#snake x shrimp

[mermaid-4-u]

TWST Incorrect quotes#119 Masterpiece

Yuu: Someone takes me to art museums and makes out with me

Jamil: But they said not to touch the masterpieces

Yuu: Well somebody's got to pin the artwork to the wall

Scarabia Student, on a walkie-talkie: This is Me again, those idiots are fucking around in the East wing again

[eyeritestuff]

“I wish I had a mouth..”

Billy Kid x Reader

—X—

A/N: we need more billy kid fanfics. also, excuse grammar errors i’m struggling to get back into writing lalala

CW: mentions of NSFW, but i don’t go into explicit details :P

Reader: Gender Neutral [they/them]

—X—

Your boyfriend was clingy.

Very clingy… but so are you!

Being a human/humanoid being, it was hard enough in battle having the physical limitations you did, but when it came to your robotic boyfriend, it was scary to give or receive that physical love you both adored and craved so much. Luckily, Billy made sure to limit himself and be extra careful with you. His care is what made you value him that much more. For example, when Billy hugged you, he would snake his arms around your waist, and gently squeeze. There’s also the moments when he wants to hold your hand. Billy would make sure to gently tap the inside of your palm and wait with an open hand for you to reciprocate.

In bed, he was extra careful. Making sure to ask things along the lines of ‘Is everything okay?’, ‘Are you comfortable?’, and ‘Can I touch you here/there?’.

There of course were times, despite the cautions, you would move on instinct and hurt yourself. For example, you’d go for a hug, forget that he’s made metal, and hit your head. There was also times where you’d hold his hand and get pinched between his joints. The funniest of them all were the times where you’d kiss him and accidentally hit your forehead on his.

It’s just human to be clumsy.

He loved that about you.

Billy loved how humans and their bodies worked, and he often showed that fascination where he would do things like holding your hand out and examining it, only to hold his own up and examine the similar parts and pieces. You sometimes got worried about how he compared himself to you, but there’s nothing to worry about because it’s one of those innocent curiosities. He perfectly content with being a machine, but there are certain limitations in his design that make him grumpy. Limitations that were, unfortunately, made prevalent when you two started dating.

You didn’t realize this until one day you two cuddled up in his bed watching Starlight Knight together. Billy sat with his legs crossed, hunched over in shrimp position, and you sat in his lap, leaning back into his chest, and holding a large plushie replication of a Bangboo. He had a large blanket draped over him that he made sure to wrap it in a way so that you’d also be covered. Both sets of eyes glued were glued to the screen, and the scene that was on was one where one of the main characters had received a kiss from the space princess they had just saved from imminent doom.

“I wish I had a mouth..”

You positioned yourself enough to turn and look up at your boyfriend with a curious smile, only for it to drop when you realized his eyes animated downwards. Ohhh, you hated when Billy was sad.

“Wha..? Why?” You asked, placing a hand on the side of his face and stroking it gently with your thumb. A robotic sigh could be heard from him, and he paused the show.

“It’s a super embarrassing reason..” You giggled when you saw the blush lines light up on his face, knowing that at least he had some humor left in him.

“Well, Billy, having a mouth has never stopped you from being yourself..” You replied.

“Yes it has!” He whined, making you scoff. In your head, you were thinking he wanted one to show he was talking.. but oh, how wrong you were.

Leaning back, you grabbed his hand and started tracing over the intricate details of it, kissing it, and then going back to studying it. “Why would you want one?” You asked.

“.. I can feel everything.. The way you feel is.. Y/n, your lips.. I just wanna be able to experience that. It’s hard not being able to kiss you. Not just on your lips, but everywhere.. you’re so amazing and...” He trailed off, failing to express himself in the way he wanted to. He frustratedly sighed, slumping over, and his head on top of yours, “I just feel like I’m falling short when it comes to loving you properly.. I dunno, it’s hard to explain..”

Your heartstrings were cutting your circulation, to say the least. You got up and turned your whole body to face Billy, straddling him, and then placing both hands on his shoulders, you shook him back and forth.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!,” you started, screaming so loud it made him jolt and reply with a small scream of his own. You stopped and continued, “Billy, you’re perfect. Literally. Even without all the extra features, you are perfect to me. I don’t care about what you don’t have, I care about what you do have..” Your concerned face started to wash away, watching his eyes grow in shock. Replacing concern was a lovestruck.

“Y/n..” He mumbled, barely audible. You continued, though, wanting to know exactly how much you loved him.

“I love you. I really do. You care so much about me, down to the way you hold me. That attention to detail is so… it’s so endearing and honestly, a turn on in some instances,” you felt your face heat up, but you pressed on, “I wouldn’t change you for the world because your expression of love, physical and emotional, are one of the things that I love about you. Don’t think for a second that you need to change yourself for me. Ever.”

“… Really..?” Billy asked, his trembling like he was about to cry. You smiled and planted a kiss on his cheek and nodded, “Yes, really!”

Billy chuckled and sighed, “..Are you sure..?” You giggled, noticing he was joking. “Yes, I’m sure..”

“Soooo, what you’re saying is.. my fingers are enough fore—”was all Billy could manage before you pushed him down and started suffocating him with the Bangboo plushie. His voice was replaced by muffled laughs and struggling noises.

“ENOUGH OF YOU.” You said, burning red in the face. You let him go after a minute or two, and his childish laughs and giggles got louder.

“I had to ask..!” You huffed at his reply and turned away to pout. Billy sat back up and rested his hands onto your hips and his eyes smiled. “Imagine if I had a tongue..”

Turning back to look at him you gasped and started yanking his hair, making him yelp. “CAN WE NOT??! IM TRYING TO BE SENTIMENTAL!”

“Yank it harder,” Billy started to laugh, only making you give up and let go, “Y’know I like it rough, baby..~” He jokingly followed up. You snorted and cracked a smile at his fake sexy voice, and sighed nodding your head.

“Okay, okay.. for realsies this time, Y/n..?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.. it means the world to me.”

—X—

A/N: billy uses humor to cope during serious situations, that’s my HC yeah.. anyways, i didn’t proofread this :3

[goldenatreides]

- training season -

[ paul atreides x reader ]

2.7k words, oneshot, smut, friends to lovers

summary: in a pinch, a dusty old weapons closet is just as good a hiding place as any.

content warnings: 18+ (minors shoo!) no use of y/n, all characters are over 18, f!reader, smut, religious imagery, mentions of violence, use of the Voice, implied consent, m/f pairing, fingering, PiV sex, semi-public unprotected sex, creampie, uhhhhh overuse of italics, gurney halleck jumpscare,

author’s note: you will pry my italics and religious imagery from my cold, dead hands. i need to be sedated. all feedback is appreciated and lmk if u find anything wrong, it’s my first time writing in a decade i think!! thank you to @earthshells for editing and teaching me about shrimping in bjj <3

🤍 masterlist 🤍 about 🤍 read on ao3 🤍

The clash of two blades resonates through the training room of Caladan.

Paul swipes at your side with his blade but you dodge, elbowing him hard in the ribs, catching him off balance. As you back away, he grabs your arm and pulls you down with him, pinning you against the ground; your face down on the cold stone floor, his legs straddling your back.

Your chest burns at the impact, flush against the floor. You feel his entire weight on top of you, heaving from exertion. His legs keep one arm locked at your side, under him, the other still caught in his grasp, pressed to the ground. Your blade scrapes against the stone.

“Do you yield?” His voice is much closer than you expect. His breath is close, tickling the back of your neck, too close, too warm—a shiver snakes down your spine.

(Why does it do that?)

Dark messy curls fall into your field of vision, some brushing the shell of your ear. A prickle against your jugular taunts you — his knife at your throat. Your shield buzzes with the contact.

(Ah.

He’s pressing it harder today than ever before.)

You make a small noise in answer, sound muffled by the ground.

Paul shifts his weight on top of you by sitting up, his legs still caging your back, knife at your throat. He relaxes the hand that holds yours bound.

(That’s new.)

Instead, Paul grabs a fistful of your hair at the back of your neck, lifting your head slightly. It hurts — but you can’t lie and say it’s… entirely unpleasant.

(Oh.

That’s new too.)

“Well?”

You can hear the teasing grin in his voice. Years upon years of training with him and still, he knows your left side is your weakest. But you’ll be damned before you give Paul the satisfaction of beating you for the third time in a row this week.

You wriggle slightly under him, testing his hold — why is he still clutching your hair? — and finding it looser than you expect, you rotate, using your free arm to lurch back and upwards suddenly, knocking him off you. You hear him land to your side with a thud and a surprised grunt, blade clattering to the ground.

Fingers curling around the hilt of your blade, you spin around, hooking your legs against his to trap him. Now, you straddle him, your knife pressing against his throat.

“What’s gotten into you today, Paul?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” he answers, still grinning.

His eyes are deadly, dark green.

Ignoring his choice to play stupid, you hiss: “Do you yield, Atreides?”

His holtzmann shield buzzes a bright red at his neck.

Your pulse buzzes too.

(Just the adrenaline.)

You want to wipe the smug grin off his face. He could have won so easily, you were distracted, why didn’t he?

Maybe he let his guard down too soon, or maybe — and you’ll never forgive him in this case — he’s going easy on you.

You feel the pinprick echo of his hands clutching your hair. A knot ties in your stomach, but you refuse to associate the two feelings.

(It must be close to lunch by now.)

Surely that must be it.

Paul laughs. It’s bright, airy — did your heart just skip a beat?

“Never.”

He reaches for his blade — that he shouldn’t have lost in the first place, he knows better than that — and as you lean forward to stop him, he uses your momentary distraction to free his other hand.

Which he promptly knots into your hair again, pulling you down by the back of your neck. Your legs slide out from under you against the slippery stone floor. Curse whoever built this castle.

Your own shield joins the buzzing, his knife finding your neck once more, yours still pressed against his, noses a hair’s width away.

His chest moves yours with each breath, every exhale waving strands of your hair that escaped his grasp.

You lie frozen above him for a moment or two. His eyes are so close you can count every individual lash, his pupils so blown you can see yourself reflected back at you.

Something about them is different today.

You’ve been staring at those eyes your whole life. Countless wishes cast on those same fallen lashes, gold flecks sparkling through a sea of forest green. You’ve seen them beam with childish mirth when you stole pastries from the kitchen, both your hands sticky from the bun you shared, giggling under a heavy oak table. You’ve seen them sorrowful and sullen, his under eyes as dark as bruises as he snuck into your room for comfort in the middle of the night after a bad dream, innocent adolescence.

Now, from so close, they’re dark, darker than you’ve seen—a raging sea, so bewitching it can drown you with no warning if you don’t tread with caution. You’ve caught glimpses of it before, in darkened hallways and after too many glasses of crimson Caladan wine, when he didn’t think you were looking—but never with such feverish intensity.

(Just the adrenaline.

He’s just caught up in the fight.)

Paul’s lips part slightly as his chest heaves up and down beneath you. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks, and a mirroring rosy blush dusts his high cheekbones. Few faint freckles dot his cheeks during the summer season and you see them now like clusters of little stars.

His eyes never leave yours, but his tongue darting out and slightly wetting his parted lips grabs your attention and you can’t help but stare. You trace your gaze along the dip in his cupid’s bow, the regal arch of his pointed nose, the cheekbones sculpted as if from marble of antiquity.

(Oh, Maker.

I’m staring.)

You cough to clear your throat from the thick silence that settles over the two of you, broken only by your mingled breaths. His mouth closes, lips curling into a coy smile as he sees you flush more under his stare.

“Something wrong?” his voice comes out husky, deeper than you’ve heard before. Why was the room suddenly so hot? The castle’s heating never worked so well.

You refuse to meet his piercing gaze again, mortified at the situation, desperate to look anywhere but at the boy below you. The boy —your childhood best friend, you remind yourself in an attempt to clear your head of whatever is happening—is different today.

(And whatever is happening is definitely not happening.

It’s just Paul.

He’s just messing with you.)

Still avoiding his eyes, you sit up, excuses already tumbling from your mouth—cut off by Paul tightening his grip on your hair, sending electric sparks tingling at the roots of your scalp.

Your breath hitches in your throat as his voice comes out not fully his own—distant, many echoing voices folding in his own all at once, commanding your undivided attention and acceptance:

“Look at me.”

Your stomach falls through the floor as your eyes snap to meet his. Maybe all those lessons he skipped to hang out with you were not so useless after all.

You feel every point of contact with him a thousandfold. His hand in your hair, yours on his chest, his toned waist between your ever-so-slightly trembling legs. His other hand drops his knife, and slides up to rest on your waist, lithe fingers delicately brushing the stitches of your clothing.

“Paul—” Your voice comes out more of a whispery mumble than you expected.

(Maybe the floor will open up and swallow me whole.)

The hand in your hair relaxes, and his palm slides down to the back of your neck, fingers light as a feather. They hook your jaw, cupping your cheek. You think you’ll suffocate under the weight of his gaze on you.

Paul breaks the stare first, his eyes clinging to your mouth.

His thumb gently traces the outside of your lips, teasing your bottom lip. You hope he can’t feel how your pulse thunders against your neck, your heart threatening to escape your chest at his very touch.

(He definitely can.)

Heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway outside break the spell and you both freeze in a moment of panic. A familiar voice calls out for Paul, as you jump off him and he scrambles to his feet.

He looks around the room quickly, and seeing an old and dusty weapons storage closet, he grabs your hand and pulls you into it, shutting the heavy door as quietly as possible behind him.

Not a moment too soon, as you hear Gurney Halleck’s voice coming from the training room.

“Paul?”

After a beat of silence, Gurney sighs in frustration and you hear the training room doors click as he leaves.

You and Paul breathe a sigh of relief. You’ve both skipped out on one too many tutors this week, but the consequences can wait until…later.

Your eyes adjust to the lack of light in the closet. In the inky darkness, you feel Paul standing in front of you, so close in the cramped space that with each breath his chest flushes against yours. He smells of cedar, of bergamot, of honey. Comforting. Familiar. Paul.

What the hell just happened in that training room? You’re not willing to break the heavy silence first. Neither is he.

Instead, he kisses you.

Your mind goes blank as you feel his lips, softer than a pillow, press against yours. The kiss is gentle, shy, nothing like the fierce training you were practicing earlier, nothing like the commanding voice of the Atreides heir.

(Oh, fuck it.

Maybe it is happening.)

As Paul starts to pull away, you open your lips and kiss him back—feverish, hungry, devouring—your heart hammering out of your chest.

It was as if a rubber band had snapped, releasing whatever was holding either one of you back. He deepens the kiss, and you melt into it—his lips crashing against yours, his tongue tracing against your own. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth and softly pulls, wrenching a deep moan from you that he stifles with his lips.

His hands find your waist and he pushes you back against the wall, lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his middle as he presses into you, his hips slotting perfectly between them.

The sudden movement sends a rack of old weapons crashing down, a cacophony of metal and plasteel, undoubtedly ancient and expensive, startling you both.

He pulls back from you for a moment and breathes heavily, both of you straining to hear if anyone noticed. As you relax, he presses his forehead against yours. A stray curl brushes your lashes. If someone were to find you here, like this, you’re both good as dead for the foreseeable future.

In the darkness, your labored breaths intermingling, his voice comes out as barely a whisper.

“Is this alright?”

Your head spins and you think if you don’t have him right now, immediately, you might die.

Instead of answering, you grab Paul’s face and pull him back in for a kiss. He moans into you, a deep guttural groan, rolling his hips forward, starving hands roaming against breathless skin.

Heat pools in your stomach as he continues to roll his hips against yours, his lips plush and addicting. You knot your fingers into his unruly curls, gently tugging and the groan that leaves his lips is more holy than a hymn.

(Maybe you could stay like this forever.)

He peppers desperate butterfly kisses along your lips, along your jaw, along the length of your neck. As he presses his lips to your pulse in the crook of your neck, you hear him chuckle as you feel the thud-thud thud-thud thud-thud of your racing heartbeat.

His hands fall from your waist to cup your thighs as he continues to kiss and nip at your neck, grazing his teeth along your pulse, leaving barely a mark. The heat between your legs only grows, electricity shooting upwards with every push of his hips. Even through the layers of cloth you can feel him against you and every cell in your body screams more, more, more.

Paul’s hand slides up your inner thigh, and grazes a sensitive spot through the fabric of your underwear. Instinctively, you arch into it, but he stops and pins your back harder against the wall until you can’t move an inch, trapped by his arms and his presence.

You know he’s grinning like a devil in the dark. You don’t want to wipe it away this time.

He toys with the waistband of your underwear, slipping a finger behind the fabric, teasing in lazy, languid strokes. You whine softly, unspoken begs for more of his touch that set your cheeks ablaze and your head whirling.

“What is it?” Paul asks, lips at your neck, kissing at a delicate spot right under your jaw.

“Please,” you groan.

His breathing is ragged as he continues toying with your waistband, a teasing finger occasionally traveling down between your legs.

You think you’re going to die waiting.

“Please what?” He’s toying with you, his voice laced with honey.

If you do die, you’re going to drag him to hell with you.

But in between bruising kisses, all you manage is a whimper that Paul swallows with his kiss.

“Use your words, my star.”

His lips trace the shell of your ear sending electric shivers down your spine. His teeth tug slightly at the lobe and the world echoes until the only thing left is him and his hands and his voice.

“I need you, Paul,” you breathe, the words leaving your mouth before you even think of them, pulled out by his Voice, “Please.”

A lithe finger finally slips under the fabric, pushing it aside. His thumb traces hurried circles around your clit, everything already slick from his relentless teasing.

He presses his lips to yours again, silencing his own groans. Just as the knot in your stomach starts to build, he slides a finger down your slit, and you sigh at the loss of his rhythmic movement.

But you don’t have time to voice your discontent—you feel him slide one of his long fingers inside you and you press into his touch. You don’t even have time to think before another finger slips in and you feel the slight burning stretch. Your head falls back against the cold wall as you pant, and his hands work in and out, chasing your pleasure.

You dig your nails into his back. His hand works faster and faster, and in between whispered curses and pleading prayers you find your release.

Through the haze of your high and waves of bliss, you’re vaguely aware of Paul’s belt buckle falling to the ground, somewhere. In the tangle of roaming hands, messy hair and skin plastered with a thin sheen of sweat, Paul’s shirt buttons come undone — likely by your doing — and your own soaked underwear gets lost in the dark — definitely Paul’s doing.

However, you’re very aware of every inch of Paul as he slides himself into you, your name falling from his lips like a prayer over and over again.

“You’re doing so good for me, my star,” Paul sighs into your ear, his hips flush against yours, fully inside. “You’re doing so well.”

With every thrust of his hips, you welcome the feeling of fullness as your nails rake down his back, leaving delicate red marks and half-moon indentations. Every push, he reaches a deeper part of you, his hands guiding your hips to meet him again and again, goosebumps covering your skin at his feverish touch.

Through half lidded eyes, you see his silhouette in the dark, tousled dark curls haloed by a sliver of light from the doorframe, strong shoulders and toned arms keeping you pressed against the wall even as his hips stutter in his desperate rhythm inside you.

He falters and you feel him twitch, consequences be damned, as he sinks completely inside you, hands bruising your hips and voice groaning as his own release catches up to him.

He looks almost holy this way, completely undone inside you, and whispering your name as if it can save him.

(Maybe it can.)

[the-s1lly-corner]

hey, can you do verosika x male!reader cuddling headcannons

Cuddling Verosika hcs

trying cajun shrimp sometime next weekend so thats going to be fun- never made it before but i hope itll turn out good! love shrimp in general so i have high hopes!! notes: reader is male though admittedly gender doesnt play much role here, short post cws: none

shes warm, really warm- cuddling her is like cuddling into a blanket thats fresh from the dryer... toasty and cozy

if you two are cuddling before going to bed, she might be wearing some sleepwear- which adds to the comfort... may or may not have fuzzy bits on it which may add to the coziness

she doesnt have much of a preference when it comes to being big or little spoon, she switches as she feels like it! so if you feel the need to hold/be held, your desire will be satisfied!

her... wings... feel a little awkward pressed against your chest, though

theyre not huge, or very pointy... but you can definitely feel them

they sometimes twitch and readjust in her sleep...

wraps her tail around your leg- if you have a tail too, it may snake around yours

no thoughts, just the two of you intertwining your tails as you cuddle in your sleep

[ap41cu5]

Tantalization

Joseph Oda x F! Reader Rating: Smut Genre: One-Shot NSFW Smut Word Count: 4068 Short Synposis: Joseph and the reader are on a nice dinner date. His unwavering respect for you almost got him to resist how badly he wanted you. Almost.

For: @foamimi !! Please let me know if you would like any adjustments!

“You know, it’s.. really nice seeing you relaxed like this.” You paused to sip the rest of your wine, “you look good when you finally have your guard down, and you’re not all serious and uptight like when we’re at work.”

Your words slurred and your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Your dangly diamond earring became exposed from behind your (hair color) locks as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. 

Joseph bit the inside of his cheek. “..is that so?” He replied, twirling a bit of his pasta onto his fork.

“It is.” You replied in a low tone, crossing your legs underneath the table, “you just have such a pretty smile. And quite a nice laugh, if I may add.”

The inside of the restaurant was undoubtedly romantic, candle lit and dark. With low tunes of some classical piece softly playing in the background. He wasn’t sure if it was just the candlelight, or perhaps even his imagination, but you had a certain twinkle in your eye that he hadn’t noticed before. A sort of sly, yet charming eloquence which held his psyche in a bind.

You rested your chin on your fist, taking a long moment to observe him. Joseph seemed to take a moment to chew his pasta, looking down at his food as he felt his face heat up slightly.

“You’re drunk, (First Name),” Joseph responded, fighting the blush on his cheeks as he looked everywhere but up at you.

“Oh, come on. I’m just being honest.” You chuckled, “so.. you gonna invite me back to your place after this?” You half-jokingly teased as your hand snaked its way over to Joseph’s, your fingertips just lightly grazing his wrist.

Joseph nearly choked on a piece of shrimp.

“W-what..?” Joseph asked, coughing into his fist.

Joseph’s face was beet-red at this point as he quickly reached for his water, the ice clanking around in his cup as he gulped down the chilled liquid. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his delightfully animated reaction. With his face all beet red as he almost choked on his food, it somehow only added to his charm. Nearby customers glanced over at him, some with looks of concern while others looks of annoyance.

But, you couldn’t blame them. This restaurant was meant to be quiet and romantic, with everyone keeping to themselves and making a clear effort not to disturb those around them. 

“Gosh, I didn’t expect you to be such a prude, Joseph,” You lightly teased him, gently pressing the front of your kitten heel into his ankle.

Joseph couldn’t fight the warm, fleeting feeling that stirred inside of him. But you were clearly drunk, and anything you said or did while you were intoxicated was indisputably inappropriate– and maybe even illegal had Joseph decided to take advantage of it. But Joseph wasn’t that kind of man. Never was, never will be. You were his best friend and a damn good detective. He couldn’t let some one-time fling get in the way of that. Especially not while you were drunk.

You immediately took note of his tense expression, taking that as your cue to stop. You retracted your leg and leaned back against the cushioned bench you sat on.

“Is everything alright over here?” A voice cut through the tension between the both of you.

Neither of you had even noticed the man approaching the table. Your head snapped over to the sound of the voice, and you very quickly realized it was just the waiter.

“Yes, yes we’re alright. Thank you,” Joseph quickly dismissed him, quickly putting on a relaxed facade.

The waiter took another glance at you, then back at him, as if he didn’t buy it at first. But gave you both a nod and left, seemingly giving you both the benefit of the doubt as he left the both of you to your own.

The moment he left, Joseph didn’t care to hide the frustrated expression that laced his features. You heard him sigh as he agitatedly took another bite of his food. You noticed he intentionally avoided your gaze, opting for staring down at the table rather than at you.

“Joseph? Are.. you okay?” You worriedly asked, your mind moving at a million miles an hour trying to figure out what you could’ve done to upset him.

“God, (First Name), just don’t– just don’t make jokes like that!” Joseph exasperatedly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You froze. Your intention was never to upset him. You never would have had the courage to blatantly flirt with him had you been sober, and clearly letting yourself beyond the point of just tipsy was a huge mistake.

“I’m.. I’m sorry, Joseph. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, or anything, I don’t– I don’t know, maybe I’m just drunk. I won’t do it again,” you apologized, shifting in your seat.

“It’s not that! It’s just– it’s just not funny. You just don’t say that kind of stuff to a guy when you don’t mean it,” Joseph grumbled as he rubbed his temple.

“I mean– it’s almost insulting! You’re my best friend and an excellent detective. And I don’t appreciate it when you patronize me like this.” He paused for a moment, a soft grumble escaping his pursed lips.

“But at the same time, I know you’d never say things like this if you were sober. It’s just confusing, and I don’t know how to feel.” Joseph’s feelings seemed to unravel in that moment, coming out in the form of word vomit.

You leaned closer to him, your interest piquing.

“You really think I’m not serious about you?” You inquired, your voice lowered as you gazed up at him, unconsciously batting your eyes.

Joseph scoffed, looking off to the side.

“God, don’t look at me like that. You’ve been giving me that look since we got here. You just– you really know how to push my buttons,” Joseph grumbled into his fist, the nails of his other hand digging into his thigh.

You pushed the toe cap of your shoe into the front of Joseph’s. You watched him take a deep breath in at the contact, his brows furrowing.

“Why must you toy with me like this?” Joseph whined.

You leaned in closer, your head tilted to the side as you closely examined Joseph’s features. That look in his eye, those pursed lips and those furrowed brows of purely sexual frustration. It was almost funny.

“Joseph..” you whispered, trying to finally get him to look you in the eye.

He gritted his teeth as he finally relented, his head finally turning back to face you. It took every ounce of self control in him not to just lean in and kiss you right then and there. He had never been so thankful for the sheer presence of a table before– his pants embarrassingly tight given what little it took to get him to that point.

You were just so captivating, too captivating at that. He tried so hard not to think of you as anything more than a coworker– or even a friend. But his efforts were to no avail. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help but admire you. The way you’d laugh, or even the way you’d make him laugh, your exceptional deductive abilities, that spark in your eye whenever you came across a challenging case, the way you’d bite the tip of your pen whenever you were just plain stumped, the way you always knew the right thing to say to him as if his thoughts were written across his forehead. 

‘How could he not fall for you?’ Was a question he always seemed to ask himself, but could never find the answer to, no matter how hard he scrounged every facet and corner of his brain. 

Joseph pulled his eyes upwards from the table to finally meet your penetrating gaze. 

“(First Name)..” Joseph whispered back to you, his eyes momentarily traveling to your lips.

“Are you ready for the bill?”

The familiar voice from earlier broke through the thick atmosphere as you both immediately pulled away from each other. Startled, you quickly reached down into your purse in search of your wallet.

“Uh– yeah, yes, we are,” you stammered, rummaging through the various items scattered about your bag.

“Were the both of you planning on splitting the bill?” The waiter asked as he took Joseph’s card.

“No, I’ll be covering for the both of us,” Joseph quickly replied before you had the chance to interject.

The waiter already took his leave and was walking away by the time you finally found your wallet.

“I could’ve paid my share, Joseph,” you murmured, closing your purse.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s only proper,” sighed Joseph as he got up from his seat.

You stumbled a bit as you tried to stand up, your head still fuzzy. Joseph, being the gentleman that he is, quickly rushed to your side to help you steady yourself.

“Oh, (First Name),” Joseph sighed, “I’ll drive you home, alright? Come on, let’s go.”

Joseph grabbed your purse for you as he carefully walked you out of the restaurant, the scent of his cologne only making your knees go even weaker. The feeling of his arms wrapped around you as he took great care not to let you trip only made you fall for him even harder. 

Opening the car door and guiding you into the passenger seat, the nearby streetlight just barely illuminated the inside of the car. He quickly grabbed the seatbelt and buckled it in for you, and gently placed your purse by your feet.

“Thanks,” you meekly thanked him, your face heating up at the kind gesture.

Joseph nodded in response, shutting the car door as he made his way to the driver’s seat.

The interior was neatly kept and clean, organized. It smelled of a mixture between Joseph’s cologne and his scented car freshener. His signature leather gloves that he always wore into work were neatly splayed atop his dashboard.

Joseph quickly entered the driver’s seat, letting out a sigh as he moved his gloves from his dash to the glove compartment. Adjusting himself, his pants somehow just as tight as before, he hoped to God that by some miracle you wouldn't be able to see the obvious bulge in his pants. He quickly put his key into the ignition as he began to back out, the lights from the restaurant slowly beginning to fade into the background of your peripherals. 

While Joseph’s attention was on the road, you took your chance to admire him. He had a noticeably nice side profile, a nicely shaped nose along with a defined jawline, and the way his fingers were curled around the steering wheel. You couldn’t help but allow your eyes to travel south, to which you were met by the protruding tent in his pants.

Your eyes widened slightly. 

He was enjoying this just as much as I was, if not more, you thought to yourself as you returned your gaze back up to his face. His facial expression was surprisingly stoic despite his physical situation.

Either you were feeling surprisingly bold today, or the alcohol really did seep into your brain. You hadn’t even given it a second thought before your hand found its way to Joseph’s thigh. You immediately felt him tense up at the contact as he sharply inhaled through his nose.

“(First Name),” his voice trembled, “I’m driving.”

“And?” You murmured as your hand snaked its way into his inner thigh.

You just barely heard Joseph swear under his breath as he bit the inside of his cheek. It took every ounce of self control in him to resist the urge to stop the car and take you right then and there.

His grip around the steering wheel reached unnerving levels as he felt your hand inch closer to his crotch. Part of him wanted nothing but to give into his unearthly urges and find an empty parking lot, but the other part of him greatly valued his dignity.

“Dammit, (First Name). Just– please let me drive and we can–” he sharply inhaled at the feeling of your hand cupping his clothed erection. “Fuck..!”

He harshly pressed down on the gas pedal, causing you to lurch backwards at the sudden increase in speed. Your head shot up to look at him, his gaze never once leaving the road.

“God, (First Name),” he paused as he squirmed under your touch, “the things you do to me..” 

“Joseph– slow down a bit,” you murmured, debating whether or not to remove your hand.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to– to tempt me. More than you already have tonight.”

You heard the tires let out a loud screech as he sharply made a right turn, a passing by streetlight just barely illuminating his pale features. You took a moment to look up at him before the moment was harshly interrupted by Joseph slamming on the brakes, the both of you staggering forward as he hastily put the car into park.

You hadn’t even noticed that he parked in front of your apartment building until he quickly undid both yours and his seatbelts, quickly taking your side to help you out of the car.

You slung your purse over your shoulder as Joseph gently took your hand to pull you out of the car. Joseph took extra care to make sure you didn’t trip by making sure your arms were locked together tightly.

Fumbling with your keys for a moment, you finally got the door open. Finally going inside and kicking off your heels, which made walking there a million times harder, you waited for Joseph to follow you inside.

Turning back towards the door frame, Joseph stood idly outside.

“...Joseph? Aren’t you coming in?” You asked, holding the door open for him.

He cleared his throat, “It’s.. probably best that I don’t. Have a good rest of your night, (First Name),” he waved you off as he turned to take his leave.

“Wait..!” You quickly hurried over to grab his arm.

He stood stiffly in place, unsure of what to do.

“We were having such a good time before I– before I started making those flirty remarks. I didn’t mean to upset you, really! Let me make it up to you!” You insisted, holding his elbow with both of your hands.

He sighed, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed to think for a moment, before he finally turned back around to face you.

“I’m not.. upset, so to speak. It’s just– look, (First Name!) You’re drunk! And the type of advances you’ve been making towards me– I just– you have no idea how hard it is to control myself when it comes to you.” “Joseph, I’m only tipsy. I’d be way more incoherent if I were any more intoxicated.” You chuckled.

“I’ve known how I’ve felt about you for a long time. Probably since we’ve been working together,” you sandwiched one of his hands in between yours, “I like you, Joseph. I really, really like you– maybe even love. So please, will you stay the night with me? I can make us some tea, put on a movie, if that’s what you’re comfortable with.”

His shoulders seemed to relax. Perhaps he had overreacted. He contemplated what to say, or even what to think for a moment.

He laid his other hand against yours, “do you.. really mean that?”

“I do,” you replied, giving his hand a squeeze. “So, come on. Spend the night over.” You gently pleaded.

Joseph let out a soft sigh, laying one of his hands on your cheek. 

“Well, how can I say no to that?” He softly smiled, “I love you too, (First Name).”

His thumb caressed your cheek as you both held each other’s captivating gazes. Something in him compelled him to slowly lean towards you, his eyes traveling down to your lips. He gulped as he watched you subconsciously lick your lips as he gradually grew closer. You could feel your body shiver under his touch, and you weren’t sure if it were the cold nighttime weather, or if the alcohol was finally beginning to subside.

Closing your eyes as he inched closer, you felt his lips finally press against yours. They were soft, warm. Inviting. The kiss you shared felt like a personification of home. A home you never knew you needed until your paths finally crossed.

You could practically hear your heart beating with how rapidly it was pounding against the confines of your ribcage. His hand slid down your cheek and rested against your neck, his thumb running over your jawline.

You both pulled away for air, your eyes never leaving one another’s as he quickly pulled you in for another kiss. You felt your body grow warm as you snaked your arms around his shoulders. Both of his hands gently rested on the sides of your hips as he smoothly pulled you in closer, his warmth completely enveloping you.

You softly tapped his bottom lip with your tongue, requesting an entrance to which he happily obliged. Your tongue made its way over to his, just lightly grazing over it before he sharply pulled away.

Your heart stopped for a second. 

Joseph awkwardly cleared his throat, “I…uh,” he paused as he sheepishly licked his lips, “I’ve never.. kissed anyone. Especially not like that. So.. I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it..?” He mumbled, a slight hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

“That’s alright,” you quickly reassured, closing the distance between the both of you. “We can practice together.”

He gulped, his eyes widening in anticipation as he swiftly enveloped your lips in another tender embrace.

His lips were already slightly parted, allowing for your tongue to just barely make its way into his mouth. He was very awkward, but you didn’t mind.

“Just relax, baby,” you softly whispered against his mouth. 

You weren’t sure where the pet name came from, but you certainly weren’t complaining given the effect it had on Joseph. You felt him sharply inhale against your lips, like you flipped a switch. He instantly grew more assertive, and he naturally began to figure out how to properly kiss you in the manner you suggested. Emotions seemed to pour out of you, as if with each passing moment he was exploring each and every one of the thoughts or feelings you had for him. Each frivolous secret being carefully unlocked.

A soft moan escaped your lips as the entirety of your being seemed to melt into his touch. He softly bit your bottom lip as he slowly pulled away from the delicate exchange. His lips found their way to your cheek as he slowly trailed kisses down from the corner of your mouth down to your shoulder. Each kiss felt like gentle fireworks with the electric sensation that they set off inside of you. 

You couldn’t help but let out another soft groan as you tugged on the back of Joseph’s hair in pleasure. You could feel him press his aching erection against your waist from the confines of his slacks. He whimpered against your skin, taking extreme care not to be too rough with you.

“(First Name),” Joseph groaned as he looked back up at you with pleading eyes.

You gently pointed his chin back towards you with your thumb, harshly pushing your lips back against his as you directed the both of you backwards into your apartment. You sloppily shut the door behind you. Joseph immediately pushed you up against the back of the door, his lips immediately planting kisses on your neck as you felt him softly grind against you.

“My God, you have no idea how difficult you are to say no to, do you?” He whined as he used one hand to adjust himself in his slacks.

He’d been on edge since the beginning of that evening. It was like you were dangling yourself in front of him despite him thinking he would never be able to have you– to be with you– to have the chance to give you the entire world which you so deserved. 

Your good nature was etched into the very fibers of your being and it was the primary reason as to why he was so completely, utterly enamored by you. And seeing you in that dress, it was like seeing a goddess in the flesh. 

“You’d better get used to it,” you replied, tugging on his tie and dragging his head down to yours.

You really did always know how to push his buttons.

“Don’t count on it.”

He positioned his knee in between your thighs, lightly applying pressure as he gently rested his forehead against yours. Capturing each other in the tenderness of your gazes, his leg just barely created any friction against your heat, making you writhe. You groaned through your teeth, grinding against his thigh as your nails dug into the surface of his white button up shirt.

“J-Joseph..” you sputtered out, “let’s go to my bed.”

Joseph nodded, backing up as you grabbed his hand. The second you both got into your bedroom, he quickly shut the door behind him and drew you in for another kiss. Quickly hitting the light switch, his arms snaked their way back around your waist as he gently guided you backwards onto the bed. 

He knelt on top of you, his chest rapidly rising and falling with each breath. He gulped, his eyes slightly widened as he looked down at you. He licked the inside of his cheek as he positioned his knee back in between your thighs, applying just the slightest bit of pressure. He knew just what to do to make you squirm and crave for more.

“It’s hard to believe that this– that this is your first time,” you groaned as your back arched into his thigh.

“I’ve.. done some research,” he meekly admitted, breaking eye contact for only a moment.

 A smug smile graced your features, “that is so like you.”

Yanking on his tie, his lips slammed back into yours as your legs wrapped themselves around his torso. One his hands slowly made its way up your thigh, the skirt part of your dress riding up as his fingers lightly grazed your skin. His fingers rested on your hip while his thumb felt for your underwear, gently pulling them down. You winced under his gentle touch, wanting badly to feel him explore your body further.

A soft whimper escaped from your throat as his fingers slowly drew themselves closer to your writhing heat. You could feel how wet you were already. You don’t know how long you’d been craving for this– craving for him. Every aspect of his personality and even his physical appearance was like a breath of fresh air. You felt like you could just kiss him forever, melting into him and absorbing his warmth.

His fingers inched their way underneath your panties. The feeling of his fingers immediately being covered in your slick made him groan, his pants growing even tighter. If that was even possible.

His index finger traced along the outer area of your entrance before carefully sliding it inside of you. Your warm inner walls hugged his finger, sparking his curiosity as to how you’d feel wrapped around his cock.

You couldn’t help but moan as he curled his fingers inside of you, your back arching into his hand as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. The sinful noises escaping from your lips made his head spin, his lips slightly parted as he drank in your erotic expression.

He could feel your walls slowly begin to tighten around his fingers. In response, he quickly pulled his fingers out just before you finished, undoubtedly irritating you, and making you want more.

“Fuck, Joseph..!” You grunted, your nails digging into his back.

You allowed one of your hands to travel south, giving his clothed erection a nice squeeze as you quickly tried to undo his belt. Pulling it out through his belt buckles and tossing it onto the floor beside you, it landed with a loud “clunk!” as you immediately went for his zipper. 

Seeing you so worked up and aroused only made Joseph want you more. He immediately unzipped your dress, looking up at you as if asking if it were okay. You nodded in response, pulling the dress off of yourself.

Joseph had to take a moment to stop and admire you for a moment, his eyes traveling up and down your body. You looked so heavenly in just your bra and underwear. And.. was that a matching set? You had been waiting for this, maybe even expecting it.

The way he stared at you, it was like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Like there was too much of you he wanted to feel at once and he wasn’t sure where to start.

Joseph took it upon himself to undo his pants himself, his erection creating a large bulge in his boxers. The feeling of his aching arousal being released from the confines of his pants sent a wave of relief over him. Pulling his boxers down, his erection pointed upwards proudly in a curve.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your legs wrapped back around his torso as the base of his erection rubbed against your heat. The base of his cock got coated in your wetness, making his eyes roll back as he felt you tug on his hair. 

“N..need you so badly, Joseph,” you stammered, your lips slightly parted.

He whimpered, “I love you, (First Name).”

He lined himself up with your entrance, doing his best to be gentle at first. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you, and he wanted you to enjoy this just as much as he was.

At first, his size sent a wave of pain throughout your lower area as you clawed into the back of his shirt, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He made sure to go slowly, gently pumping in and out of you to give you time to adjust. The pain blurred into pleasure as you begged him to go faster.

“You’re so, so beautiful,” Joseph said in between moans.

The noises of his hips slamming into yours combined with each other’s stifled moans was sinful and you prayed your neighbors couldn’t hear you, but that was the least of your concerns right now.

Joseph whimpered, his hands clenched into fists around your bed sheets, “I-I’m gonna– I’m gonna cum..!” 

You could hardly form words as his erection slammed into you as you felt the knot within the pits of your stomach about to finally come undone, and he pulled out just as you finished. As your wetness pooled under you, Joseph came onto your torso. The white liquid coated your breasts as well as a bit of your stomach.

He allowed his body weight to fall beside you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you laid beside one another.

“I love you, Joseph.”

“I love you, beautiful.”

Joseph got up to your bathroom, finding some paper towels as he cleaned you up and gently tucked you in. He climbed in after you shortly after, borrowing your biggest shirt and pajama pants to change into.

Falling asleep in his arms was far better than you could have ever imagined.

[pascalsummers]

What about Dean, Sam, Cas, and I saw you write for Crowley so him to, with male reader who's a big reptile nerd and has a ton of reptiles and crazy fish, like eels, pufferfish, mantis shrimp, stuff like that.

A/N: This one was really fun to write. Enjoy!

-

Your A Reptile Nerd (Team Free Will x Male Reader)

DEAN

When he first saw the abundance of creatures living in your house (Especially the snakes) he honestly wanted to be as far away from your house as possible. Despite you assuring him none of the animals were dangerous Dean would still firmly prefer to be on the other side of the room. When you moved into the bunker Dean made sure to make a specific section for your reptiles to live in and warns you that none of them should ever leave that room. While Dean usually avoids your pets he will go to the store and get them food and on the very rare occasion feed them though he will complain to you about the whole experience.

SAM

Sam is more tolerant of the many animals living with you and was quite impressed with your ability to take care of so many. Sam would offer to help you transport your animals to the bunker but would be very nervous about not hurting any of them. When he has some free time Sam would do some research on the reptile you have just out of curiosity or would just ask you about it. Sam would let some of the reptiles out (Mostly snakes, lizards, and frogs.) so they can roam around, and because he knows if Dean sees one he will freak out and he finds that thought pretty funny. He will of course ask your permission to do that first.

CASTIEL

Castiel was very curious about your wide collection of animals and your ability to keep them all alive and well. When it comes time to bring them all to the bunker Cas would help out by flying the more delicate animals to their space in the bunker. Though some of the animals were very disoriented none of them were seriously injured so you both considered it a win. Cas would spend some time looking at the various reptiles and would ask you questions about them whenever they arose. There was a time when you offered to let Cas hold your red-tailed boa which he agreed to out of curiosity. Overall the angel and the snake seemed to get along well though Dean almost fainted he saw the snake.

CROWLEY

Crowley would be the most appreciative of your collection the first time he sees them. When you ask for his help to bring them to the bunker Crowley would help though he would try to nudge you towards bringing them to his place instead. Crowley would ask you about various reptiles, especially the more dangerous ones. Crowley would sometimes offer you a new animal for your collection though his picks tended to be animals like cobras and snapping turtles. When Crowley tried to bring a crocodile into the bunker (mainly to mess with Dean) you offered to have Crowley keep the more dangerous ones where he lives and you just visit them from time to time which everyone agreed to.

[mainbrqin]

decided today is the day i spam post so here's random cookie run hcs

espresso has muscle problems and back issues because he sits like a shrimp i REFUSE to be challenged on that

everyone likes their soft sweetheart herb but mine is. a feral creature from hell. he's still a sweetie but he bullies people as a love language

affogato has obnoxiously pointy upper fangs and scales that are mostly along their spine and shoulders. because i took caramel calling them a snake literally

madeleine uses like 12 hair care products on his hair. espresso just uses 3in1 because he doesn't have time for allat he has work to do dammit

cherry blossom and herb are an underrated couple i find them so funny. especially with my feral variation of herb. crazy x crazier

herb chews their fingernails,, also uses she/he/they prns because they literally couldn't care less. you could use fart as a pronoun and they'd be like "yeah lol"

herb asks existential questions to nobody in particular at three in the morning. what makes this even better is that he lives with clover so imagine going down the hall after getting some toast and yo homie says "hey man... what if we're characters in a video game"

knight is originally from the vanilla kingdom so he's used to cold weather due to the autumn/winters in the pvk being cold and snowy. on the contrary mousse and princess both HATE cold weather and have to be dragged outside. (knight isn't complaining tho, free cuddles)

eclair once dove under the sea with candy diver and almost got eaten by squid ink when he tried to steal treasure from their cave

herb has white lilys trait of being able to be sniffed out for MILES, except instead of white lilies it's matcha tea

adding on, white lily's scent is slightly toxic (since white lilies are poisonous) and if you breathe it in for a certain amount of time you can get really sick

UPDATE I GOT NEW ONES

white lily HATES mornings. she always tries to sleep in and refuses to get out of bed until ten in the morning

dark cacao once proposed to golden cheese with a ring pop when they were like five. she said no

when espresso does sleep (which is incredibly rare) he can sleep for DAYS on end without waking up once. madeleine always has to come make sure he's even breathing. he's fine, he's just out like a light

herb has a very odd fascination with mythical creatures

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today, on November 10th, 1978 - Queen Story!

"Jazz" album released in the UK

👉 The seventh studio album

➡️ 12/12/1978 - Circus Magazine

🔸In praise of ‘JAZZ’

The boys conjure up a bizarre junket by Mark Mehler

On Bourbon Street, in the heart of New Orleans’ fabled French Quarter, the sign reads, “Bob Harrington-Chaplain of Bourbon Street.” Upstairs, the freelance minister administers to the wicked minions below, while across the street, the Hotsy Totsy lounge features naked women parading across an oak bar from dawn to dusk, and next door, the “X-rated Shop” specializes in scatological posters and joy sticks.

This is Freddie Mercury’s favourite American city, where the Mississippi ends its majestic flow and zealots with big dreams fight a losing battle against hustlers, procurers, and all purveyors of sleaze. It is Freddie Mercury’s favourite city because the lead singer and bucktoothed front man of Queen is, above all, an actor. And in New Orleans, anyone can be anyone they want to be. Tonight, October 31, 1978-Halloween-Freddie Mercury and Queen have flown in 80 reporters from the U.S., Europe, Latin America and Japan, to see a show and be a part of a show at the same time. The third concert on Queen’s 28-city U.S. tour is in the ornate Civic Auditorium. Above the stage are listed the names of the mighty: Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Cellini, Durer, Gounod. Out of the soft blue and green lights and smoke, Freddie Mercury struts like a rooster, striking ballet poses, under an astral guitar blare that neatly skirts the sharp edges of rock & roll. The melodies are undistinguished, but the constant tempo changes of “Bohemian Rhapsody” and “We Will Rock You”, keep an audience awake for nearly two hours of uninterrupted music. The lighting show is one of rock’s most ambitious. Eerie purple lights shine out over the heads of the audience, making their hair seem cloudlike and inanimate. At the midpoint of the show, a smaller stage is lowered from the ceiling and 400 lamps meld into the sheer white plane of curtain light. Freddie is a whirling dervish, dominating every corner of the stage.

“Some people call this song ‘Spread Your Legs’, he tells the audience, introducing ‘Spread Your Wings’. “And I like it that way”.

Starting out in black sequins, he comes out for the first encore bedecked in orange hot pants, dancing around like Peter Pan. For the second encore he’s wearing a revealing, white body stocking. As he wails ‘We Are The Champions’, his voice warbles with mock emotion, and he grasps the microphone for support. At the apex of the triumphant denouement, the top executives of Elektra Records, who have sat smiling throughout the show, arise as one and walk out. Moments later, the show closes with a taping of ‘God Save The Queen’. Body and soul spent, Freddie ambles off stage, drained and spark-less. But Halloween night in New Orleans has just begun.

Back in the ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel, over 400 people have gathered to await Queen and much on a sumptuous table of hors d’oeuvres, such as Oysters Rockfeller and Shrimp Creole. A Dixieland band plays uninspired jazz jingles, until, shortly before midnight, the Olympia Brass band comes marching through the hall accompanied by Queen-the mercurial Mercury, the winsome Brian May, the puckish John Deacon, the velvety Roger Taylor. Suddenly, like a giant circus orchestrated by a deranged ringmaster, a legion of strippers, vulgar fat-bottomed dancers, snake charmers, drag queens, and bizarrely festooned revellers, begin to strut their stuff before the assembled masses. Freddie Mercury is besieged by hungry autograph seekers, groupies and fame-worshippers. People begin shielding their clothes, as an ever-imaginative photographer snaps Freddie signing the bare backside of a willowy transvestite. Freddie begins sucking on his giant overbite nervously, and by 2 a.m., he is mercifully gone. Brian May, who seems to be the true organizer of the night’s carnival, is cornered by persistent Japanese newshounds. “It’s wonderful,” he keeps saying. “It’s so nice to be back.” As the evening wears on, epicene men and butch women act out charades of power that would have embarrassed Hemingway. Three obese black women in g-strings do a pathetic bump and grind, and another female participant amuses a small gaggle of onlookers by putting a cigarette in an unlikely place. People leave to check out the scene on Bourbon Street and drift back to the party like cigar smoke. At 4 a.m., a Queen security guard, haggard and irritable, inquires when it will all be over. “Queen wants the naked disco dancers going to dawn,” informs his partner. And it does. The following day, Queen reappears at a press conference at Brennan’s, one of the French Quarter’s most elegant restaurants. Again, it is Roger Taylor and Brian May who dominate the conversation, as Freddie Mercury seems vaguely preoccupied. The subject of all this is ‘Jazz’, Queen’s new album, which contains no jazz. “People think we take ourselves a lot more seriously than we actually do,” says Roger Taylor. ‘Jazz’, Queen’s reunion with former producer Roy Thomas Baker, offers ‘Mustapha’, an up-tempo Hebrew rocker; ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’, a song that owes a lot to Pure Prairie League’s ‘Amie’; and more indulgent rhapsodies like ‘Jealousy’ and ‘Bicycle Race’, with its topical references to Star Wars, Jaws, and Superman. The ad campaign, like everything about the Band, goes to the limit of good taste: 11 bare-chested, major-league-yabboed women racing bicycles.

“It’s cheeky”, admits Freddie, “naughty, but not lewd. Certain stores, you know, won’t run our poster. I guess some people don’t like to look at nude ladies.”

Freddie, 32, was born in Zanzibar and educated in India, and was a childhood table tennis and hockey prodigy. He studied art and became a graphic designer and illustrator, having given up piano lessons in the fourth grade. But he continued singing, fronting his first band at 14 and forming Queen with Roger and Brian in 1970. After the routine easy grilling, Mercury is cornered outside. “You seem to be removed from the character up on stage. Is that really you?”

“No,” says Freddie, “of course it’s an act.”

He denies pandering to gays; or for that matter, to anyone. He hints at a quiet, restless man who needs to step outside of himself for ego-stimulation.

“I have fun wearing all those costumes,” he says. “I can really cut loose up there”.

Freddie is then swiftly ushered out, and again, Brian May is left behind to field the endless questions of the Japanese. The two-day junket, painstakingly directed by and for Queen, ends with a few straggling journalists eating Bananas Foster and being more cynical than usual. Outside, on Bourbon Street, a folk singer entertains an empty house of red velour seats, affirming that a falling tree makes a sound whether it’s heard or not. Which conjures up something Brian May had said about Queen constantly seeking “direct communication with our audience.” For all the words that describe Queen’s trip to New Orleans, direct is surely not one.

[demi-shoggoth]

2023 Reading Log, pt. 11

51. The Book of Fun by Russ Frushtick. This is a collection of anecdotes about and descriptions of various ways that people have fun, such as toys, games, festivals and theme parks. Each page has a paragraph or two of text and a painting to accompany it, and the book covers everything from the history of Coney Island to the time World of Warcraft had a plague. It’s a fun little miscellany, a good bathroom reader type of book, but not very substantial.

52. Queer Ducks (And Other Animals) by Eliot Schrefer. This book is aimed at young adult audiences (think high school students) and is about animal sexuality. It summarizes quite a bit of research, including pretty new material, covering homosexual behavior in animals. The thesis, of course, is that animals have a wide range of sexual behaviors, so these existing in humans as well is perfectly natural. The book also has interviews with a number of queer biologists about their research and their experiences with representation, intersectionality and other topics. Plus, there’s cartoons! Honestly, the cartoons are probably my least favorite part; they’re cute and have a funny premise (a QSA meeting at a high school for animals), but the animals are all mean and judgy with each other. This feels like it misses the point, even if it might be more accurate to the high school experience. Still, the writing is good, and it covers some stuff I had never heard of, like velvet bucks and other mammals that have common intersex members.  

53. Sentient by Jackie Higgins. This book is about senses, using examples from the animal kingdom as a launching point to discuss how the sense works in humans. The book starts with vision, covering the many (tumblr famous) cones of the mantis shrimp, but how recent evidence suggests their color vision isn’t actually particularly good. I was familiar with most of the animal examples discussed, but a lot of the content on human health and senses was new to me. The material that wasn’t new to me, like the controversy over whether humans have pheromones are not, is told very well. And the coverage of the different kinds of touch, and how humans have touch receptors that seem to be linked to areas that are commonly groomed in other primates that are connected to things like mood and mental health… well, that helped put my touch starvation into context.

54. The Devil’s Atlas by Edward Brooke-Hitching. I usually quite like Edward Brooke-Hitching books, so this one was something of a surprise disappointment. The book talks about how different religions and cultures have conceptualized heavens, hells and other afterlives, with copious illustrations. My first complaint is the sorting into heavens and hells, when a lot of the afterlives discussed don’t really fit into the model of paradise or torment. The coverage of each is pretty superficial—there’s a post-script about utopias (including More’s Utopia) that I feel could have been cut in place of more thorough takes on the religions. My biggest complaint, though, is an editing one. No fewer than eight chapters are cut off, so that the last sentence (or even paragraph) is incomplete. It’s remarkably frustrating, and it took me right out of the book.

55. Snakes of the World by Mark O’Shea. Another in the X of the World series put out by Princeton University Press, this is pretty similar in content to the other books in the series. The first quarter or so of the pages are devoted to an overview of the biology of the group, and the rest of it is surveys of its biodiversity, organized by subfamilies and geographic regions. Mark O’Shea also wrote Lizards of the World, and this book seems in many ways to be a direct sequel to it. The main draw, of course, are the species accounts, which include gorgeous photography of a wide variety of species, including some very obscure taxa.

[mothgodofchaos]

Snuddles

This includes my own interpretations of gorgons for my own creative endeavors, so nobody’s being turned to stone here. Just one giant cuddly snake.

Gorgon!Actor Mark x GN!Reader, TW: snakes Words: 661

You’d think with Mark being a common predator of humans that a relationship with him would be difficult. This luckily is not the case. Benjamin commonly comes in to check on the two of you, although most of it is simply to bring refreshments and remind Mark of appointments. Part of you wonders how Benjamin has managed to stay alive for this long in service to a gorgon, but you can’t help but notice a certain softness that Mark only has for the two of you. All other humans, he couldn’t care less about.

You’re having a particularly bad day, having been shrimped in your chair for far too long and having hurt your back. You have laid yourself out on Mark’s fainting couch, a heating pad on your back and an ice pack over your eyes. The door opens quietly, a soft click before the telltale rumbling of Mark slithering into the room. With the amount of pain you’re in, you don’t quite care to uncover your eyes to look at him.

“Darling, I can’t help but notice you’re on my couch for being dramatic and complaining, and you are doing neither of those things.”

“I am in pain, Mark. I didn’t realize I needed to be in pain loudly to be allowed to lay on this couch.”

You chuckle, peeking out from under the ice pack, expecting him to just look exasperated with you. What you weren’t expecting, was Mark to immediately start fussing over you.

“You’re in pain!? How on earth did you manage that? Do I need to hire someone to protect you? I can’t have you getting hurt on my property. I must amend this slight against you-“

Mark holds your cheeks, squishing your face and knocking the ice pack off your eyes, checking your face for any injuries.

“Oh good, your best features are unharmed. I had been worried that the ice pack implied you had gotten a black eye or something.”

“Mark, I just sat improperly too long at the computer and now my back hurts and I have a headache. It’ll go away by tomorrow.”

“Well if it’s as simple as that, I can fix that for you, darling.”

You are lifted up into Mark’s arms, moving onto his couch as he gets you settled onto his coils. His torso hovers above you, getting you adjusted and comfortable with a kiss to your forehead. Mark starts rolling his coils beneath you, digging into your sore back like a deep tissue massage. He has to hold down your shoulders for a moment as you get used to it, smiling as you relax.

“Alright, that’s one problem solved. Now for the second. Hold still now, my dear snakelet.”

His hands root in your hair on either side of your head, rubbing at your temples with his thumbs while his other claws give soothing scratches against your scalp. Mark’s snakes on top of his head lean down, littering your cheeks with small kisses and boops to your nose.

“There’s my sweet darling, I won’t have you going and suffering in pain if I can do anything about it.”

“You’re too sweet for me, Mark. My snuggly snoodle.”

Mark only chuckles, resting his torso against yours, pleased when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Benjamin comes in with a brief knock, a little surprised at the sight in front of him.

“Anything I can assist either of you with?”

“No thank you, Benjamin. Unless my love has any objections?”

“None here. Thank you, Benji.”

“My pleasure. Let me know if that changes.”

He leaves the two of you alone again, letting Mark curl up with you properly and purr on top of you. Something tells you that he may be doing this more for himself than for you, but you also know the man needs no excuse to cuddle with you. One thing is for sure, and that is he’ll never admit to wanting it first.

[ornyange]

beetle cricket ladybug maggie millie moth pillbug roachie scorpion spider snake

-maggie -roachie

beetle +caterpillar +centipede +cicada cricket +firefly ladybug +leech? +mantis millie moth pillbug +roach scorpion spider snake

x bee wasp hornet snail butterfly worm ant flea fly aphid locust grasshopper dragonfly stag crab lobster shrimp squid octopus lizard chameleon frog python locust weevil scarab

~ gecko tarantula yellowjacket*

*cyberpunk ‘verse

i could. have. roachie and roach. different characters. hm…

[theshampyon]

Famous example from proto-Trump politician Sarah Palin back in 2008:

You've heard about some of these pet projects, they really don't make a whole lot of sense and sometimes these dollars go to projects that have little or nothing to do with the public good. Things like fruit fly research in Paris, France. I kid you not.

That fruit fly research has lead to multiple Nobel Prize winning discoveries in genetics and disease. They have a genome that is simple enough to easily study but complex enough to extrapolate out into humans. Over the past 100 years it's taught us about the actual mechanisms of inheritance, developmental biology, the mechanisms of cell communication, origins and treatments of cancers (including the simple fact that overexposure to X-rays can cause cancer), a better understanding of the aging process, origins of various genetic disorders, and on and on and on.

Or how about the Shrimp On A Treadmill? Surely that's an example of silly research that has no use, which is why back in 2011 Republican politician Senator Tom Coburn used it as an example of wasteful public spending. Why on earth would you build a custom treadmill just the right size for a shrimp, and monitor it while it runs? Just scientists playing games to justify their budget!

Except it was being used to study diseases in the farmed crustaceans which had a major impact on the seafood industry, both in that specific shrimp and as a whole. That research saved countless jobs and kept the industry alive. You know, the thing Republicans love to claim they do. Oh, and the research actually only cost about $35,000, most of which went to pay the researchers a whopping $4 an hour for their time. $35,000 to save an entire industry from a blight. Not a bad investment.

Research using robot squirrels? Helps us understand snake senses, which have implications for disease detection. Research on the sex life of screw worm flies? Helps us understand how to stop them parasitising livestock. Research into duck dick sizes? Helps us understand the impact of hormonal changes.

Sometimes scientists don't know what the research will lead to, but a better understanding of the universe is a worthy end in itself, and it almost invariably leads to something useful anyway. And sometimes they do already know exactly what use that research has, but ignorant and politically motivated people would rather mock than understand.

Culture is so obsessed with the idea of lone geniuses that it doesn't really appreciate that most of the progress of science (and likely every other discipline) occurs collaboratively, in babysteps, and usually through a lot very tedious, utterly unsexy, work.

[lawscorazon]

༺ 𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 - 𝐫. 𝐳𝐨𝐫𝐨 ༻

zoro’s such a big baby when he needs a nap

pairing: zoro x afab reader (no pronouns)

content warning: titty sucking

word count: 0.6k

There was a rhythmic knock at your door. You put down the book you were reading on the bedside table and sat up in your bed.

“Come in” you answered.

Zoro barged through the door of your shared room, his shoulders slumped and his gate heavy. He kicked off his boots and stumbled over to the bed and plopped his body on top of you, the full force of his weight knocked the air completely out of your lungs.

“Zoro, get your big butt off of me!” you groaned.

“No, ‘m tired.” he grumbled, crawling up your body to plant a strained peck on the corner of your lips before resting his head on your chest.

You rolled your eyes. “How was your workout?”

“‘T’s good,” he spoke into your chest, his voice muffled.

“Thank you for showering first,” you praised, genuinely appreciative. You’ve started many arguments with the swordsman about his hygiene and you were glad he was finally learning. He offered a grunt in response.

“‘M gonna take a nap, now,” he mumbled, shimming up your shirt.

“What are you doing?” you questioned, giggling at the slight tickle. Zoro took one of your breasts out of your shirt and plopped it in his mouth and snaked his hand under the fabric to grab the other one.

“Oh, my God, Zoro!” you whined, trying to wriggle him off of you.

“Stop squirming! I’m trying to take a nap!” his voice was garbled against your flesh. He tweaked your nipple in retaliation, causing you to yelp.

You couldn’t believe your boyfriend, Roronoa Zoro, the pirate hunter, the demon, was snuggled up under you with your boob in his mouth. A frustrated groan erupted from your chest as you laid back in defeat.

“You’re really gonna fall asleep like this?”

Another grunt. The marimo was already half asleep.

“You’re such a big baby’ you scoffed, feigning annoyance, but deep down you loved how clingy your boyfriend got when he was sleepy. He wasn’t very affectionate in front of others, but behind closed doors, his favorite place to be was somewhere close to you. You looked down at your sleeping boyfriend and felt a warmth spread through your chest. You gently stroked his hair as he continued to dose off, watching him sleep and admiring the way his face softened. You’d never seen him look so peaceful.

Realizing he wouldn’t be up for a while, you sank further into your pillows, and rested your eyes to enjoy a nap with your very sleepy boyfriend.

taglist: @queencannabisseur @sugxrslushy @zorohrs @zzorojuro @nameless-shrimp @sir-crocodile-slut @sanjisprincesswifey @tytylovesflowers

ᥫ᭡. main masterlist┊tip jar ┊tag list

[psychedelic-ink]

— wonderful tonight.

pairing: frankie morales x fem!reader x dave york

genre: romance, smut, fluff

word count: 2.4k

summary: It's your birthday and Dave's running late, Frankie tries his best to distract you.

warnings: established poly relationship, oral (receiving) , mostly soft, mild daddy kink, nipple play, chaotic cooking

a/n: this is an early birthday gift to one of my favorite people @foli-vora happy birthday love! <33 I hope you enjoy this little thing I wrote for you and thank you for all the amazing stories you put out. Sending you all the love and hugs 💖💖

also this was inspired by your post that's right here ✨

Your gaze lifts to the clock on the wall. The ticking of it makes you grind your teeth and prick at your skin. You’d begged Frankie to throw it out the day he bought it but he was set on keeping a regular clock above the wall just in case technology just decided to fail one day. It was a silly thought, but sadly he insisted, saying that the ticking of it made him feel nostalgic for a simpler time. There was no arguing with that so you just let it be. 

But now, as Frankie sauteed the onion, garlic and oregano for your birthday dinner, you can’t help but feel a tad disappointed. Dave’s late. Again. Probably held up due to boring paperwork that they made him file. Supposedly, their gift to you was supposed to be a day spent together. And just like you couldn’t argue about the damn clock, there was no arguing with Dave, no matter how much you begged him to stay. 

Another sigh parts from your lips, Frankie’s shoulders rise at the sound, his shirt dipping between his shoulder blades. After stirring one last time, he adds the tomato paste, the sizzle of it filling the open kitchen. 

“He’ll be here,” he emphasizes. “And he did say he would be free tomorrow, so we’ll be spending the entire day together,” 

“I guess…” 

“Cariño,” he murmurs, a hint of mischief laced in his tone. “If you continue pouting like that I’m going to think you would rather have him then me,” 

“What–No!” panic fills your voice as you stand up to your feet. “That’s not what I meant, I just…we never get much of a chance to spend time with just the three of us. I would be acting just as much of a brat if he was here an you weren’t,” 

He hums, hand reaching out for the shrimp stock. Steam rises as soon as liquid hits the saucepan, the gentle smoke dancing up and dissipating right after. Your stomach growls at the scent, mouth watering, you absolutely love it when Frankie’s in front of the stove. He is the best cook out of all three of you. 

“That’s good to hear. You don’t need to worry about being a brat though, I kinda like it,” 

His back is turned, but you can swear you see him grinning like an idiot. Your heart flutters, not being able to control your wide smile, you snake your hands around his thick waist, hands settling above his soft stomach as you peer from his side to see the saucepan. He’s firm against you, the smell of the food inhabits your nostrils but despite it, his scent reaches you. Sandalwood, with a hint of mint. It’s in the background yet it feels like a hug, it feels like home. 

“What were you making again?” you murmur into his shoulder, sneakily inhaling more of him. 

“Shrimp chupe. I think you’re going to like it but it’s been a while since I last made it so I’m a bit rusty,” 

“Well, if it fails, you know how to make it up to me,” 

“Do I, now?” 

“Don’t you?” 

“I think I might have an idea,” 

Much to your surprise, Frankie turns the heat to medium low and pulls his phone out of his pocket. His thumb lazily slides down the phone with an equally lazy smirk. You smile despite your disappointment gnawing at your heart, maybe he really didn’t have an idea what you were hinting at. And here you thought you were being crystal clear about your intentions– 

Suddenly the kitchen fills with the soft tunes of an acoustic guitar, soon accompanied by the rich baritone of Eric Clampton’s voice. Frankie places the phone on the counter and turns to you, his one hand extending forward. Staring at him awkwardly, your gaze shifts between his hand and eyes, they glint with amusement. 

“Dance with me?” 

“H-Here?” 

Frankie chuckles, his eyebrows drawn together, he softly takes your hand and pulls you flush against his chest. Every nerve of your body is electrified at the warmth he provides, your eyes are glued to the exposed skin of his neck, a sudden feeling of embarrassment clinging to you like a bad rash. Despite nearly doing almost everything with these two men, soft gestures like this still make your knees quiver. The music envelopes the both of you, Frankie’s hands softly finding your waist as he starts to gently sway from side to side. You follow his movements carefully, albeit a bit clumsily. It’s been a while. 

With the song in the background, you press the side of your face into his chest. Frankie’s lips find the top of your head, molding soft kisses into your scalp. A beautiful orange hue fills the kitchen, alerting you both that the sun was setting, the day slowly coming to a close. But in that moment you feel frozen in time. The only thing moving forward being yours and Frankie’s hips. His strong hands slide down your waist and grab your ass, your chuckle breaks the silence. You tear your face away from him, your eyes meeting his in a heated gaze. 

“Frankie Morales,” you feign a tone of offense. “And here I thought we were having a moment of romance,” 

“We are, mi vida,” he mutters, pupils dilated. A gasp falls from your lips when he squeezes, heart dropping as arousal gathers between your legs. “See how gentle my fingers are, this is romance,” 

“Hmm, we might be watching different types of romantic movies,” 

“I should show you my collection sometime,” 

“You should,” 

Frankie closes the distance, while his lips melt into yours, he pulls your body even closer, if possible, fingers digging into your flesh. Just like your bodies, your tongues dance with each other, slowly tasting, exploring. Your pulse accelerates, ears ringing loudly with every fast beating of your heart. His mouth slides down to your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses across your burning skin. 

“I want you to lay down,” he whispers into your flesh, tongue tasting the salt of your skin. “Will you do that for me?” 

Without a nod or a word of affirmation, you lay down on your back. The kitchen tiles cool against your sizzling body. Frankie quickly towers over you, his fingers dipping under the waistband of your pants and tugging them down. His hand reaches between your legs, fingers feeling the wetness that’s gathered across the fabric of your underwear. His lips twist into a sly smile, clearly pleased by himself. The cheeky bastard. 

“Been thinking about this?” 

“Maybe…” 

He hums, licking his lips, “I should reward you for your honesty, such a good girl for me,”

The drop of his voice makes you keen, his fingers presses further into you, the heel of his palm ghosting over your clit. Your legs spread without prompt, hips raising ever so slightly off of the marble. 

Goosebumps rouse across your skin when he finally removes the final barrier of cloth between the two of you, his lips immediately chasing the taste of your heat. Frankie’s mouth smoothes over your folds, tongue dipping playfully between them. Back arching, you reach out and tug him closer, his damp curls wetting between your fingers. Slick rushes between your legs, your mind in a daze, he flattens his tongue and laps at everything you have to offer. His mouth is moving along your cunt in the slowest way possible, coaxing a series of moans from you. Warmth blossoms across your skin and the song fades into the background. Frankie’s mouth always felt good, but now, it feels like it might just as well cause you a heart attack. He drags the tip of his tongue to your clit, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves and groaning at the way your hips roll into his mouth. 

Neither of you hear the silent footsteps of a tired, yet intrigued, man approaching, both of you lost in eachother’s bodies. 

“And here I thought you two would miss me,” 

You flinch at the voice of Dave, a hint of amusement weaved into his every word. Frankie draws a circle around your clit, you hope to be quiet but you can’t help the way your breath hitches, a combination of Frankie’s and Dave’s name parting from your lips. 

Frankie’s gaze flickers up to Dave, slightly annoyed. 

“Why do you think I have her laying on the floor like this?” he asks with no intention of receiving an answer. Then he adds, mouth filled with the essence of you. “You really need to get you schedule under control,” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. No need to remind me,” 

Dave quickly sits down near you and pulls your head on to his lap. A whine escapes you when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip, pressing into it gently. Frankie steers his attention back to your heat, sucking and slurping with his own groan accompanying the sounds, two fingers circle around your entrance. 

“Sorry I’m late, baby,” Dave mutters, slowly pushing his thumb between your lips. Wide eyed, you tentatively lick the tip. “Has Frankie been taking good care of you?” 

Just as you nod, your body jolts with a heavy wave of pleasure washing over you. The back of your head digs into Dave’s lap, eyes shut tightly, you cry out. Frankie’s fingers spread you wide, knuckle deep, as his tongue continues to work your clit. Dave pulls back his thumb and smears the wetness of it across your lips, his chest trembles with a soft laughter. 

“I think that’s a yes,” 

Frankie groans, eyes flickering up to him once again. His lips curl with a smug smile. Dave hums, his gaze moving back to you with an apologetic, yet lustful, look. 

“Can I join the fun?” 

Unlike Frankie, Dave was usually eager with his touches, his neediness seeping into his every movement. But today, today he also moves slow. He apologizes with his hands, fingers, mouth. Your neck strained as he forces your face up, claiming your lips in an upside down kiss while his hands travel down your body and lifts your shirt up. A growl emits from his chest upon seeing that you weren’t wearing a bra. He cups both of them, fingers pinching hard enough to send a shrill sense of pleasure down your spine. Meanwhile Frankie’s tongue worked wonders, his fingers thrusting in and out of your sopping core. Eyes rolling back, you moan openly into Dave’s mouth, cunt clenching at the way he grins down at you. 

“Is daddy making you feel good, princess?” 

Between heavy lashes and a tearful gaze, you nod. You’re burning from the inside out, Dave’s hands are merciless, playing with you like an expert musician. He knows all the strings to pull to bring you dangerously close to the edge. Rolling your nips between his fingers, he groans in delight at the way you squirm, your hips raising to meet the thrust of Frankie’s fingers. You can feel the ghost of Dave’s cock pressing against your upper back, just the thought of it makes your thighs clench around Frankie’s head. 

“I-I wanna–” 

“You want what baby?” Dave purrs. “You gotta tell us, isn’t that right Frankie?” 

Frankie parts from you momentarily, enough to breathe out a sentence conveying nothing other than great annoyance. 

“Deja ser un idiota con ella,” 

Dave shoots a glare, “Seems like I’m going to need to patch things up with daddy number two later,” then he turns down to you, his glare shifting into a gaze full of adoration. “Do you want to cum darling? Is that what you want?” 

“P-Please,” you plead, eyes traveling down. Frankie is already looking up to you, his eyes soft like honey. Your breath hitches. “Frankie,” 

He winks at you and you can swear in that moment, your soul left your body. His mouth opens wider, tongue pressing against your clit enthusiastically as his fingers move with precision. Your stomach contorts with pleasure, breathing uneven and fast. Desperation rises inside of you and you reach out to Dave, pulling him down for a bruising kiss. It’s been a while since the song was over, only wet sounds fill the kitchen now, stirring you even further. 

Spikes of arousal tingle up your spine, it builds and builds, Dave licks the inside of your mouth, Frankie licks between your aching folds with his fingers buried inside of you. Your whole world is spinning, nothing but your desire to cum screaming at you– 

Then everything shatters. 

You pull away, gasping for air as your body jerks uncontrollably. The corners of your vision blur, tears filling them thanks to the sensory overload. Frankie digs his fingers deeper, tongue swirling around the throbbing bud of nerves. Dave’s lush lips find your temple, shushing into your sweat coated skin. Heaving, you claw at Dave’s back, hips desperately trying to pull away from Frankie’s devilish tongue. He allows you after giving your clit one last, parting suck. 

“Fuck, mi corazon, that was amazing,” he pants heavily and slides up your body, laying his head between your breasts. “How are you?” 

Dave’s fingers playfully start to tweak at Frankie’s damp curls, nails gently scratching his nape. He purrs at the other man’s touch, a tired smile spreading across his lips. The gesture’s contagious, the sight of them being so domestic with one another has you grinning like a fool, heart swelling twice as big. 

“That was amazing,” 

“So…no one’s mad at me then?” 

You laugh, the melody of your joy echoing between them. 

“I didn’t say that, you are awfully late,” 

“Sorry,” he mutters, pressing his lips into the back of your head. “I couldn’t get rid of it but I’m here now, so happy birthday,” 

“Happy birthday,” Frankie chimes in as well, nuzzling your breast. 

There's a moment of serenity between the three of you, you smile as the endorphins of pleasure swirl around your mind, a pleasurable tingle vibrating across your skin. However, this doesn’t last long when Frankie suddenly jumps up, running to the stove. 

“Shit– I forgot the chupe!” 

“The what?” Dave asks, quite alert after seeing Frankie bolt.  

You giggle, taking Dave’s arms, you wrap them around you like a blanket. He tears his gaze away from the chaos in the kitchen and hugs you tighter, you call out to Frankie.

“Well, at least you know how to make it up to me.” 

[imthejudge]

make sense of me

Warren Graham x Nathan Prescott

Chapter One Word Count: 5,025

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

Read on Archive

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41111322/chapters/103048914

-

Chapter One: departure

It started out like any other boring day. Well, kinda. Considering—yeah, Warren was stuck in English class listening to his teacher drone on about archetypes and their purpose in storytelling with his face propped up against his hand as he watched the minutes tick by, but—his favourite class happened to be next.

9:45. Just 15 more minutes. He can barely contain the anticipation that begins to build inside him when the clock eventually signals only five minutes left before he could hurry down the school halls to the science lab on the other side of the main building.

Sure, Warren’s usually excited about what Ms. Grant has in store for them, but he was especially looking forward to being allotted time to work on their thesis projects. Being promised the use of their class time also meant that Warren was able to make plans with Max later that day to hit up a new coffee shop she’d been obsessing over. This repressed excitement seemed to make the minutes stretch out longer, with his attention span waning and his need to leave rising.

The shrill sound of the bell sounding all but shot Warren from his seat and sent him flying straight into the rapidly filling, narrow halls as students poured out from their classes. With hands that juggled the books he held and arms slung through his backpack straps haphazardly, he snaked his way through the mass of bodies.

Neon posters lined the walls and lockers and basically any surface, really, that displayed the next Vortex Club party happening that evening. A stark contrast to the missing person posters of that girl. Rachel Amber. Taped up by the dozen and always leaving an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, making him look away.

Warren masterfully dodges the array of students crowding the halls but can’t help his eyes from darting to the elaborate graphic design plastered all over the place. Enter the Vortex Club: Struck by Lightning Party. It’s Going to be Electric!  

Warren scoffs, disappointed to know that somehow those parties could be more obnoxious than previously thought. A stupid party themed after the surreal historical event of the founder's statue on campus being struck by lightning thirty years ago. Right on its bald head.

He hadn’t realized just how distracting the posters are before he’s colliding into someone. Nearly barreling the poor student over in his haste to class, he immediately begins profusely apologizing before he is able to focus on who exactly fell victim to their collision.

For any other circumstance, Warren might’ve thought a quick apology and admitting his mistake was enough for him to reconcile what had been done. But he is promptly corrected when his eyes zero in on the flash of a familiar red school varsity jacket and the deepening scowl he’s met with as none other than Nathan fucking Prescott picks himself up and begins to tower over Warren–a feat Warren did not know he was capable of, seeing as the guy almost always had the posture of a shrimp. A really, really feral shrimp.

Immediately cutting off his sputtering “sorrys” and retracting the hand he held out in offer to help him off the ground, Warren instantly felt his throat tighten. Fuck.

“What the actual fuck, dipshit! I think you need to invest in some fucking glasses since–hey! Where the fuck do you think you’re going!”

With a strangled oops! Warren’s fight or flight instincts kick in and send him fleeing the scene. Lucky for him, he’s now able to use the abundance of student bodies to dart his way between and miraculously lose Nathan within. He launches himself into the safety of the lab that—to Warren’s continued luck—Nathan doesn’t pursue him inside of. He figures the likes of someone like Nathan lost interest almost as soon as Warren was out of sight.

Breathing heavily, Warren took a moment to compose himself whilst facing the door, half expecting Nathan to burst into the room anyways.

“You alright?”

“Bahh!” If his heart rate wasn’t already high enough, a voice that was way too close sounded behind him. He whips around in alarm for his vision to be filled with Brooke’s glasses-framed gaze looking over him. “Oh, hey Brooke.”

Taking a step back, he hefts a sigh of relief that turns into a breathy answer, “yeah, totally. Just eager to work on my project, can’t keep science waiting!” He internally cringes at how stupid that sounded, but instead of scrutinizing him like Warren thinks she might, Brooke’s eyes light up and her expression breaks into a smile.

“Glad to see someone else is taking this thesis project seriously. If you need any help with your contraption, don’t hesitate to ask. Mechanical science is my forte, after all.”

“Thanks for offering, I’ll definitely need to take you up on it.” Warren returns the smile, and with that, he gets to work on finding his project amidst the cluster of every other students' left on the designated table at the back of the class. No one else has arrived yet, so it takes him a solid minute to single out his own, spotting the square-shaped, silver reactor toward the back where he’d forgotten he’d put it the day prior.

Warren was working on constructing a time machine. A theoretical one, at least. He’d approached Miss Grant about the idea early on, who was enthusiastic in her approval, saying creativity has just as much impact on scientific achievement as fact. Which was a nice way of saying that there was no way he could actually build a working time machine, but Warren only wanted an excuse to make something kinda fun and totally dorky… and totally not inspired by his favourite movie.

Wasting no time, he gets to work. Setting his reactor on the lab bench while scrounging through his backpack for his notebook to help him continue where he left off. More students trickle in and Ms. Grant starts to make her rounds to the individuals that have followed suit to work on their thesis projects.

“How are things going over here, Mr. Graham?” She leans over the lab countertop, an inquisitive look on her face as she eyes his invention.

“Great! I’ve been brainstorming what to use for lining the interior walls with the proper conductive material, seeing as this bad boy is going to be holding a lot of energy.” He scribbles down a last idea while explaining, his eyes downcast to his notes.

Ms. Grant gives a tentative hmm, “theoretically, that is.”

Warren finally looks up, smiling. “Yes. Theoretically.”

Though she looks skeptical, she gives him a nod and then points to a dial beside the LED screen at the centre of his invention. “Is this here where you decide which year you’re jumping to?”

Warren nods, his smile turning into a wide grin, “exactly!”

With a pointed finger resting on her chin thoughtfully, Ms. Grant seems to be considering his work as if it were some real time machine that will shoot him whenever it is he desires. “So, what year is it you’re looking to go to?”

Warren scoffs, flipping on the battery-powered LED screen and turning the dial, “easy, 1985, of course.”

“Indeed.” Ms. Grant gives him a knowing look. She’s about to move on when a loud alarm breaks through the school speakers. It startles Warren enough to jump a little and reflexively cover a hand over his reactor.

Immediately jumping into action, Ms. Grant begins hustling students out of the door in a controlled fashion. Warren is the last to leave, too busy cramming his notebook and few tools into his bag and picking up his reactor to bring with him. No way am I letting a fire ruin all my hard work.

Passing by an unimpressed Ms. Grant, who holds the door open for him, Warren follows the rest of his classmates toward the doors leading to the main campus grounds outside. Most people congregate in front of the main school entrance and Warren gingerly places his time machine down on the patch of grass he stands on.

Turns out the whole thing was a false alarm as no fire was currently devastating Blackwell Academy. But Warren supposes he could have guessed that himself when thirty minutes pass and nothing happens. Principle Wells eventually announces that they’ve looked into things and all students are free from their classes for the remainder of the day.

He thinks to ask Max if she’s down to push up their plans when a sudden sense of unease overtakes him. Digging for his phone in his pocket, he brings it out to send her a quick text.

Warren: You okay?

Max: Yes, insane day tho. Need to tell you all about it during coffee later.

Relief washes over Warren, glad to know Max got out even if it wasn’t with the majority of people where he is.

Warren: Good. Can’t wait to get together, they better have the best beans like you’d promised! If you’re unburdened for the rest of the day, we could go now?

Warren pockets his phone, excited about their plans. He then quickly remembers he’d meant to ask Max about returning the USB drive he’d let her borrow two weeks prior, retrieving his phone once again.

Warren: Yo, mad max. Any chance you could also drop off my flash drive? I need some info. And space.

For a moment he internally berates himself for firing so many texts her way when she’d clearly had a rough day, aware of his notoriety as a double texter. Or quadruple texter. But the thought promptly vanishes when she replies a minute later.

Max: Hell yes! Where can I find you?

Warren: I’ll be in the parking lot. Looking cool. You’ll see.

Damn his poor self-preservation and fast thumbs.

Max: My camera will be ready. See you shortly.

Worth it.

Making the short walk to the parking lot, Warren hastily closes in on his car to drop his project into the back seat. He securely straps it in with the seatbelt, he planned to take it with him for the weekend to work on when he visits his parents anyways.

He pops his head out just in time to see Max descending the stairs into the lot and waves over at her. She returns her own timid wave and Warren proceeds to move around the front of his car, leaning against the hood as she walks up to him.

“Whatup, Max, how are you?”

Max holds out the flash drive for him, and Warren can’t help but notice she seems a little shaken up. Her eyes looking at him but not focusing there, as if her mind is preoccupied by something else entirely. “Sorry for not returning it earlier.”

“No problem. Hey, you sure you’re okay?” He pats the spot next to him on the hood of his old, previously owned Chevy to invite her to sit. She accepts with a sigh, slinging her shoulder bag over to sit in her lap.

“Yeah. Kinda. I don’t know, it’s been one strange fucking day… Some pretty bizarro shit happened and I think I might–”

“Max Caulfield, right?” Whatever Max was going to say gets cut off by the sneer of someone saying her name. Both their heads whip up towards the person responsible and Warren can feel the colour drain from his face when he sees it’s Nathan. Nathan Prescott. Again.

He comes straight toward where Max is sitting without slowing down in his stride. All swagger and hard determination written across his face as he stops to leer overtop of her with absolutely zero personal space. “You’re one of Jefferson’s photo groupies?”

“I could say the same about you.” Max crosses her arms and Warren wonders how she has the ability to even say something like that to someone like him before he notices Nathan’s now eyeing him, seemingly distracted enough to notice her comment.

“You again?”

Warren’s frozen to the spot, unable to respond when Max intercepts the staring contest that’s enacted between him and Nathan. “What do you want, Nathan?”

Nathan points his squinted expression back at her, “for you to stay out of my fucking business. I know you were in the bathroom. You better tell me what you saw, and if you ran to tell that bitch principal.”

Bathroom? What’s he talking about?

“Nothing but a butterfly.” Innocently said, yet somehow all the more enraging to Nathan as his scowl deepens. Warren’s all but confused at this point, looking back and forth between them as they fire off their words.

“You’re full of shit. I’d respect you more if you told me the truth.”

“I don’t need your respect–”

“You’re clueless. You have no idea who I am or what I can do.”

“Actually, I have a pretty good idea of who you are…”

“Oh yeah? You think you know who I am? You think you got me allll figured out. Maybe you should worry about yourself.”

Scared of what might transpire, Warren interrupts their dispute by raising a hand to Nathan’s shoulder, who immediately flinches away from the touch. “Hey, dude, back off. She’s no threat to you.”

“Oh? And I suppose you think you are? You little punk bitch.” Warren doesn’t have any time to react before Nathan butts his forehead into Warren’s nose. Pain immediately explodes along his bridge and he can feel the warm sensation of what he knows is blood begin to seep down over his lips.

Everything after that happens fast. Warren hits the asphalt before he’s even aware that he’d fallen. His elbows take the grunt of it, adding to the pain he’s already in. He hears Max yell something but can’t make out what she’s saying when Nathan wastes no time grabbing at her throat.

“Nobody tells me what to do! Not my parents, not the principal, not that whore in the bathroom!”

Much to his body's protest, Warren scrambles off of his back just as Max digs her nails into the side of Nathan’s face. He stumbles away from her with a grunt, hands flying up to cover where she’d scratched him. And that’s when Warren hears the piercing sound of tires against concrete ring throughout the lot, craning his neck in time to see an old beat-up pickup truck turn in their direction at full speed.

He braces his hands over his face, but the truck comes to a screeching halt right where Max had fallen when trying to get away from Nathan. She uses the truck as leverage to get back on her feet, momentarily making eye contact with the driver before completely freezing.

“Max?”

“Chloe!?”

Their exchange is brief when Nathan stands back up and reflects the shocked look they all share, “not this bitch again.” He raises his hand in disbelief to point at the blue-haired girl—definitely not who Warren was expecting to be driving—behind the wheel and starts to stride towards the truck.

Warren’s now back on his feet and launching himself like a battering ram towards Nathan, wrapping his arms around his form to take him down and, hopefully, giving Max a chance to get the hell out of there. Especially considering she apparently knows this other girl. “Go, go! I got this–”

A fist meeting his jaw instantly cuts him off and Nathan’s now over top of him and sending punch after punch to his face. He squeezes his eyes shut but hears the truck engine rev, then feels the weight of Nathan shift off of him. Warren peaks an already swelling eye open and sees Nathan flinging a frustrated kick to the truck door after Max has already climbed inside.

“Get your punk asses out of there now! Don’t even try to run! Nobody messes with me!” He decks the door for extra measure and Warren can’t help but think that no shit they’re not going to get out now, even if there was some slight chance that they might in the first place.

The truck is thrown forwards and it sends Nathan off balance, but it doesn’t deter him in trying to chase after them. But soon they’re gone, and all that's left is the dust behind them. Warren thinks maybe it’s all over. Only when Nathan turns his enraged and slightly feral expression back to Warren, does he come to terms with how very wrong he is.

He’s trudging back Warren’s way with fire in his eyes, motivating Warren to rush to his feet and use his car as a barricade between himself and Nathan. He circles the car and Nathan stomps right up to it, slamming his palms against the hood. “Can’t get away from me, bitch. Nowhere to go.” Nathan starts moving counterclockwise forcing Warren to do the same until they’re once again on opposite sides of the vehicle, but instead of trunk to hood, they are now door to door.

Warren thinks about making a run for the school, since he’s closer to the parking lot exit. Or maneuvering a speedy escape into his car and quickly locking it behind him. All internal devising goes out the window, though, when Nathan drops his gaze to something in the back of the car near the seat he’s closest to and Warren’s heart drops. He’s not fast enough to lock the car that he’d stupidly left open from earlier before Nathan’s pulling at the handle and yanking out his thesis project.

He then hauls it to the open space of the parking lot with the same determination Warren had seen when he stormed up to Max and him only minutes earlier. Warren runs to meet him there and pleads for Nathan to stop whatever he’s planning to do. “No, Nathan! Nononononono–”

The smashing sound of his reactor hitting the ground echoes in the tiny lot and makes Warren flinch. He’s on his knees next to it immediately, not caring that Nathan’s still towering above. He picks at the pieces mournfully, too busy to notice how Nathan stands completely still beside him.

When he does look up, Nathan’s staring at what’s left of Warren’s project in his hands. His face is twisted in disgust, which Warren finds a little odd, but it could have easily been twisted in hatred. Warren doesn’t get to ponder over it, nor does he feel inclined to, as Nathan proceeds to turn away sharply and walk off without another word. Shoulders hunched, fists clenched at either side, and looking as though he has a stick up his ass.

Then Warren’s alone, with nothing but his hard work and dedication left devastatingly crushed in the palms of his hands.

-

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s not every day you bump into your childhood best friend who also just happened to save your life.”

There’s a delayed laugh from Max over the speaker of Warren’s phone—sticking out of his car cup holder—that almost sounds sarcastic. “Yeah, pretty much.” her voice softens slightly, “thanks for understanding, Warren. We’ll go for coffee soon, I promise. And thanks again for stepping in. Are you sure you’re not too badly hurt? You should see the school nurse–”

“I’m fine, don’t worry. My nose stopped bleeding, so that must be a good sign.” he casts a pitiful look at the pieces of his reactor that have been promoted to sit in his passenger seat for the time being. “Wish I could say the same for my thesis… Nathan really did a number on it. God, that guy sucks. I wish he would’ve just beat me up more instead.”

“Don’t say that… I feel bad about what happened back there.”

“Don’t feel bad–”

Max cuts him off before he can continue, “I feel bad for you, and for Nathan.”

“Hold up–you do?”

“There’s clearly something wrong with Nathan, and he needs help. But I wasn’t making the situation any better by egging him on like that…” For as long as Warren has known her, Max has always had the ability to speak in a manner that’s cool and collected, even in what she considers ‘egging Nathan on'. It’s a characteristic of hers Warren appreciates but doesn’t think he can ever fully comprehend. Even now her tone is reasonable and Warren can’t help but be indignant about the entire ordeal.

“Max, the dude’s crazy, I don’t think it mattered what you would have said.”

“That’s not fair, Warren. I mean it when I say he needs help. I…he’s capable of some pretty scary shit. I’m not asking you to forgive him and be his friend or anything… I don’t know, maybe just try avoiding him for a while.”

“Good, cause I am not about to become besties with Nathan Prescott.”

She doesn’t respond to that, opting to change the subject instead, “so what’re you up to now?”

Warren sighs, gripping the steering wheel with one hand while lightly pressing his fingers to his nose to check if it really had stopped bleeding. “I was thinking of hitting up Two Whales to work but… think I’ll still go to that coffee shop anyways. Take some time to try and undo some of this damage. Don’t get me wrong, Joyce knows how to make a mean cup of joe, but I could do with a change of scenery and some fancy, sugary coffee seeing as I’ll likely be staying up all night.”

An empathetic hum sounds from his phone, “Good luck, then. I’m sure you’ll be able to fix it. If it makes you feel any better, my camera got smashed in the whole process, too.”

Warren feels a tinge of guilt. That camera was Max’s most prized possession and she wasn’t bitching about it like a little…well, bitch. “Ah, Max I’m so sorry. Of course that doesn’t make me feel better.” If anything it just makes me want to punch Nathan’s teeth in even more. He doesn’t voice that thought, though.

“It’s okay. I gotta go, but keep me updated with the progress, okay?”

“Will do. Catch you later, Max.”

The low beep from his phone signals the call ending, and he breathes out another long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He flips through the car buttons to put on a CD, hoping to let off some steam before making it to the coffee shop. It’s an old one, but also a favourite tune of his. Spending the majority of the car ride listening to Wishing (If I Had a Photograph of You) by A Flock of Seagulls before he finally pulls into the small plaza of the coffee shop.

The space is small, modest, and cozy. A variety of different pieces of art line the orange brick walls with elaborate frames. Black painted, low-hanging lamps contrast the colours nicely. And somehow it’s exactly what Warren pictured Max choosing for a coffee shop. He picks out a secluded booth in the corner to settle and hopefully avoid unwarranted attention from not only the contraption in his hands but his appearance. He’d managed to clean himself up a little before leaving, at least, so he doesn't think he’ll draw too many eyes.

Warren gets to work on salvaging his reactor, after deducing just how bad the damage actually is. Turns out, it’s not as disastrous as he originally thought. The top door had broken off its hinges and the dial knob popped off, but those were easy fixes. Warren’s more concerned over the rattling he heard inside, but upon further inspection, it’s mostly some of the internal wires that managed to get loose.

Taking out the necessities to get the job done—including his notebook, a pen, some tools, and his headphones—from the backpack he plopped down next to him, Warren makes a short ‘to do’ list before leaving his table and ordering himself a drink. He asks for a cinnamon dolce latte, because hell yeah, and it arrives not long after he gets started. Thanking the barista, he takes a sip and is immediately hooked. Max wasn’t kidding, this stuff’s good. Though, he realizes a syruped-up latte probably isn’t the best deciding factor to how good their beans truly are.

So when Warren downs the latte after only getting through one thing on the list, he goes back to the counter to order a ‘Honey Almond’ flat white. He’s intrigued, to say the least. Sipping away at it while working through the remainder of the list, he orders another one in the process and before he knows it, he has a somewhat recovered version of his reactor.

On a caffeine and sugar-driven roll, he decides to take it one step further and insulate the interior wall with the material he’d managed to snag back at the school lab and theorized could work. When he's finished using his tiny screwdriver to firmly hold each panel in place, he sits back in his seat to admire his work.

The last of his coffee has gone cold, but he downs it anyway. And when the same barista that had given him his drink comes over to his table, Warren pulls out his earbuds and holds up the saucer and cup for them to take with a smile.

“Thank you.” The barista takes it from him. She returns the smile, which falters slightly as she continues to stand there. “Are you, uh, thinking of staying for much longer or…?”

Panic seizes Warren for a split second as he glances down at his watch for the time, reading 9:07. “I’m so sorry, are you guys closed!?” He swore he thought he’d read that they closed at 10, not even realizing how long it’s been since coming in the first place, either.

“No, but we were thinking of closing up early because of the storm.”

“The storm?” Even though Warren had been listening to his music while working, he doesn't know how he managed not to notice the storm that had started up just outside his window. Only now did he tune into the prominent sound of rain beating against the glass, swivelling his head to see the monstrosity that brewed there.

“They say it’s going to get worse, be careful if you have to drive far.” The barista draws her eyebrows together in worry as she follows Warren’s gaze out the window.

Crap. I could've avoided this.

“I’m so sorry for keeping you,” He’s already packing his things away, standing up to put his backpack on. “I should really get going then, thanks for the warning. And the amazing coffee,” he adds with a sheepish grin.

He carefully picks up his still delicate reactor, and thanks the barista again. She tells him to ‘stay safe’ with an expression that hadn’t changed from worried the whole exchange and in turn Warren says he will. But after stepping foot outside, he’s met with such a strong gust of wind it threatens to take the reactor straight out of his hands to be thrown to the ground once more. He grips it tightly to his chest and struggles his way to his car, not at all prepared for the rain that drenches him, having sacrificed his hoodie to cover the reactor.

So, dripping wet in only a t-shirt, Warren clambers into the safety of his car–only after securely placing his reactor inside, of course. It’s then that he gets his first proper look at the storm around him. It's dark out now, which somehow adds to the ominous characteristic the storm has taken on. The wind whips the rain in every direction, which comes down in sheets and slams irregularly against his windshield.

Warren turns his key in the ignition to start the engine, then pulls out of the parking lot to make his way back to the academy. He flips on the radio in case there’s any update on how bad the storm is getting. Though, he can see it for himself. Trees that sway in the wind turn into stop signs that wobble. Visibility grows worse, even when he’s driving a stable 25 miles per hour down the main road back towards school.

Thunder shakes his car and lightning follows soon after, some of the flashes too close for comfort. He tells himself it’s fine and knows it’s not much longer until he’s back. Then all he has to do is… book it across the parking lot and main campus, down the stairs and stretch of path that leads to the dorms… shit.

Maybe he’ll wait it out once he’s in the parking lot. Besides, it’s been said that one of the safest places to be during a thunderstorm is in your car. Unless a tree falls down on top of you. He decides to cross that bridge when he gets there, focusing on simply getting as far as the parking lot to begin with.

With the school in sight, Warren’s shoulders ease slightly from the tense, hunched state they’d contracted in for the entire ride back. The roads have become eerily quiet, making him that much happier to be back at Blackwell. At least no one else was crazy enough to be out in the storm. Warren hopes.

He doesn’t realize just how wrong he is until pulling into the dark lot. With his vision still blurred by the rain, Warren almost misses the warped figure that appears in front of his car. His headlights catch a flash of red amongst the downpour and he slams his foot on the break at the exact same time the sound of something equivalent to an explosion breaks the air.

The sky momentarily lights up so bright that Warren has to squeeze his eyes shut and he swears he can hear the thud of something heavy against his car. The rumble of thunder morphs into a mechanical whirring somewhere behind him, followed by the distant smell of burning. Overwhelmed in practically every aspect, Warren is apprehensive to open his eyes.

When he finally does, he isn’t at all prepared for the sight he’s met with.

[sztefa001]

YES!! IT'S ONE OF THE BEST PARTS OF BRAINSTORMING IDEAS

AND I WENT A BIT OFF THE RAILS SO LEMME PUT THE RAMBLINGS UNDER READ MORE

Revving engines as growling. Making engine vibrate as purring. Letting out steam or sth as hissing. Honking as howling or screaming. Clamping armor like gators clap their jaws as being ready to fight. Do you think they could salute this way too? Yes, sir, my armor's tight and won't let any bullets through?

Beeps and other vocalizations like meowing with your cat back and forth. Or just as stimming. Clicking/ moving some parts as stimming. Broken fax noises to annoy siblings because why not. Make them chirp in Morse code.

Biolights shining brighter as blushing or flickering/dimming as being afraid. Lights very bright as a warming or hyper on drugs, very dim as being sick/ depressed.

Rotors doing a lil spin or air vents going quicker as equivalent of feeling butterflies. Or just spinning rotors / venting faster as anger. Together with a growling engine, warming up the parts before a possible fight. Synchronized flights or rides as dancing / mating rituals or just having fun.

Wing flaps twitching/flicking. Small movable parts moving like cat's/horse's ears to indicate mood. Same with wings / doorwings /whatever's on the back. Or indicating mood in a way not perceivable to us. By sounds we can't hear or lights we can't see or vibes we can't sense. Like we can't hear most of a cat's vocalization and can hear only their baby talk for kittens or warning signs for predators.

Speaking of baby - there's so many different ways a tf can come to be. What if eggs. Not necessarily egg-shaped. Created next to an adult's spark or somewhere in a titan or Cybertron's ground or lab-grown. And it s their altmode till they evolve or grow or get upgrades or scan sth to transform into.

What if like in some dragon legends such egg can hibernate and "hatch" only under certain circumstances? Only when it absorbs enough of a certain type of energy like heat one radiation or sth? Charging batteries through solar panels by laying in sun like geckos.

Sleeping by hanging on a wall/ceiling like bats because after manufacturing they were stored that way to save space. Being able to hibernate for centuries if not millennia. Being able to "digest" various types of fuel, getting energy from energon or radiation or solar power or nuclear power or or or….

Weird legs' And arms and wings! Or other limbs! Make them use tracks or wheels in feet as wheelies. Feet/boots changing depending on the surface, like having claws/prongs that pop out when it's slippery. Specialized servos with inflatable small cushions on their fingertips for extra gripping on fragile things.

Weird faces! A mask. Mouth being in a different place than the mask indicates. Separate mouth for a vocalizer(s) and separate for fuel intake. Do they even need a mouth? Do they just have a speaker in one place and fuel intake somewhere on their arm or chest or leg?

You know how snakes yawn and get their jaws off the hinges? Make tfs stretch their whole frames like that. Weird fucked-up sort of mid-transformation mess. With the variety of frames and alt modes they could freak out each other and not only humans.

Weird nose-like or crest-like things that are sensors. And antennae. To take in all sorts of information. Looking like whiskers. Like horns. Like ears, nose or tail. Used for measuring wind or radiation or certain wavelengths or whatever.

3 eyes. Single eye. None at all. All there are. Optics resembling in looks/function eyes of an eagle, crab, spider, goat or a dragonfly. Seeing shrimp colors. Or seeing no colors but having x-ray vision or seeing UV or infra red. Having telescopes or microscopes for eyes. Various tfs having various modes of vision. Of hearing. Of feeling / orienting themselves in the sapce they occupy.

The whole spark and em field stuff. Another sense. Their helms suggest rather narrow field of optic vision but also no need for a wider scope. Is it sensing the EM field? Do they have ocelli-like cameras or sensors on their backs?

Brain to brain communication. Spark to spark. Vibe to vibe. To us it's a higher dimension. Talking by holding hands. Talking by blinking biolights. By Morse code. By bluetooth. Talking by ultra or infra sounds, not audible to us. Possibly not audible to other models of tfs or audible only when on the same wavelength.

Primus, just imagine their music and art. Looking and sounding different depending on your perception settings and changing as you change or upgrade your settings.

Behavior resulting from a mix of how they were built/ programmed, how were they raised, what upgrades/ training they got, where and when they lived, what they went through... Mix all the cultures and philosophies with all the cool stuff we know about plants and animals and technology. There is just so much we can do.

Make them learn human languages faster than expected because they often have to ad just to each others' ways of communication. I mean imagine communicating primarily with lights and meeting someone who uses sth like morse code. And with a different slang at that because they're from an aquatic community while you're from a mining one.

On top of that cultural whiplash because you're from different sides of the universe and were taught/programmed in different schools/philosophies and also the whole set of behaviors is different. Cat and dog. Wave tail as annoyance, wave tail as happiness.

For this wall of text I blame this post and @president-alpine (we rambled about our ocs). Also an animal that came to my mind that doesn't always fluff up when threatened was this owl:

It does fluff up but it also goes creepy skinny. Now this is obviously showing off either "I'm bigger than you, no point in attacking me" or "I'm a fucked up freak, you better stay away" but we put our own spin on these.

"Fluffing up," making armor stand out of the frame more can be used in general arguing, possibly as increasing ventilation to cool down in advance to prepare for more heat from the effort of the possible fight.

Clamping the armor close to the frame could happen when a tf gets spooked and tenses up or "fluffs up" and then loudly clamps down (maybe even repeatedly) to express anger and an attack warning (crocks smacking their jaws, big buff guys cracking knuckles or punching a fist into their other hand).

There would also be quiet clamping and keeping the armor clamped close - for those who don't mess around and mean business. Add to it the cold, focused and unblinking stare. You're being analyzed intensely for your smallest move and their armor is tight around their frame already at attention. You better apologize for whatever you did or said to make them like this. Or just run

And how one expresses their fear/anger/seriousness depends on who they are and how were they brought up.

Naturally stealth tfs are generally quiet by nature and won't do much loud clamping (unless raised in a loud environment or just having a different personality). Quiet warnings / fight preparations may also indicate they re not necessarily from a stealth background but had a certain military training (fluffing up = leaving yourself open = not ideal).

Shy tfs ( stealthy or not) may also opt for the quiet version. Better be careful, you never know when their scared "making myself smaller" pose changes to their ready to attack "armor close and protecting me well" pose. It can just be in the eye contact: maintaining = observing for movement, turning optics away = pls don't attack, I can't even see you clearly.

If a shy one fluffs up to argue with you it's a friendly banter and they trust you enough to relax.

Also if there's a hot-headed loudmouth ofc they're gonna go naturally for fluffing up and loud repeated clamping (alongside with engine revving and other displays like that). This can mean two things: they're either playing and showing off 'cuz they know you won't attack or they don't treat you seriously and even if this turns into a fight they can defeat you easily without much effort.

And if one like that goes for the quiet clamp and stare it can also be two things: either they got scared and are bracing themselves or they got pissed enough to to kick your ass properly.

My biggest pet peeve in Transformers media and fanfiction sometimes is that Transformers aren't treated as aliens. They are referred to as aliens, they obviously are aliens, but they never feel like they are aliens because they are always written or seen as having all human mannerisms or features usually. Human posture, human noses, human mannerisms, humanoids...

What about TFA's cat noses or TFP's helm noses? One of the reasons I think those two shows have peak designs is because they have this lack of uncanniness to humans design wise. I'm not looking at a human being as a robot, I'm looking at an alien robot, ones that have claws, ones that have different body types that blend with their vehicle modes, ones with horrific mutilations and designs impossible by human standards. I love seeing that type of stuff in Transformers because to me, it makes them feel alien without completely changing the premises of similarities to where we can't compare their culture or likeness to humans. The films (mostly 1 and 2) showed off this as well.

Another thing I really would like to see in Transformers media is non-human interactive qualities. What do I mean by that? One thing I've noticed is aside from techno-organic species, regular Cybertronians do have a few qualities found in animals. Engine humming I believe was once used as a form of purring in the films and in some of the cartoons. Humans can't purr; cats can, and that small detail is always interesting to come across because it's like "wow, they have this feature that shows off a trait found in Cybertronians. That is so cool." You have them with multiple voice boxes for mechanical, natural, and human-like tones which is also an animal trait. Bumblebee is self-explanatory in most universes being able to still make sounds yet not talk. They have sensors across their body that don't act like the basic human receptors. Most animals can do more than just feel through certain points of their bodies. They can taste, smell, or even hear a hundred times better than a human being throughout various body parts, and Transformers have been hinted to have this ability too, especially through their servos. It's stuff like this that expands upon their existence as aliens.

They have extreme durability, their body morphs to extremes and can also double as a moving weapon (most obvious of course), some of them can make ungodly roars and creature-like noises to warn or show their threatening demeanor (Megatron's dinosaur-like growling), some can have two rows of teeth (a flat base in front and fangs hidden behind), and some of them have mimicking animal-like features (Starscream's bird-shaped feet with visible expansion the same as organic foot padding with similar distributive weight physics in a few universes) despite having no beast mode. There's probably more I can't think of on the top of my head in canon, but all those things are not heavily used as they should be to make them feel alien. They can still hold some relation to the humans they interact with, but I think a lot of Transformers are more than just metal "humans", you know?

Depending on the universe in fanfiction and who you encounter who writes it or not, you have several things that are always cool to see. They have to sparkbond (merging of hearts) above everything else to create a sparkling's life force with interface as just the extra for physical coding features. I've seen people use the non-canon heat cycles which are, of course, our fandom way of making a type of breeding euphemism akin to an animal's cycle. You have the common phrasing of nuzzling, heightened senses, armor and certain parts of the helm acting like fur or ears where it raises and flattens per their mood, and some Transformers have limb dissonance where if necessary, they can convert between bipedal and quadrupedal stances (best example is Bulkhead and Lugnut from TFA who have long arms but short legs and they have the bulky structure where they could possibly run like an animal briefly and the physics of it would work).

So, you have all these different things a common Cybertron most likely would be able to do or have but a human couldn't, and it's never utilized to their full potential. I would like to see people address the nature of Cybertronians as alien and not be afraid to make them alien. I think that's the biggest flaw in our franchise is that everyone is scared of making the Transformers not the humanoid "norm" and getting ridiculed for it. Like, they're aliens, you can make them act however animal-like or completely batshit insane as you want them. You can give them powers, animal-based senses, and behaviors hidden among a human thought process. And technically, you wouldn't be wrong to what they could be as a living creature in the universe by doing so. They aren't humans; they look humanoid, but they aren't us. Why should they have to be in every regard?

Thank you for reading my TED Talk.