Bullets By James Roberts Pova, and the Wreckers were in a whole world of pain. Positions had been taken, battle lines drawn; one way or
hello maccadams fans,
so! i kept stumbling across mentions of the short story "Bullets" on tfwiki, because it had important lore about Kimia and some characters who would later appear in MTMTE. but because it was an exclusive that was only published in the TPB for "Last Stand of the Wreckers," not many people have probably read it. it's a prequel story to LSOTW and DOES contain some spoilers if you haven't read that series, but it's also interesting how much jro is obviously setting up for MTMTE, even tho this was written about 2 years before MTMTE started coming out. pretty sure this is the first canonical appearance of Rung.
anyway, because this was so hard to track down, I took the time to find a scan of the LSOTW trade paperback and used an ocr scanner to transcribe it so that I could share it and make it more accessible. I've only ever found a few transcriptions of the first chapter, but not the whole thing. it's very interestingly written, and also contains some interesting criticism of Furmanisms. I highly recommend anyone who is a fan of MTMTE/LL or LSOTW give it a read. The ending still has me shook.
Disclaimer: I didn't change the writing at all, but i did omit a couple very obvious typos that were printed in the TPB, and I fixed some of the formatting issues where chapter breaks were missing or put in the wrong place. otherwise, this writing is completely unaltered. Also, I did read this over like 3 separate times as I was working to transcribe and format it, but because ocr scans can be unpredictable, it's very possible I missed a few minor things.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Here today in the simpatico tag yet again bringing you my longest, horniest fic to date. this one really got out of hand. you can read the full fic on ao3 đ„č
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Perceptor was confident theyâd gotten a few knowing looks from the security team, even if they hadnât said anything.
That was unsurprising, he supposed. He and Brainstorm had stumbled out of the decontamination chamber utterly bedraggled, with obvious paint transfers decorating various points on their frames, particularly their pelvic plating. Perceptorâs systems were still reading as a tick over normal temperature. Overall, his own cladding felt⊠disheveled. Brainstorm had only hastily and belatedly retrieved his blast mask from the floor of the wash rack andâif Perceptor was right in remembering the measurements of his lab partnerâs face (and he was, being quite familiar with it) âit was skewed at a bit of an angle.
After some prudent (but excruciating) attention from the security team, Perceptor had been pushed along to the medbay at Brainstormâs insistence. It didnât seem necessary anymore, but he supposed there was no telling what other adverse effects the chemical might have had. He wasnât certain if the remaining heat in his systems was a result of lingering fumes still circulating his ventilation system, or if his warmth was being brought on by something else entirelyâsomething teal, frustratingly brilliant and jet-shaped.
After the whole ordeal had been brought to a close and Perceptor found himself back in his hab suite after being discharged from the medbayâonly then did he finally allow himself to consider the ramifications. Brainstorm had been overwhelmingly enthusiastic in his consent, butâŠ
It was absurd that he was still able to let a sliver of doubt creep in, especially considering what had already passed. But unlike his lab partner, he was loath to proceed with anything short of 100% certainty that his calculations would not fail. There was the smallest catchâthe slightest window for misunderstanding that Perceptor felt the need to close.
But not tonight. Tonight, he laid on his recharge slab and stared hard at the ceiling, failing to resist the memory of straddling Brainstormâs lap as he pressed his weight back against the side of the decontamination chamber. Of molten gold optics searing him through the spark. Of an EM field laced with worshipful lust andâif he dared to think he was rightâadoration. He remembered it all with perfect clarity despite the slow, cloying grasp of chemicals in his processor. He would remember the sensation of Brainstormâs frame surging under his own until his spark sputtered out.
Ratchet had given him a clean bill of healthâany particulate left from the chemical fumes was negligible enough as to be non-existent. Which meant the warmth creeping up his frame as he recalled the event belonged entirely to himself.
For a moment he considered comming Brainstormâs frequency. Perhaps they needed to have a discussion now rather than later. But he squashed the thought before it got very far. Even if he was free from the effects of the fumes, his thinking was far from clear.
Instead, feeling a phantom of the same ache he had felt in the wash racks earlier, he shifted onto his side and stubbornly persuaded himself into recharge.
â
Perceptor was late returning to the lab the next day. Heâd recharged longer than intended, and his internal chronometer hadnât signaled him awake as usual. An oversight on his partâhe put it down to the state heâd been in yesterday leaving him admittedly more scattered than usual. As he walked through the doors, he found Brainstorm already attending his workstation, reassembling parts of the familiar project he had been at work on for the past several weeks. He felt a flicker of irony go through him at the sight of it. If it hadnât been for the explosion of that project, none of what theyâd done yesterday would have been likely to happen.
As Perceptor entered, Brainstormâs busy hands abruptly froze in their work. The jet looked at him and tilted his wings in a gesture Perceptor had learned to mean that he was embarrassed, or at least a little self-conscious. Even if his face was covered by the blast mask, his optics were round as they landed on where he lingered in the doorway.
âHey! Thought youâd never wake up. Hereâs me, taking on the burden of all the routine lab work all by myself.â Brainstormâs jaunty tone didnât reveal anything out of the ordinary, even if his body language did. âJust kidding! I left the stuff you usually do. Iâm not that charitable.â
Perceptor felt a smile flicker across his face despite himself. âI wouldnât have expected you to take over my duties in the lab, Brainstorm.â
The look Brainstorm gave him was sidelong; hesitant. Perceptor had gotten somewhat proficient in reading the flierâs moodsâeven the moods he wasnât keen to share openly. Heâd watched him long enough to understand the expressions of his wings and the subtle tilts of his ailerons. Quite often, they contradicted whichever mood Brainstorm outwardly affected. But right now, his wings were still. Perceptor wasnât certain what he had on his mind, but he could guess.
âGood,â he said, finally, turning back to his work. His hands moved stiffly as he picked up a screwdriver and started tightening down a panel. âCuz I was starting to wonder if you were gonna come in at all.â
Perceptor crossed into the lab and hesitated at his own workstation. He needed to attend to his checklist so that he could get to workâhe was already behind, and of course, there were procedures to follow before he could delve into his project. But he stood silently instead, casting a scrutinizing gaze at the spot on his desk where his chemical experiment had spilled the day before.
âBrainstormâŠâ he started. âAbout yesterday...â
He heard the screwdriver hit Brainstormâs desk. He didnât look up in time to notice if heâd dropped it or simply put it down too hard. The jetâs posture was wound tight. He broke a glance off in Perceptorâs direction, optics strained, before looking down at his own hands as he laid them flat on the surface of his workstation. His wing struts snapped straight behind him. âYeah?â
Perceptor deliberated. Conversations such as these were difficult for him. No, he couldnât say that, in truth. Heâd never had a conversation quite like this. A part of him yearned to sweep it away, but heâd seen where remaining silent had gotten him. It seemed neither of them were particularly proficient with navigating their feelings, but he wasnât going to allow either of them to pretend it hadnât happened.
He vented out. He needed 100% certainty.
âFor one thing,â he resumed. âI wanted to apologize again. My behavior yesterday was⊠unseemly.â
Brainstormâs wings bobbed, dipping down slightly before returning to their previous position. Hurt. Perceptor frowned lightly.
âHey, donât worry, Percy,â Brainstorm said easily, nothing of the hurt that had been evident in his wing language carrying in his voice, âYou werenât yourself. Obviously. Letâs⊠we donât have to blow it up, yeah?â He put on an ironic laugh. âI've got 'blowing up' covered already. So donât worry about it.â
Perceptor opened his mouth and shut it again. With an effort, he drew himself away from his workbench, curling his hands into steely fists before relaxing his arms to his sides. He approached Brainstorm a few steps. His lab partner cycled a quick blink.
âNo, Brainstorm, I was entirely myself,â Perceptor explained. When Brainstorm didnât move, Perceptor sighed and carefully reached up to remove his targeting lens. He looked down at it, checking its angles as he fidgeted the hard edges of the glass between his fingers. âThe chemicals only affected my interface protocols and my inhibitions. They didnât affect my judgment.â
That caught Brainstormâs interest. He turned in place, looking like he didnât know what to do with his limbs. His hands reached back and caught the edge of his desk, kneading there nervously. âYou⊠sure?â
âQuite.â Perceptor ceased with scrutinizing his targeting lens, but still tensed his fingers around it as he looked at Brainstorm seriously. âI meant the things I said. Especially towards the end.â
The jet seemed skittish; optics cracked wide. He looked like his individual components were threatening to rattle apart but he was keeping them together by sheer force of will. âY-yeah. Okay. I mean, when you left and didnât say anything after⊠And then when you were late this morning⊠I kinda worried, m-maybe you were, uh. Ashamed, or something.â
Perceptorâs expression softened. He could see how Brainstorm might have made that assumption. Gently, he took another step forward and let his field pulse with reassurance and a soft, measured affection. Brainstorm physically eased, optics going liquid.
âBrainstormâŠâ he said, voice gentling. âThe only thing Iâm ashamed of is the fact that itâs taken me so long to set things straight between us.â
Brainstorm froze. Whether he was stunned or simply caught in a lingering grip of uncertainty that he couldnât force himself to part with was unclear. Perceptor braced himself. 100% certainty. âWhen⊠Yesterday.â He couldnât bring himself to elaborate. He cleared his intakes at the memory. âI asked if you wanted me to court you.â
âYeah?â Brainstorm looked at him and braced himself like he was on the brink of running. Whether it was towards Perceptor or away from him was debatable.
âWell?â
The moment was heavy with expectation. Brainstorm cycled his optics several times in succession, causing their light to flutter. âI⊠yes! I said yes, didnât I?â
Perceptor eased. He hadnât noticed when his struts had gone so rigid, but the relief that swept up his spark was immediate. He took a second to refix his targeting lens astutely. If his field gave off a pulse that was a bit self-satisfied, he couldnât help it. âActually, you saidâand I quote: âI want you to frag my lights out.ââ
He felt his frame warm up at the memory. Whatever misgivings he might have had at repeating Brainstormâs course pleaâno doubt spoken in the thoughtless haste of his arousalâhe was rewarded when the jetâs wings bobbed upward and his field gave off a bright wave of joy. âThat I didâŠâ he said with a lilt of smugness. His optics thinned in a hidden grin. âAnd that you did. AndâŠâ He dithered. âUm, what I definitely meant was. Yes. Yes, though. Iâd like that. Iâd really like that.â
Perceptor smiled genuinely. The angle of Brainstormâs wings changed as he watched him, settling into an expression he wasnât sure heâd seen before. They were low, slightly flattened out. The ailerons flared. It was something like joy, but softer. His field gave the emotion a name as it bridged the space between them and touched Perceptorâs. Adoration.
Drawing forward, Perceptor closed the distance between them. Brainstorm leaned his weight back on his hands and fidgeted his fingers along the edge of the desk, still wrestling with that hidden uncertainty. Perceptor reached down to Brainstormâs desk to cover one of his hands with his own. The gesture coaxed his partner into opening up a little, drifting toward him until their faces were close.
âThen do I have permission to begin now?â Perceptor asked, smiling unwavering.
Brainstormâs optics dimmed, posture loosening almost precariously. âDonât let this get to your head or anything,â He managed to keep his words hemmed into his usual smugness. âBut you had permission ages ago.â
Perceptor reached up to Brainstormâs chin and petted his thumb along the bottom edge of his blast mask in a silent question. Brainstorm only belatedly seemed to realize what that question was as his optics hooded dreamily. He jolted as he understood and mentally deactivated the clips keeping his mask in place. Perceptor carefully pulled it away with his free hand, the other remaining on his jaw and stroking the bottom edge of it fondly. He took a second to appreciate the jetâs captivated expression, blush coloring the high points of his face plates. This silly, brilliant, energetic burst of a mech⊠and he was, unfortunately, completely smitten with him. His field bloomed with fondness as he leaned in to kiss him.
rank the dragon age companions by how likely they are to fuck a transformer and which one. you pick the game.
oh my god. this is so powerful.
you KNOW I have to go with DA2. Starting from least likely to most:
#9 Sebastian: His body is for the Maker only đ
#8 Carver: He won't let himself be open-minded enough, for one thing. And I don't think he'd get off on multi-million year old war criminals. I don't think he would fuck Armada Starscream, but I think he should fuck Armada Starscream so they can work out their inferiority complexes together.
#7 Fenris: He's so bitter and intolerant I can't imagine him getting this close to a robot but given the opportunity... IDW Drift.
#6 Aveline: I mean, I feel like she'd shoot the idea down initially, but if she were properly wooed, she could definitely get down with a good robot fuck. She likes 'em boring and honorable. Definitely IDW Ultra Magnus.
#5 Bethany: She's tenderhearted and open-minded. She would definitely fuck a Cybertronian if they showed her some kindness and understanding in turn. Also, mages aren't shy about xeno in my humble opinion. TFP Arcee. -nods sagely-
#4 Varric: He's down. It would make a good story. Like how can he even top a story like this. TFP Predaking for pure virtue of the fact that he's both a robot and a dragon and that makes the story even better.
#3 Anders: He's a tortured soul but he's got his kinks so I'm gonna say TFP Soundwave.
#2 Isabela: Naturally. Why wouldn't you fuck a Cybertronian if you were given the chance? Like, just to say you did? Right? Someone high profile, too. But still sweet. She would be the one to land IDW Optimus Prime.
#1 Merrill: This freak would fuck Unicron himself.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Hey would you like some Brainstorm/Misfire rarepair crack fic with a gun that shoots orgasms? You can read the full fic on ao3
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Brainstorm didnât find himself in his workshop as much as he used to now that heâd partnered with Perceptor in the lab. When he did find himself here, it was usually to facilitate his after-hours tinkering on one of the various commissions he received. Lab resources were only supposed to be used at the behest of the commanding officers, or for things that would benefit the whole shipâwell, at least stuff he could claim was for the benefit of the whole ship. But, as a brilliant mech with a reputation such as his, he was also host to a great number of requests from the crew; body modifications; unique weaponsâimagination was the only upper limit. Occasionally, thanks to some historically ill-advised decisions on his part, he was subject to the occasional inspection to ensure he wasnât doing anything entirely inadvisable in hereâthe ship had pretty well sailed in terms of good faith over his secret projects. But generally speaking, most of what he did in his workshop was relatively private.
So, engrossed as he was with soldering a chip into a facet in his newest micro-displacement mod, he ended up giving a startled jump when a fist started pounding on the workshop door. His hand jittered and he dropped the tiny chip somewhere on his workbench, where it bounced under the myriad of stacked datapads and partially disassembled projects. Dammit.
The knocking came again. The door to the workshop was closed and locked , which he figured was a pretty universal sign for ânot seeing visitors.â Obviously, whoever was doing the knocking wasnât big into reading signs. He ran through a matrix of possibilities as he set his soldering iron aside. Perceptor with something urgent in the lab? Not likely with it being after hours. Ultra Magnus, come with his datapad to prod his works in progress for anything that smacked of breaking the laws of the known universe? Nah⊠fist wasnât heavy enough.Â
Brainstorm opened the door a sliver and looked through to see Misfire, who was grinning as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe like heâd been expecting to be face to face with him from this precise viewing angle. Brainstorm puffed with irritation. Misfire had not been on the list of mechs heâd expected to see here.
âSorry, busy.â He started closing the door without preamble, but Misfire slid his fingers into the gap and pushed it back open before it could fully seal closed.
Misfire awkwardly shimmied his way past the door, fighting against the motors of the automatic closing mechanism before wiggling inside. Brainstorm backed up a step. Heâd worked with the Scavengers before in his bids for materials with the Decepticons, so he knew what they were likeâwhich was to say, virtually harmlessâbut he still wasnât in a hurry to welcome one of the new, relatively unknown Decepticons who had joined the crew into his workshop. Alone. Unsupervised. He jerked his wings up in offense. âWhat do you thââ
âHeeeeey, Brainstorm,â Misfire said with a charming grin. His wings gave a brief, friendly jiggle. âI know, I know. Youâre all like, âwhatâs this guy doing here?â Iâm not here to bother you, Iâmââ
âAlready failed,â Brainstorm interrupted.
âIâm here to clear the air, yanno?â Misfire pressed on. He raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug, striding further into the workshop. Brainstorm shuffled aside to keep from getting batted by one of Misfireâs wings. âI mean, not like there arenât bots on this ship with some history .â He laughed and grabbed a vial off of a shelf and looked at it disinterestedly. âAnd I mean, outside the obvious, even. But I figuredâI thoughtâŠI mean, do they know? â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
I see you got a bot. So instead. Here's a thunk. What is your fave Brainstorm headcanon.
that's a REAL thunker... I have SO MANY headcanons....
i'll give you three because I can't decide:
-Brainstorm has a nervous tic of rubbing at the wrist that his briefcase used to be cuffed to because he was used to having its weight there for centuries
-Brainstorm uses wingspeak instinctively as a flier but doesn't really know wingspeak because he's never been around other fliers much (credit for that one goes to @thevosboss I believe, at least that's where I got it)
-My personal headcanon that not many people probably share is that he has a Brooklyn accent. Jro said it he has an English accent but it's my city now.
