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ppnuggie · 1 year

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　　　　　　 LOST LIGHT x gn human reader

　　　　『　rodimus prime ,, megatron ,, ultra magnus ,, first aid ,, trailcutter ,, whirl ,, rung ,, gender neutral human reader 』

　　-> having the nicki minaj american flag in your room

　　— fluff ,, sfw ,, crack

　　— this came across my mind randomly so heres some hcs about it ,, whats yalls favorite nicki song 🫡😈 if you dont know what flag im talking about its at the end of the post

rodimus prime ::

• hes so excited when you tell him about nicki minaj ,, he loves her music and now ultra magnus has another thing to yell at him for

• he definitely blasts her music on the intercoms ,, no he wont stop ,, hes busy dancing it out on the captain's chair

• he throws a little tantrum when he finds out theres a song based off megatron from her and not a song based off him

• he also plays megatron the song over the intercoms just to piss off megs

• roddy ends up getting him and drift matching nicki minaj flags so then his two besties have matching flags

• drift definitely joins in on the little parties yall throw where you play nicki minaj songs

• he listens to pound the alarm and feeling myself the most tho

ultra magnus ::

• he walks in ,, sees it ,, and immediately gets onto your ass about it ,, how its inappropriate and not a good look for the representative of earth and blah blah blah hes the duly appointed enforcer of the tyrest accord ,, blah blah blah respect something or whatever ,, you didnt bother to listen

• he walks in again ,, sees its still there ,, and sighs as he facepalms ,, hes so done ,, hes ready primus ,, just take him already

• if he hears her music ,, he loses his mind ,, it's inappropriate blah blah blah hes the duly appointed enforcer of the tyrest accord ,, blah blah blah ,, did you just hear what she said ?!!?! that was a curse word !!!

• hes ready to crumble up and die

• he likes to listen to fire burns in private though ,, but hed be so embarrassed if someone found out

megatron ::

• he's astonished ,, hes shocked ,, absolutely boggled ,, panny wicked ,, hes bingled ,, never in his life has he seen a woman like nicki

• he walks out that room so fast ,, hes like ,, nuh uh girl ,, but he realizes hes gonna have to put up with it whenever he walks in

• he just ,, mildly scoots away from the flag every time ,, he has nothing against nicki he just isnt sure about the flag choice or the picture choice of her

• the moment you tell him about her song named after him hes like 🤨🤦‍♀️☹️🤔👿

• in that exact order too

• dont let rodimus find out about it either ,, he wont hear the end of it

first aid ::

• hes also like ,, " oh !" but hes interested ,, he likes her music when you play it for him

• he likes va va voom and beautiful sinner most ,, but he likes a lot of her songs

• he sometimes hums the songs when hes at work

• when hes not at work ,, he's listening to her songs in private

• ambulon caught him busting a move to starships and hes been so embarrassed ever since ,, he just hopes ratchet doesnt know about it (he does)

trailcutter ::

• hes also all for it ,, he likes to stand next to the flag

• he asks about her and her music ,, and now its the only information he thinks about for weeks

• when hes drunk ,, he tells anyone listening at swerves about your flag ,, and nicki minaj

• hes a personal fan of truffle butter ,, yknow hes just that kinda mans

• might drunkenly sing the lyrics incorrectly but he dont care

rung ::

• " oh my !" he covered his glasses ,, turning away the moment he saw it

• hes such a baby about it ,, he doesnt ask about it either ,, just eager to get out so he doesnt have to look

• its okay tho ,, he doesnt judge

• has a spark attack when whirl shows up to appointments wearing it though

whirl ::

• hes all for it ,, first time he saw it he wanted to snatch it for himself

• he has no idea who nicki minaj is but hes already a fan ,, just play him some music of hers

• hes a personal fan of beez in the trap and stupid hoe

• any time you go flying together ,, its the only thing he plays ,, the only music ever

• rung is a little worried ,, cyclonus is fed up ,, and whirl is busy enjoying himself

• he bought one for himself and has it displayed across his cockpit

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sensory-hyra · 3 months

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Ultra Magnus sensory board🚚

The duly appointed enforcer of the Lost Light crew🚚

Part two of the MTMTE sensory board "mini" series! Next sensory board/character: Drift!

#sensory board #blue sensory #red sensory #transformers #mtmte #ultra magnus #idw ultra magnus #transformers idw #transformers mtmte #idw mtmte #transformers sensory boards #stimboard #LITERALLY MY DAD /SRS /COMFORT

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swervenation · 1 year

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Not my duly appointed ass enforcing the Tyrest Accords

#processor malfunction #mtmte #ultra magnus #minimus ambus #fortress maximus #fort max

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gatheringbones · 6 months

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[“The history of the transatlantic slave trade and chattel slavery looms large in contemporary trafficking conversations – often in the form of claims, subtle or not, that modern trafficking is worse than chattel slavery. Politicians and police officers meet to tell each other that ‘there are more slaves now than at any previous point in human history’; a UK former government minister insists that ‘we are facing a new slave trade, whose victims are tortured, terrified East European girls rather than Africans’. Matteo Renzi, then prime minister of Italy, wrote in 2015 that ‘human traffickers are the slave traders of the twenty-first century’. The Vatican claimed that ‘modern slavery’, specifically prostitution, is ‘worse than the slavery of those … who were taken from Africa’. A senior British police officer remarked that ‘the cotton plantations and sugar plantations of the eighteenth and nineteenth century … wouldn’t be as bad as what some victims [today] go through’.

A 2012 anti-trafficking ‘documentary’ that was screened for politicians and policymakers around the world, including in Washington, London, Edinburgh, and at the UN buildings in New York, proclaims: ‘In 1809 the cost of a slave was thirty thousand dollars. In 2009, the cost of a slave is ninety dollars.’ White people co-opting the history of chattel slavery as rhetoric is grim, not least because the term slavery names a specific legal institution created, enforced and protected by the state, which is nowhere near synonymous with contemporary ideas of trafficking. Indeed, the direct modern descendant of chattel slavery in the US is not prostitution but the prison system. Slavery was not abolished but explicitly retained in the US Constitution as punishment for crime in the Thirteenth Amendment of the Bill of Rights, which states that ‘neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction’ (emphasis ours).

The Thirteenth Amendment isn’t just a vestigial hangover. In 2016, the Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee released a statement condemning inmates’ treatment in the prison work system:

Overseers watch over our every move, and if we do not perform our appointed tasks to their liking, we are punished. They may have replaced the whip with pepper spray, but many of the other torments remain: isolation, restraint positions, stripping off our clothes and investigating our bodies as though we are animals.

There are more Black men in the US prison system now than were enslaved in 1850. Seeking to ‘end slavery’ through increased policing and incarceration is a bitterly ironic proposition.

White people in Britain and North America have been very successful at ducking any real reckoning with the legacies of the slave trade. Historian Nick Draper writes, ‘We privilege abolition … If you say to somebody ‘tell me about Britain and slavery’, the instinctive response of most people is Wilberforce and abolition. Those 200 years of slavery beforehand have been elided – we just haven’t wanted to think about it.’ By rhetorically intertwining modern trafficking with chattel slavery, governments and campaigners have been able to hide punitive policies targeting irregular migration behind seemingly uncomplicated righteous outrage.

Men of colour become ‘modern enslavers’ who deserve prosecution or worse. Their ‘human cargo’, figured as being transported against their will, are owed nothing more than ‘humanitarian return’, and the racist trope of border invasion is given a progressive sheen through collective shared horror at the villainy of the perpetrators. Meanwhile, in crackdowns and deportations, European governments position themselves as re-enacting and re-writing the history of anti-slavery movements to make themselves both victims and heroes. Of course, these actions by European governments do harm. For example, their policy of confiscating or destroying smuggling boats has not ‘rescued’ anyone, only induced smugglers to send migrants in less valuable – and less seaworthy – boats, leading to many more deaths. This policy continued for years, despite clear evidence that it was causing deaths. But, faced with twenty-first century ‘enslavers’, there is little need for white reflection. Instead, Renzi later wrote that European nations ‘need to free ourselves from a sense of guilt’ and reject any notion of a ‘moral duty’ to welcome arrivals. At the time of writing, the Italian government’s ‘solution’ to the migrant crisis is to pay for migrants to be incarcerated, stranded in dangerous, disease-ridden detention centres in Libya. As Robyn Maynard writes,

By hijacking the terminology of slavery, even widely referring to themselves as ‘abolitionists’, anti–sex work campaigners … in pushing for criminalization … are often undermining those most harmed by the legacy of slavery. As Black persons across the Americas are literally fighting for our lives, it is urgent to examine the actions and goals of any mostly white and conservative movement who [claim] to be the rightful inheritors of an ‘anti-slavery’ mission which aims to abolish prostitution but both ignores and indirectly facilitates brutalities waged against Black communities.

What does the fight to save people from ‘modern slavery’ look like on the ground? In 2017, police in North Yorkshire told journalists that they were fighting to rescue ‘sex slaves’ and asked members of the public to call in with tips, adding that the ‘sex slaves’ themselves ‘are prepared to do it [sell sex], they believe there is nothing wrong in it … We have just got to … educate them that they are victims of human trafficking.’ It seems fairly obvious that women who are ‘prepared to do it’ and ‘believe there is nothing wrong with it’ will not particularly benefit from being ‘educated’ about the fact that they are victims of trafficking – which in England and Wales means a forty-five-day ‘respite period’ (frequently disregarded) followed by a ‘humanitarian’ deportation.”]

molly smith, juno mac, from revolting prostitutes: the fight for sex workers’ rights, 2018

#molly smith #juno mac #history stuff #currently reading #cw racism

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noodleblade · 10 months

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Dense but bright

Summary: Unfortunately for Perceptor, no matter how many foolish, inane attempts he made, each one had gone…unnoticed.

For Brainstorm, while an astoundingly brilliant and bright mech, was painfully, tormentingly oblivious. -- Or, Perceptor struggles to confess his affections for Brainstorm.

Ao3 Link x Enjoy!:)

The scenario had grown decidedly frustrating. Perceptor stood stiffly as he shifted from pede to pede, waiting for Brainstorm to open the small box. He could only watch with a mixture of absolutely dread and terribly, horrible, burning adoration as Brainstorm’s optics cycled wide and brightened at the small vial now cupped gently in his servos.

KClO3, otherwise known as potassium chlorate. Highly reactive, highly sensitive, highly dangerous. Innocuously packaged and neatly contained, but no less deadly. Just like Brainstorm and his maddening ingenuity; just like the quarrelsome feelings Perceptor held for the other mech.

A soft gasp whistled through Brainstorm’s blast mask, optics darting from Perceptor to the vial and then back again.

“Oh, Percy , it’s perfect!”

Perceptor’s spark spun rapidly in his chassis as Brainstorm beamed. Even with the mask affixed, the jet’s unbridled joy was evident, fanning out in waves across their quiet lab. Brainstorm immediately started rambling about all his plans for the white crystalline powder, wings fluttering to match his excited speech.

The swarming enthusiasm had Perceptor fighting back his own small smile, his spark threatening to nose dive directly into his tank. He’d never felt so off-kiltered, so unbalanced in the desire to simply just be around a mech, let alone Brainstorm . But, as the cycles passed, it had become ever-so-clear that Perceptor had become wholly and truly infatuated. His processor delighted in cataloging and recording Brainstorm’s reactions, already eagerly thinking up new ways to get repeated results, desperate to find a way to live in these moments a little longer without having to voice his own confession.

In truth, that really all this was: yet another poorly concealed way for Perceptor to express his affections, to confess his feelings. Not just of that as a colleague- he knew he had obtained that long before these sticky, messy feelings clung to his spark -and not just that of a friend- that territory itself was still new -but of a partner , encompassing both colleague and friend but also more . Unfortunately for Perceptor, no matter how many foolish, inane attempts he made, each one had gone…unnoticed.

For Brainstorm, while an astoundingly brilliant and bright mech, was painfully, tormentingly oblivious.

“How’d you get this?” Brainstorm asked with optics so bright they were blinding. “I put the request in three times and Ultra Magnus vetoed it every time before it could even reach Rodimus’s desk. ‘Insufficient reason’, my aft. You must have really oiled him up.”

Warmth crawled across Perceptor’s plating, a flush of embarrassment curling in his circuits.

He had been well aware of Brainstorm’s failed attempts in trying to acquire the chemical substance. He had watched the repetitive cycle go on for weeks. Request submitted: Submittal denied: Denial complained about in length to Perceptor while pacing back and forth across the center of the lab, finding equally crude, yet impressive elaborate insults to vent his anger at Ultra Magnus before calming down to try again. Rinse and repeat.

He highly doubted if the requests had managed to reach Rodimus’s desk that the Captain would look at them himself. Undoubtedly, the fate would remain the same as they would surely be passed right back to the Former Duly-Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord who would issue the same scathing denial.

Perceptor, on the other hand, only needed to submit his request to Drift and within three cycles his inquiry was approved, funded and in servo. Granted, he did have to withstand the exposing humiliation of Drift wishing him “good luck!” with a cheeky wink, but that had all washed away in simply seeing the delight blossom from Brainstorm.

“It’s all about knowing who to ask,” Perceptor said quietly, swallowing down the nervous static that tried to hang onto his words. “I hope it helps in your research.”

“It will!” Brainstorm beamed, his field wide, encompassing and warm. “Thanks, Percy! I don’t know what I would do without you.”

In his processor, he could see Drift nodding encouraging, whispering, ‘Go on! Now, tell him how you feel. This is the moment.’

The words were on the edge of his glossa, threatening to spill from his lips. They were simple- nothing grand or extravagant -precise, and painstakingly practiced every recharge cycle he failed to utter them. They had become a horrible mantra of failure. It would be so easy to say them now and yet, the very thought brought the familiar grip of trepidation over his spark. What if his words were not well-received?

“Just try not to blow anything up,” Perceptor muttered instead, quickly turning around to retreat to his work station as shame and disappointment pushed down on his shoulders.

Behind him, Brainstorm let out a maniacal chuckle. “No promises!”

It shouldn’t have been endearing. It shouldn’t have made his spark strain in his chassis. It shouldn’t have been immediately recorded into his memory banks to play on repeat for the cycles to come…and yet. Perceptor bowed his helm onto his workbench, letting the cool metal sink into this plating.

Even with the swordsmech on the other side of the ship, Perceptor could still hear Drift groaning in his audials at yet another missed opportunity. It was becoming an all too familiar experience. He could already imagine yet another demoralizing walk of shame to the back corner of Swerve’s where Drift would spend the rest of the evening attempting to rally Perceptor up once more to try again. He’s surprised Drift had the emotional stamina to keep the effort going.

Then again, this was owed. Perceptor couldn’t count the number of late night talks where Drift bemoaned his fragile and tenuous friendship with CMO. Which was saying something as Perceptor loved to count the integers of Pi as a relaxation exercise. Regardless, since the coupling of the TIC and the medic, the direction of their relationship talks shifted to that of Perceptor and Brainstorm. Drift was ever eager to find Perceptor the same happiness he finally snagged for himself.

“You deserve to be happy and in love too,” Drift has insisted with soft, quiet words. “We both do. We’ve all been through too much.”

They had tried everything from gifts to friendly, affectionate touches to outings of not-quite dates that fell under the painfully flimsy label of “shop talk” . Each attempt had been eagerly, warmly accepted. Each time, hope bobbed up Perceptor’s intake, only for Brainstorm to smash it with a beaming grin of how Perceptor was such “a good friend” or “ the best lab partner a mech could ask for.” All horribly, pitifully platonic. Perceptor couldn’t remember a time that such simple friendship felt like an agonizing punishment.

“You know there is a simple way to remedy this,” Drift had pressed one cycle, optics cast in a knowing light. “If you just tell him, I’m sure he’ll be more than receptive. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, how he talks to you, about you-”

Perceptor, aim true as always, narrowed his gaze at Drift pointedly. Drift had little room to be suggesting a verbal confession when for months Perceptor had given him the exact same advice only for the swordsmech to hem and haw and ultimately avoid it just as he was doing now.

Still, it didn’t stop the TIC from being correct nor did it stop Perceptor’s simulations showing him the repeated evidence supporting the claim. It had worked for Cyclonus and Tailgate and for Drift and Ratchet eventually ; it even worked for their not-so illustrious Captain and his staunch Second despite neither of them being genuinely forthcoming with their feelings or emotions.

Perceptor just…wasn’t ready to verbalize his feelings. Not yet. Not when the very idea of having to stand before Brainstorm and utter such words sent his processor into a tizzy. Scrap, just trying to pass over a small gift as a token of affection, nearly crashed his neural net under the mounting anxiety.

Perceptor lifted his helm with a heavy exvent and looked down at his datapad of research notes. He needed to clear his mind, have a moment of peace and focus on his work for a few blissful hours before he attempted to confront his feelings again.

He flicked on the datapad and started to review his notes. Distantly, he could hear Brainstorm humming from his side of the lab, the soft clinking of glass as he fiddled with his newly procured chemical. It was…distracting. Perceptor’s processor drifted away from his own words to attempt visualizing what Brainstorm was doing.

Were his wings fluttering to the rhythm of his hums? Was he scrawling his incomprehensible doodles and notes across the messy scattered datapads that littered his work station? Did his optics hold the brilliant glow of focus and excitement so unique to Brainstorm that Perceptor could only ever picture his lab partner with such a look in his optics and hope one day it may be aimed towards him?

A frustrated groan bubbled up his intake as he pushed the datapad away. The glyphs of his own notes were suddenly unintelligible, not that he could focus on anything with his processor so tied up in everything that was Brainstorm. He brought his servo to his helm, digit lightly rubbing his crest to help sooth the mounting helmache. He just needed to concentrate and forget about Brainstorm for just one klik-

“Uh, Perc?”

Perceptor jumped, startled despite his mind being laser focused on the only other mech in the room. He stumbled to his pedes, spinning around to find Brainstorm leaning towards him, their faces just a scant few inches apart. Brainstorm’s optics were soft and concerned. Perceptor felt like his spark was going to fall out of his mouth.

“You okay? You’ve been staring at the table for a while.”

Embarrassment locked his intake shut, keeping any fumbling words lodged tight behind his denta. The proximity was hindering his fine motor-functions, leaving Perceptor to jerkily nod his helm. Embarrassment crawled across his plating. Primus.

Brainstorm didn’t seem convinced, his field lightly poking Perceptor’s retracted one. “Want me to walk you down to Ratchet? You’ve been acting so strange lately. Maybe you got a virus or something.”

The last place he wanted to go was the medbay. Undoubtedly, unless he was on shift, Drift would be there and see yet another example of his failure in doing such a simple task of just stating how he feels and-

Perceptor wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry or scream. He’d been under far more stressful situations than this. He’d survived a war, lost an optic, watched mechs die and perish around him and yet, the simple act of telling a mech he liked that he may adore them, set his systems into an emergency lockdown. He needed space, he needed to think, he needed to recenter himself because there was no scavenging a meaningful conversation out of this.

He took a step back and instantly collided with his workbench, the various instruments and datapads rattling loudly against the metal. Before him, Brainstorm’s wings dropped and the jet quickly stepped away, field retracting in so quickly it left the room blisteringly cold.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you,” Brainstorm continued to back off, helm bowed and optics locked on the ground. “Probably spooked you. My mistake. I’ll just leave you alone for a bit.”

Perceptor’s HUD flashed warning lights. This was not his intended response. He had not meant to snub the other mech or push him away. Seeing Brainstorm dejected and down by Perceptor’s doing, was enough to spur his movement, hydraulics hissing as he stumbled forward and clumsily landed his servo on Brainstorm’s shoulder pauldron.

The jet flinched, optics darting up to stare at Perceptor. He quickly retracted his servo, letting it simply hover between them uncertainly. This was not how Perceptor wanted this to go. Not at all.

“I’m sorry about my behavior,” Perceptor forced out, the words stilted and not at all what he should be saying. The haunting vision of Drift stood behind Brainstorm, nodding his helm encouragingly, desperately so. “I didn’t mean to react so...You startled me.” Hesitantly, he added, “You are never bothersome.”

Giddy warmth bloomed across Brainstorm’s field. If his mask was off, Perceptor was sure the jet would be smiling. His processor was delighted in procuring images of such an instance.

“Never caught you unawares before,” Brainstorm hummed happily, optics flashing up and down Perceptor’s frame like he could find the irregularity that had his coworker in such a tizzy. Woefully unaware of his effects on the microscope entirely. “Usually you are too observant.”

I can’t keep my optics off of you.

Perceptor quickly discarded that speech suggestion. It was from one of Drift’s many lent datapads on romance and courtship. It was cheesy, un-Perceptor in every way possible, but the urge to say it was right there, on the edge of his glossa. Along with hundreds of others.

Come on, do it now, Percy.

Perceptor looked away from Brainstorm and took a safe step back towards his station. He turned to his workbench, optics affixed to the clean top.

“Perceptor?”

He could hear Drift’s quiet, exasperated exvent. The swordsmech didn’t need to be there to point out that opportunity had presented itself and Perceptor was wasting it. Again .

Just be honest.

“You…” Perceptor started softly. His back was still turned to Brainstorm and his helm ducked down to stare at his incomprehensible notes. They looked like gibberish now, foreign and not by his own hand. “You mean a lot to me. I will always aid you in your endeavors. As convoluted and anine as they may be. I want to support you anyway I can, and be by your side to watch you succeed.”

There. He said it. Finally.

Horrible, haunting silence greeted him. He waited a klik, then two, hoping perhaps the other scientist just needed a moment. His words were sudden after all, and maybe he just needed the moment to process it. But all he got was quiet stillness.

Perceptor twitched, servos clenching into tight fists as he let out a steadying exvent. Perhaps he had miscalculated.

Peeking over his shoulder, Perceptor found Brainstorm in a similar state, back facing Perceptor, helm bowed, servos resting over his helm and wings trembling-

“Brainstorm?” Worry seeped into his words.

The jet withered, wings tucked low and protectively over his form.

“Brainstorm,” Perceptor tried again, slowly approaching the other. “Are you okay?”

“Excellent,” came the muffled reply, words spoken into his servos rather than to Perceptor. “I need a moment.”

“Was it something I said?”

“No, no,” Brainstorm was quick to wave off before returning his servo to cover his helm. “You’re perfect as always. It’s just me. I’ll get over it. Promise. I don’t want to make this weird.”

Perceptor frowned. If anyone was making this weird it was him and his inability to properly handle his feelings. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

A small groan left Brainstorm, digits digging into the seams of his helm. “I have a tendency to misread a mech’s kindness.” The voice was Brainstorm’s, sad and longing and bitter, but the words were not his own. Immediately, the bitterness dropped from his field, leaving only melancholy. “I just- you mean a lot to me too and I don’t want to ruin our partnership.”

Ruin it?

“I don’t believe you can ruin it,” Perceptor spoke softly, hoping to comfort and soothe despite his nerves clinging to his plating.

“Don’t jinx me, Percy,” Brainstorm taunted bitterly. “I have a knack for it. I let my emotions get the better of me.

“Emotions,” Perceptor repeated quietly, hope blooming in his chassis as the edges of anxieties pulled at his wires.

“I mean, I’m not exactly subtle,” Brainstorm spoke quietly, as if hoping Perceptor would not hear him. They still made their way to Perceptor’s audials, sinking into his processor as understanding stabbed him through the spark.

“Oh,” he said weakly. “I see.”

“Told you I could ruin it.” Brainstorm curled in on himself, his field coiled tightly to his frame. “Um, maybe I should leave. Give you some space. We can just forget today ever happened all together. Yeah, actually, let’s do that. If I bother Chromedome enough, maybe he can wipe it from both our processors-”

“Brainstorm-” Perceptor interrupted. The jet was spiraling. While Perceptor could more than relate, he much rather make some imperative corrections. “It appears I may have misrepresented myself these past few weeks.” Perceptor winced at his next words. “I thought my advances were also quite…obvious?”

“ Advances ,” Brainstorm repeated the word. He whipped his helm around to look at Perceptor, optics cycling wide as the word registered. “Romantic advances?”

Perceptor averted his gaze, tank threatening to flip. “Yes.”

“So the gifts…and meet ups at Swerve’s…and-” Brainstorm let out a harsh exvent, optics blindingly bright. “ We were going on dates. ”

“That had been my intention, yes.”

A high pitched whine echoed from Brainstorm intake, the jet looked flustered. His wings fluttered nervously. Perceptor broached the remaining distance and watched Brainstorm seize up. He brought his hand up between them and in a moment of true boldness, cupped Brainstorm’s cheek. His touch was light, easy for either of them to back away. After an agonizing klik, Brainstorm pressed into it.

“I see,” the jet murmured, the edges of warmth in his voice. “Oops.”

Perceptor couldn’t help the small chuckle that left him.

“Primus,” he whispered, digit gently brushing just beneath Brainstorm’s optic housing; a heavy intake of air whistling through the gaps in the jet’s mask. “For such a brilliant mech, you are so, so dense.”

Perceptor was not much better, but he was willing to ignore that little fact.

“I’m not…” Brainstorm struggled to speak, optics too bright and too wide. “I’m not dense . You're dense.” A moment passed as Brainstorm hesitantly leaned back into Perceptor’s touch. “Brilliant?”

Perceptor couldn’t help but smile. “Focus.”

“I am,” Brainstorm let out with a sigh, wings fluttering happily. “You called me brilliant.” Turning into Perceptor’s palm, Brainstorm nuzzled it affectionately. “You’re amazing too. Not as amazing as me, but a close second. Like, a micron behind me.”

“Charming.” Perceptor couldn’t even try for any sarcasm, his spark spinning around utterly smitten.

“It should be, not many come anywhere close to us. We’re amazing.” Brainstorm cautiously raised his servo to rest over Perceptor’s, locking it to his cheek. “So, that means…you like me?”

Perceptor swallowed the static in his intake and nodded. “I do.”

“Fantastic,” Brainstorm beamed, optics casted in a soft, focused glow. “So…um, do I get a retry for a drink at Swerve’s?”

“A date,” Perceptor corrected, hesitant for only a moment before a warm chuckle whistled through Brainstorm’s mask.

“A date. Oh, and for the record, I like you too.”

Perceptor’s processor wasted no kliks in recorded that.

#simpatico #brainstorm #perceptor #mtmte #transformers #maccadam #my fics

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witchofthesouls · 1 year

Note

Do you know of the Ancient Greek courtesan who was on trial but was pardoned because she flashed the court her breasts and said some Mr hint along the lines of “it would be a crime to destroy these perfect creations.”

You cannot tell me that this doesn’t have LL Giant ! Liaison shenanigans written all over it!

(Thank you, anon, for that joy. Humans be humans, even thousands of years ago. For anyone else's interest, it's Phryne the Thespian. Her beauty was so famed that she is credited to inspire many influential works, such as Praxiteles' Aphrodite of Cnidus and Apelles' Aphrodite Anadyomene. In that trial, she was acquitted when her breasts were exposed. It was argued her great beauty was shaped by the Gods, so it would be blasphemous to kill or imprison their work.)

You're jogging after Ultra Magnus' back. Despite your increased size, that mech is still massive with long legs that ate the ground with each quick step.

He quickly gets you inside the captain's office and immediately locks it down. Rodimus is at his desk, datapads all over the place, even on the floor, and he brightens up at visitors, hands stopping from carving deeper into the desk.

Ultra Magnus' clears his intake in a very pointed manner, chin darting to a specific point in the room.

"Roddy, what the fuck!?"

Over the fish tank, there's a new portrait. Back home, it wouldn't be too risque. Something on the scale of sexy pin-up on a magazine cover in the grocery store, but you've been around Cybertronians long enough that it's considered hedonistic.

It's set inside of a car alt-mode with the obvious Autobot insignia on the steering wheel and sprawled across the front bench seat is the focal point.

From their standards, there's an obscene amount of fabric, a rich Autobot-red, pooling beneath bare legs and caressing the plush leather. The legs are bent and thrown across the dashboard and seat, and sharp high-heels bite into the leather, showcasing pressure and leverage as the other is resting through the wheel. The artist is familiar enough with the concept of nail polish since the same vivid red is painted across toes and fingernails.

The top of the garment is being loosened with one hand pulling it to the side, flashing and teasing with more bare flesh covered with lace, ribbons hanging loose. A gloved hand is about to pull off the tactical mask. A slow, sensual tease of contradiction. Vulnerable and willingly taking off the only protective piece.

Even with the obscured face, it isn't hard to figure out it's you.

You are, quite literally, the only human on board the spaceship, and the fucking subject is a human with your damn heels you used in one of the modeling classes.

"You like?" Rodimus' spoiler bounces excitedly. "Sunstreaker said I'm getting better with movement, and it's my best work yet!"

"There's more," you and Ultra Magnus' words overlap with different tones: curious disbelief and resigned trepidation.

Of course, Rodimus pulls out a datapad from the bottom, the stack wobbling dubiously before settling, and rushes over to show off his progress.

"Rodimus," Ultra Magnus sighs. "this is against the Autobot Code: Article-"

"Wait!" You interrupt, stalling from flipping through more sketches of your poses and his random exercises. "There's rules about that?"

"Yes," the ever-serious Duly Appointed Enforcer spoke.

"Yeah, but Article 369 is about commercialized pieces, Mags." Rodimus crows, pointing at his work with a thumb. "And that beauty is done by my own servos."

You and Ultra Magnus shared a moment that Roddy could look up official doctrines, and the taller mech deeply sighs. "No. It violates the article 343 on the conduct of offices. As well as Article 34 for the violation of improper licensing on artistic production."

You're seeing the loophole that a "scandalous" piece can be placed in a private setting that isn't for public view, but you're not saying anything about that.

#ask #transformers #transformers idw #idw #mtmte #ultra magnus #rodimus prime #rodimus #reader insert #cybertronian culture #culture clash #art modeling #tf headcanons #my writing #Roddy is ridiculously proud of that piece

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