't get how people dislike professor abronsius like-

Like look at him

He's so- hes so me

Accurate reaction to seeing a female

Me when..me when i sleep

[hart-on-my-sleeve]

I have not been able to stop thinking of that Gentrys picture for the past like what, 16 hours? Fell asleep thinking about it, woke up thinking about it.

The brain rot is real.

Doesn't help that at some point I was mumbling at 1am last weekend-

Friend: I wonder how Jimmy's eyes look.

Me: *so fucking tired* they're so pretty... The prettiest...

Friend: Really?

Me: you don't get it... They're so pretty... His eyelashes are so long too... There's this great camera shot of him coming out of the cloth thing under the ring.... *Giggling as I'm trying to explain this* and just!! His eyes so preettttyyyyy

I think I went on about this for much too long because I also don't remember half of the conversation other than I was babbling about this-

Like stop looking and acting like a hamster and then having the prettiest damn eyes. Fuck ofF-

[mugiwara-lucy]

They need to stop making fun of my man Skills! 😤

[dinosaurcharcuterie]

I propose that any blend, whether fiber, thread, fabric or clothing has to have an unmistakable word for "blend" in its name. (e.g. viscose blend fabric)

Any fiber mentioned in the name has to either be the most-used fiber in the blend, or be preceded by it, like an ingredient list. (e.g. wool-silk blend roving)

No fiber which constitutes 15% or less may be used in the name, but all fibers must be listed on label included with sale. (see: above meme)

If a process of creating fabric could misrepresent what fiber content is included (fulling, linen weave, etc.), or present as a different fiber at a glance (satin weave anything as a silk dupe), that process must be disclosed in an unmistakable way. (e.g. fulled acrylic-wool blend slippers, linen weave polyester pants)

And if any corporate type wants to whine that that's tedious:

1. Just as tedious as going CSI on wtf you're selling us

2. Absolutely none of these rules prevent you from using a single fiber type and just selling it to us as what it is.

What's up, I made a meme that I'm sure is extremely broad-audience and relatable

[sucka99]

[cerastes]

I saw there are a lot of forest fire in chile right now. are you gonna be okay?

Three days after the fact, yeah, I'll be fine, personally and physically, but it's dire, I'm not going to lie. I've never seen so much fire in my life. When you think about a big fire, your impression might be two or three buildings on fire with some firefighter trucks spraying water at it. This was kilometers upon kilometers of raging blazes. Kilometers. Heads up if you are sensitive to these kinds of posts, this isn't a happy one.

Entire hills on fire. Lush green hills reduced to ash and smoke.

Not to mention the urban parts that got hit badly

The official death toll keeps increasing each passing hour as they clear up the rubble and ruins and find more corpses. People I know lost everything. Some people I know lost their loved ones. Dogs are eating corpses on the street because they haven't picked them up yet, so you have neighbors warding off said dogs. Bodies get picked up too badly burned, eaten, decomposed, or a mix thereof to be identified.

It's a tragedy. It all reeks of smoke, there's ash everywhere.

It was sudden, it was brutal. Seeing elderly survivors wondering "what's next for me? I don't have enough years left among the living to rebuild all I lost, all I worked for throughout my life, gone like that" breaks my heart. The government is offering all sorts of aid, but there's also people whose documents, like ID and other identifying documentation, was lost in the fire, so they have to get re-issued an ID before they can actually start filing for aid. The SML (Servicio Médico Legal) is oversaturated with all that's suddenly on their plate and can't return the bodies of people to their families yet, and these are all people that still need food, shelter, hygiene, and so on after the fact. Seeing the logistical nightmare that becomes life after you lose everything firsthand from other people is sobering and painful. Yeah, they survived, but what comes next? It's a sense of uncertainty that is smothering and asphyxiating, it's hopelessness.

I apologize if I come across as dramatic, especially so as someone who was luckily not affected, but it really, really has been heartbreaking to witness, especially from very up close, as I was there, and it's one thing to know of a tragedy that happened elsewhere, maybe even in your own country, but elsewhere, and it's a whole other beast to have seen it directly as it unfolded.

Keep Chile in your thoughts. If you are able to, please consider donating to Desafío Levantemos Chile, to my knowledge the only drive that accepts Paypal, thus, foreign donations, to help the various efforts to rebuild and aid those affected. Desafío Levantemos Chile dates back to 2010, when Chile got hit by a devastating earthquake, and is an NGO that bases its continued existence in being able to provide aid during catastrophes such as this one.

[allurilove]

Yandere x Zombie you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: Body mutilation, gore, stalking, desperate and perverted man, gender neutral reader, begging, dry humping.

*He doesn’t have a name, and is referred to as “your stalker,” He only exists for reader, and without you, he ceases to exist. Here is part two! This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: It’s the zombie apocalypse, and you’re a zombie who has a little stalker/fan. He tried to offer himself to you, but you want nothing to do with him.

You’re just trying to go on about your day being a zombie, but an annoying and persistent man won’t leave you alone. He thinks he’s slick, but you see him, and best him every time.

Your stalker always hated zombies. They reeked of death, their breath sour, and their jaws claimed thousands of souls. He kept quiet as he tiptoed around, hiding his body behind a trash can as you feasted on your latest victim.

You went for the jugular, your teeth puncturing their skin, and a burst of metallic tasting blood filled your mouth. You were wild. Your whole hands, neck, chest, and face were stained with blood. You had a couple of flies around you, which you ate as a snack too.

However, with you, he was infatuated. He never once thought it was disgusting that your skin stuck to your skull, your arm twisted in an unnatural way, and how your hair was matted. Or how your clothes were torn, and you had holes in your shoes.

He tried to trap you. But unlike the other zombies, you were smart. The bear trap didn’t work, he tried to lasso you and failed, he spent time building you a cage, just for you to trap him in it.

When you went after a group of humans, he panicked. He hated when you went after a crowd, and he watched with his heart hammering. He prayed that you would survive, and rip them to shreds.

Your stalker often made sure you were well fed. He dragged an old body that remained untouched, and he purposely pushed it into your view. He winced as the body rolled down the hill and knocked you down like a bowling pin. Whoops.

After this has gone on for months, he became envious. Your attention was solely focused on the girl you trapped against the wall, he huffed and puffed, crossing his arms as the girl continued to scream. He began to wonder how it would feel to be eaten by you.

He handed himself to you like he was the best thing around. He took a shower by the lake, scrubbing his body clean from the dirt and grime. Your stalker wondered if he should just be nude so you had an easier access to him, or be clothed and make you work for it…

Your stalker whistled as he approached you, but you didn’t look at him. Your body just wandering around the abandoned building, and he waved at you. But you ignore him. He purposely laid down in front of you, but you just step on his stomach, making him groan in pain. He watched as you were on the move again, and he grabbed onto your ankle.

“Wait— please!” He tried to bargain with you, “I swear I taste good!” Your stalker whined as you just drag him around, trying to go on about your day again. He decided to do something drastic.

Your stalker needed your attention. He needed to feel your hands on him. He stuffed his mouth with his sock, and he picked up his blade. He jumped a couple of times and his joggers slipped down a bit, enough for him to pull out his member.

It hurt like a bitch. He bit down hard onto the sock as his tears welled up in his eyes, he cut his member from the base— wanting to give you the whole thing.

He handed you his cock, and you took the phallic looking thing in your hands. With some sick perversion he wanted to see you eat it, to hold it in your hands, and watch it disappear down your throat.

He’s seen you eat raccoons, rats, pigeons, and decomposed maggot filled bodies rotting away in the hot summer sun, their guts spilled open, and there was barely any flesh left to eat. He’s seen you dig through trash and shove it in your face.

He watched you tear into your own arm after not being able to find something to feed on for weeks. He watched you bite into a pee soaked leg after the human pissed itself after seeing your morbid face.

And yet you wouldn’t eat his freshly cut dick?

You looked at him with an unamused expression.

Your stalker frowned, his hands snatching back his body part after you refused to eat it. His hands were shaking, and his legs about to give out— due to his wound he haphazardly wrapped with bandages. His ego was bruised.

You continued to stare at him with disgust, as if you haven’t done something as vile as this. But to be fair, it wasn’t your fault that you were eating humans. It was the damn virus.

First, you don’t care to eat him. Second, you barely seem interested in him. And now third, you’re rejecting his offering? This was enough to make a grown man cry.

“Is it too small for you?” He pouted. “I- I happen to be a grower-“

He swore he saw you roll your eyes. For someone who barely had any mobility except for shuffling around, you had the gall to roll your eyes. You just groan. You try to wave your arm at him— to dismiss him, but you just smacked his face.

“Am I not appealing to you?” He glared at you, his face turning pale. His pants are soaked in blood, and he twitched.

The man fell down to his knees, throwing his dismembered cock to the side, and he clasped his hands together. His breath is ragged, and looked at you as if you were an angel who could take him out of his misery.

And so you do.

Most of your victims are scared, clawing at your arms and leaving red harsh marks on your skin, but he holds you closer. He moaned as your body was pressed up against his— chest to chest. You sat right on his hips. His blood tasted like nectar, it was pleasant and sweet. Your tongue swiped at his sweat.

“Oh god yes! Please eat me!” He cried out, and his fingers dig into your rib cage as you start to grind onto him.

He was already on deaths door step, his heart beat slowing down, and his grip slightly loosened. Your stalker’s moans, and the chanting of your name quiets. It wasn’t long before he let out his last breath.

Your stomach is full and you’re satisfied.

[tiffanylamps]

[pics, links, and my silliness under the break]

[for caroline: eton's chapel, religious provisions]

info regarding the school with pictures (this is a complete side note: I think once you've* see where joo won lived and understand the people he went to school with [the royal family send their kids to eton], you get a better understanding of why joo won is such a snob. he probably even believes that his own studio flat is somewhat beneath him, considering he went to school with the children of billionaires... and like... we don't know how wealthy the han family (and lee family) is, but they must pretty loaded to send joo won to some of the top schools in england from age 7 to 17**) * i don't mean you you, caroline. i'm more using the figurative you, the "royal" you ** from my understanding, joo won was 7 when he was sent to england and that age is derived from the timeline of the show and by basing it off the korean aging system. meaning, he left korea as a 7-year-old boy and arrived in england as a 6-year-old boy. and he left when he was 16... but was 17 when he came back to korea...???? idk i'm probably wrong also, i'm throwing my joo won choir boy propaganda into the ring:

i can totally see him in the get-up. plus, it just seems so fitting for his personality that he would study the latin songs and become so engrossed with getting his notes perfect. like. perrrrfect. and he would refuse to help the other kids out with their parts, because he's a prick lol i'msemijokingbutnotreallybutlike touring eton college chapel choir goes to korea au when???? (pls know i'm joking... unless 👀. pls ignore me)

here is the choir boys in action to help set the ambiance

sorry to bombard you with all this eton nonsense, i just thought it might help you with your joo won religious trauma headcanon (and i... kinda wanna feed your headcanon for my own selfish reasons lol)

personally, i think a part of the reason why han joo won and lee dong sik are as intense as they are is because they both have some weird religious trauma going on. we know that dong sik is definitely from a christian/catholic background because the show literally opens with his family being christian/catholic/whichever it was, but joo won is. look at that guy. no one talks that much about hell unless you’ve got some deep-rooted catholic or christian trauma. have u ever seen a queer person talk about their relationship with religion. the energy is just different

[ariestrxsh]

🍕 content warning: smut, use of handcuffs, coercion (?), praise, pain kink, edging, begging, dick riding, sub!pizzaboy!chris, dom!policeofficer!reader

🍕 author's note: i wrote a part one to this story that you can read here, but this piece of writing can stand on its own and doesn't need any context, and you don't need to read in order to enjoy!

🍕 summary: during a routine traffic stop with the same pizza delivery boy you've pulled over many times before, you decide to teach chris a lesson about breaking the law. will you let him get off with a warning?

pizza guy part two

Chris had just dropped off his last delivery of the night, and he was on his way back to the pizza shop, cruising down a big hill on a backroad in his small town. Rap music was blaring through his speakers, and he had his windows rolled down to air out his car from the joint he'd just smoked in it earlier, ignoring the 25 MPH signs he sped past.

While Chris was drumming his fingers on his steering wheel to the beat of the song, blue and red lights started flashing in the reflection of his rearview. "Fuck," he groaned under his breath, rolling his eyes and pumping his brakes.

He just knew it would be you. The same officer who hassled him at least once every couple of weeks in that same area, but at least that meant he could probably get out of the ticket pretty easily with a little flirting.

He started rifling through his glove compartment for his registration and proof of insurance as you sauntered up to the driver's side of his car. "Don't you know to wait with both hands on the wheel until after I approach your vehicle?" You scolded him, shining your flashlight in his face.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, what kind of rule is that?" Chris asked, squinting up at you and glancing at your badge. Sure as shit, same cop who's been harrassing me for several months, he thought to himself.

"The kind of rule you follow when you don't want some rookie to pull a gun on you because they think you're reaching for a weapon," you dryly responded, studying his red, bloodshot eyes.

"Why didn't you pull your gun out on me then, ma'am?" Chris smirked, pulling his license out of his wallet. "Because you're hardly a threat, Chris Sturniolo. And I'm not a rookie."

"Would've been kind of hot if you had," Chris flirted, running his fingers through his luscious hair and smiling at the you before handing over his information. You did your best to hold back a smirk, shining your light on his documents.

"You know why I pulled you over?" You asked, holding intense eye contact. "Respectfully, ma'am. I know better than to answer that question. But I think the reason you specifically keep pulling me over is because you're too shy to ask me for my number," Chris winked at you.

A micro-expression of desire crossed your face. "I'm gonna go run your information," you responded, ignoring his comment and making your way back over to your car to run Chris' name through the database.

Chris' light flirting usually awarded him immunity when it came to your threats to give him speeding tickets. You were still going to let him go, but you wanted to make him sweat a little first, maybe in more than one way. Chris was a chronic law breaker, and what a perfect opportunity to teach him a lesson.

You strolled back over to the car, handing Chris his license back. "Step out of the vehicle, Chris," you ordered, crossing your arms over your chest and tapping your boot on the pavement while you waited. Chris took his time, slowly getting out of his Honda Accord and nervously biting his lip.

This was the first time you'd asked him to get out of the car, and your demeanor was less playful than usual. "Ma'am, am I in trouble?" His asked with his sparkly eyes locked on yours, giving you a submissive look.

"Your music is breaking sound ordinance, you were going almost 20 over the limit, and your car reeks of marijuana. What do you think?" You gave Chris a stern look, narrowing your gaze. "I know, ma'am. I was just taking the edge off after a long day of work," Chris shot you an innocent smile.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your back," you ordered him. "Bet you've been dreaming about this, haven't you?" Chris peered back at you over his shoulder as you clicked the cold, hard, metal restraints shut around both his wrists.

"Chris Sturniolo, you're under arrest," you started before reading him off his rights and patting him down. You knelt down, running your hands along the sides of his jeans. "You don't have any weapons or anything sharp on you, do you?" You asked, continuing to frisk him.

"No, ma'am. Nothing like that," Chris answered, feeling the blood rush below his waist as your hands brushed against his chest, lingering a moment longer than necessary. You brought your attention to his shoulders and his arms. God, his arms. Your fingers danced across his biceps and the muscles in his forearms, and a subtle moan passed through your lips.

"Turn around, Sturniolo," you ordered him. "Yes, ma'am," Chris said, eager to do anything you told him to. He was such a sucker for a woman in charge.

You started from his ankles, running your hands along the seams of his pant legs, and you bit your lip as you came across something hard in the front of his jeans. Your eyes were drawn to his hard cock that began twitching against the denim fabric.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I can't help it. Being cuffed by an attractive woman and being felt up like that.. it does something to me," Chris innocuously blushed and grinned, turning his gaze away from yours. It was getting harder for you to maintain your professionalism.

"Chris, you can't keep flirting your way out of the inevitable," you shot back, studying his features, glancing between his plump lips and blue eyes. "Ma'am. Please. If I lose my license, I lose my job," Chris replied, giving you a pouty look. "You should have thought about that before you broke several laws," you answered, being cold with him.

"You wanna ruin my life?" He softly whimpered, tears beginning to well in his eyes. You yanked him by his cuffed wrists and started walking him back to the cop car. You secretly got off on his desperation.

"You've got me handcuffed. You could do anything you want to me, you know? And you're gonna choose to be mean to me," Chris pouted at you as you opened the police car door and pushed his head down as you shoved him into the back seat. Instead of shutting the door and getting into the driver's seat, you stopped and looked at him a moment.

"I'm gonna let you go. But I'm gonna have a little fun with you first," you smirked at the blue-eyed boy. His lips curled into a devious smile as he started to pick up on where this was going. "Please, don't punish me, ma'am. I'm such a good boy," Chris half-heartedly whined, going along with the roleplay.

"If you're really a good boy, then you'd do anything to get out of this ticket, hmm?" You cooed in response, beginning to unbutton your uniform, slowly revealing your black balconette bra. His eyes dropped to your breasts and how gorgeous they looked in the lacey, see-through material.

"Yes, ma'am. Anything," Chris responded, nodding at you, tortured by the fact that no matter how badly he wanted to grab them, he couldn't. You climbed into the back seat, kicking off your boots and undoing your pants.

Once you were in nothing but your sexy black lingerie, you began to straddle him, immediately going for his belt, unfastening the buckle, and fiddling with his zipper. You couldn't get his cock out of his pants fast enough. You peered down at his hard on that was drooling with precum and twitching at the thought of being caressed by you.

The only lighting provided was from the dim overhead light above the two of you, but it was enough for you to take in each other's bodies. "Holy shit, Sturniolo. I thought you said you weren't packing a weapon on you," you bit your lip, your eyes flicking up at his after you studied what he was working with.

"Oh, ma'am. It's not even all the way hard yet," he humbly admitted, his gaze glued to your breasts. You raised as eyebrow at him, pulling your panties to the side with one hand, and with the other, you held Chris' dick still as you directed it towards your heat.

Your breath caught in your throat as you descended onto his swollen tip, sliding down his length until you were filled to the hilt. As you started to ride him, you felt him grow bigger and harder inside of you.

"Oh my, you weren't kidding," you moaned as he stretched you out. "I'd never lie to you, ma'am. I'm a good boy," Chris responded lustfully, desperation bleeding into his expression. He looked at you needily, his glossy eyes boring into you and all the muscles in his face relaxing.

Chris needed this. He'd been so stressed out at work lately, his bitch of a manager always on him and his coworkers always taking advantage of the fact that he could never say no to them. He needed a dominant woman to cuff him, to tell him what a good boy he was, and ride him until he was seeing stars, and you were the perfect candidate for the job tonight.

He so badly wanted to break free from his restraints, run his hands all over your gorgeous body, but all he could do was lick his lips, watching how your breasts bounced and feeling the way your ass jiggled against the tops of his thighs.

The car lightly rocked from side to side as you found your rhythm, grinding against Chris' lap with his most precious body part stuffed inside of you. The condensation from your collective breathing started to fog up the windows. The sounds of whimpering, skin slapping against skin, and Chris' metal belt clanking against itself filled the space around you.

"You are such a good boy, aren't you? Always doing what you're told?" You panted, softly placing your hands on either side of Chris' face before your lips melded into his, your tongue begging for admission into his mouth. He allowed you in, sloppily making out with you while you rolled your hips forward, putting a wonderful pressure on his desperate dick.

"Mhmm," he moaned against your lips as you picked up speed, the two of you each periodically breaking off this kiss to catch your breaths. "Good boy," you whispered, brushing your thumb against Chris' cheek and looking back at his needy expression.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm such a good boy. I'll let you do anything you want to me. You can use me whenever and however you want," he offered, his bedroom eyes glazing over as he felt your walls fluttering around his girth. His words were like music to your ears, sending waves of pleasure through your body as you jounced urgently on his throbbing cock.

"Ma'am. Can I please cum? You don't know how bad I need it," Chris looked at you with flushed cheeks, parted lips, and a furrowed brow as he neared his climax. "Not yet, pretty boy. I'm not finished with you just yet," you seductively responded.

You'd dreamt of this moment since the first time you pulled Chris over and let him off with a warning, but the reality of it was even hotter than any scenario you could have imagined. You loved having him cuffed in the back of your cop car while you mercilessly rode him.

"Ma'am. Please. I need to cum," Chris urged you, holding eye contact while needy whimpers poured from his lips. "Awh. Does my pretty boy need to cum?" You teased him, caressing his face again. "Yes. Please," he replied, his voice cracking in desperation.

"Don't you dare," you said, grabbing him by his ear and tugging on it. He winced in pain. His hands were losing feeling from being pinned behind him for so long, and the metal from the cuffs was digging into his wrists, but he loved every second of being under your spell. He loved the pleasure, the pain, and the wonderful concoction the two sensations created in his system.

"It hurts so good. Please let me finish," he begged again. You shook your head, denying his request, a smug smile protruding in the corner of your mouth. He licked his lips, hissing through clenched teeth as he tried to ward off his orgasm a bit longer, but you could tell he was fighting a losing battle.

"Officer. Please. Ma'am. I've been such a good boy. I can't take it. I'm gonna bust," Chris warned you, his voice breaking as he begged you. "Only because you've been such a good boy, and you asked so politely," you answered.

A satisfied smile washed over Chris' face as he let go, allowing the knot in his stomach to snap. "Good boy. Cum for me," you demanded, clenching around his big dick and nearing your own orgasm. The two of you climaxed together, your bodies pressed up against each other and moving in unison.

His hips snapped up to meet yours, and you could feel him pulsating inside your heat, giving you his warm, sticky seed as you finished onto his rock hard cock. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you. Thank you so much," Chris whimpered in response, his voice saturated with lust and neediness. You slowed down to a stop, still rhythmically contracting around him, milking him dry.

Your radio started to go off, bringing you back to earth. Your captain was calling you back to the station. With Chris still inside of you, his breath sounding jagged and labored as he recovered from the intense feeling, you hit the push-to-talk button on the side to respond.

"Loud and clear. Sorry. Got caught up in a traffic stop. Over," you released the button, climbing off of Chris and slipping back into your uniform.

You helped Chris back out of the vehicle, releasing him from the restraints and leaving a trail of kisses down his neck as a parting gesture before seductively whispering into his ear, "Until next time, Sturniolo. Maybe next time I'll let you play with my gun."

part three here

taglist: @dystfopia @bsturnzmtts @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @sturniolosweetheart33 @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @luvhsien @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms @mickelodeon-2003 @sigmarizzler1 @chrislova @stellarsturns @lelesturniolo @sturniolodoll @ilovemattsturn @blahbel668

[princessbrunette]

🎀≽^• ⩊ •^≼୧ ‧₊˚

rafe wasn’t a big sweatpants wearer.

he liked to think of himself as matured, classy, reeking of money. sweatpants was something he associated with being a slob, lazing around, not getting off your ass and working. that didn’t mean he didn’t own a few pairs— you know, for sleeping, lounging, etcetera.

because of his dislike for the garment, you’d rarely see him in anything other than work slacks or kook-y board shorts, which is why when he brushed past you in the hallway of tanny-hill, wearing grey sweatpants and a black tshirt — you were lost for words.

“wh—where are you going?” you all but mewl, quietly padding behind him as he frantically searches the bowl placed on the chest by the door.

“uh, gotta run n’see barry— the fuck are my keys? you seen ‘em?” he stressed, itching his forehead as he thinks about where he might’ve left them.

“no, uhm… you’re going out dressed like that?” you ask.

grey sweatpants — a grown man’s lingerie. with each step rafe took, it became abundantly clear that he’d skipped out on boxers today, something he never did, true lazy-day style. his dick print hung heavy in the centre below the draw strings, thick and causing a bump in the soft fabric. he glances down at himself upon following your gaze and shrugs obviously.

“laundry day.” he stops his search to face you properly, eyeing you where you stand. “the hells with you, seem all out of it today.” his voice is low and tired, and you can’t help but bite down on your glossy bottom lip, stepping towards him. you say nothing, staring up at him— and he stares back, eyes vacant and lips parted. you stand on your tip-toes and kiss him.

he kissed back, albeit confused— and as soon as you pressed your body to his, feeling his bulge right on your tummy — something took over you. it wasn’t enough that you were ovulating, the sweatpants were making you feral.

you quickly pull away to sink to your knees, a hand stroking his hip bone as you start to leave kisses to his clothed cock, the meat of it instinctually hardening beneath your trained touch. he smirks for a moment in disbelief, watching the way you mouth at him — humming like you were the one being pleased.

“alright, hey— i get it. ‘think sarah’s home. you—you want her comin’ down the stairs n’seeing the shit? stand up, kid.” he reluctantly reprimands you, giving your jaw a firm little tap but you only whine and pull him closer— your open mouth breathing hot air onto his growing erectjon, flat of your tongue pressed to the soft fabric between loving kisses.

“s’okay dad just wanna give you kisses.” it comes out muffled, distracted, like you don’t actually know what you’re saying. he licks his lips irritably at you not listening, eyes fluttering before he grabs your jaw, pulling you up to stand.

“i said alright. easy, yeah?” he warns once he’s closer to eye level with you, still gripping your jaw. you grin, all slick-lipped and glassy eyed.

“can’t go out anymore daddy, not like that.” you point to his crotch, your mouth having darkened the light grey fabric all around his hardened bulge— making it obvious something had gone down. it was true, he couldn’t go out like that. barry was always looking for new things to tease rafe about, and this would be giving him perfect ammunition. he presses his lips together, nostrils flaring before he lets go of your face, the same hand reaching round to the back of you, grabbing the back of your little booty shorts and yanking, using the momentum to spin you suddenly to face the same way as him.

as soon as you’re facing the other way he slaps your ass, before prodding at your shoulder — signifying for you to walk toward the stairs. “shit, little brat. start walkin’, think you owe me something.”

you giggle, slowing your pace like you were gonna come back with another retort but he simply gives your shoulder another little shove — practically bullying you. “said go, didn’t i?”

🎀≽^• ⩊ •^≼୧ ‧₊˚

[deafsignifcantother]

if music be the food of love, chapter one

♥ chapter two! ♥ relationships: aroace Alastor x deaf female reader (queerplatonic) ♥ word count: 2.1k ♥ pinterest board ♥ warnings: reader got hurt by someone they loved before death, reader is shorter than him, bickering, reader loves tea, lonesome reader, alastor invading space ♥ my idea is that reader has a small stereo on her chest that lets out classical music based on her mood. I imagine that it comes from both her chest (softly) and the outside of her manor (loud as fuck).

Your manor is only visible to the town when the lights are on a tall hill and covered in trees. However, even if all the lights were off, people would at least know it's there.

There are two reasons: the tale and the music.

Tale, a story for the newcomers. They speak of a demon who plays music all day, doomed to play music forever. Oh, the music. The music can be heard from even miles away.

It's refined and dainty, and it reeks of misery. The classical music never seems to repeat itself; it goes on and on and on and on. The demons hear you only through your music. When you cry, the violins and cellos grow with a cruel crescendo. When you sleep, the music is soft, almost quiet. Everyone comes to an understanding, assumption, that if the music were to stop, you would be dead.

The demons who try to step closer to your manor will find themselves experiencing unfathomable sorrow and guilt. The sound of your music is the demonic ability you possess, and it's out of your control. Due to the sadness of your death, you are forced into misery in the afterlife. When you were alive, those you loved and devoted yourself to only broke your heart.

Everybody affected by your music feels that grief.

Alastor doesn't understand why people fear your manor. Your love-related pain doesn't affect him at all.

He starts up the hill, moving both on his feet and through the shadows. On his way to your manor, he focuses on the landscape. The landscape is beautiful; the forest below is so dense that the red sky disappears. Personally, he loves the music. He loves tuning in on you and hearing how you're doing. He sparsely gets to visit, so hearing the song of your heart is always so welcoming.

The worst thing to him is how long the damn walk is.

You're in your house, passing through the dining room, when the lights flicker. The people from the nearby town stutter when the usual sad music suddenly becomes upbeat.

Opening the door, you are greeted by Alastor's traditional smile. You're the one that initiates the hug. He gently wraps his hand around you, only for a short time before he pulls away and establishes his distance.

"Long time no see, my dear." He signs, his claws adding a flare to the simple signs. Truthfully, his sign for "my dear" translates directly to "sweetheart," which he's aware of, just putting faith into you understanding what he means.

"I'll start some tea." You sign, turning immediately to the kitchen.

He smiles at the jazz sneaking its way into your music. The people outside know what it means.

Alastor looks around at the new decor; the place is different every time he enters. It's all the things that you enjoyed when you were alive. That's what is most noticeable about you beyond the aura you possess and how stuck you are to the past; you refuse to acknowledge your situation, which is both a curse and a blessing.

From the kitchen counter, you look at him, seeing him behind you, his staff out of his hands.

He leans a bit forward. "I have news! Have you heard of the new buzz, the new project from the princess of hell?"

A small smile forms. "Charlie?" You remember many years ago when she appeared at your door, in tears due to your involuntary magic, begging you to teach her ASL. You politely declined, though you wrote her a long paper about Deaf Culture (often derailing to rant about your opinion on common debates/crazy events). You've never seen her again, but you're confident she's read it.

You continue, "Her projects are... sweet?"

"Sweet and quite peculiar. She believes that demons can be redeemed. How absurd!" His smile grows, his eyes squinting in interest. He knows you're devoted to being good and staying away from violence. He's here to convince you to join her cause.

"Fascinating," you can't help but show your pure astonishment. "She's on our side."

"Oh, how kind you are!"

The tea is ready. You turn entirely away from Alastor, and he lets you. Your thoughts are apparent; he has spent weeks excited about this conversation. He's absolutely fighting the urge to spill out every argument he has; he wants to mention that if you participate, you'll see each other daily. That hasn't even crossed your mind yet.

You pour the tea and take your time, a little nervous to continue the convo. Alastor's eyes remain on your frame, your casual clothing. The last time he saw you, you were dressed up despite spending your days alone.

You hand a cup to him. Neither sign; you stand still, staring at each other and drinking. Both of you already know what the other will try to say next. Your eyes are deep in thought while he is locked on you. The only reason you are doubting being involved with everything yourself is that you know your aura makes others depressed. It is not very good, isolating. On the opposite stance, Alastor always noticed how your music gets positive whenever he's around. He knows (guesses) that in the hotel, with his presence, your saddening demeanor would be no more.

He moves abruptly, you follow, and he sits on a heavily cushioned couch, dipping deeply, which makes him smile. Your soft smile grows—more piano.

"What are your thoughts?" He prompts with one hand. You take a very long sip of your tea before putting it down.

"I wouldn't make them feel comfortable," you explain. "That's all I think about."

"Ever so pessimistic, my dear. You never know unless you come to visit. What do you say?" He grabs his mic and jokingly reaches it to your face, "A simple visit?"

You put a hand to your temple. "My love," you sign without noticing how his lids droop in comfort, "do you really think I would belong?"

He puts his hand to his chin in faux thought. "Of course I do! The princess will approach you with open arms."

You let out a small, broken groan. You're not going to be winning this little debate. Alastor's going to be able to rebuttal everything you say. Knowing that, why is it still so hard to give in?

You put your hands in your lap before returning them to your temples. His smile grows, and the static radiating off him grows ever so prominent, tickling your skin. You look up at him when you notice the change in the air.

The way he looks at you gives away his intentions. He is standing tall in his usual formal way in his seat, but his eyes are ever so casual. He gazes at you more than anything. His smile is still wide and prideful.

You wiggle a finger at him. "Ah."

He squints.

You continue, "You want to see me more, don't you?"

"Who wouldn't?" He plays off, shrugging. "Your captivating presence has every demon in hell dropping their jaws agape."

"Youuuuuu," you smile mischievously, "you want to see me more."

He continues to wave his hands. "Your accusations are futile, go ahead and fill your pretty head with things such as affection," his shoulders bounce as he chuckles, "dreams about how I miss you."

A breathless laugh leaves your lips. Rather than continue the teasing, you let the positive atmosphere linger in the air. You lift your chin with confidence. "Practically admitting it."

"I know what you want me from me." He signs. You smile at how he interpreted it. You don't bother responding. Instead, you give him a sly smile and lift your cup, taking another long sip; his bottom eyelid is twitching.

The last time he saw you, he signed you many compliments and even danced with you to the rhythm of your music. He let you put your hand on his face as he leaned his forehead against yours.

Admittedly, you only started teasing him because you wanted him to tell you that he missed you. Obviously, he did. You didn't expect him to be so stubborn about it.

When you don't respond, he continues. "When I'm here, your heart sings in happiness."

You nod and sign with one hand. "Very true."

"Well, I find the sound lovely."

"Very appreciated."

You watch as he leans back and crosses his legs, lifting and finishing the teacup. You both spend a few seconds without conversation, just looking at each other. In an attempt to hide how flustered you are starting to look, you lean your head back and gulp down the tea to the point where the cup is hiding your face. But you can only keep it in that position for a short time. After finishing the drink, you place it back down, finding that Alastor is already sitting with his fingers intertwined and waiting for you. His eyes sparkle.

"My dear, I missed you very much." And as quickly as the affection comes, it disappears. "I must give the little lady what she wants. There, are you happy?"

"I missed you too, Alastor. Thank you for coming up again."

Sappy, sappy, sappy. Will you agree to return to the hotel with him now?

He straights his bowtie and stands. "My dear, I'm afraid our time here will be cut short; I have a hotel to show you, don't I?"

You stay seated, just eyeing him. Peer pressure, you sigh and try not to roll your eyes. A simple nose exhaling is enough to show him how you feel.

He leans his head to the side. "Is there anything I can do to convince you?"

You finally stand and meet his eyes. His eyes are gorgeous; you love the way he looks at you. He doesn't take his eyes off you when you step close to him. Your hands reach for his overcoat, and you adjust it fruitlessly, only wanting an excuse to touch him.

You smile. "I can cook you something for your long trip back."

"Our."

"Your."

You both lean in, smiles straining.

He tries again. "Our."

"Biscuits, I assume," you turn your heels and motion for him to follow you. The motion you make is beckoning, and when you flick your wrist, he grabs it and pulls you into him. He lets you go to see your response. Your heart is beating out of your chest. You fall for people too easily. His touch is demanding, yet his face is calm, and with how close he is, all you can do is stare up at him. Your feet stumble a bit to adjust to your new stance. He will fight tooth and nail to get you to follow him back; throughout his days, he always wonders what you're doing and your music might sound like. He'll close his eyes and try to imagine the melody in moments of silence at the hotel.

You can't find yourself stepping back. "I'm perfectly okay with where I am." A lie. "Nobody will bother me if I'm out here."

"And nobody will bother you when you're next to me, get it?" After he signs, both of his hands hold your cheeks. He tilts your head back and forth to try and lighten the mood that's getting a little serious.

You try to hold his wrists and pull his hands down, but he fights against you. He lifts your face so he can look at you head-on. The waist bends his body; he curls himself up to you. Your touch falls to his sleeves and then moves to his biceps, your fingers grazing him gently.

The music is fast-paced, like your heart. It sounds almost angelic, a new ethereal sound surrounding it.

"Okay," you fold but then immediately chew on the inside of your lip.

"Perfect!" He presses his forehead to yours quickly before pulling away. He's taking this win. He turns and eyes the room, motioning. "Packing anything?"

With a small sigh of defeat, you place your hands on your temples again. What would you even need? Like a spoiled child, you realize that if you did need something in particular, Alastor would get it for you. You smiled and shook your head to yourself. "I don't think I need anything at all."

"Spectacular!" Another dramatic sign. "Come along then." The fast twirling of his staff blows air onto you when you start to walk behind him, eyeing how his fingers twist. His head turns as he glances at you from the corner of his eye, his head dipping as his smile widens. The static in the air becomes thicker.

You take a deep breath. If you can say 'I told you so' to him, you will be bringing it up until the end of time. He knows that, so it's good that he's confident in himself and his deductions. He'll ensure you won't be leaving and isolating yourself any longer.

[embraceyourdestiny]

A game is an interactive experience. That’s it. You are moving the story along. You are making choices. You are playing. The lack of a passive experience is what makes a video game such. You sound silly insisting this non issue position, like people saying the sims and animal crossing aren’t “real” games.

And even for the ones that really are just clicking, no decisions made, the format is what makes them a video game. I would even consider a DVD like those Princess Stories where you use your remote to get to the next screen a video game. It’s really not that big of a deal.

Not to mention this is so rude to comment on an actual developers blog like what does this accomplish? Why does this bother you so much? Unclench, the world will not end bc a visual novel is called a game.

🙄 Every time we see someone say "visual novels aren't REAL games!" we remember The House in Fata Morgana, Heaven Will Be Mine, Slay The Princess & so many other incredible VNs.

It's why Bitter Silver is a queer VN love letter to Cowboy Bebop & we're proud of it being a VN.

If you want to help us finish Bitter Silver, follow our Kickstarter campaign before it goes live September 3rd!

[mugiwara-lucy]

Blech telling your daughter to call you your name 😐😑

[rafecameronsversion]

bright beverly hills || r.c

summary : kooks bully you at a party, and rafe reassures you.

warnings : bullying, discrimination, cursing, use of y/n, feminine descriptions.

i'm unsure if this is any good 🥸 i feel like i rushed it a lot. but hope u likey

rafe and i were two sides of the same coin, opposite but inseparable. he grew up in a silver spoon gated community, everything was served to him in a silver platter. a bubble-wrapped future, footsteps for him ready to follow.

while i was having candle-lit dinners at the cut, he had them in fancy michelin star restaurants. rafe had a cold exterior when it came to other people; to protect himself. however, when it came to me, he was the most caring boy.

clandestine meetings at the age of 12, his father would berate him for hanging out with a "pogue" like me, but he couldn't let him take away the one thing that brought him peace. we were best friends, eventually becoming more with lingering touches and longing glances.

he became a honorable part of my humble family, sometimes being invited over to our most simple of dinners, dancing in the living room late night swims in the beach.

it was friday night in outer banks, a party in full swing. this house belonged to topper. i was clinging to rafe's arm, feeling out of place. the tension in the air was palpable. i had debated that i didn't want to go here, knowing i would feel singled out and small.

this place yelled every single thing that was different between us two. the glistening chandeliers, polished floors, and snobby laughs coming from kooks who have never worked a day in their lives.

rafe smiles, looking at me. "i'll grab us some drinks real quick, alright baby?" he spoke, a gentle tone in his voice that was reserved only for me. i hesitated, not wanting to be left alone in this damned place. but i nodded, i couldn't be the one to hold him back, especially in his world. glamorous, shining, bright beverly hills.

he turned around, getting lost in the crowd of super rich kids. i stood in a less crowded corner, trying to attract the least attention, and it seemed to have worked.

three girls nearby were whispering among the other, yet they were louder than they realized.

"could you believe rafe cameron brought that girl here?" the blonde one scoffed, jealously reeked out of her mouth. the other two agreed, chiming in.

"must be hard living on the cut, always desperate to climb their way out." another one insinuated. i couldn't help but scoff at the idea, my heart was heavy and i couldn't bare being here. the bimbo chimed in, a confused look on her face.

"you really think she slept her way to be his girlfriend? i don't think even cameron would allow that..." she spoke, eyes wide. the blone one rolled her eyes. "well, even the richest men can still think with their dicks, jessica." she was an absolute mean girl, and her tone displayed it perfectly.

i felt like the walls were moving in on me, it was all too much. this place was too much. i quietly turned away, going outside by the porch where no one seemed to stay. i breathed in the fresh air, fidgeting.

soon after, rafe had found where i was. he looked at me fondly, a soft smile on his face. "hey... there you are. i thought i lost you in there." he said, rubbing his hand over my shoulder. i exhaled sharply.

"why am i here, rafe?" i questioned, my voice was low as i stood against the railing of the front porch of toppers' home, that was as big as the living room of my family's house. rafe looked at me confused.

"what do you mean, baby?" he asked, a soft and confused look in his eyes.

i laughed out a scoff, a bitter tone. "i don't belong here, rafe. your world... this mansion, these people." i paused, unsure how to continue. "i grew up on the cut, these people do nothing but look down at us. i can't be here rafe, i can't be in this world."

rafe's jaw tightened, looking away for a second before looking back at me. "you know that's not fair" he spoke, his voice on the edge.

"what's not fair is you pushing to bring me here! i don't have any of the things the girls here have. you'd be better off with someone from your world..." i spoke, my voice breaking a little from frustration.

rafe's eyes softened, he moved closer toward me. "baby..."

"don't you see how different we are? your world is all polished floors and bright chandeliers. mine is messy and chaotic." i spoke softly, afraid my voice will betray me.

he reached out, grabbing both hands and bringing them closer to him. "listen, i didn't bring you here to make you feel small. i don't want these girls, they can all go fuck themselves! i love you, and i love that we're different." he spoke softly, kissing the knuckles of my hands.

"none of this matters to me, baby. it doesn't mean anything if i don't have you." rafe spoke, his blue eyes warm.

i searched his face, looking into his eyes. i want to believe him yet doubt lingered in the back of my head. "you say that now..."

"but what happens when your friends remind you of who i am? when your dad tells you i'm not good enough." my voice was below a whisper, afraid of the possibilities of this relationship we had.

rafe held me by my shoulders, "i don't care. i'm done caring what they think. i want you, and the messy and chaotic world you've shown me." he said, leaning in and kissing my forehead.

"i don't need this world. i want the one where you showed me it's okay to be real, that it's okay to feel." he says softly, looking deeply into my eyes.

the way he looked at me so gently, so genuine. i felt as if i could cry. i attacked him in a hug, my arms wrapped around his torso.

"its just... those girls get under my skin. kept talking about how i slept my way out of the cut." i admitted quietly, my head still against his chest.

rafe shakes his head, hugging me back. "never ever let them get to you. they're just pissed." he pulled back to look at me, smiling. he pressed his lips onto mine, for a short and delicate kiss. "how about we just get out of here?" he said, a cheeky smile on his face.

i laughed, nodding my head yes. "i'd like that so much. please." he grinned, putting my hand in his as he guided us out of this place.