Latest Posts by marshallmereel - Page 3

AI doesn’t just drain our natural resources. It requires slave labor to function.

FUCK AI.

“OpenAI whistleblower found dead at 26 in San Francisco apartment”

TechCrunch

OpenAI whistleblower found dead at 26 in San Francisco apartment | TechCrunch

A former OpenAI employee, Suchir Balaji, was recently found dead in his San Francisco apartment, according to the San Francisco Office of th

“Training AI takes heavy toll on Kenyans working for $2 an hour | 60 Minutes”

Why is c.ai bad? Like genuine question

One of the main reasons you will see people giving as to why c.ai is bad is that much like all "generative" ai it's basically a copy/paste machine. The algorithm that runs c.ai is made by scraping the writing of millions of human authors in order to train the machine on how sentences and "romance" should be structured in order to appeal to the people using it. This is, by and large, just straight up plagiarism and authors like @/ceilidho end up having their content stolen by c.ai users in order to farm more bots.

If you don't care about the plagiarism aspect of c.ai bots then you should care about the environmental aspect of them. ChatGPT alone uses about 2.9 Wh of electricity just to run a single query, and the water used to cool the servers (again for just one question) is equal to about 3 16 oz bottles of water. Google reported their greenhouse gas emissions rose 50% in 5 years just due to ai use. 1 query can power a lightbulb for about 20 seconds, and every question is routed through a data center which uses even more electricity to answer the question. So you sending a chat to c.ai uses a massive amount of electricity, and for the bot to respond takes even more.

Not to mention data centers have to be built, which consumes a lot of resources and energy, and releases a lot of greenhouse gases. Then they have to be powered, which consumes more energy and more water, and releases even more greenhouse gases.

If 1 in 10 working US Americans asked 1 question every week for a year (52 x 17 million) that would use the same amount of energy that it would take to power EVERY HOUSEHOLD IN WASHINGTON DC (671,803) for 20 days. NPR reported on this as an "energy emergency" this is an unprecedented and explosive amount of energy being used very suddenly, very often, and by a lot of people.

Ok you don't care about that either, then let me appeal to you the person who uses c.ai. Maybe you love your favorite author's work and you really want to rp with one of their characters. Is the bot's ability to write that character really as good as the author's? Is it as satisfying? Or are you just caught up in the short-term dopamine rush of the rp?

Because I tried c.ai when it was first getting popular and let me tell you, it was nowhere near as good as the human role plays I was used to. There was no riffing, no plotting out where we wanted the rp to go, no standard reply length, I had to retry replies multiple times to get something even remotely close to something I could work with to respond to. There were filters, I couldn't use certain words or phrases. The bot couldn't remember anything past a few replies. It was BAD. The shot of dopamine I got after the first reply was gone by the time I was on the third one.

Now maybe I was just spoiled by good human rp partners, but I kept seeing people on tiktok complaining about the same problems. "How to break the c.ai filter" was a major issue. People wanted the experience of role playing or writing a fic, but they didn't want to put the effort into actually doing either of those things.

"Just let people enjoy things!" I hear you cry.

You go on c.ai because you're lonely, or bored, or because you think that finding a human to rp with is too hard or they won't like your scenario/kink/whatever. You are actively contributing to the expulsion of artists from fandom spaces and the destruction of the planet in equal measure. If all you care about is short term gratification, then go on the r/IWishIWasHer subreddit and read the rps threads there. If you actually want to roleplay with someone there are a million discord servers that do that. Hell, there are communities on tumblr that you could join and ask about roleplaying!

Relying on instant gratification will numb you to all the joys that creep towards you. If the only thing you can see is the object in front of you, then you're never going to reach for something better further away.

Not to mention none of your chats on c.ai are actually private, the server is scraping all your responses to have the ai send to other people. So if you're telling the bot some real smutty/embarrassing things that you wouldn't want anyone else to see, congrats on everyone else getting a piece of it.

genuinely if you use c.ai get off my fucking page and don’t read any of my fics ever again ❤️ what a loser fucking app

and when i say kyle ‘gaz’ garrick,,

Me filtering out kinks I don’t like on AO3. 

tiktok refugees i believe you are few but it is VITAL that you know on tumblr you can speak freely. kill. die. sex. fuck. you can say things here

i hate knowing that if john price clicked his tongue at me as if i were a stray cat, i would get into his car without hesitation

end of january affirmations

im not doing anything wrong and no one is mad at me

there must be a place for me in this world because here i am

my art doesnt suck

instagram is nothing to me

Soap islike a little meatball to me.

sometimes it's not even enemies to lovers. sometimes you get handed the leash of a snarling, barking dog against your will and realize with dawning horror that you are now responsible for teaching it not to bite

Idgaf if you don't want to write essays for school. I don't care if you don't want to write corporate emails yourself. I don't care if you can't draw well, I don't care if you can't write well, I don't care if you just really really want to talk to your favorite fictional character but don't want to RP with a real person because you have social anxiety or whatever

If you're still regularly using generative ai, chatgpt or midjourney or character.ai or literally whatever the fuck, im personally blaming you when my utility prices start going up.

I’m sorry but Kyle “Gaz” Garrick in THESE

TELL ME THIS ISNT YOUNG! SIMON RILEY. TELL ME RN.

also kyle gallner

Encounters with ICE are expected increase in the US soon. You should know what to do.

ICE agents call themselves police but are not police. They use administrative warrants which are not judicial warrants and do not allow them to enter your home or vehicle. Like vampires, do not open the door or let them in.

Source:

Monthly Quota

[Gaz x Male Reader]

After a very long time (one year) working on this fic, with the help of two very good friends, I've finally got this out! I'm so happy to be able to finish it and throw it into the wind. God knows I've worked hard on it and it has given me some back pain.

Fem & Minors DNI

¡¡¡ Content Warning !!!

Piss, afab genitalia and language, could be considered dubcon, but it's very enthusiastic from all sides; thigh fucking, and a very mean and socially stunted Ghost

Thank you to @embry-garrick-ravengard and @thegnomelord for their help and ideas! Without them I would've probably scrapped the fic.

Word count: 5.7k

The effects of Gaz’s monthly testosterone shots were stronger than he’d ever heard anyone else complain about. By the first day, he was usually sweating. His skin was hypersensitive, every small drop crawling down his back as he did his laps unbearable. Each hot flash felt like a heatwave. The second day would bring hunger spikes. An indescribable ache deep in his very core that could be decently sated with some cafeteria food, or in worst case scenario, a meal from whatever local food chain he could guilt the captain into taking him to.

The third day is when his rationality leaves his body.

It’s like every other side effect travels down his body and gathers into the base of his dick, leaving his clit aching. The hypersensitivity spreads across his t-dick, keeping it hard and swollen enough to stick lewdly out of his hood. The head is dark from arousal. He’s wet too, soaking with it. His inner thighs and its wiry hairs are damp, as are the curls covering his fat lips. It drips down his ass as he lays facing the ceiling, groaning at the way that not even slotting his dick between his index and middle fingers can’t seem to satisfy the deep ache of his cock. He can see the way it throbs, how it sluggishly bobs up and down despite it barely reaching an inch and a half in size. The ache is the worst part of it all. A deep, insatiable ache that jerking off and even fingering couldn’t satisfy. He’d considered a dildo, but the risk of getting caught with it stored somewhere was too embarrassing. And he wasn’t big enough for a fleshlight, so no point in wasting money on one.

It's the desperation that drives him insane, the ache of his wrist locking up and cramping that drives him to pull his trousers back on without any underwear to prevent an unfortunate stain in the strangely delicate material. It’s what drives him to put his boots back on, haphazardly tying the laces and knowing he’ll be stepping on them soon enough.

He's feeling ballsy, treading through the deserted hallways of the base. Usually there’d be more noise than this. Not a crazy amount but everyone knew that when higher-ups were cozy at home and Staff Sergeants were holed up in their private rooms, the rest of the base would have their own little secrets behind closed doors. Gambling was common, sometimes done in broad daylight if bets were harmless enough. Barrack bunnies, too, were harmless enough. The occasional Warrant Officer or Lieutenant could even be tempted by such temptations before the eyes of lower officers and rookies. But today, the base was dark and silent. You could hear a pin drop from two hallways over. He was perhaps feeling self-destructive, maybe the testosterone fuelled sex drive made him so. Nobody dared leave their assigned barracks when higher-ranked officers were pulled from the comfort of their homes to be caged within prison-like beige walls.

It's stupidity, Gaz knows. He’s left his rational thinking back in his private room, taking no heed of the warning signs his brain was sending him of the silence suffocating the halls. He can see the once-abandoned rooms already, with their matching red, faded door frames standing out from their beige neighbours. Distantly, he remembers seeing people leave on the rare occasions he’d go past. And he remembers catching Soap leaving once, mohawk messy and face glowing a soft pink. The wink he’d sent his way had had Gaz furrowing his brow in distaste. On each of the doors themselves, a moon and sun are carved respectively. Innocent enough, compared to what they actually stood for. He wraps his hand around the broken handle and pushes. The brass nearly comes off in his hand, from the forcefulness of his grasp and the heavy-handed push he gives it to soften the rusty hinges.

The carpeted floor is worn down. Pale in a way that only constant use and then sudden abandonment can make look. There’s debris scattered around the room, in the space where furniture and broken pieces of training equipment don’t cover. Gaz can see, with the help of the moonlight refracted through the broken smoke-stained window, patches in the floor where the larger items in the room have scuffed and ripped out carpet. Most of the room is hidden from sight by these larger structures. He’s forced to map his way across, staking out the small space carefully just to avoid causing a ruckus. As he walks past, there’s obvious reasons why this space hasn’t been used for so long. A low-hanging beam nearly knocks his head off; a particularly scruffy piece of carpet nearly sends him stumbling when it catches on boot’s toe. He’s careful though, lest he scare off whatever barrack bunny or brave soldier is manning the hole tonight. If there is one. If.

It would feel silly, stupid even, if he’d been any less horny than he’d been maybe 10 minutes ago. But even now, after he’s had plenty of time to feel the iciness of the halls, his dick remains hard just beneath his trousers. He can feel the damp fabric now, as he stands in front of the not quite circular hole carved into the wall. At least it’s been sanded down, he thinks. Or not quite thinks, just a remark made to himself by some part of his brain that is trying to keep some resemblance of normalcy despite the absolutely stupid observation. His hands shake but he's not entirely sure if it’s from the reasonable anxiety of being caught, or the depraved way that he wishes he would be caught mid-act. He knocks on the wall. It’s shaky, like a stutter caught halfway through a sentence. He presses his forehead against the wall, heated skin soothed slightly by the cool surface. He bites down on his lower lip, eyes shut tight as his snaggletooth digs into the soft plush flesh. Anyone brave enough to come down to the other room, to service another person, is less brave and more suicidal. The risk is so high, the logic so far out the window. And he knows he’s just as reckless, waiting desperately for a hand to welcome him that shouldn’t be there. He whimpers when a minute passes and it seems there’s nobody there.

A hand reaches out before he can move away. It cups his front gently, the skin hidden by a dark brown glove. The gasp that leaves his lips is hoarse, he felt a drop of moisture clinging on his eyelashes. His hands shake as he fumbles with his trousers’ buttons, rash and hurried in the way he flings them open to let the fabric pool at his feet, heedless of the now broken zipper and ripped off button. There isn’t a single second of hesitation, not a single moment of wondering whether or not the person on the other side would be willing to serve him. He doesn’t think, just presses the sharp jut of his hip bones flush against the wall, letting his mound and dick disappear into the hole. His arms rest tensely by either side of his head, shoulder width apart and flexed with the effort to not whimper out loud as the hand comes back up to trace the curve of Gaz’s mound. The hand moves gently through the thick bush of hair, moving further down at a taunting pace to dig gently and tease the hood of his cock, making Gaz rumble out a groan straight from his wildly beating heart. It’s cut off by a whine when the hand retreats. There’s a muffled shushing sound on the other side. And it’s true, he should be quieter. Especially tonight that any little sound can land either of them in hellish-levels of reprobation. But the touch feels so good, and Gaz is so damn desperate that when he feels a warm pair of lips wrap carefully around the head of his t-dick, he has to slap a hand over his mouth. Even so, the little cry he lets out is loud, despite being muffled by his own hand. He feels a soft stubble brush against the hypersensitive skin of his mound, ghosting over a tiny part of his inner thighs.

The suction of your mouth is heavenly around the head. A warm, tight heat wrapping around the sensitive organ and drawing more blood into its surface. It’s borderline painful when you suck more and more of his dick into your mouth, dropping your mouth open and letting your tongue loll out so Gaz rubs the sensitive head against the rough surface of your tongue. Gaz’s thighs ache. The soft muscles of his thighs tense and relax to the beat of his heartbeat, to each throb of his t-dick. The muscles jiggle as he adjusts his stance, spreading his legs to give you more purchase. You take it in stride, lapping at his wet cunt with eager skill. You lick all the way from his perineum to the base of his dick, running your tongue through the soft curls framing the swollen inner folds dripping with slick and precum. And as you reach his dick again, you let your upper teeth graze the sensitive bundle of nerves, relishing in the accompanying muffled yell.

The pleasure is dizzying. It’s like he can’t get enough air into his lungs, chest rapidly expanding and contracting as he pants and moans as quietly as he can. He’s got his hand against his mouth, palm fully covering it to muffle his sounds to the best of his ability. His face is turned to the side with his cheek pressed against the cold wall.

It’s like you can’t get enough. He can feel the way you get more and more desperate, bringing your hand back up again just to tentatively sink a finger in his wet cunt. Gaz cries out, throwing his head back. His hand slaps against the wall, stabilising him as his knees buckle under him. A small strand of drool slips from the corner of his lips as he pants and whines, his hips slapping against the wall with small thrusts. Your mouth joins your finger, wrapping around his dick again and suckling on it. A constant, gentle suction that brings tears to his eyes. The wet sounds of your single finger slowly rocking in and out, crooking inside him and rubbing against his silky walls, while your tongue traces the slight edge of his head drive him insane. Your nose is pressed flush against his mound, and he can feel how heavily you’re breathing. You’re essentially sniffing him with every inhale, although you don’t seem to really mind his heavy, musky scent. He tastes so good, each taste bud sending sharp signals to your brain, encouraging you to taste more and more of him.

You’re both so lost in the pleasure, that the creak of the door opening is completely lost on you both. And so are the footsteps that follow, and then the sound of the door clicking shut. The footsteps are light as paper, so in a way, neither of you can really be blamed for missing it. The click of the door, though, is a clear warning, the owner of the hand wrapped around the knob hidden expertly behind the shadows of the room’s furniture. He makes no move to muffle the sound of it, the sound ringing throughout the room. But even so, neither of you hear it over the sighs of Gaz’s pleasure.

It isn’t until a pale hand slaps down over Gaz’s mouth that the poor man realises that maybe it hadn’t been as quiet as he thought.

He tries pulling away at first, arms scrambling to slap and push at the body behind him. It’s cut short by a thick, scarred arm wrapping around his arms and midsection; rendering them useless by his sides without much effort. His hips buck back as his body pushes against the body behind him, until-

“Settle down, Sergeant,” the voice is rough, louder than a whisper from the sheer inability to go any quieter, “thought I heard your boots down my hall.”

At the sound of scrambling on the other side, his boot slams down onto the wall right below the hole. It makes you yelp, and your hands slam against the wall to give you the leverage to push off of it. There’s the sound of snapping, before the chain around your neck falls off to hang from the lower curve of the hole. There’s only a moment of hesitation before you stand up on shaky legs to run to your room’s door. However, as you push and turn the handle of the door, the door itself does not budge or even rock with each of your shoves and slams against it.

“Shit-!” You kick the door, before slumping to sit down against it. Effectively trapped. Looking over your shoulder at the handle, you notice a keyhole in the metal just below the handle and groan. So caught up in sucking off the pretty sergeant that you never heard Ghost locking the room from outside the door. And not only that, you were stupid enough to let your dog tags get caught beneath the Lieutenant’s sole, now trapped on the other side of the wall, where you can’t reach. The chain had slid into the other side too, so there was no hope of trying to paw it out of the lieutenant’s reach. You watch as the chain begins to slide and fall into the otherside fully, the sound of the sole of Ghost’s combat boot scraping down the wall sending your heart pounding. In fear? For sure. But also in mind numbing arousal. Your cock still hasn’t flagged and you’re grateful that neither of them can see that.

Gaz has stopped struggling by now. Too dizzy in the feeling of the Lieutenant’s grip on him even as fear pumps heavily from his chest into his limbs. His dick twitches traitorously against the cold air of the room, and he squeezes his eyes shut at the feeling of wetness collecting right below his hood just for it to drip loudly against the floor. The lieutenant curls over Gaz’s heaving body, letting his chest rest on Gaz’s broad back. A chuckle reverates, seems to echo in Gaz’s chest, and he moans into the hand keeping him muffled.

“Thought you were smarter than this, Sergeant.” The arm wrapped around his limbs falls away, dragging down his pretty, dark chest just to let his fingers catch on the tip of Gaz’s left nip. “Coming here when you know us higher-ups are just looking for an excuse to berate any soldier caught red-handed where he shouldn’t be. And yet here you are, handing me the opportunity on a silver platter.” The tips of his fingers trace around his darkened areola, flicking the hard nub for a second before the rough digits pinch it. Seeing that Gaz has calmed down, his other hand moves away from his mouth, hovering above it just in case Gaz tries to shout again.

“Lieutenant-” Gaz gasps, arms shooting up to rest against the wall. Holding himself up by his forearms.

“I know it’s obvious, but let me remind you, Sergeant. Be quiet.” The hand on Gaz’s chest is rough, fingers pinching and groping in a way that leaves him gasping wetly. “Any other person wouldn’t be as nice as I am now.”

His free hand presses against his navel, making Gaz yelp. He bites his lip, teeth sinking into the fat there to muffle the sound of his desperation. He can feel the way Ghost’s fingers course through his curly hair, moving further down to curl around the thick bush framing his cunt. He’s quivering with want, legs spreading invitingly as to tempt the Lieutenant’s large pale hand to move to his dick, to press each rough callus against the sensitive skin. For Ghost’s fingers to pull back the hood of his clit and pinch at the swollen flesh until he cries in the man’s strong arms.

His boot comes up to kick Gaz’s feet further apart, and the hand on his navel moves to wrap around his hip, pressing bruises into the dark skin and moving him with ease so that his stomach and abdomen are flush against the wall again. There’s a loud thud as Gaz’s chest hits the wall, and he shivers when he realises his crotch is pressed against the hole again.

You’re listening to the scuffle and muffled speaking from your cold side of the wall; but soon a sharp whistle breaks you out of it, making you perk up at the sound. It’s weirdly muffled, and you look up to see that the sergeant’s body seems to be covering the hole. Maybe that’s why it’s so muffled. Ghost pulls his hips back, and whistles again. And the sound of quick, continuous clicking comes through the hole clear as day. Realisation pours over you like a bucket of ice. He’s calling you over like a dog, cajoled back into position behind the hole like it’s what you’ve been trained to do. And like any trained dog, you heel. Crawling over as best you can, dick swinging between your legs as you flush, just to sit back on your heels behind the wall. Your hands press against each side of the hole, giving you slight stability. One hand ball into a fist and knocks on the wall, to confirm your position. A chuckle welcomes you. Then the sergeant’s hips are pressed against the wall once more, and you moan at the sight.

The taste of the sergeant is mouth-watering when you lean in to drag your tongue back over his folds. You take your time, dragging the tip of it over his hole and flicking the underside of his cock in the updrag. The sound of a yell being cut off is your reward, and consequently you share in the ecstasy of it by wrapping your chapped lips over his pulsing t-dick, and straining your ears to hear the sound of Ghost and Gaz.

On the other side, Gaz’s cheek is pressed against the cold wall. Held there by Ghost’s marred hand wrapped around his jaw and nape, keeping him pinned. His other hand resting and pushing against his lower back, brown eyes tracing the unnatural curve of the Sergeant’s spine.

“That gymnast background certainly comes in handy, Sergeant,” he murmurs into his ear, balaclava pulled up to rest on the bridge of his nose, “can’t imagine any other man with an arch like this.”

He feels the rough fabric of Ghost’s pants press against the bare skin of his ass, the Lieutenant’s hips slotting against him seamlessly. The hard bulge pressing right above the crease of his ass is heavy, barely kept in his trousers by whatever pair of underwear the man had decided to wear today. He’d rock his ass back to feel it better, if he could. But the firm hand on the base of his spine keeps him pinned and pliable against the wall, only really bothering to try and weakly push his luck by rubbing against Ghost as best as he can. The action causes his hips to move away from the hole just slightly, and yet the whine that claws its way out of your throat is deafening in both rooms. And Gaz can’t help but rut against your desperate tongue as you chase after the taste of him.

Maybe it’s the way Gaz keeps squirming and undulating in his hold, or maybe it’s the wet, desperate sounds you keep making from your own side of the wall. But Ghost can’t help but bring a hand down to loosen the buttons of his jeans and push the thick fabric down just enough for the bulge in his briefs to poke out. He’s quick to pull out his dick, slapping it down to rest back between the dimples on Gaz’s lower back. His cock is heavy, thick in the palm of his hand. The tip is an angry red, and leaking all over the Sergeant’s pretty skin; he moves both his hands to grip at his hips, and sinks each thumb into the dip of Garrick’s back dimples just to watch the way the sergeant shivers and arches his hips further into his grasp. It’s tempting, to just guide his dick lower and lower and just sink into that wet heat that the poor soldier is lapping up on the other side. Sink all eight inches in there and leave something for the boy to lap up once he’s done. But he’s a smarter man than that, a more unyielding man than those young cadets who would sink their dick into any wet hole without thinking of the consequences. So he buries his face into Gaz’s shoulder instead, nipping and dragging crooked teeth over tense muscle. He turns his head, beginning to tease and lick at the little spot beneath Gaz’s ear, over his jaw.

“‘M gonna fuck your thighs, Sergeant,” he breathes, voice rough and thick, like sandpaper, “and you’re gonna let our little dog on the other side service us both.”

It’s an order that he can’t even follow. All he can do is moan and move to press his legs tightly together, to give Ghost something slick to fuck himself into. Because his slick is all over his inner thighs, stray drops of it crawl down the side of his leg just to get soaked up by his field uniform trousers. He pushes his ass back, his head tilting back to rest the back of it on the thick plane of Ghost’s shoulder. Exposing the tender curve of his throat, the bob of his Adam's apple. He feels Ghost drags his dick down past the curve of his ass and begins to prod the head between his thighs. Slowly, excruciatingly so, his thick cock sinks between his thighs. Rubbing and pressing on his pussy lips, and the tip bumping fleetingly against the sensitive underside and crown of his clit. His thighs buck and tense, and Ghost has to press his forehead between Gaz’s shoulder blades to stop himself from moving too fast. He wants to enjoy it, to savour the slick pressure of Gaz’s inner thighs around his dick, the fat and muscle wrapping perfectly around his dick and he’s afraid that once his hips press against Gaz’s ass, that the tip of his dick might not even peek out on the other side. It’s warm and wet, and he can feel each muscle ripple and flex as Gaz fights to keep himself still. He almost wishes he’d have sunk himself into Gaz’s wet cunt instead, and can imagine just how hot and silky his walls would feel around him. How he’d tremble and shake to fit his fat cock in. But this is just as good. To feel the Sergeant’s thighs around him and knowing that the soldier on the other side of the wall will lick at the head of his cock too, eager to please his higher-ups.

You draw back, nose, mouth and chin wet with Gaz’s slick and eyes half-lidded in pleasure. The pressure in your trousers is agonizing, and so you reach down to undo your trousers, as you watch Gaz’s lower body through the hole. You watch, as his thighs twitch, and as between them, something causes the surrounding muscle and fat to dent and furrow, until the head of Ghost’s cock peeks through just the tiniest amount. The red tip squished between dark thighs and dripped precum down the crease of them. And it looks so tasty, you can't help but lick your lips. Just a little push more, and the tip fully pokes out from between his thighs. And you're too focused on your own pleasure, too wrapped up in the feeling of finally fishing out your own erection from the confines of your underwear, that all you do is watch as Ghost seems to begin thrusting at an even pace. Just watching the head disappear every other second, and matching the pace with your hand around your cock. Gaz's own dick pulses with each thrust, so neglected that you can see each throb run down the small length of it.

There's a sharp whistle, quick and unforgiving. And you dive back in, palming yourself as you bury your face back between Gaz's legs. It's a hard job, this time. Trying to focus on both Gaz's cock and the tip of Ghost's, switching frequently as to not leave one or the other too neglected. Because every time you get lost in the taste of Ghost’s spongy head, Gaz’s whines grow in volume and he smacks his hips brashly into the wall. And if you focus too long on suckling on Gaz’s clit, Ghost’s knuckles rap against the wall as if to remind you to service them both; to forgo favouritism and give him a little helping hand, too.

Gaz’s first orgasm of the night comes from a stroke of pure luck. The length of Ghost’s cock shifts and gets pushed up higher by the fat of his dark thighs, and the head catches on the underside of Gaz’s own cock, just as teeth graze the sensitive bundle of nerves of his crown when you drag away from it. The sight he makes is picture worthy, makes the Lieutenant wish he’d brought his camera along. Swollen, teeth-bitten lips falling open in a breathless gasp, as Gaz’s pretty brown eyes roll back and his eyelids drop and close to leave just a sliver of white visible. His Adam's apple bobs, the skin highlighted by the thin-coating of sweat just to tempt Ghost into sinking his teeth into him and never letting go. Each muscle in his body tenses and contorts, the dim light through the window defining each line of tense ligaments, even despite the late hour.

But it doesn’t matter how pretty he looks as he comes undone; or maybe it’s because of how pretty it looks that Ghost wants to continue. But whichever one it is, the outcome is the same. Ghost’s hands wrapping around those twitching hips and rutting harder and harder, angling himself to hit that sweet spot with each thrust, just to hear the cries and yells from the sergeant. It doesn’t seem to matter anymore that they have to be quiet, not when the sound of Gaz being double teamed by a goddamn rookie and his own Lieutenant was so delightful. Ripping down the Sergeant’s charismatic persona, just to work him into depravity. Working him enough that he seems to be dragged into the second orgasm of the night.

His eyes are unfocused as he feels a pressure in his abdomen. It takes a few more mind numbing thrusts, and another stronger yet disappointingly empty orgasm for Gaz to realise that not everything is going straight as planned. The pressure in his bladder is unavoidable now and, as Ghost crowds him closer to the wall, the constant shoving makes it much clearer and much more painful. But it’s hard to talk around the fog in his head, tongue heavy and unresponsive as it begins to loll out of his mouth. He gasps wetly, hands moving clumsily again to push at Ghost’s hips and to try and push your head away too. There’s a loud whine from you, as Gaz’s hand finds your mouth and pushes against it. Your tongue lapping at the space between his fingers in an attempt to appease him. Ghost is less lenient. He chooses, instead, to dip his head down and sink his teeth into Gaz’s nape, fingers digging hard into the fat of his hips in a way that’ll bruise and sting in the next coming days with any movement.

“Lieutenant-”

A growl reverates through his spine, turning to shivers half way.

“LT, please- I need-” There’s his hand again, scrambling to hook into the loop of Ghost’s jeans and push him back. “Just a minute, please! I need to- to use the bathroom. Won’t take long at all just-”

“What’s stopping you?”

Gaz’s forehead smacks into the wall. Eyes shaking with the effort to focus despite LT’s cockhead sliding against his.

“Well?”

“I don’t, I don’t think I understa-and, LT.”

Ghost leans further into him, like he’s trying to mould the shape of Gaz into his front. Like he’s trying to carve the shape of him into his chest. The hand on his right hip slides around to lay flat against his stomach before dragging down and down. Until his index and middle fingers are framing his t-dick, pinching it between the fat digits and causing Gaz’s knees to buckle. He pulls it up, ignoring the pulsing that Gaz is sure he can feel even through those thick calluses dragging into his sensitive skin.

“Go then. I’m sure our boy will appreciate the drink too.”

Gaz’s hand slips from your face then. His fingers drag down your lower face until they drop entirely off of it. Once freed, you’re happy to sink your face back between his folds, lapping at the space between the Lieutenant’s fingers to give attention to the Sergeant’s clit. And he cries. Fat globs running down his already sweat-soaked face, overwhelmed by the feeling of so many things hitting him at once. An orgasm rips through him, a weak moan falling off his lips as he tries to regain his bearings.

The Lieutenant’s cock digs deeper between his thighs, and he can feel Ghost’s other hand move it up closer to his folds. He can’t see it, with how blurry his vision is with tears. He can feel the pressure double, his dick feeling sore and bruised from the sheer amount of pressure and stimulation it’s taking. Unused to it all, having jumped from jerking off every two nights to being taken apart by two military personnels who seemed to know his body better than himself. And it’s getting harder to hold himself back, his brain is too scrambled and he’s a good soldier, a good boy. And-

"Piss, Sergeant. That’s an order.”

The words, mixed with the fourth orgasm of the night, act as a sort of sedative. Like the type he’d seen Captains and medics use with unrulier soldiers, the sort that took seconds to send a body limp. And that’s what it feels like, as his body drops just for Ghost to pick up the slack once more, one arm coming to hold him upright. The other-

His hand is still holding his crotch, fingers pulling his dick up to keep his folds open as his bladder empties right on your face. You aren’t stupid, had heard Gaz’s useless begging. And despite your dignity, if you truly had any left, you lap up that too. It’s hot, and bitter, and would be gross, if you were any less dirty. But like any good dog, you lick up the treat as it comes, giving up on getting it all in your mouth and settling on the fact that you’ll just have to be covered in it. It runs down your lower face and past your neck, soaking up the front of your shirt and spilling onto your sweatpants and boxers. It goes on forever, until the stream begins to lessen and dribble, until all there is left are a few little droplets. Which you clean up of course.

You pull away then, a strangled groan leaving you as your hand tightens around your hard dick, and pumps once, twice just to spill all over the dirty floor, mixing with the piss and the sweat.

“Good boy, soldier. Stay there.”

There’s the sound of a body being set down on the floor, soft mumblings that you can’t quite make out through the wall. Then footsteps, petering out slowly until all you can hear is your own heartbeat in between your ears and the soft breathing of somebody on the other side. Probably Gaz. Then there’s the sound of the door, and light from the hallway streaming in from it.

The silhouette of Ghost in the doorway should be terrifying. And really, it does send your heart hammering in your chest. But your dick also twitches feebly between your thighs, slowly chubbing up again from its softened state. You can’t help but glance down at yourself. But there’s nothing left to salvage. Your clothes are dark from the piss and sweat soaking the material, and you just look a mess. The mere seconds it takes the Lieutenant to amble over to you it’s useless for you to do anything but watch, rapt, as his body begins to loom over you. He stops just a few inches from you, face level with his hips and with his dick, still sticking out from the gap of his zipper and rock hard.

“You look filthy,” he says without preamble, “didn’t know we raised street dogs.”

You shiver, eyes half-lidded and wet. You cough weakly, face tilting to look at the floor. His hand comes down to rest on your head, before curling his hand to pull your face up to meet his again. The other hand grabs at your chin, the thumb dragging over your jaw before digging into your cheek and prying your mouth open. Saliva connects your tongue to the roof.

“You’re gonna let me use you to get off,” he mumbles, fingers tightening around your jaw, “and then I’m sure Gaz will be happy to use you again.”

He brings you closer, till the head of his dick traces your lower lip, precum shiny against the skin. Your tongue darts out to lick at it, and he takes it as a green light to sink his cock into your throat. It doesn’t take long at all, really. His dick throbbing in your mouth by the fourth thrust, his hands moving to hold the sides of your head by the time your throat begins hurting. He’s using you as a fleshlight, unforgiving and relentless. He sinks the full length as he comes, his balls slapping on your chin and becoming slick with whatever come you fail to swallow and instead let dribble past the corners of your mouth.

He pulls back, and you gasp. Licking at your mouth for whatever you can reach that way. You look up, to Gaz leaning against the wall behind Ghost.

"Round two?”

Credit to Cafekitsune for their gorgeous dividers!

Military duties aside, TF 141 would all lift for vastly different reasons and ya'll can fight me on this.

Ghost lifts for self punishment. Gaz lifts for physique. Price lifts so he can pick people up. Nikolai lifts so he can pick Price up. Roach lifts so he has the stamina to be a menace. And Soap?

Soap lifts so he can fight god.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

Never misses, even in style

Ghost is like uncannily good with animals. He is on some Snow White shit.

TW: none :3

Ok, so hear me out, he’s not a dog person (they do swarm to him tho, because dogs always go for the one who wants to be around them least)

But yk what animals he’s good with? Very skidish animals (deer, cats, birds rabbits, ect.) because he dose not actively seek out said animals, and they just come to him!

I’ve said this before, ghost loves a good birdwatch, and he’ll lay down. And since he’s a sniper, will not move a muscle, and birds will often come and sit on him, or inspect him, he dosent move. He won’t even pet them. He dose not care! They’re chilling and so is he,

even fish love him. But he fucking hates fish so he makes an effort to be as loud and making as much movement as possible,

And if he’s set up on overwatch in a forest area or any wildlife area for a long time, by the time he has to take the shot, or he is clear to get up, birds. Deer, fucking squirrels have come sat. Slept. He is so chill with them,

once him and price where on overwatch and he saw it happen, price scared it off. Because he tried to pet the bird, and it flew off, :(

Ghost:“Look don’t touch sir,”

Price:“ like you, lieutenant.”

Gaz.

I think a lot of what pro-AI people are really wanting is stuff that already exists but they don't know it's out there like

can't format a work email? templates

don't know how to write a resume? templates

writing a thank you card or a condolences card or a wedding invitation? templates templates templates

not sure how to format your citations in MLA or whatever format? citationmachine.net

summary of something you're reading for school/work? cliffsnotes.com

recipe based on ingredients in your fridge? whatsintherefrigerator.com

there's a million more like, guys, we don't need AI, we never needed generative AI

reminder that being against ai also means being against character.ai and not using character.ai and not interacting with character.ai

i've never talked to chatgpt i've never talked to character.ai i have no interest in talking to a chatbot even if it's fun or based on my comfort character. if we want companies to stop using ai we need to tell them we aren't going to interact with it - so don't.

don't talk to robots. full stop.

you are not a disgusting person for exploring and enjoying dark themes in fiction. you do not have to defend yourself or justify the content you consume. have fun with it, get freaky and weird with it. you can do whatever you want forever

I feel like Roach and Soap just drop horrific facts/stories over comms during missions

-

Just imagine Ghost sitting in the woods with a sniper and he just hears Roach go

“there was a girl in Germany who had a dream a crown of thorns was being put on her head and it turns out a fox was trying to eat her head while she slept”

No context. No follow up.

-

Price is monitoring comms?

“Eben Byers drank so much radioactive water his jaw fell off and he developed holes in his skull”

“Thanks Soap”

-

Gaz is trying to concentrate on anything

“there was a girl in india who got her whole face ripped off and they were able to put it back on”

“…thanks Gary”

interact with this post if you believe aspec identities are queer

trying to prove a point (not forced!!)

my earnest hope for 2025 is that everyone embraces being a little weirder and freakier and less judgmental bc we will all be better off for it like to charge reblog to cast