#this is so funny to me i had to show u guys

[freeuselandonorris]

honestly would kill to see your take on any kink ever, but I must admit I haven't been able to get your thoughts on electrostim out of my mind since you shared them so. that one. (+camshow if you're feeling it 👀)

ps.: I did have a good festive season, and I hope you did too!! 🫶🫶

glad to hear it! 🫰 mine has been. mixed. but mostly good thank u!

obviously could not resist this one. enjoy oscar being the stone cold freak for once!

Lando had asked to see it, mainly because he didn’t entirely believe Oscar was telling the truth. 

Oscar was cool and everything. Funny, with a saucy mouth on him once you got to know him. But you had to admit the guy came off as — well. Vanilla. 

So when they’d gotten pissed together on leftover Moët in Lando’s suite and Oscar had picked up the TENS machine Jon had left in there, turned it over in his hands and said, “are you into electrostim?” in tones of nervous delight, Lando hadn’t even considered it might be some sort of weird sex thing.

What the fuck is electrostim? he’d asked, tipping the remnants of his glass down his throat, which meant he didn’t notice Oscar’s horrified expression for a few seconds. 

“Nothing,” Oscar said quickly, but by that point Lando had clocked the blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks and perked right up. Even then, he’d figured it was something embarrassing, but not — that. 

He’d not believed it, when Oscar explained it. How you could wire up the same kind of machine Jon used to zap the cramps out of his aching thighs and stick it round your cock. Not that Oscar said it so brazenly. There was a lot of umm-ing and err-ing, a lot of vague hand gestures and stuttering, before Lando got the picture. 

“Fuck off,” Lando said when Oscar finished stammering out the barest of explanations. “Really? You?”

”Jesus, Lando,” Oscar said, somewhere between exasperated and indignant.

“I bet you a hundred quid you can’t,” Lando said. 

Oscar shrugged. “Believe what you like.”

Lando, whose impulse control was bad at the best of times and even worse combined with half a bottle of champagne and a burgeoning stiffy, picked the machine up from where Oscar had dropped it onto the coffee table and held it out. “Show me?”

Oscar gaped at him. He was redder than Lando had ever seen him, but he didn’t look mad or anything. Just — blindsided, maybe. 

“Not now,” Oscar said eventually. His voice came out in a kind of croak, and he cleared his throat before he spoke again. “Maybe — maybe some other time.”

Lando knew a brush-off when he saw one, so he shrugged and changed the subject and tried not to feel too mortified about it. Oscar made his excuses after another glass, sloped off to his own bedroom, and Lando put the whole embarrassing affair out of his mind. 

When his phone buzzed a week later with a text from Oscar, he had to read it twice before he understood it.

Osc 19:48 Hey. I took a video if you’re still interested. No worries if not, don’t want to pressure 🙂

Lando breathed out hard through his nose, blinking at his phone.

lando 19:50 thats the politest sext i’ve ever had yeh i am pls

Osc 19:51 🙄 it was hardly a sext [video attached]

The thumbnail was blurry, a flash of maroon and some squiggles that might be wires. Lando swallowed hard, thumb hovering over the play button. He tapped it.

”Okay,” Oscar’s voice came from the phone’s speaker, quiet. Lando kicked the volume up a couple of notches, watching a confusion of movement. Oscar’s torso, clad in his usual plain t-shirt, and a pair of khaki knee-length shorts, open at the waist. The wires Lando had spotted led out to a hand-held control box, similar to the one Jon used but a different model. 

On-screen, Oscar cleared his throat. “Had it on for five minutes or so already,” he said. His voice was a little shaky, like he was nervous. He swallowed audibly before he spoke again. “So I’m a little — I’m already, you know.” A soft laugh. “Sorry, don’t know how well I’ll be able to, um, talk you through it. Let me just — I’ll just show you.”

He exhaled, audibly steeling himself, and Lando felt himself mirror the action unconsciously. His hands were sweating enough to worry he might drop his phone. He swore under his breath and hit pause on Oscar, heading through to his bedroom and flopping back onto the bed. After a moment’s deliberation, he shoved his own shorts down to mid-thigh. He wasn’t hard yet, but — well. Better to have the option. 

He hit play. Oscar-on-the-screen hummed thoughtfully and then the screen blurred again. Some scuffling sounds that made Lando wince, the screen going briefly dark and then bleaching light again until Oscar came back into focus from the neck down to mid-thigh, standing in what looked like his bathroom with the camera, presumably, propped on the sink. 

“Right, that’s better,” Oscar said, and breathed out again, a short sharp exhalation. “Okay, here goes.” 

He put the control box down, out of shot, and visibly straightened his spine before he pushed his shorts down. No boxers. Oscar, Lando thought admiringly. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.

It took the camera a few moments to focus, but when it did, Lando bit back a groan. Oscar’s cock was thick, semi-hard, and covered in wires. A thick black loop of it cinched tight around the base, and another snug beneath the head of his cock, trailing a black wire. 

“Had it on low,” Oscar said. “I’ll turn it up a bit.”

His hand reached out of frame and adjusted something, and he gasped. His cock jerked, filling out in front of Lando’s wide eyes. Oscar made a soft noise, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he adjusted something else that made his cock jump again, a tiny rhythmic pulse. 

“Ah,” Oscar said. “That’s — about halfway now. Feels pretty intense.”

He adjusted himself with one hand, pulling the top loop of wire a little tighter with the plastic toggle tucked up tight beneath the head. His long fingers hovered for a second, like he was struggling not to jack himself off, help things along. 

Lando let out a string of curses beneath his breath and grabbed himself. He thumbed at the bottom of the screen to bring up the playback bar. Jesus, the video wasn’t even a quarter of the way through yet. 

He watched Oscar’s cock get harder, bobbing in midair. Lando tuned himself into it after a minute or so. He could tell when Oscar adjusted the intensity of the current by the way Oscar’s cock flushed red, jolting against his belly, the veins on the underside pulsing beneath his foreskin. 

Still, it made him gasp when Oscar’s cock blurted thin clear liquid. It trickled down the side of his cock and dropped out of sight. 

“Yep,” Oscar said tightly. “Yeah, it’s. Getting good now.”

“Oh my God, Oscar,” Lando said to his empty room, voice shocked and shaking. 

Oscar hummed again, a low rumble in his chest. When he spoke again, it sounded like an effort. “Sometimes it makes me, uh. I think it stimulates my bladder or something, so — just to warn you.”

Lando let out a shuddering breath, blinking hard at the screen. This was insane. Both of them had clearly lost their minds. He wondered, for a brief paranoid second, whether this was some sort of sophisticated deepfake scam and he was going to have his bank account emptied or his DMs leaked yet again. But no, Oscar had said it to his face. 

“Right,” Oscar’s voice came over the speaker. “Gonna take it up another notch. It’s getting — it’s strong now.” 

Lando could hear it now. A faint ticking sound, barely there, pulsing in time to the jerk of Oscar’s swollen cock. Oscar pulled up the hem of his t-shirt with one hand and clenched his abs, gasping. 

“Ah, jeez,” Oscar gritted out, and on the screen, his cock jumped and let out a spurt of liquid. It spattered wet against his stomach, dripping down. Too far away from the camera to be able to see what it was. 

Lando curled his toes into the bedding. He was wanking furiously now, skin slapping against skin sounding overly loud in the room compared to the processed sound of Oscar’s heavy breaths. On the screen, Oscar’s cock was pulsing rhythmically, drooling clear liquid with every movement. Little droplets ran down the shaft, dripping to the floor. The hem of Oscar’s t-shirt had fallen down again when he’d let go of it, and it was dark and damp. Lando found himself wanting to suck it clean.

”Not—” Oscar’s breath hitched on a moan. “Not long now.” 

You’re telling me, Lando thought wildly, squeezing himself around the base to try to calm himself down. He was panting, thighs flexing with the need to come, but Oscar hadn’t yet, and he wanted to see it. 

“Okay,” Oscar was saying on the screen, more to himself than the camera. “Gonna — gonna turn it up to max now, and that’ll probably do it.”

He reached out then and picked up the phone, bringing it closer to his straining cock. As the camera moved, Lando caught a glimpse of his face, red and shining with sweat. 

“Ready?” Oscar’s voice came over the speakers, and Lando moaned at the shock of being directly addressed. 

Oscar reached his other hand out to the control unit, and Lando saw his thighs clench, his cock lurch violently. 

“Oh, fuck,” Oscar rasped. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” 

He came, untouched and messy, spraying across his t-shirt. Before he knew it, Lando was coming too, letting it get all over his own stomach as Oscar’s ragged gasps echoed in his ears. 

Lando stopped coming before Oscar did. Oscar’s cock was red and angry-looking, still spurting thin liquid every few seconds as his thighs shook visibly. Then the screen tilted dizzily, and the video stopped.

Lando stared at the screen, shell-shocked. His brain felt like it had been hollowed out. 

“Fucking hell,” he croaked to the phone. He wanted to laugh, slightly hysterical. Instead he wiped his sticky hand on his shirt and swiped out of the video, back to his message thread with Oscar.

lando 20:03 omfg wow

A second later, Lando’s phone vibrated, but there was no reply in his thread with Oscar. Instead, there was a notification from his bank. Lando opened it.

Oscar Piastri has requested funds! Oscar Piastri has requested £100.00 GBP.  Message from recipient: “Told you so.” Accept request to transfer funds?

[tameodesza]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐂

╰┈➤ ❝You're the WWF’s new commentator, and Shawn has a crush on you. ❞

╰┈➤ a/n: this my first time doing x reader, so i'm very rusty! made this longer than intended, but i hope you enjoy the ride. AO3.

╰┈➤ disclaimer: fluff, jealousy, slight angst, a smidge nsfw, brief vince mentions 🙃

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𓏧♡

You came to the WWF in 1994, making history as the first female commentator to join the company. You had a lot to prove in such a male-dominated field, but your hard work and extensive wrestling knowledge earned you the respect of your peers.   ‧₊˚ You rose in popularity due to your looks, personality, and unique style of commentating that kept viewers glued to their TV screens. You were witty, quick on your feet, and a natural on the mic. Vince didn't truly know your worth until the ratings took a dip one week when you were out sick. From then on, he made it a point to have you on commentary for the more important shows and PPV’s.   ‧₊˚ You had just as much buzz with the men backstage. You were stunning, humble, and carried yourself with class. You kept your nails done, hair did, and had an impeccable taste in fashion. You were alluring, but you kept to yourself, not letting many people in. You’d seen so many careers crash and burn in the business due to failed relationships. You refused to be added to that list.  ‧₊˚ Even if you were open to dating, you never found anyone worthy of your time. The guys were either horny bastards looking for something to brag to the boys about, or they were nice guys that you weren’t attracted to. That all changed when you met Shawn.   ‧₊˚ You’d caught his eye your first night on commentary. Throughout his match, he kept looking your way, nearly breaking his neck to catch a glimpse of the new girl. He later watched a tape of his match, something he usually did to see what he could improve on. Except instead of focusing on his performance, he was captivated by you. He listened intently, rewinding the tape just to hear you compliment him again.   ‧₊˚ You two finally crossed paths one night after a show. “Hey, y/n. Thanks for putting me over last week.”   ‧₊˚ You blinked in surprise, it being the first time a wrestler thanked you for doing your job. If anything, you were used to them complaining that you hadn’t put them over enough. You gave a soft smile. “It’s no problem. You put on a good show. Lawler was obviously trying to bury you,” you rolled your eyes. “It wasn't right. I was so close to saying something that would’ve gotten me suspended.”  ‧₊˚ Shawn chuckled, holding your gaze. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t. TV wouldn’t be the same without you.” You raised your brows, causing Shawn to stutter, “Uh...for the fans, I mean! They would surely miss you.” Right.  ‧₊˚ You hadn’t seen this side of Shawn – nervous, shy, fumbling over his words. It was a vast contrast to his ‘boy toy’ persona, but it’s what sparked your interest in him. When you were about to leave, he mustered up the courage to ask, “are you doing anything tonight?”   ‧₊˚ The two of you talked all night at a local bar, your cheeks hurting from how much Shawn made you smile. You were obviously attracted to him, but you were more drawn by his personality. He was sweet, attentive, and so damn funny that your stomach ached from laughter.   ‧₊˚ Shawn was just as smitten, if not worse. Admittedly, he’d initially asked you out in hopes of sleeping with you. With a body like yours, it was hard not to imagine what was underneath those clothes. But you were so much more than a one-night stand. You were smart, adorable, and matched his goofball energy. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𓏧♡

Your friendship became platonic the more time you spent together. When you weren't working, you were either hanging out in Shawn’s locker room, eating together at catering, or sharing car rides between towns.    ‧₊˚ The chemistry between you two was undeniable. You played off each other well – the obnoxious heel getting put in his place by the babyface commentator.  ‧₊˚ It took some time for you to realize Shawn was using his boy toy gimmick as an excuse to flirt with you. He’d lay it on thick, sitting uncomfortably close as he called you cringe-worthy pet names. “You know you want me, baby girl” (think Massimo from 365 days 🤢 iykyk) . You’d remain in character, playing up your disgust for the cameras as you brushed him off with quick-witted remarks.   ‧₊˚ Shawn made it a personal challenge to see how much he could throw you off your game. He’d blow you kisses at ringside, mention you in promos unprompted, babble random things into his headset, twirl your hair, play footsie with you under the table. He'd even hopped on the table once, shedding his jacket to show off his body. You acted annoyed, but he usually got you to crack a smile.  ‧₊˚ Shawn really liked you and wanted something more. But because he sucked at ✨ communication✨, he resorted to more extreme measures. Like the time he stripped extra provocatively in the ring as if it were a mating call. You could only hang your head in shame when he almost flashed his dick.  ‧₊˚ He was sure you’d be his girl after that, but when that didn’t work, he moved on to his next dumb bright idea. He got into a short fling with Sunny. They were all over each other, sometimes flirting right in front of you. Shawn had hoped it’d make you jealous enough to ask him out. But all it did was make you confused. He’d be sweet talking you one minute just for you to catch him making out with Sunny in a broom closet the next. He was sending mixed signals, and it made you wonder if he was playing you. If he wanted her, fine. The last thing you were going to do was chase after a man. ‧₊˚ This game of cat and mouse lasted for some time until Shawn's own jealousy came to surface. He’d seen you getting ‘cozy’ with Bret Hart in catering. In reality, Bret had been leaning over your shoulder, checking out your plate to see if the food would be edible that day. It was innocent, but it looked like flirting from Shawn’s vantage point.  ‧₊˚ Shawn’s match with Bret that night was brutal. He was being extremely difficult, overselling his bumps, and even stiffing Bret a few times. You could tell this wasn’t a work based on Bret’s reactions, but you stayed professional on commentary, emphasizing how competitive athletes were in the WWF.  ‧₊˚ You’d barely made it backstage when a pissed off Bret stormed your way: “Tell your friend the next time he decides to stiff me, he won’t leave the ring alive!” He meant every damn word of it.   ‧₊˚ It wasn't the first time you’d gotten dragged into Shawn's bullshit, and you’d had enough. You headed to Shawn’s locker room, finding him aggressively packing his gym bag. “Hey, what the hell was that out there?” Shawn sneered, “What, you didn’t like me throwing your boyfriend around?” You took a pause. So Shawn was in one of those moods.   ‧₊˚ Had it been any other night, you would have walked away to let him sulk to himself. But your frustrations from being constantly dragged into his backstage drama and your conflicted feelings over him and Sunny had reached a boiling point. The two of you got into a heated argument, each letting out your personal gripes. That’s when Shawn confessed. Well, it was a slip-up:   “Why do you even give a damn about me and Bret?! You and Sunny-”  “I don't want her, I want you!”  ‧₊˚ Shawn poured out his feelings to you, telling you everything he should have said a long time ago. You’re honest, too, opening up that you’ve liked him for some time but wasn't sure what he wanted. He cleared up any confusion right there as you shared your first kiss. 

𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𓏧♡

Shawn flaunts you around loud and proud once you're official. Everyone knows. He doesn’t shut up about it. The word gets out to smart fans who circulate the rumor on the internet. The WWF doesn’t confirm nor deny your relationship status, but it becomes an open secret. Whenever Shawn’s in the ring, fans would wave around signs saying ‘Y/N’s Boy Toy.’ Shawn held that title with pride.   ‧₊˚ You kept kayfabe alive, acting confused anytime someone alluded to you being involved with the insufferable Shawn Michaels. It became a running joke, fans actively participating by chanting your name when Shawn was in the ring. Shawn began color coordinating his outfits to match yours, knowing the fans would eat it up.   ‧₊˚ Now that you’re his girl, Shawn gets bold under the announce table. His hands would caress your thigh, playing it off as him rubbing his own leg. On the days you wore a skirt, he’d find ways to discreetly slip his hand between your legs. Shawn was a kinky man and would sometimes ask you not to wear underwear for easy access. ‧₊˚ On the few occasions you conducted backstage interviews, Shawn would feel you up, rubbing a hand on your ass while you struggled to rush out the question without stuttering. Your only saving grace was that the camera shot you from the chest up. Shawn considered it foreplay, and made quick work of fucking you before you were needed back at ringside. He secretly got off on seeing you walk stiffly in your heels back to the table, your hair hastily restyled and eyeliner slightly smudged after getting your back blown out. ‧₊˚ Shawn’s down bad for you. He wanted to be around you at all times. The kliq often joked, “don’t forget to grab your balls from her purse on the way out”   ‧₊˚ You thought Shawn was sweet before, but he’s tooth-rottingly sweet once you’re together. He waited on you hand and foot, took the time to buy thoughtful gifts, helped you organize your notes for the night, and was there for you when things got tough. You're each other's support system, Shawn often leaning on you when he needed a voice of reason. You’ve talked him out of so many fights, you lost count.  ‧₊˚ Whenever you’re mad at Shawn, he’d find any reason to be on commentary. At least then you’d be forced to talk to him (and you’re too nice to chew his ass out on live tv 🥺 👉👈)  ‧₊˚ When Raw was filmed on Valentine’s Day, Shawn came out in his usual strut, handing you a single rose before making his way inside the ring. There were aww’s and a few jealous boo’s from the ladies in the crowd, but you didn't care. You were on cloud nine, but you still kept kayfabe: “a rose? how original” You hoped your sarcasm hid how gushy you felt inside.   ‧₊˚ You were there for Shawn’s accomplishments. From ladder matches with Razor Ramon to his Iron Man match with Bret, Shawn looked at you for strength before wrestling those history-making matches. You were teary eyed the night Shawn won the WWF title, silently cheering your boyfriend as he achieved his childhood dream. 

𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞𓏧♡

As your relationship with Shawn strengthened, your friendship with Bret deteriorated. It was sad, really. You and Bret were once close. He was the first person to welcome you to the company. You were an honorary Hart, a title given to you by Owen. But when the hatred brewing between Bret and Shawn leaked over into your friendship, it was hard to remain neutral, especially when they bad mouthed each other so openly. You could only straddle the fence for so long until you were forced to pick a side.  ‧₊˚ You were there the night of Montreal. You watched Bret’s face drop as the bell rang. Watched him realize he’d been screwed. Watched him tear the place apart. Looked him in the eyes, seeing the betrayal behind them. “You knew, didn’t you,” he accused. “No, Bret. I swear I didn’t!” But he’d already walked off, leaving a path of destruction behind.   ‧₊˚ You felt horrible. Shawn had told you some shit was going to go down, but you had no idea this was what he meant. Bret didn’t believe you. You had to have known. With how close you and Shawn were, there was no way you weren’t in on it, too.  But you didn’t know. Shawn had kept you out of the loop, wanting to keep you as far away from this mess as possible.  ‧₊˚ That night was rough for everyone, especially Shawn. You had so many questions, but it wasn’t the time to ask. You were there for him, holding him throughout the night as he cried from the immense guilt he felt. With you, he could be the most vulnerable. He opened up about how he felt like he didn’t have a choice. How he felt indebted to Vince. How they all thought Bret would take the belt to WCW. You didn't agree with everything he said, but you listened. And that’s all he could ask for. You two became even stronger after that. 

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐬𓏧♡

Things got easier after the noise died down. DX was on top, ratings were through the roof, and your relationship with Shawn was flourishing. But one call from Eric Bischoff threatened to change everything. He wanted you as a commentator on WCW, offering a large sum of money that far surpassed what you were currently being paid.   ‧₊˚ You sat on the information for a few days, not knowing how to bring it up to Shawn. It was a lot to process. You weren't hurting for money by any means, but it had always bothered you that you were paid less than the men. You even made less than the new guy, Michael Cole. You knew your worth, and it seemed like Bischoff did, too.  ‧₊˚ But you couldn't leave. Not now. Not when Shawn was still hurting over the loss of Kevin, Scott, and Sean to WCW. You, Hunter, and Chyna were all he had left. News of you leaving would devastate him.  ‧₊˚ You didn't have to say anything for Shawn to know something was bothering you. He'd been waiting for you to come to him, but decided to ask what was wrong as you made your way to the hotel. You were hesitant to tell him but decided to rip off the band aid. Shawn was pissed, his jaw clenched as he said, “I guess money means more to you than our relationship.” You scrambled to explain that it wasn't the case. That you hadn’t even made a decision yet. "There shouldn’t even be a decision to make!”  ‧₊˚ Things were icy between you two for a couple days. Shawn didn't eat with you in catering. He left arenas early. He slept in Hunter's hotel room. You started having doubts, fearing Shawn was either cheating or about to break up with you.   ‧₊˚ Truth was he needed time to think of a way to fix this. After what he did for Vince, the man owed him a few favors. But you didn’t have time to wait. Bischoff was putting the pressure on you to make a decision. But you didn’t feel comfortable giving an answer without talking to Shawn again.   ‧₊˚ You were unexpectedly called to Vince’s office. “I heard about the offer”. Your eyes widened, but before you could say anything Vince raised a quieting hand. “I’m not mad. I get it. You’re a great commentator. You’d be valuable to any company. But I want to keep you here.”  ‧₊˚ He amended your contract, giving you a salary even larger than Bischoff’s offer. You didn’t need much time to think on it. The WWF had been your home for so many years. You’d made friends. You’d even found love. And with the bump in pay, staying was a no-brainer.   ‧₊˚ You left his office feeling a million pounds lighter. A knowing smile graced your lips as you headed towards Shawn’s locker room. “Any idea why Vince just gave me a pay raise out of nowhere?”  ‧₊˚ Shawn may have let it slip that you were leaving for WCW and threatened to leave too if you weren’t offered more money 🥺 👉👈 ‧₊˚ You didn't know whether to be mad at him for telling your business to Vince or impressed that he’d gotten you a better deal. The fact that he fought for you this hard, even foolishly putting his career on the line, made you want to spend the rest of your life with him. 

𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬𓏧♡

You went on hiatus when Shawn injured his back. You were with him every single day from the time of surgery to his bedrest in Texas. You unofficially moved in, going above and beyond to make sure Shawn was taken care of. The months Shawn spent with you made him realize he needed to put a ring on it.  ‧₊˚ Hunter's the best man at your wedding (shocker).  ‧₊˚ You and Bret get your friendship back after his reconciliation with Shawn.  ‧₊˚ You retired from announcing the same year Shawn retired from wrestling. Years later, you were inducted into the hall of fame. Shawn gave the sweetest induction speech, going into how you two met, how you fell in love, how he’s your biggest fan. Everyone’s crying by the end of it.  

[whumpy-wyrms]

yeah so Basil has invaded the tllr pinterest board 🐹🐹🐹 i can’t stop her. someone help

soon she will take over the world… if she was alive…

[saragrosie]

Sketching while streaming s5...

Jonathan Sims I will learn to draw you (this is my doing. I could draw him however I want and I choose to stick with an image of him in my brain that is difficult for me to draw. Masochism.)

Not s5 Mahtins below I enjoyed drawing cuz hes neat:

(Edit: I yassified Martin in the do not separate cuz I wanted his hair fluffier)

[greatgoddyke]

all you ever need is to be nice and friendly

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.

[sluckythewizard]

Keep calm, and drink soda

[CW for blood and gore and vomit] takes place a day or two after emizel was sired. just two boys adjusting to a shift in their daily norms. would YOU drink your homies blood? still not used to writing fanfic so any and all advice IS appreciated. i hope u enjoy.

There were very few things that Soda enjoyed more than well, drinking soda. It was a hobby, an interest, a comfort. And by extension there were very few errands that Soda would look forward to more than the occasional soda run.

The gas station closest to the Demons hideout had stopped selling Faygo entirely about a month or two ago, and it was near impossible to find it anywhere else. The closest place was now this janky little Shell gas station, lovingly titled the Shady Shell, that thankfully sold more flavors than any of the other ones ever did.

It made the hour and a half walk here entirely worth it. Even if this side of town made his skin crawl. Normally he would ask someone to accompany him on this daring little quest, but everyone at the hide out tonight just seemed too tired, too preoccupied, too uninterested.

He knew not everyone really got the soda thing, but they were accepting of it for the most part. Soda is something that, clearly, Soda really loves, but he knew not everyone else was into it.

Which was fine, of course. They didn't need to get it. But, still, sometimes Soda found himself wondering how much of it was a bit, and how much was him.

Emizel gets it perfectly though. He would've been the first person Soda would ask to go on this soda run with him, but, well. He's been preoccupied too, with the whole vampire thing.

It's been a bit more than a day since Soda had last seen his close comrade. For a friend that he saw just about everyday, going without him this long left him feeling a little emptier.

That was fine, though. Emizel had shit he was working out, he had things he needed to do. It's not like he could go out in the day anymore, so of course Soda wouldn't be seeing him at all the usual times.

It was a lot of weird and heavy magical stuff, it made Soda think about those superhero shows. Where the hero needs to keep his identity hidden from everyone. Family especially. He knows how much of a piece of shit Emizels dad is, so he hoped that Emizels home life wasn't stirred up all stupid-like over this.

He hasn't told anyone else, about what happened that night. For the last 2 days, Soda would spend time with close friends and not let them know a thing about what happened to Emizel so, so recently. Why he's so suddenly absent, so distant, so.. off…

'Maybe his dad's just giving him a hard time', he would say, hoping to smother their questions. The less questions they ask, the better. At least until this vampire stuff gets figured out a bit more. Should Emizel wear a disguise when he goes out at night now? Just like a superhero? What kind of hero outfit would Emizel have anyways? Soda figured it would be something really cool.

If anyone could figure out a way to balance all this vampire stuff, and all the leaderly responsibilities that come with being the biggest dog in the Demons, it was Emizel for sure. That guy is so seriously cool.

He was sure this rough patch would even out, and they would weather the next rough patch together no problem. There was really nothing to worry about! All Soda has to do is stay positive, and well, drink soda.

As Soda walks quietly down the crumbling sidewalks of this dreary hive of strip malls and shops, he goes to pull his backpack around to his chest, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. Which was a little annoying, considering the tab of his zipper had fallen off forever ago. He really needed to get around to fixing this damn thing. Maybe another ziptie and a soda tab will do the trick.

Humid air hangs heavy in the night, the sidewalks still somewhat warm after a hotter day. The diesel-soaked air provided enough warmth on its own that Soda had considered taking his jacket off a few times, only for the occasional, annoyingly sharp and chilly breeze to brush by, reminding him to keep the thing on.

Tripping only once and only slightly on an uneven sidewalk, Soda manages to pull a bottle of Faygo from his backpack, a smile glowing on his face. Another short fight with the zipper seals up the bag, and he slings it over his shoulder again.

His flavor of choice tonight was actually the Red Pop, the tried and true, the absolute classic, one of the best Faygo flavors for sure.

But, this kind wasn't actually his favorite. Normally he would stock up on the cotton candy ones, but something about the last few days had him craving the red stuff.

Securing his backpack all the way, he goes to crack open the bottle. Just the clack and the hisssss of the fizzy drink were enough to lift his mood.

Not that his mood needed lifting or anything. Of course. Sure he missed his friend and sure he found himself wondering what he’s doing and where he is and if he's okay. Maybe sometimes he found himself wishing they talked about funeral plans more.

Emizel talked up all sorts of crazy funeral ideas for himself, usually involving the use of his dead body as an inconvenience for others. Outlandish and hilarious ideas, like filling it with explosives and tossing it into a busy road. But what would he want seriously? What would Soda ever do if he just stopped showing up one day?

He had to swallow down all these unnecessary anxieties, so he took a swig of his soda. Sweet, bubbly, comforting. He felt better already! Just stay positive, and drink soda..

It was a lovely night out, and he didn't come all this way planning on letting it go to waste. There was a place he was heading towards, a particular alleyway in this particular place that led off to a particularly tall concrete ledge.

 It was a run-down little space, littered with trash and shitty trees and those bushes with just too many goddamn ants in them. But the view was fairly nice, overlooking a massive deformed intersection. A particularly stupid one, at that; about 3 times a week you could witness a gnarly crash at this spot. Soda always heard people saying that LA folks can't drive, but he was just starting to figure that maybe no one can drive.

That was the place he really wanted to go to enjoy this soda, and he wasn't too far off from it. Just a few more blocks, and he would be there.

Oh wait, didn't he still have a bag of chips in this backpack somewhere? Hell yeah, he couldn't wait to sit down and relax with a good soda, a good snack, and a good view of the night.

Living as a Demon had its fair share of stresses. He felt lucky to have this life, but he knew well that it could be better. That not everyone has to worry about survival the way they do. That not everyone gets injured on the regular and not everyone has to worry about being sick and never getting better.

Living is hard. But it's finding the small moments of joy that make it all worth it. Dying would be scarier anyway. He didn't want to die, and he felt glad to feel so confident in that nowadays.

The sudden   THUNK  of something slamming into the ground just a block away from him, jolts him out of his thoughts, all his gears screeching to a halt as he freezes in place. What the fuck was that?

It looked like a person, laying flat on the ground with only their head and shoulders peeking out of the alleyway ahead. Fuck. He hated this side of town..

Anxiety churns in his stomach as he debates just turning around, but the way the victim reaches an arm out, attempting to crawl away; it made his heart ache aswell. he's no goddamn fighter, but he couldn't just leave someone like th-

The body is suddenly yanked back into the alley, snatched at a startling speed. It didn't feel exactly real, how could something vanish so fast? It reminded Soda of something from a horror movie, or whatever. What the fuck was that??

His foot takes a step forward, before the rest of his body notices its rebellion and locks down again. Was he seriously going to investigate that? He could just walk away and take another alley. But that was the one he was supposed to turn down! All the other alleys are either walled off or gated off and he wasn't about to go climbing over a damn wire gate. His soda would get too shaken up! Fuck!

Another foot goes in for another step forward. He's gotta get the fuck out of here. He could hear more commotion in the alleyway, a scuffle, a skirmish. He could hear someone cursing through a choked breath. A loud and nauseating crack echoes out from the alley, and yet, Soda takes another step forward.

This was stupid, he shouldn't be getting tangled up in someone else's business. What if something happened to all this soda?

Thankfully, it was that thought that actually got him to pause, and take in a deep breath. It wasn't worth it, maybe he should head straight home.

Atleast, that was the thought his heart and mind were about to agree on, until a particularly familiar grroowwwwlll bleeds out from the alley.

Emizel?

All reason immediately evaporates as Soda makes that connection in his head, stepping right up to the corner of the brick walls, and peering around to investigate.

There was a body on the floor, face down in a puddle of red, head split open in a way that reminded Soda of a smashed watermelon.

But standing over that body, was the familiar, blackened coat, and short blonde hair, of Sodas closest comrade, Emizel.

Despite the carnage on the floor, Soda couldn't help the smile that lights up his face. That was Emizel! That was his boy!

But before he could get over just how happy he felt to see his best friend, something else caught his eye. Movement, behind the dumpster closest to the vampire boy. A person, rising out from the shadows with a glinting baseball bat clutched fiercely in their hands.

"Oh fuck, look out!" Soda speaks up, and Emizels gaze immediately clicks over to him, silencing Soda with just that startlingly red stare.

He had forgotten just how uneasy those red eyes made him..

The attacker, silent and professional, rushes up behind Emizel and CRACKS the metal bat downwards onto his blonde head, the sound ringing out like a  gun shot  in that dark little alleyway.

Soda cringes from just the sound of the impact, but was amazed to find that the bat had warped under the force of it!

The attacker hardly had a chance to process his mangled weapon before Emizel whips around to retaliate.

It looked like he had just swung his hand at his opponent, so the way a shower of red spills outward from the slash, catches Soda completely off guard. The monster boy had cleaved an excruciatingly massive gash up from the attackers right hip, to his left shoulder, the slice spewing with scarlet.

 It wasn't until Emizel had pulled back his arm, that Soda could process the way it had darkened with more than just blood, distorted into an odd, spear-like shape.

The victim hardly had a chance to yelp before that blade swoops up into his chest at the speed of a snapping bear trap, plunging through meat and bone with disturbing ease, and forcing blood and viscera to erupt outwards. The red patters down onto the concrete behind, the sound similar to rain...

With another low, inhuman snarl, Emizel brings the twitching, dying body closer, until that signature squish of teeth sinking into fresh meat bleeds outward into the space.

What a disgusting sound, Sodas first instinct was to simply avert his eyes, but as the sound persists, he resolves that he has to do something.

He finally steps out into the alley, and speaks.

"Hey ma-"

He could hardly get two words out before Emizel suddenly rips its teeth away from its victims throat, tearing out a hefty chunk of jellied meat, and slamming the remaining fodder onto the concrete floor.

It immediately whips around to stare down Soda, red eyes glowing with reflected light, and with hardly a chance to process the moment-

-It's immediately right infront of Soda.

A gasp lurches from Soda's lungs as he almost stumbles back in shock. How was Emizel so fucking fast?

Other than that single step back, Soda was frozen in shock, his tongue buzzing with the physical pain of such a startling jolt. 'White boy jumpscare' is something that came to mind, but while usually such a thought would evoke some sort of laugh from Soda, this time it offered no such comfort. Okay maybe it did a little.

Emizels snarling face was only inches away from Sodas. Its eyes were wild and unnatural, teeth menacingly sharp and reddened with so much fucking blood. It was everywhere, coating most of his face, smothering his shirt and his coat, and absolutely choking the air with its thick, metallic stench.

Soda would gag if he felt he was safe to even move. He felt like he was locking eyes with that of a creature, something he would only ever see in his nightmares or in scary movies. But it was real. Those monsters are real. And his best friend is one of those monsters. His bestest friend in the world...

His mind was skewered on that unnatural glare, completely frozen with anxiety. Stalling too hard to come to a proper conclusion, Soda instead falls back onto what Soda does best.

"H-hey man... You want some soda?"

He very gently presses the opened bottle of Faygo into Emizels chest.

The two boys stand there for a moment, locked in a tense, silent pause, before the monster boy finally peels its gaze down to the bottle.

It's quiet, for a few seconds, the gears turning in its head. Until the monster blinks, and its eyes clear, and Emizel processes the sight of the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah dude, is that the Candy Apple Faygo? Man, that stuffs my favorite!" Emizel smiles as he goes to accept the bottle, and immediately takes a massive swig.

Soda tries to disregard the way his hands were still shaking. "Uh, n-nah man, its just Red Po-"

The words are bit off as Emizel suddenly retches, a heavy flood of red blood and red Faygo spewing out onto Soda, as the vampire boys body entirely rejects the fizzy drink.

The shock of getting fucking projectile vomited on had snapped Soda out of whatever daze he was just in, and it seemed to snap Emizel out of it too. Soda backs up with a groan, looking down at all the blood and bile and pop on his shirt and coat.

"Ohhh fuck dude, what the hell??" He cringes, not even wanting to try smearing any of it off with his hand.

Emizel was coughing, still holding out the Faygo bottle, but hunched over as his body dared to convulse again.

"Ohhhhhh fuck, ohhooohhh fuuuuucckkk" he grumbles towards the floor "Fuuuck I’m sorry dude, I don't know what fuckin- oohhhgg shit,” He coughs and groans,  offering the bottle back to Soda.

Soda was still staring at his messied coat with a displeased grimace, but looking up to meet Emizels eyes...

There was a guilt on Emizels face that Soda didn't see too often, and it helped wash away that irritation he felt. This sucked, but Emizel was probably going through a lot more. 

“It’s, uhm.. don't, don't worry about it, man..” Soda decides to reassure him, offering a sympathetic smile, and a hand on Emizels shoulder, as his comrade spits out the remaining blood and bile.

"Fuckin hell… I’m uh, I'm sorry about your shirt, man."

"What? Nahh it's okay man, don’t worry about it." Soda shrugs, taking the Faygo bottle back. "I mean, are you okay man? That uh.. looked like a pretty crazy fight."

Emizel was rubbing his eyes, smearing more blood across his face as he seems to be collecting himself. he spares a glance back at the carnage behind him.  

"Ah.. yeah.. I thought I uh.. I thought I saw that one fucker from uh. That one night. Yknow, the one that uh.." He snaps his fingers, as if trying to summon back the memory. "Vampire bitch... Anyway after that I just kind of, uh.."

He seems to space out again as he looks around. It was as if he was just woken up from a deep sleep, like he was certain he had just known what he was doing, but found the dream escaping him. "I guess I just.. went crazy on these guys. I dunno, they're Fangs anyways." he finally shrugs it all off, but Soda still felt unsatisfied by the answer.

"Oh.. huh…” is the only response he manages to scrounge together. Sure they were Fangs, but did they really deserve.. all that? It just seemed a bit brutal, even by Emizels standards.

He found his eyes wandering over to the split-open head. It was mostly red and bloody, but even in the dark, he could still make out some of the finer details of the gray jelly seeping from the gash. A human brain. He wondered if his own brain looked the same on the inside..

“So what are you doing out here, man?” Emizels question helps Soda pull his eyes away from the gore, instead looking over to his bloodied comrade.

Emizel looked messy and even exhausted, but his drowsy gaze was focused on Soda with a worried expression. 

“Oh, uh, yknow, just a soda run. Decided I would stock up on some Faygo from the Shady Shell.” Soda shrugs, his eyes flickering down to the opened Faygo in his hand. The top was covered in regurgitated blood. unnaturally blackened blood…

“Are you.. okay, by the way? Other than the whole..” Soda gestures vaguely at the gruesome crime scene. “Are you hurt?”

The question has Emizel pausing to consider. He straightens his back and stretches his arms, as if trying to detect any pain from any possible injury. Nothing seemed to be bothering him though, and after a second, he decides to shrug.

“Nah, I'm all good.”

“Oh.. That's good, I uh…” Soda found himself looking over Emizel aswell, searching for any wounds the monster boy might be simply disregarding, as he often does.

There was a fairly gnarly gash on his shin..

“Hey uh, I was actually gonna go hang out by the ledge down that way. Yknow, the one with the funny intersection.” Soda says, gesturing off towards where he intended to go. “Wanna come with?”

Emizel looks back that way, before turning back to Soda with a big smile on his face. 

“Oh hell yeah I do! I love the funny intersection!” he starts to walk down the alley, about to step over the body of the broken skull, when Soda speaks up.

“Uh, hey, shouldn't we uh.. Do something about the.. uh..” He waves a hand over towards the bodies, trying not to look directly at them. 

Emizel spares the corpses an inconvenienced glance, and a sigh, but ultimately shrugs them off. “Ehhh I'll just dump 'em in a dumpster again.. That's what I've been doing anyway.”

“And you're not worried about, like, anyone finding them?”

Soda anxiously watches on as Emizel paces around the body with the torn-out throat, licking the blood from his own mouth. Was his tongue always that long and pointed? That's neat, and normally Soda would point it out, but he was a bit.. preoccupied right now 

“Nahh not really. I haven't had anyone bother me at least.. Anyone been bothering you?” Emizels eyes finally flick back over to Soda. 

“Nah, I'd say things are actually more lax than usual. Anything that would end up being trouble’s been pretty much crushe- er, killed- destr- stamped out, by uh, by you.” Sods was cringing with every attempt to find a word that didn’t make his stomach turn, but Emizel didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Emizels eyes were currently a bit more focused on the body laying before him. He had that weird look on his face again… 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that's good that uh, no troubles coming back to you guys…”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two as Emizel stares at this corpse, and Soda was about to open his mouth to fill the silence, but Emizel speaks up instead.

“Hey uh, why don’t you go ahead of me? I’ll uh, I'll meet you at the place.” He suggests, pointing vaguely off down the alley, but not removing his eyes from the kill. 

Soda certainly hesitates, his eyes narrowing before he even forms a thought. He opens his mouth to object, but then his eyes flicker back towards the body.

“Are you gonna eat this one too?”

The question leaves Sodas mouth as soon as it comes to mind.

Emizel pauses, and considers, before giving a shrug. “I don't see why not. Perfectly good blood.” He reaches down to grab his kill by the shirt, the one with the split open head. As the corpse rises from the concrete, gray matter drips and sloughs from the crack in its skull. Once again, Soda felt the need to look away, and yet his stupid eyes remained fixated on the horrendous sight. Emizel looks over the spilling brain of his meal, licking his lips curiously. “Dude, what do you think would happen if I ate his brain?” Emizel asks, looking back over to Soda with a wild, bloodied smile. Something about that look made Soda shiver, but.. Not really in a bad way… “Uh, I.. Dunno…. Eating a persons brain is how you get like, mad cow disease right? But you might also be immune to disease.. Are you immune to disease?” “Uhhh, I don't know yet actually. I'm still figuring out how much of this is like video games,” Emizel says, rubbing the back of his head as he idly sways the body of his kill around, watching the blood and gore drip and drop from its broken head. “Eh, I'll chance it later.” Without another word or thought, Emizel goes to sink his teeth into the shoulder of his kill, a pleased growl radiating from him as the blood gushes around the bite. More fresh blood upon less fresh blood upon old blood upon older blood. Just so much fucking blood. Soda thought he was used to seeing blood, but this… this was just egregious. Was he really starting to get used to this? It’s just blood after all, and it’s not from his comrades, so it's… fine… He finally manages to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Emizel feeding, but his eyes instead wander down to the blood on his own shirt. Emizels blood was strange, darker than usual, and carrying a different scent. Something about the smell of his blood was more savory, more appealing than the standard metallic miasm. His shirt was smothered in it, his jacket was coated in it, and his opened bottle of Faygo was also splattered with the deep red ichor. Ink swirls within the bottle of red fizzy, spreading out into all sorts of odd patterns. It was a lot of blood. He was certain a lot of it came from however many people Emizels been feeding on. With how much hes been terrorizing the Fangs in just the last few days, and with how nonchalantly he feasts on his kills, who knows how much blood hes actually ingested… Soda swirls the bottle, watching the blood inside thin out into strands, dancing within the bubbly soda as they gradually dissipate, fully assimilating into the drink. A bad idea chews at the back of his head… The sound of ripping flesh once again knocks at Sodas head. He doesn’t look up this time, but he knew Emizel was just playing with his food again..  Did blood taste good to a vampire? Did some blood taste better than others? What did Sodas blood taste like? What did Emizels blood taste like? There's a visceral snap of something among the chewing and ripping, very clearly a bone or a joint snapping out of place. It made Soda shiver a little. When did his heart start pounding? There's an animal standing only 8 feet away from him, feeding on its kill. That animal is a person, and so is its kill. He wanted to know what vampire blood tasted like, but he already knew what human blood tasted like. It hung so densely in the air, he could feel it forming a vile film over his tongue. The blood of a person just like him. Eaten by an animal that eats people.  All this stress was no good. This bile rising to his throat was no good. This creeping anxiety was no good. He's friends with an animal that eats people. Would it eat him? This weird feeling was no good. Maybe it will never eat him. But it needs to eat people. This worry was no good. He needed to wash this awful taste from his mouth, replace it with something sweeter. He needed to keep his head clear enough to be there for Emizel when he needed to be. He needed to hold a light to these shadows. And he needed to stay positive, and drink soda. He takes a swig of the open Faygo bottle.

[littencloud9]

i love u nekoma & karasuno i love you SO MUCH

[averlym]

"careful, or i'll quote that"

[cleo-serotonin]

making tswift bracelets for the eras movie and i made an h2o bracelet :)

[petekaos]

As they say, you can choose your friends, not your family. Firoz is my friend.

Shahid Kapoor as Sunny and Bhuvan Arora as Firoz in

FARZI (2023), dir. Raj & DK Episode 1: Artist

[mer-se]

Aurora the precious 🧚🏻‍♀️ you are.

[just-spacetrash]

🌟

[bangcakes]

.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

"I think this is the most inhuman; and human, that I've ever felt.." MUCH CAN HAPPEN IN A YEAR. IN FIVE YEARS. A DECADE. imagine how much can happen in a century. just ONE (1). How will you grow? what phases do you find? even in 5 years, you will find patterns.

[chuchuscoolhat]