If Anyone Needs Me. I Will Be In The Corner. Contemplating The Characters

if Volo was in a mermaid/merman AU his tail would be based on a shiny Milotic

ok this sounded so so interesting to me that i wanted to give it a try to see what it could look like... ... ...i love him

pls can I get a lonely cassette!reader being taken in by soundwave???? i need that man carnally and i need to be inside his boobs even more 💥💥💥

The city is burning. It's been on fire for days, the skyline you loved nothing but smoke and ash, and there is no relief in sight. Metal melting into itself and the surroundings, buildings merged together, until it looks like a great beast crying in agony. Fighting to pull itself out from it's own destruction. Your cassette-player is among those trapped under the rubble, squeezed beneath concrete and metal. Perhaps it's fortunate, then, that you know he's dead. You were his only companion, and now you're alone. It gives you comfort knowing he's not the one in your place.

There is no one coming to save you. The Decepticons and Autobots have torn Cybertron apart, your home just collateral among the list of casualties. It had filled you with rage when you saw the way they would cast anything in the way to achieve victory, but your anger is hollow now. You're not even sure you can feel anything at all. All you can think about is where you will find energon next.

There are no more relief stations near you, no more safe encampments that can take you in. All neutral parties, all crisis servants, have been pushed to the very edges of Cybertron where there is still just a bit of energon to mine. It wouldn't matter if you could get to them, anyway. Most have picked their side and will push recruitment if you come looking for aid, ensuring you will be safe if only you will be their fodder.

And you can't leave your home. Even when it is unrecognizable, the bright city lights long since blown out. This is where you want to be, the only place for you. You slowly duck and trudge between buildings, dirt settling in your joints and making the ache of your frame worse. You scan for any sign of energy, a leak of oil even, but it is bare here.

So lost in your HUD, you don't hear the clink of pedes on concrete, the glitching of your processor getting worse and more obstructive by the cycle. You try tapping at settings on your helm, but the static clears minimally. A giant blue mech stands in front of you when your vision clears of errors. You jump back, stumbling over your pedes to stay upright, and lean back to take in the intimidating bot before you.

His face is covered and his visor is red. So red against the white and blue of his paintjob. The blue gleams beautifully under the muffled sunlight, just barely able to break through the ash covering the sky. He must be important, or was. You could have never afforded a polish so uniform and bright. His chest is a window into a docked and rather comfortable looking cassette. You could laugh from how fortuitous this oasis is.

The purple of his insignia almost misses your awareness, but it is an ugly symbol and it hurts your optics to look upon it. You should be angry, but there is nothing. Perhaps this meeting is Primus' mercy, no matter how cold.

The large mech kneels in front of you, his helm still looming above your own, as his servo comes to rub dirt away from your faceplate. You don't shy away, despite the true dirtiness being in his allegiance. It's nice to feel a friendly touch. You eye his tapedeck enviously, like you want to rip the mech out of there and settle in its place. It's a horrible feeling that leaves a pit of shame in your tank. The fear and grief has turned you into an animal hungry for any sign of salvation.

The intimidating mech pulls from his subspace a wrapped packet: energon rations. Meager and half-eaten, it wouldn't be the best you've ever tasted, but you're grateful for the pity. It's hardly two bites before you're done. Despite the quality, it's the sweetest energon that's ever touched your glossa. Lubricant tracks down your cheekplates.

And despite it all, you want to live. A feeling that builds in your chassis and sings in your spark. You want to live, you want to leave this place. You don't care what you have to do. All you want is to tear free of the rubble and rip yourself from the metal melting down around you.

"Inquiry: Free to dock?" You grasp the opportunity with firm servos.

“Gojo.”

You peer at him out of the corner of your eye, watching the tip of his finger creep closer and closer to the plush apple of your cheek.

“Gojo.”

The lilt in his voice is childish, teasing; the smirk on his lips rising when he promises, “I’m not touching you!”

“Satoru, I can feel it.” 

There’s a bite to the way you finally say his first name that drags the corner of his mouth further up. It stokes the fire burning between his ribs, the very flames that spur him to poke and prob and tease and annoy — all for the sake of your attention. All Gojo wants, all he’s ever wanted, is to have your eyes on him, to have your full, undivided attention; and with the way you huff, your arms crossing over your chest, he knows it’s well within his reach.

His head tilts to one side like a curious puppy, brows furrowing in feigned innocence. His finger doesn’t move. “Feel what?”

Infinity, you think bitterly. The weight of his power presses against your skin with the surging energy that two identical poles of a magnet have when they repel one another – doomed to never meet no matter how hard you push. And with the distance his finger stays from your face, Gojo’s Infinity almost tickles.

Gojo’s finger inches closer and the pulse of it, the sight of it in your periphery, has you seeing red. Your eyes shoot to meet his as you fully turn to face him, brows furrowed. Seething, you tell him, “You know what.”

There you are.

He knows, deep down, that it’s childish to go to such lengths for a glimpse at your eyes or the soft curves of your lips, but he can’t help it. Gojo’s at his weakest around you, after all. “I don’t think I do, angel.” He leans in, finger still hovering oh so close to your face. “Care to clue me in?”

Your eyes roll, but you make no move to look away. “You’re insufferable.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You sigh, long and heavy, as you allow your eyes to slip closed, and Gojo can tell you’re trying not to pinch the bridge of your nose, a cute little habit you only seem to indulge in when he’s around. He smirks and tilts his head to peer at you over his sunglasses. The tone in his voice is goading. “Well, go on.”

“You- you-” You flounder, mind rendered a blank slate as frustration floods your senses. Air escapes your nose, an exhale laced with incredulity, as a smile crosses your lips in a blink before it’s gone. You hide your face behind a warm palm. “You-”

“Mhm.” Gojo leans closer, sunglasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose. He drinks you in, eyes shifting from your eyes to your lips and back again. “What? C’mon, cat got your tongue, angel?”

“Your Infinity, Gojo. I can feel it,” you tell him, the words finally ripped from your throat by the gentle, but teasing coo of his voice. “It tickles.”

“Aww, that’s what all this fuss was about? You should’ve just said so.”

And as if a switch has been flipped, Infinity is gone and suddenly Gojo’s finger is surging forward to tap the tip of your nose. It’s a brief flash, a tiny bump of skin against skin before his hand retreats again, returning to its place by the sorcerer’s side as if it had never moved at all. Gojo smiles at you then, all pearly whites and unrestrained pride. The cat that got the cream. 

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed, ya know that?”

i redownloaded this sims to make this

inspo from this pic

Pros of re-reading your own fic

a good time;

Has exactly the tropes you like and the characterization you want to read;

Gratification: yes you did finish a thing and yes you did do good;

just a very fun time all around.

Cons of re-reading your own fic:

Is that another TYpO

Mr. Sexy

writers are creatures that feed on comments by the way. if you want more of your blorbo from them, give them lovely comments. they love that and will most likely give you more fics about your blorbo

The Sanctity of Sacred Spaces

Life as part of the Heart Pirates and being their beloved tailor (and sometimes sharpshooter).

A Heart Pirates reader insert collection

Ao3 link

Peace and All Else

Tyrant of the Laundry Room

Initiation

Japes and Jubilation (Part 1) | (Part 2) | (Part 3) | (Part 4)

Shortest

Buddy Daddies + Text Posts [Part 14/ ??]

When a fic doesn’t fit my head canons but it’s well-written