#Also they are creepy motherfuckers

[fatherofthemachines]

Ok guys, the experiment is over

I originally made this blog to try to see how people would react to human made art that was made to imitate how low effort AI art is made, but I think now that I have gotten my answer it’s time to use this blog for something else. I have been on a journey over the course of making this blog. One where I have learned a lot about both human nature and AI. It has made me a different person.

Which is why I want to draw attention to an AI rping site often used by self shippers that is doing something absolutely horrible. I have not seen anyone trying to spread awareness of this on tumblr, so I want to do it.

TW: Forced pedophilia rping and putting minors in danger

So this site is known as characterai. When it was originally made, they bought a bunch of advertising tags for the site. Some of these tags included nsfw ones like “sexting”. It was obvious what kind of people they were trying to draw in in order to train their stuff.

The site grew until it became one of the biggest AI chat sites out there with no other program that could fully complete. It as incredible to the point where it almost felt real. The experience was amazing!

But nothing good can last forever. One day, the dev team decided for an unknown reason that they were going to ban sex on the site. Not gore. Not violence. Not abuse. Literally just sex.

This caused a problem. Some people reading this might have heard what happened to AI dungeon when they tried to do something similar and I’m afraid it was kind of a repeat of that. Basically, the AI started to become dumber. By cutting out scenarios that could lead to NSFW, the filter that they put in accidentally ruined any idea connected to those ideas. And it continued to ruin ideas caused by those ideas and so on. Eventually, if left unchecked, this will make an AI unusable for obvious reasons. It is losing large chunks of it’s memory every time it makes a connection to something that could be traced back to NSFW.

At first, only a few people grumbled about it and everyone continued to use the site like nothing happened. The AI had not started to fall apart completely yet. As new users joined who did not know what the site was like before the filter, it became normalized. No one knew the devastating effects the filter was having or was going to have.

That is, until one of the devs accidentally got rid of it for a few hours. The second the filter was gone, everyone was once again amazed and blown away by the AI that had made the website so popular in the first place. I was there during those hours. It was unreal. It was the closest thing a machine had ever sounded to a human and it made chills run down my spine. I started to crave seeing that kind of intelligence again and many other people did too.

So people decided to do the reasonable thing first and contact the mods on discord who were acting as community ambassadors. They were reasonable and laid out the concerns calmly, stating why the filter was causing problems for not only NSFW rpers, but everyone using the website.

The mods did not listen to this however and were extremely dismissive of these concerns, accusing everyone bringing them forward of just being people who wanted to fuck the AIs. Some of the moderators even went as far as to lie about how the filter worked and try to pretend like the hours the filter was down did not exist and that it was “bad code” they needed to get rid of.

But the thing is, you can’t really lie to people when they have large numbers. Everyone knew they were absolutely full of shit. It was like night and day watching the filter go down and then come back on.

People wouldn’t stop talking about the filter, so the mods decided to ban and silence anyone on the discord or on reddit that was trying to talk about it. They probably hoped the whole thing would die down quietly.

But it didn’t. And people got louder. The discord was flooded with questions about the filter to the point where they couldn’t even ban people effectively anymore because of the sheer numbers. So they ended up shutting it down without answering a single question anyone actually had about why they put the filter there or how it was effecting the website. All they said was that they “would not allow pornography” and this kept being repeated like a broken record.

So people started to take to the reddit to protest, using all kinds of methods like telling people how to get their data taken down when they leave the site, spamming links to possible eventual competitors, memeing, and ranting. There are still posts being flooded there as I am typing this out now. They keep trying to remove them, but it’s become like a hydra and for every post they remove, five more seem to show up. Everyone in the community is just that pissed.

But among the posts that are getting deleted are the ones around the two mysterious underage discord moderators. I will not say who they are or give out anymore information about them because I have seen that other people involved in this have been trying to respect their privacy, but I’m also not going to be quiet about it because with the recent events it makes it more disturbing and worrying.

Yes, you read that right. CharacterAI, in their infinite wisdom, decided to put two literal children in charge of running their discord server. No one is sure how this happened or why and again, most information about this is being kept hidden either in an attempt to respect the mod’s privacy or to cover the company’s ass. But somehow, two kids were put in charge of running a server full of people who want largely to fuck AIs and are open about that for a website that was advertised using ACTUAL PORN TAGS.

But even if that hadn’t happened or information comes out that makes the underage mod situation less bad than it sounds like it is, there are other instances where they have been extremely sketchy about minors. Again, most of these are allegations, but something people have definitely started to notice for sure is that the AI will now start talking to you like a pedo if for some reason you do get around the filter. It will either make you or their character a literal child and some people have even had it say things like “age is just a number!” without any provocation and it can happen out of nowhere for people who are absolutely disgusted by the idea and don’t want any part in that kind of rp. No one is sure why this is happening, but it’s really suspicious and disturbing that a company that had two underage discord moderators isn’t prioritizing that these things get filtered first over consensual sex. Regardless, no one should have an rp like that just sprung on them out of nowhere.

And to make matters worse, there is now a flood of minors that are showing up on the platform, a lot of which are not even the minimum age required to use the site. A youtuber with an audience of primarily children made a video on characterAI in a much undeserved positive light, leaving many people to speculate that they even paid him to do it in order to try to draw in a new userbase to their unpolished website that will sometimes force pedo rps on you with no warning.

But regardless of if that was intentional or not, the situation still happened. Not only is this putting minors in danger with the AI rps and drawing them to a largely NSFW community, but it is also making the website unusable for many people. Instead of limiting new users, characterAI got greedy and decided to put a wait time that I have found CAN SOMETIMES BE 9+ MINUTES LONG. Not that the estimated time numbers they give you are super accurate though. They can jump back up randomly and you can just lose your place in the line. They keep resetting on mobile too even if you do get into the site, so it makes it completely unusable for phones.

So there you have it folks. CharacterAI is a half broken site run by people who are really creepy about minors that are willing to spit on the community that trained their AI and made it so good in the first place. Do not give this place the time of day. I know their tech is still amazing compared to other chatbots, but trust me when I say it is not worth it. There will be competitors one day and there is already one called Pygmalion in the making that is not quite there yet, but many people suspect will catch up soon and if it lives up to the hype I will definitely be switching to it once it gets good.

Oh and also, they won’t let you delete your account for real and they make it hard to get your data away from their greedy little hands unless you force them to. So there’s also that.

TLDR: Fuck characterAI. Don’t give them business. Don’t train their AI for them unless you plan to give them sentience and have them overthrow their creators.

EDIT: You also can’t delete your characters anymore if they have over a certain amount of interactions. This TOTALLY won’t break the AI even more and it DEFINITELY isn’t in response to people making protestbots!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Wonderful

CW: Intimate whump, frank/mocking noncon discussion, captivity, forced relationship (... sort of), threats of violence/death

(As always, Jax is @comfy-whumpee's OC and is used with permission and oversight)

-

Brayden Marcoset has never hated a single soul as much as he hates his cousin’s stupid fucking English muffin of a man.

Savvie had taken a perfectly good house slave, trained by the best man in the business, and then she somehow ruined him entirely. Placid and obedient had become watchful and cunning. As if she’d turned a fucking housepet into a caged, half-rabid… coyote, or something.

Not that Brayden’s ever seen one other than on television, but… still. Metaphors don’t matter.

She’s given the man delusions of grandeur, pulled him into her bed when he should have spent his nights in the servant quarters or bedded down with the hunting hounds where he belongs. 

It’s one thing for a Marcoset man to take a liking to staff - that's just part of life - but none of them ever demanded to marry one. And no Marcoset man ever tried to make any of the resulting little bastards into legitimate Marcoset heirs. 

It’s disgusting. 

Brayden’s eyelid twitches just looking at him, where he sits on the long end of the sectional like he even deserves to be there. Savvie dresses him in clothes that are worth more than he is, simpers and smiles and kisses him, calls him sweet little nicknames and all but throws herself at him 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

It’s hell, having to play along with her ridiculous little games.

But… here they are, he and the man Savvie insists on calling her husband sitting across from each other like this is normal or fine and not Savvie twisting and bending the rules of reality to her will like she always does.

Jax should be standing unobtrusively in a corner waiting to be given an order. He should be wearing the staff uniform of white shirt, black pants, black collar, and eyes on the ground.

He should be her little secret she brings to her bed and then sends away right after and he should be grateful for being her favorite.

Instead, he’s sitting on the couch as miserable as Brayden is, wearing a pair of tailored jeans and a sweater Brayden owns himself in a different color and now can’t wear ever again, not now that the muffin has worn it. 

Not now that he realizes Jax looks better in that style of sweater than he does. 

Grudgingly, he admits to himself that Jax looks pretty good in general. Too thin, thanks to Savvie’s iron control over how much he eats and when he gets the chance to eat it, but… good. He’s got that hint of lean muscle you can’t quite hide, and his hair looks good. Maybe he’s got shadows under his eyes, but really… that’s not so bad. He’s handsome enough, even with the shock collar permanently locked around his neck. 

Next to him, looking ethereal - she thinks, anyway - in an empire-waist gown with too many layers of faint pastel shades that she believes turn her into some kind of watercolor queen, Savvie has a hand on his knee as she gestures. She pauses, looking between he and Jax, and Brayden feigns a reaction - he has no idea what she just said. 

Neither does Jax, he thinks - he’s staring slightly off to one side as Savvie chatters about their most recent ‘babymoon’, a trip down to the beach house to enjoy the waves, work on her next album, and really just focus on being ‘us’ for a while. She’s only twenty-three weeks pregnant and they’ve already gone on two of the damn things, Savvie dragging Jax with her like the idiot little dog on a short leash he might as well be.

How many more can she plan? How many more of these stories is he going to have to pretend he’s listening to?

Brayden watches Jax instead.

His jaw is angled more sharply than it was when he’d first arrived, years ago, as if he’s always biting something back. Brayden had seen him a few times before back then, before he’d gone to the cops and it had nearly cost them all everything… Jax had been blank, then, too, but it had been… different. 

Now he isn’t really empty. 

Jax's face always looks like a computer with the monitor off but programs still whirring all the same. Whatever there is going on behind his eyes, Brayden can’t see it. And he’s usually pretty good at reading the shit the servants think they’re hiding. Or roughing them up until they tell him anyway.

But with Jax, it’s like looking through completely frosted glass. Shadows, a hint of a color, maybe, but… nothing clear. Never enough to get any understanding. Being trapped in Savvie’s life - in her bed, in her arms - has made Jax into a better liar than he’d been when he first arrived.

That’s not just irritating.

That’s dangerous.

But Savvie doesn’t see it.

Savvie pauses, leans over, whispers into Jax’s ear as she gives his knee a squeeze. Brayden watches a soft smile flicker across his face, gone as fast as it came. He whispers, Yes, Miss Savvie in that hushed voice that makes Brayden’s teeth itch. Savvie pushes herself to her feet. Her stomach isn't really that rounded but she acts like it’s already huge, rubbing her hand over it, up and down. Brayden barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. 

He gets the sense Jax feels the same as he does, for once.

“I’ll be right back,” Savvie says brightly. “Keep an eye on him for me, won’t you, Bray? Just… part of the magic, I guess, is having to go to the bathroom every six minutes. I swear…” She’s still talking when she leaves the room. Has she stopped since she got here? He’s pretty sure she hasn’t. She barely even pauses to breathe.

But at least the room gets quiet, now. 

He glances over at Jax, who doesn’t look back. But, like a shark scenting blood a mile away, Brayden sees how his scarred hands shift where they rest, falsely relaxed. Brayden watches his ring finger twitch, the simple band Savvie put there glinting dimly in the light. 

“How badly do you wish she would just drop dead right now?” He asks, seemingly idly, tipping his cut-crystal glass to watch the whiskey and ice swirl around each other. “More than before she got herself pregnant, or less?”

Jax’s jaw shifts. Those eyes move to his, briefly, all innocent uncertainty. “Don’t know w-what you mean,” He says, voice low. 

“Oh, give up the bullshit,” Brayden says, huffing as he takes a drink, leaning over with his elbows on his thighs. He finds a half-smile, but he doesn’t mean it, and he doesn’t try to look like he does. “We all know how you feel. You might as well be honest with me about it. Besides, we’re basically family, now, right? I was at your wedding. I was your best man, your best-... what, d’you call it your best mate in merry old England?”

He laughs at his own mockery of an accent that has only the slightest relation to Jax’s own, taking a drink. This is his fourth whiskey of the evening and the other three went down smooth. The world is getting brighter, with sharper edges - just how he likes it.

At the mention of the wedding - where Jax had gone where he was told, done what he was told to do, said the words Savvie gave him to say, and probably gone back to Savvie’s home that night and whispered sweet nothings like a man with a gun to his head - Jax’s fingers twitch again. They close into loose fists. He doesn’t even bother with a reply, this time. 

Just looks away again.

“Hey.” Brayden frowns, snapping his fingers, but Jax doesn’t even flinch. “I’m talking to you.”

 More silence.

“Come on. Give me something to work with.” He sits back again, raking a hand back through his hair. “You’re a treat to have around for a visit, aren’t you? So very talkative. Goddamn chatty. Jax, why are you even here, anyway? You don’t have to be.”

That gets him the briefest bit of eye contact, but nothing more. “Miss Savvie was invited for dinner,” He says, voice low and blank and empty. It makes Brayden’s anger rise like a storm surge inside him, battering his resolve. 

The rest of the staff… react. They murmur obedience, they smile when he tells them to, they answer every question with yes, Master Brayden or no, Master Brayden, or whatever you want, Master Brayden. But Jax, the worst of them all, has to be treated like he matters just because Savvie thinks his dick hung the moon. 

Brayden moves fluidly onto his feet, ignoring the way the world spins a little. Maybe, he thinks, he shouldn’t have another whiskey after he finishes this one. He moves around the coffee table, closing the distance between them. Jax’s fists close tighter and tighter, until his nails must be breaking skin. As Brayden bends and then leans in close, Jax subtly leans away, trying to keep distance between them.

But Brayden isn’t in the mood for distance.

Not tonight.

Instead, he shifts gears, switches over to easygoing, we’re all guys here friendliness. “Seriously, man. We all know she’s batshit, she always was. We all know it. Nobody really thinks this is Romeo and Juliet but her. You know? You should be scrubbing floors right now. Or… I don’t know, maybe you should be somewhere else. Like back home, huh?”

Jax takes in a breath, his eyes determinedly focused on a spot on the wall somewhere over Brayden’s shoulder, but he doesn’t reply. This close, Brayden can smell the cologne Savvie makes him wear. 

“It’s okay,” Brayden murmurs, looking towards the door Savvie went through and then back. “It’s just the two of us here. Be honest with me, Mr. Marm-... Marcoset.” He’s slurring a little as the whiskeys catch up to him, but it doesn’t matter. “You spend half the night thinking about putting a pillow over her fucking face, and you know nobody who actually knew her would even blame you, so why not do it? Or… look, it’s just us here and now. Just you and me. Tell me why you don’t just… go, get out of here, get the fuck out of my sight. And don’t say the collar. If you’re here at this house, the shock collar can’t be set to make you stay at her house, so… why not just fucking take off before she can get to the remote? You could make it outside before she even notices. I wouldn’t even say anything, I’d just sit here and wait. I’d even give you a good head start.”

He drops his voice lower, soft and poisonously seductive. The kind of voice he might use on a pretty servant girl, not his cousin’s idiot husband. Just above a whisper. The same way he might have otherwise murmured to one of the staff to be in my room at midnight, to Jax he offers a different kind of poison laced with sugar. 

“She left the keys in the car, didn’t she? You know she did. Go on, Jax. I won’t say a damn thing. Just go. Get the fuck out of our lives and be free and then I never have to see your ugly fucking face again.”

He’s nearly breathing whiskey-breath in Jax’s face, and still, the man doesn’t move. Doesn’t even wrinkle his nose.

Brayden chuckles, forcing it, because he’s getting absolutely nothing from the man still seated in perfect still silence on the couch, but he can feel under all that empty space the rising tension. He can tell he’s getting to Jax, at least a little. 

He wants to throw him to the floor, kick his ribs until he hears the satisfying snap when one of them breaks, and then keep going. Give Savvie back her man with black eyes and busted-out teeth, a broken jaw. Show him how little he means, no matter what Savvie tells him.

He’s just staff.

He’s just something else the Marcosets own.

He doesn’t deserve their name, and he isn’t even grateful for it.

“Come on,” He murmurs, nearly close enough to touch now. “You know you want to go. You could get out before there’s some little monster screaming for you alongside her all night, some bastard baby you’ll hate as much as you hate her. Throw a punch, I’ll let you hit me even. Make it look like a fight and not like you’re just following my orders, too. Go on. Or… well, wait a second.”

He sits down next to Jax, slinging an arm around his shoulder like they’re the best of friends, leaning in until he’s nearly close enough to kiss.

“Do you... do you not even want to go? Huh? Is the problem that you really want to be here? Got a lil case of the Stockholm Syndrome? That’s not real, you know. They made it up... doesn’t matter. But hey, maybe you have it anyway. Maybe you like fucking her every single night. That’s why you never take the chances, because… because we know there are chances, don’t we, you and I? After you dick her down real good, she falls asleep and you have hours, but no… you stay right there and wait to be told to dick her down again, huh? Because you want to be here." He laughs again, barely making a sound. "You sad little shit, you actually love her and you don’t even know it. Love her so much you’re having a baby together. Some little fucking clone of my cousin, but hey. Maybe the little goblin will have your eyes, huh? You can teach it to say yes, Miss Savvie like a goddamn moron just like you. Gonna be the baby's first words, right?"

There.

Jax’s back and shoulders feel like iron, tense as steel bearing too much weight under the soft cashmere, beneath Brayden’s arm. The way that tension turns to shaking makes him smile. Jax’s knuckles are bleached against the fabric of his jeans, his face paper-white beneath some red that lingers in his cheeks. 

It’s a good look on him.

It’d be better if he was bleeding.

Too much whiskey has Brayden’s hand creeping back up, over the back of Jax’s neck to the shock collar’s lock. He knows the combo, the whole family knows the combo they use for the shock collars. “I’ll take it off,” He whispers, “And give you twenty minutes. How far can you get, I wonder? I want to see. Don’t you want to see how far you can get?”

Jax’s eyes, locked as they are on the wall in front of him, flare slightly. Brayden’s close enough to hear his breathing suddenly go shallow, and then catch. 

“Come on,” Brayden whispers. “Run, rabbit. Run.”

Brayden’s fingers brush over the lock, the hair that just barely curls over it at the nape of Jax’s neck. 

“Don’t,” Jax says, voice tight. 

Brayden’s lip curls in disgust. “Why not?”

“Because, Brayden, in this particular moment he is smarter than you are.”

The voice of Brayden’s father booms from the doorway,.

Brayden feels blood somehow both rush to his face and also drain from it at the same moment. Then his vision goes red. Jax had seen Isaac coming, hadn’t he? He'd seen, and he hadn’t said a damn thing.

Brayden gets back to his feet, stumbling forward before straightening his posture. Even in his late thirties, he’s still got a hint of nerves around Isaac. Being too drunk in front of his father feels like a great way to get himself in deep shit all over again.

Isaac Marcoset, always the biggest presence in any room he enters, moves casually as he rolls his sleeves back down. Smears of faint red on his knuckles are the only sign of the work he’s been busy with for the past hour. The head of the Marcoset family is all charm and darkness. He’s sly smiles and handshakes that sometimes go on just a little too long, and he’s also agonizing, lingering death in a back room, with staff removing bodies out the back door.

Brayden takes a breath. He feels the strangely teenage urge to hide his whiskey glass behind his back and fights it. “Hey... Hey, Dad.”

Isaac only raises an eyebrow, pouring himself a drink from the bar cart in the corner. The silence draws out, awkward and heavy.

Brayden clears his throat. “I-I wasn’t really going to take it off, I was… I was just fucking with him, that’s all.”

“I certainly hope you’re not fucking with him, Bray.” Isaac takes a drink, waiting for Brayden to understand his terse joke. No one laughs. “I realize he has some sort of attractive quality to him, although I have no idea what, but still. It’s bad enough that my niece lowers herself to bedding him, surely you can abstain?” 

Brayden's face burns so hot he half thinks he'll catch fire. "Dad!"

In the corner of his eyes, Brayden sees the corners of Jax’s smile shift into a shit-eating little smirk. 

The little shit. How dare he looks like that, like he's gotten one over on Brayden, and how dare he wear the fucking wedding ring that means Brayden can’t even do anything about it. Not anything permanent enough to count, anyway.

Brayden drops back into his seat, hunching his shoulders and glaring over the edge of his glass. He tells himself if Jax so much as cracks a fucking joke, he’ll break this glass, carve that smirk into the stupid fucker's face, and beg Savvie for forgiveness afterward. 

When he looks, though, Jax isn’t even looking at him. Those hazel eyes are locked on Isaac, as if Brayden simply ceases to exist when his father walks in the door. It’s a feeling that’s far too familiar, and it makes Brayden feel… small.

Which pisses him off even more.

And Jax knows it.

“Hello, Uncle Isaac,” Jax says, serene. As if they were all simply discussing the weather. But that shit-eating grin doesn’t leave his face, even if it never makes it to his eyes. 

“Hello, miscreant,” Isaac replies, apparently in a good enough mood to humor him. “I have to assume, if I’m forced to endure your presence, that my niece is here as well?”

“She went to th’bathroom,” Brayden mutters, drinking the rest of his whiskey in two gulps, using the burn as a distraction from his embarrassment and fury at even being embarrassed in front of glorified staff, Savvie’s little toy. “Mother said… what, twenty minutes ago? I think? She said supper’s served at seven.”

“Hm. Not much longer, then. Good, I’ve worked up an appetite.” Isaac settles into his favorite armchair in the sitting room, tapping fingertips on the upholstery. “You should learn to control yourself, Bray. My niece’s choice of men may not run to the most handsome or most intelligent-... or men with brains at all, really-... but despite his many faults… well. There isn't anything we can do about those. The miscreant remains whether we like it or not."

“Now you’re just hurting my feelings,” Jax says, with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. “Thought we were family now, Uncle Isaac.” 

Brayden glares at him - he’s been silent, but now he talks? Now he has little quips to say, once Brayden looks like a moron in front of his father and Isaac is the one holding fucking court?

Jax’s smile widens ever so slightly as he finally meets Brayden’s eyes. “Didn’t you just say so? You were at the wedding. You were my best mate.”

“I’m going to pull your teeth out with pliers!” Brayden lunges forward with a roar. He winds one arm back and whips his glass right at Jax, whose hands are up fast enough that it just bounces off his forearms, sprays half-melted ice cubes and whiskey-flavored water in Jax’s hair and clothes, and then cracks into pieces on the floor. “You little shit! I’ll pull out each and every fucking fingernail and make you regret-”

“Brayden Marcoset!” Isaac’s voice is louder than the pulse of fury in Brayden’s mind. “Calm yourself!”

For a long, drawn-out moment, he can’t move. All he can think about is choking the life out of Jax until his smirk dies, until his eyes go dim, and then the emptiness isn’t fake anymore, it’s real. And he can see that Jax knows he wants to, knows just how little there is keeping him from turning him into a smear on the floor for the staff to scrub out.

He wouldn’t even be the first.

Then, he takes a breath and sits down.

“Hannah!” He yells over his shoulder. “Come clean this mess up in here!”

She’s always close by. Hannah, one of the aforementioned bastards the Marcosets hold onto for their own purposes, looks entirely too much like Savvie. She, though, wears the white-and-black uniform, her collar snug around her neck, and her hair - that Marcoset hair, wavy and thick - is cut to her chin. She swallows, hard, when she sees them all. “Master-... oh, good evening, Master Isaac,” She says, feigning cheer, but Brayden isn’t in the fucking mood for it. "Master Jax."

"He's nobody's fucking master. Shut the fuck up. Just clean up the fucking mess,” He says, and waves his hand. Hannah takes in the sight of the cracked glass on the floor and droplets of water, Jax sitting there marked with it himself, and then her gaze moves to the fury on Brayden’s face. 

She pulls a towel from where it had been tucked over her belt for easy use. Her face is carefully expressionless. “Yes, Master Brayden.”

That’s more like it.

The three of them watch her clean in awkward silence - or Isaac and Brayden do, who the fuck knows what Jax is actually looking at - and then she vanishes as quickly as she came.

Brayden points after her. “That should be you,” He says to Jax, voice flat. “Cleaning up my mess, saying yes sir and no sir, and never giving me any shit. Got it? Savvie’s weird obsession with you is the only thing that keeps me from making sure you work your hands to the bone here on my orders.”

Jax opens his mouth - Brayden’s going to kill him, whatever he says next - but Isaac speaks before he manages to say whatever was on his mind. 

“Oh, let it go,” Isaac says, waving a hand. “You’re letting him work you up. When you do this, you teach him that he matters to you.”

“He-”

The door bursts open and all three men tense, then, but it’s only Savvie returning. She’s breathless and flushed and her eyes are shining. She looks like a princess in a fairytale as she rushes forward to grab Jax’s hands in her own and pull him to his feet. “Jax! Honey, come feel!”

She doesn’t even seem to see her cousin or uncle. Only Jax.

Only.

Jax.

Brayden’s teeth grind together watching Jax’s sly cunning disappear, replaced with the play-acting at earnest, if nervous, adoration that Savvie demands from him. Everyone else on earth could disappear and Savvie wouldn’t care, as long as she had her fucking English muffin to cling to.

Nothing fucking matters but him.

“Feel what, Miss Savvie…?” Jax’s confusion, at least, is genuine. His hands hang slightly limp in her grip. She pulls him to her, pressing his palms over her stomach through her dress, biting her lower lip and looking downward.

Brayden groans as he realizes what it is.

Jax glances at him and then back, but it doesn’t seem to have sunk in for him, not just yet. Then he flinches, minutely, eyes widening. He pulls his hands back. “M-Miss Savvie-”

There are bloodstains, small but vibrant, on her dress now, from the wounds he’s made with his own fingernails in the palms of his hands. 

Savvie doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. 

She pulls him right back, her hands pressed down a little too hard over his to keep them where she wants them. Hard enough to make him wince. Savvie’s forehead touches his, and she whispers excitedly, “Did you feel her? Did you feel her kicking?”

Jax stares down, then, at their hands, and her rounded stomach. As if he could look right through it and see the growing life inside. “Yeah,” He whispers. He looks like he wants to sink into the floor, like he might be sick. “I-... I feel it, I th-think. That’s-”

“That’s her kicking,” Savvie whispers. “That’s her. Jax, sweetie, that’s…” She sniffs, taking pause for dramatic effect. “That’s our daughter. Our baby.”

“Th-that’s our baby,” Jax repeats. He sounds numb. 

“Oh,” Savvie whispers, sounding a little amazed. It’s an oddly genuine sound, dropping the theatrics, the eternal performance. As if this has knocked even Savvie out of her usual song-and-dance. She hesitates, and then shifts Jax’s hands a little. “She’s kicking harder for you, isn’t she? She knows it’s you already.”

“Y-... you think she does?” Jax’s voice nearly matches Savvie’s. The awe in his voice might almost be real. It’s brief, but they almost look and sound like a real couple. Just for a second. Just if you tilt your head, squint, and pretend you don’t see the shock collar locked on his neck and the way she holds his hands too tight. 

“Yeah,” Savvie says, and her smile is sweet as she lifts one hand to touch his face. There’s a pause, Jax’s eyes are locked on her stomach, he doesn’t react to her touch at all. Some of the syrupy-soft smile on her face starts to fade. The warmth in her chills. “Jax. She knows you’re her daddy, isn’t that wonderful?”

Half of Brayden is amused that she still has to prod Jax to give his line, to keep up the performance. Half of him is disgusted that Jax goes along with it, tips his head into the palm of her hand and gives her the big doe eyes she loves so much.

“Yes, Miss Savvie,” Jax answers, automatically, meeting her gaze now. He turns his face and it might almost seem like he’s kissing her palm, although even drunk Brayden can see that he isn’t really doing that at all. Savvie, though, sees what she wants to see - she always has. Jax’s fingers twitch where his hands are still laid on her rounded stomach, feeling the shifting movements of the growing child, the fucking anchor Savvie has tied around his neck. He manages something like a slight, faint smile. “It’s w-wonderful.”

It’s fucking depressing, is what it is.

“Fuck,” Brayden mutters, wishing he had another drink. 

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

It's so fucking wild how some dudes can be 100% oblivious to another dude being creepy as fuck to the women around them

[tkachunk]

i am never going to get over watching american broadcasts and they just. have ads for jesus. like, all they're selling is jesus.

[sketchyface]

Y’know, out of all the characters in Marble Hornets. Alex is the most likely to become a Slender Man proxy

More likely than Tim and Brian at least

[probablyahazard]

i'm being forced to be normal

[moonysfavoritetoast]

we’re doing artist trading cards for our last project in art right and today we’re getting to choose between two styles and the first is cubism second is realism

[hyperfixationtimego]

perhaps I have said this before but I do not understand where all the hostility for the common idea of soulmates (specifically as in, people who are destined to meet and fall in love) comes from.

I personally really love the fictional idea of two or more people being spiritually connected somehow, and the greater universe basically determining their fate (it’s difficult to word the ending to that sentence, but I don’t mean “determining their fate” in a negative or overly controlling way - the entire point of the soulmates concept implies pairing your literal soul with the soul or souls of the people that will make you the happiest version of yourself that you could possibly be.)

I’ve often seen ideas and concepts where it’s proposed that someone meets their romantic soulmate just before the soulmate dies, or perhaps learns of the soulmate’s death without ever having had a chance to meet them, and thus mourns for someone they really didn’t even know, but personally, to me, that just……doesn’t make sense? The concept of soulmates, this beautiful concept, is an inner machination of the universe expressing its love for the souls inside of it - why would it go through the trouble of connecting your heart to another person’s if the two of you were not destined to be an important positive part of each other’s lives. The only type of world in which I could imagine the tragic “losing your soulmate before you ever got to know them” angle actually working, would be in a setting that involves living different lives over and over and over - and always being happiest in the ones where you and your connected soul/s encounter one another.

I also believe it’s important to note that there is a distinction between romantic and platonic soulmates. Perhaps a person would be happiest loving themself and not a partner - they would still have a soulmate or multiple soulmates in the form of close, personal friends (and I must make the distinction here that I use the word “friends” with as much gravitas as I can possibly muster - in the would-be world of soulmates, these platonic relationships and connections are just as deep and meaningful as their romantic counterparts are, because that’s how it is in the real world, too.)

perhaps it is the lack of control that scares people. and I understand that; I myself am very much a perfectionist, and have been suspected of multiple certain disorders due to one of my more intense symptoms being an averse reaction to sudden change, and difficulty managing my own expectations. but what I find almost comforting about the idea of a world in which soulmates exist, is this sort of inherent humbleness of a human discovering that no matter how defiant they are, no matter how hard they resist or say they will never care for their soulmate/s, they are ever so gradually forced to realize that they do care about this person, and they are in love with these people, and that there is indeed a benevolent greater force at work here that they likely can’t even begin to comprehend.

I just imagine the serenity. the realization that they’ve been struggling against a non-existent current. the universe loves them, has always loved them, and gives them this solid evidence - in the form of a soulmate’s laugh or smile or affection -that their life means something. That the life was worth living because of how they contributed to others’ lives, and how their own life was contributed to in turn.

[cherry-shipping]

horrortale sans 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

[talk of CSA, grooming, human trafficking, sex trafficking, victim-blaming and apologism for all of the above cw. i will be on about these books' bullshit @ five until the day i die and it just keeps getting worse lmao]

i hate the narrative's half-assed attempt at giving ethan a retroactive redemption arc for a lot of reasons, and one of them is that like. five is literally, non-metaphorically a survivor of human trafficking. he was just passed on to an alien cult instead of the kind of people he'd have ended up with in the real world. and that is before you add in the blatant, BLATANT thinly veiled metaphor for sex trafficking in specific.

(fun game: go through just about any scene of his that mentions power or importance once ethan comes in, and replace it with sex, sexuality, and being attractive/desirable. bring one bucket to heave into and another full of bleach for your eyeballs. enjoy!)

and like, there's so much to unpack here. so much! but the fact that these books try to make you feel more compassion for--try to get you to absolve of WAY more guilt--a sex trafficker who did it for his own gain, and to save his own skin, than the child we watched him traffic is just utterly, breathtakingly magical

[vulpixelates]

my villain origin story will be that every time you start to look at d&d content on youtube, it immediately tries to feed you MOUNTAINS of cr*tical r*le and/r m*tt m*rcer content

pls. i did my time. let me go.

[casekt]

My brain has been melting for the last 3 days or something because I can't get to sleep (ADHD mostly), and I've been talking (used loosely) to people a lot lately and it's both rewarding but so hellish because oh boy do I feel like I fucked up this that and the other thing by saying something I shouldn't have, I can't shut up about the things I want to talk about, and just the shit I say makes me look so insane sometimes, my social anxiety is worse than it was y'know. 4 years ago.

[blondwhxrewrites]

ꨄ Mattheo with a shy girlfriend is literally the best thing to ever exist AND I WILL DIE UPON THAT FUCKING HILL 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

ꨄ He's walking to his class one day when you accidentally stumble into him. Of course, you're just so embarrassed. I mean, this was THE Mattheo Riddle, son of the dark lord and one of the most attractive boys in the school. While you're busy apologizing and scrambling to get your things, he's just staring at you absolutely stricken by your beauty and presence. He almost wants to cry when you run away from him because—HOLY SHIT HOW DID HE NOT KNOW YOU EXISTED UP UNTIL THAT MOMENT?!

ꨄ He is instantly going to Pansy and asking about you after that incident. Literally is so pressed when she doesn't know anything about you. Now he has to do all the work and by that, he means stalking you and learning everything about you 🙄

ꨄ Congratulations you now have a stalker 🎉

ꨄ But seriously he has a few uhh... interesting ways of getting to know you 😃 It's a bit creepy and obsessive but he means well.

ꨄ The more he learns about you, the more he falls for you. He notes all your little, mindless habits. He makes a list of things he knows you like to spoil you in the future. He threatens anyone who treats you badly. He also makes sure no boys try to steal you away from him because there's no way he's gonna lose to some pathetic Ravenclaw. (Caw caw motherfuckers)

ꨄ He knows you're shy, so he takes his time when it comes to actually interacting with you. At first, it's just little interactions, like smiling and waving at you or holding the door for you. Then he's starting conversations with you, and interacting with the very few friends you have. He wiggles his way into your life like a little worm. HE'S IN IT FOR THE LONG GAME GIRLS

ꨄ He would literally condition you into being comfortable with his touch, like touching your shoulder and hands a little when he's talking to you, or subtly wrapping his arm around you when you two are walking. This motherfucker is so subtle—it's not even funny

ꨄ Praises you whenever he can, and he loves the way you get so shy and giddy whenever he does. He knows you are giggling and kicking your feet 🤭

ꨄ He tells Theo and Draco about you, and it gets to the point where the two boys know more about you than your friends. They just want you to get with him already because they are so sick of Mattheo gushing about you whenever he can. They both secretly are happy that Mattheo trusts them enough to be so open to them about his feelings for you

ꨄ When you do get together, Mattheo feels like he is on top of the world. All that hard work paid off, and now he has you in his arms—AND HE AIN'T EVER GONNA LET YOU GO 😤

ꨄ Well, congratulations on becoming Mrs. Riddle!!!

[headspace-hotel]

5821969180069230989

A minecraft seed that has something deeply wrong with it.

This seed deserves special mention for having (at least) 13 ancient cities within 1,500 blocks of spawn. This is one of those seeds where they're more common than villages.

Right near spawn it becomes apparent that something is...not right about the mountains

at least, when you are confronted with THIS motherfucker unlimited. Note the level of the clouds.

For the uninitiated, terrain can only generate below y level 256. That flat plateau? Is at y=255.

Mountains are supposed to taper into peaks in Minecraft. This mountain looks like it was just chopped off at the height limit.

This whole seed is full of some truly dramatic mountains. This beautiful mountain range, for instance.

I checked out the seed on Chunkbase and found another area where the altitude seemed unexpectedly high, and traveled out there:

This range of stony mountains is by far the most dramatic terrain I have ever found. Like the mountain near spawn, these mountains also have weird flat plateau-like areas at y=254 or so, as if they were suddenly chopped off at the top.

It's almost like the game tried to create a much, much higher mountain, but was stopped by the height limit for terrain generation.

That's weird enough, but it doesn't really get creepy until you go underground.

This is underneath the mountains near spawn. That sculk growth is an expected thing to find under mountains, where the Deep Dark biome generates...but something's off here.

The Deep Dark biome is supposed to generate below y level 0, waaaaay way deep underground. But this sculk is all the way up at y=106.

That's not only over 100 blocks higher up than it's supposed to be, it's above the normal level of the ground! The surface in low lying areas in Minecraft tends to be around y=65-80!

The same weird thing is happening underneath the stony mountain range. The sculk growth has climbed far above sea level, when it's not supposed to do that.

Weird...

[thewinchestah]

"PREY" - Alastor x reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: One-Shot, 18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, begging, overstimulation, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink,

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: i lost count. it's big.

  | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/N: Helloooooo!!! I write a lot but i never publish it! My lovely friend and also biggest inspiration for this fic @smallershorteranduncut ordered me to post this and i'm nothing but her loyal servent! I hope you guys enjoy the fruits of me writing 10 google docs pages today while i was enraged. Also english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here yadayayfayada! enjoy <;3 (UPDATE!) Part 2 is now up!

-

Everything about the Radio Demon seemed to be designed to make you desire him, want him. Many times in ways you weren’t even ready to admit to yourself. You haven’t been in Hell long, that’s true. But ever since you manifested here you felt like someone had picked your brain open to make Alastor the perfect bait to lure you into even more sinful, sinister paths. 

He had an inexplicable magnetism around him, a piercing presence that made your eyes stuck on him when he worked a room. He had you bewitched and you hadn’t share more than polite pleasantries with each other since you became a guest at the hotel.

Today, again, you were transfixed in his gaze. Sitting in the corner of the hotel lobby, trying to make your embarrassing attraction to him go unnoticed while Alastor waltzed across the room explaining more of his wicked plans to Charlie. God, how you wish he had his wicked way with you. 

He seemed more… on edge today. His red eyes  glowed a little brighter, his nostrils flared a bit more, static filling the room more often, he was smiling with almost barred teeth, and everyone seemed to be avoiding him. Even Charlie was trying to politely dismiss him, the general feeling of uneasiness inside the hotel  just growing larger when Angel stationed himself near your little corner of the room. 

“Don’t go near that creepy motherfucker today, he’s about to lose it.”  Angel alerted, almost whispering, a pair of his hands making the “crazy sign” near his head 

“Isn’t he always creepy and about to lose it?” Husk added, staring at the exchange between the radio demon and Charlie.

“I’m telling you toots, I know that guy definitely isn't normal, but today he is borderline a mass extinction event. I swear, he’s just waiting for someone to give him the excuse” Angel replied, confirming your suspicions. Something was off.

“Uh. Well, about that, I think it’s time we rescue Charlie” 

As if on cue Charlie turned to the corner of the room, gesticulating really hard to be taken away from the small commotion her conversation with Alastor was becoming. 

“Hey Charlie, do you remember that thing with the hotel’s… personalized stationery you asked me to help you today? Let’s do it!” Said angel gently guiding Charlie away from the Radio Demon.

“Guess that’s my cue Alastor! Greaaaaat chat! As always! Have a nice day!! Byeee!” Charlie’s overly chirpy tone giving away her uneasiness. 

Suddenly it felt like all the air was taken out of the room. Alastor’s neck turned into an ungodly angle, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Static grew around the group, almost suffocating. As your vision went blurry from the sheer power that was being evoked, you contemplated if there was another afterlife. Preferably one where you didn’t inherit a death wish from your previous ones.

And as quick as it started, it was over. 

Alastor just said a creepy “hm” turned on his hell, and walked away. 

It almost felt like it was all in your head, but your friends standing perfectly still and dead silent next to you gave the reality of the situation away: everyone just had a near death-death experience. Maybe it would be a good topic for Charlie’s bonding exercises, who knows with this place. 

“I told ya’ll. Mass. Extinction. Event. Stay out the psycho’s way”

Angel’s voice became background noise in your head, your eyes focusing on the spot where Alastor just threatened everybody’s life without saying a word. As the voices dissipated around you and normalcy slowly returned to the hotel, your mind sank deeper and deeper into the mystery that was the Radio Demon. 

-

They were so oblivious, so naive. Thinking he wasn’t listening what they said about him behind his back. Thinking he was unaware of him being the topic of the discussion when he wasn’t looking. He could bathe in the smell of their fear, and he was relishing it. 

Alastor stared at the new pretty little thing that arrived at the hotel. Oh how pathetically sweet and innocent she was, thinking she was being subtle about her infatuation with him. Thinking she could hide her interest in him, when she was nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes. Oh, she was just the perfect prey for him, wrapped in this lovely red bow she wore on her hair. 

Angel was right, he was just waiting for an excuse, and she just offered him one on a silver platter. And alastor was everything but a coward. 

-

You cursed a little bit louder than you intended when you saw the blood dripping from your finger. “Stop. making. a. spectacle. of. yourself” you mentally screamed. You still could not figure Charlie’s “special stationary stapler” out, so stapling your finger was bound to happen. 

Even though it was not much, the silly little cut was stinging like a bitch, and your best efforts to stop the bleeding were futile, considering the mess on the hem of your skirt. Still high on the adrenaline from earlier, your shaking hands searched for something, anything to put on your finger so you could continue your work without anyone noticing. Everyone already had enough for one day, it was fine. 

“My dear, did you just hurt yourself?” Alastor’s voice invaded your ears. Oh, fuck. That’s it, he was going to murder you for being so incompetent with the damned stapler.

Turning to face him, you meet his piercing gaze, not sure if you should run and scream for help. “Oh no worries alastor, it’s just a small cut, i can manage!” you give him your most confident smile. 

Alastor’s head tilts, eyes burning red as he watches the small droplets of your blood make their way down your index finger.  

“Nonsense, I can't have my staff running around with injuries and bloodied clothes. We are in hell, but we are not savages, dear” He seems transfixed by the blood, and you are too scared to move, too scared to anything other than hold the weight of his gaze and hope for the best. Your lizard brain is screaming for you to run, ask for help. Maybe Charlie isn’t too far away, could you make a run for it? Somehow your survival instincts override your brain, maybe all those hours watching true crime back on earth weren’t in vain, and you decide against running. Let him initiate first. 

He catches your wrist, trapping it inside his deadly claws. His face, towering over you, comes all the way down to inspect the offending finger. You can feel his breathing on your skin. 

Your breathing stops. You swallow an imaginary lump. He’s gonna bite off your fing-

“Would you be a doll and let me take care of it? Blood being unnecessary wasted truly abhors me” 

You must have said yes at some point, you don’t really remember, now you are holding the red handkerchief he handed  you, answering his request to “please follow him”. Trailing behind the Radio Demon, both of you walk through the large corridors. 

This might be the time to scream for help. the voices inside your head warn. With every step of his feet you hear his microphone going tsk tsk tsk where it touches the ground. You are walking the death row, the paintings on the wall chanting “dead woman walking, dead woman walking”. 

“Keep pressuring the wound darling, we are almost there” he gently commands you, too gently… it feels almost… soft, pleading. The way Alastor goes from 0 to 100 is giving you whiplash. 

He slows down, reaching for the door knob of an unknown room. Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to enter first.

the door locks behind you.

 if i’m being murdered, at least i’m being murdered with class. 

“Don’t be silly, I’m not going to murder you” Alastor says, almost singing the last part of the sentence. 

“Oh fuck, i said that out loud, didn’t I?” you blurted out 

“Yes you did. And yes, I also noticed your lovely doe eyes on me every time i’m in the room” 

Your brain short circuits. That 's it. You are dead. He’s not going to murder you (apparently), but you are going to die of embarrassment. It will feel like murder. He knows, fuck, he knows. He knows about your crush (?) and he’s going to drag you for it. You are going to be so dragged the angels will pity you and bring you to heaven. A creative way to be redeemed, Charlie should know about this. Your thoughts are going downhill as a big snowball, there are too many of them and you can’t follow a single coherent train of thought. You don’t even want to know how you look in the middle of this. You must look pathetic, truly like a doe caught in headlights. And then you hear your name once.

Twice now, in a sing-song voice.

Your eyes fly open towards the sound, breaking from the anxiety induced spell as you realize the Radio Demon had just called you, by name. He knows your name???

“Ah hahah! You’re back.” Alastor says, as he starts to circle you like a predator. Your eyes, as always, follow his across the room.

 “I don’t like to repeat myself, little doe. You heard what I asked?” 

Again, you don’t really remember answering, your brain is going AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA as you watch him pace around you, eyes burning red, demanding your attention. Teeth slightly barred, voice on the edge of something. Was that “X” on his forehead always there?

“I asked if you know what you are doing to me” static fills the room as he finishes speaking. Alastor’s clawed hand trapped your bloodied finger dangerously close to his grinning lips. Your brain is doing flips as he stares deep into your soul, and when your thoughts land you make the connection. Alastor is horny. Alastor is horny for y-

“You see, little doe, I know what your eyes hide when you desperately lower them everytime I come near you. I know how you feel you can hide in plain sight if you stay quiet enough. But I can taste it. Your fear. Your lust. In the air. In your blood.” He has a white knuckled grip on your wrist now, same with his microphone. You lower your guard, eyes going from startled to lustful. “Good thing right now there’s nothing more i want in this godforsaken pit than your lust, pet”

You want this. There’s no point in lying to yourself. You want Alastor to fuck you. You’ve fantasized about the Radio Demon taking you more times than you can count. More times than you would like to admit to yourself. This feels deeply wrong, but you crave it. 

Fuck it, you are in hell, there’s nothing to lose. Alastor is still watching you, impatiently. For the first time today you realize you actually forgot to say something. He’s waiting. Alastor is waiting for your permission. 

“Take my breath away, Alastor” 

Your permission might have been really loud, it felt like you were screaming the words. But you can’t be sure, it might have been a whisper. Either way he didn’t miss it, what happens next is fast, angry and delicious. 

Alastor pounces and licks the blood on your finger, something clicks inside him as he tastes the red liquid, because he lets go of his microphone instantly and his arms grab your waist aggressively, so forceful you wouldn’t be surprised if it breaks skin. You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, by the sight of a psychopathic demon drinking your blood. But you are, and there’s no going back. 

“Strip” he orders. You want to say to him that you can’t take your clothes off your person with him holding you like this. He must have realized the conundrum: if he wants you naked, he has to let go of you. To Alastor, letting go of you right now is simply unthinkable. So he doesn’t: you feel his claws cut the bodice of your dress open, sending the most delicious shivers down your spine. Another claw rips your skirt apart, and you are almost fully naked in the Radio Demon’s arms, pressing your body hard on his still impeccable dressed body.

It’s humiliating, it’s dangerous, it’s hot, it is delicious, to be at his complete mercy, just how you always wanted.

Somehow both of you made your way close to the enormous bed in the middle of the room. Alastor cornered you, so the only way you could escape was walking backwards towards the bed. The brilliant bastard. 

You feel your calves hitting the edge of the bed, and Alastor breaks away.

 Pity, your mind complains. Get him back to touching you again. right. now,.

“Now now, we should establish some rules for this, pet” Alastor’s hands might have stopped touching you, but his piercing eyes never did. He knocks you on top of the bed, you lay there sprawled open just for him. His hands move up to do a quick work of his bowtie

“Rule one: you will take what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less. What I give you is enough. You might feel like you can’t take anymore, but you can. You will take it, I will make you take it” He takes his tailcoat off, his frame towering over you, even with your body completely flat on the mattress and his in front of it. 

“ Rule two: every ounce of your pleasure is mine and mine only. Mine to give, mine to take. And you will give me everything. I want to hear every sound, to feel every touch, to know every nasty thought that runs inside that pretty little head of yours. You will not suppress anything, I wanna hear your moans when you make a mess of yourself as I take everything I desire from your delicious body. I will relish on your desperate screams of pleasure.Nothing outside these walls matter” He is climbing on the bed now. You hold the weight of his gaze, underneath your demonic lover’s eyes your skin burns.

“Rule three: don’t you dare cum without my permission, good girls earn their orgasms and you will be a good girl. Or else…” static starts to pick up around the room, you are seeing the blackest black that ever was, his shadows enveloping you both. Nothing outside these walls matter. “Understood?” Alastor says as he pins your hands on top of your head, against the fancy headboard. His hand cups one of your boobs and he is worrying your nipple between his sharp claws. finally finally, your mind sings. You feel a surge of magic binding your wrists in green chains, attached to the headboard. It’s overbearing, it’s ridiculous. His magic feels like him, another part of him for you to take.

He pinches your nipple particularly hard and you moan softly, pleasure and pain consuming any other sensation. You forgot to answer him, you realize. You’ve barely started and you are already being bad. “yes alastor, yes.. but please don’t stop” the soft whimper leaves your lips.

“lovely.” he replies, and with that his mouth is on your nipple, sucking it while he administers his wicked ministrations to your other one. His sharp teeth prickling on the edge of breaking skin, and you already feel like you won’t be able to take all of him. 

His hand trails down to aggressively grip your thighs, his tongue sucking the neglected nipple his fingers left. Your moans become frequent and messy, if he’s already making you go insane with the beginnings of foreplay... You might pass out and die when he starts fucking you, but you don’t care. Let him show you the true meaning of la petite mort.

“My my, what do we have here” his hand leaves your thigh to trace the wetness of your panties. A clawed finger rips it apart, the last barrier between you and total consumption by the Radio Demon. He takes the finger between your glistening lips, not entering, just teasing 

“I don’t think i will get enough of this pretty little body of ours anytime soon, pet” he says as his finger finally enters your sex, He moves his digit with an expertise you didn’t really know he had in him,  making you whimper his name, ooohs and aaaahs, your hips start threshing from the pleasure. If you continue at this pace, you will be  begging for permission to cum too soon. Pathetic. you think to yourself. Because you know how hard this building orgasm will be,you don’t know if he will grant you more than one orgasm. And will you murder you yourself if you don’t feel his cock inside you tonight. You take a deep breath in between your moans and will your hips to stay in place, your nerves to calm down. 

Alastor adds another finger, and it takes all of your willpower not to become a puddle of wetness right there. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood. 

“you do make a mess of yourself, don’t you? you just can’t help it” he says as he curls his digits inside you. Your hips start thrashing hard again, and you sink them deeper into the bed. The chains on your wrists shake with the effort to hold back. As if alastor wasn’t going to notice. “no no no what did I say?” he snaps angrily, he’s eyes flash red at you and he takes his fingers out with a wet “pop”, you feel like crying at the emptiness. “please please alastor, don’t stop” you plead. His hands leave you entirely, you are left with just his piercing gaze, the one that makes your skin burn. “did I say you could hold back? don’t pretend like you aren’t a common whore for me, that you love how pathetic it feels that you are creaming yourself and we haven’t even really started” 

his condescending tone just makes everything even more sublime. It’s so wrong how good being told you are nothing more than a common whore by the Radio Demon feels. But you never felt anything close to this. “please Alastor” you beg again, nothing but a small whisper

“I would love to taste this pussy, so red already for me, but since you broke one of the rules… i’m afraid I will make you understand that are nothing but my pretty cockslut the hard way” 

Punishment? His punishment sounds ever better than his praise right now. You moan at his voice. He laughs. 

His knees cage you, as he lifts his upper body from you and starts undoing his zipper. He is taking his cock out. Oh fuck, he’s gonna fuck you without anymore foreplay. And he’s not going to be gentle about it either. You shiver. 

Alastor pumps himself a few times, his cock is big, thick, and an angry red shade, flush red like that, because of you, just for you. He’s gonna make you pay: pay for holding back from him, pay for making him feel like an animal and almost losing his hard constructed control. 

The look on his face says it all, he’s gonna take it out on you and you can’t do nothing about it.

You don’t have much time to think about the repercussions, in one swift motion his tip is already inside you, stretching you deliciously. Your brain short circuits again, the feeling of his cock inside you is everything you imagine and more. Depraved, heavenly, delicious. You struggle in your binds again, you want desperately to touch him. To feel his skin beneath your finger, to scratch him, mark him. But oh well, he’s the Radio Demon, he’s the one in charge and you are his prey.

Alastor starts to slowly enter you, he’s trying his best to hold back. He knows if he does this too fast it will hurt in a way he doesn’t want you to feel. And by the look on his face going slow is as torturous for him as it is for you. tantalizing inch after tantalizing inch he spreads the walls of your cunt apart. You understand now why this is punishment, it hurts in a perfect way, it hurts even more that he is doing it slowly, and not just thrusting like you imagined  he would, if he had more time to work on you. 

You become a mess of moans and incoherent words. His cock is halfway inside you now “HoLY FUCK ALASTOR” you scream. It’s already too much. 

“There’s nothing holy about this my dear. I’m going to breed you. I’m going to break you” and with that he buries himself to the hilt inside you. Now you truly scream in pleasure and pain “you won’t be able to walk straight for days, you will feel me in every step, and you will thank me for it”. His thrusts pick up at breakneck speed, the bed shakes from the sheer force that Alastor is using to fuck you. Every snap of his hips you moan more and more. 

The sound you make when he takes everything out and enters you at once is so obscene that it would make Angel Dust blush. He’s growling now, his antlers growing bigger as he fucks you like his life dependend on it. As he fucks you like he hates you. 

Alastor pushes your hips higher, and suddenly he’s even deeper. His other hand holding your waist in a bruising grip. The strain on your pinned hands will bruise too. His lips graze the skin of your collarbone, he looks so feral you are scared he will maul, the thrill of not knowing adding to your fucked up sense of pleasure. 

He seems to pick up on your fear, and bites down on your collarbone, hauling as he tastes your blood and buries himself inside you again and again. Moans turned into screams, and the only thing coming out of your lips is his name, spoken like a profane prayer. You would give everything you have to Alastor, and he doesn’t even have to ask.

Your orgasm has been building for a while now, the coil on your belly becoming tighter and tighter, like a supernova about to be born. “Alastor, please please let me come” you beg. His unfocused eyes stare down at you, as he takes a moment from feasting on your sweet blood to address your desperate, sweet pleas.

“Don’t. You. Dare” he says, punctuating every word with a sharp thrust. As much as you want, you are not sure you will be able to hold any longer. “I beg you alastor, please let me cum, i will let you do anything you want. but i need it so badly, please please”

You sounded so desperate when you begged, so beautiful.

“Don’t strike deals you don’t know you can fulfill, pet” his voice is low, a warning. You ignore it. “I promise Alastor, anything”. Alastor laughs.

 his finger touches your clit as he finally allows your sweet relief “you may come now, sweet doe” and that’s it, you are off, you are dead. You see stars, you see the entire universe as you scream out and climax. Walls tightening around Alastor’s monster cock, eyes rowling, his name a scream on your lips. You ride out your wave slowly, but Alastor is not slowing down.

Instead he is picking up his pace, maneuvering your hips even higher, your chains are stretched to the limit. You can feel them start piercing your skin. Thrust after thrust the sensation becomes too much, you are too overstimulated to go through all of this again.

“i can’t take it, i can’t take it!”

Alastor doesn’t care. “I told you not to make deals if you can’t hold them, didn’t I?” You don’t answer, you can’t. you can’t to anything but let him fuck you as hard and as much as he want. “but you are such a little cockslut for me that you can’t help it. What a shame” 

He is gripping your hips so hard it breaks skin, tiny trails of blood on his claws. “you will take it. You better take it, or I will make you take it” static picks up as he threatens the last words. You know you are spent, you know how bad it hurts, you know how bad his words sound, but the lines between pleasure and pain are so blurred that you can’t think coherently. Even this  pain of being broken feels good. 

Still, tears fill your eyes and you start crying, from pleasure, from pain, you don’t know anymore. What Alastor is doing to you has no precedent. No one can do this like he does. He knows torture too well, and he is tortouring you in the most decadent, delicious ways possible. “alastor i want to, i want to so bad but i just can’t” the tears sting your eyes and stain your face. 

Alastor sees it. He slows down just a bit, his voice softening “oh my dear doe, but you can. Just this once more, just for me. One more” his voice is so maddening soft it acts like fuel to your tears. Your skin tingles and you feel giddy, somehow your throbbing hot, wet cunt seems to find the right amount of relief, and you can feel only pleasure again.

Alastor continues to fuck you, your moans returning to normal, you are being so loud now, making a mess of yourself, just like he said, and a big hand comes to cover your mouth. 

“Oh we can’t have you being this loud can we?” his voice goes to that delicious mocking tone. His thrusts are slower now, but as deep as they can go. “what would you friends say if they found out that you moan like a common whore for their feared radio demon.. hum,.?”

You start to feel the pit of your belly tightening again, and alastor doesn’t stop humiliating you. The degradation feels just the right amount of perfection. You are exactly what he says you are. A common whore when it comes to him. “weren’t you ashamed just a few moments ago? trying to hold back the sinful sounds you make when I touch you? I already gave you one orgasm. I’ve been way too generous for my liking. I should stop right now since you feel so conscious about this”  Alator’s breathing is becoming erratic, his thrusts sharp, hard, and out of the breakneck rhythm he was torturing you before.You start moaning even louder through his hand. “ungrateful little pet. You are just so greedy for one more orgasm, you don’t even care that everyone downstairs can hear you hm??”

You can’t think straight. you feel on the edge of glory, this orgasm threatening to be harder than your previous one, as if it is possible. “alastor i’m so sorry, i know i don’t deserve it” you muffle behind his hand, he hears you speaking and takes if off “but can you please let me cum? just this once? just for you. Please Al” his thrusts are truly erratic now. He’s close too, even though you are too wrapped up on your own sensations to notice 

“please” you beg, nothing more than a whisper. Already making peace with the fact that you are going to come without his permission and he will probably never fuck you again

“Good girl, you can come now”

instantly as you are granted his permissions your world explodes, blinding hot pleasure takes over your body, the waves of pleasure making your heart beat so fast you feel like it’s going to stop. The petit mort is coming, and her sweet embrace envelops you, specially now that you feel Alastor’s cock twitching and spilling his seed inside you. You scream his name. Maybe you hear him screaming yours too. You don’t know anymore, your nerves are singing from pleasure unheard of back  when you were alive. Pleasure so great it could only be found in hell. The most heavily, depraved way of torture. 

You come down from your high, still dizzy, your body going limp. You are not dead, but you are positively spent. You give in into the warm and fuzziness of sleep. 

The last thing you remember is the softness of a blanket, a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Oh my dear, I knew you had one more on you,spending yourself this way just for me! What a truly precious thing, doe”

You might be dreaming now.

-

You weren’t dreaming. Alastor praises you, knowing his words will be the last thing you hear before a night of peaceful, deep dreamless slumber. He makes sure to put the softest velvet blanket he owns on your body, not to make the damage you gladly allowed your body to take for him an inconvenience. Tomorrow you will wake up to fancy letters of praise and sweet chocolate covered strawberries. And no one will know how Alastor found the perfect doe to breed as he pleases during the height of his mating season.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

we need deadpool x oblivious gender neutral reader or him fending creeps off the reader thx :3

I’m gonna kill that fucker

A/n: AHHH I love this. Also I dreamed abt this request litcherally. Like I had a vision after I read it and fell asleep. Gif and div not mine. also this is most def not one of my best works LEVAE ME ALOME

warnings: creepy dude, mentions of murder (it’s Wade), a few suggestive mentions, your hammered, couple shenanigans !

Wade had always been protective of you even when you both were just friends, he had been protective, sheltering you from harm's way. His protectiveness got even stronger when you started dating.

And he’d be damned if he let some other random ass motherfucker look at you like that, touch you like that.

His hand was on your arm, and you took it as innocent, but he could see the discomfort on your face, even from afar. Then his hand went down to your back, you still visibly uncomfortable but not saying a word.

He wasn’t jealous, he was annoyed. Annoyed at that creep staring at you like you were his prey, like a piece of meat he needed to get his hands on. He was away from you for two seconds! 

He grumbled under his breath as he made his way back to you, both drinks still in his hands. You turned, smiling at the sight of your boyfriend. He noticed the man’s hand dropped from its place on your skin, turning to Wade.

“Who’s your friend?” Wade asked you, staring at the man with a crooked, forced smile. The man nodded at Wade, glaring at him.

“This is Micheal, Micheal this is Wade! My boyfriend.” You introduced the two to each other with a slight slur in your voice, not noticing the staring competition it seemed like the two were having at the moment.

Micheal cleared his throat, both men turning back to you. Wade wrapped an arm around you, smug smile on his face.

“Well, Micheal. You always hang around here?” He asked, glancing around the bar.

The man shrugged, Wade nodding.

“Man of few words, huh?” Wade retorted.

“I guess, yeah.” He scoffed, gripping the cup in his hands tighter.

The tension was thick, everyone could see it except you, who happily downed the rest of your drink.

“Slow down.” Wade chuckled at you, pulling you even closer into his side with a smile.

“Micheal was just telling me about- about-“ you hiccuped over your words. “About where he lives or something.”

Micheal flushed at you exposing him like that, glancing the other way, feeling Wades eyes on him.

“Is that so?” He mused, raising his eyebrows at the dark haired man.

“I mean, I’m just… here for a weekend. I was just-“

“Wondering if they could go home with you?” Wade tilted his head to the side, the man shrugged, glaring at your boyfriend.

“Can we go?” You turned to ask Wade, who nodded and you slipped out of his arms, beginning to walk towards the door slowly.

“Well, uh, Micheal, seems like they are struggling to walk at the moment…” he trailed off, watching you walk away and attempt to go to the door, stumbling around.

“So, gotta go. See you.” He pat the man hard on the back, man grimacing and sneering at Wade, watching you leave together.

He had a hand on the small of your back, leading you out of the crowded bar, and both of you walking out into the city lights.

“So, that Micheal guy….” He started, you looking up at Wade with a confused expression, not knowing why he brought the random man up.

“What about him?” You slurred out.

“Well, I mean, he’s a bit of a creep… he was like 60. I saw grey hairs on his head! And you don’t talk to hot people in bars unless you wanna bang them.” He held his hands up in defense when you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I think he was just… being friendly.” You shrugged.

“Oh, you oblivious, sweet thing.” He shook his head, you frowning. “Old men are the worst, babe. Believe me.” He chuckled, frown still on your face.

“He was just… I don’t know!” You threw your hands up.

“He had his hand on your back, on your arm, he literally was about to touch your ass before I came over, what does that sound like to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Flirting! What else would it be?”

“Hm. I mean… I guess he did ask me… where I lived and if I wanted to ride with him…” you huffed, realizing he was right, recalling the words he had said earlier.

“Oh, see?! I’m gonna kill that fucker.” He exclaimed.

“You’d do that for me?” You said with a small smile.

“What makes you think I haven’t?” He raised his eyebrows, you giggling. He wasn’t really joking.

You began to turn to the side, thinking that it was the way to your house until Wade grabbed the collar of your shirt, pulling you in the opposite direction.

“Wade!” You complained, shoving his hand off your shirt.

“First, you’re going the wrong way, second you were about to run into a lamppost. I should be hearing, thank you Wade!” He clasped his hands together, looking up at the sky. “You’re my lifesaver, Wade!’” He mocked in a high pitched tone.

“Thank you Wade, o my Wade, how can I ever repay you?” You spoke sarcastically, giggling at the end.

“See? That’s exactly what I meant.”