#Simpatico week

[ihatebrainstorm]

I uh.. ya g guh yea yuh huh squeeble deeble

[mnemo-sick]

hey yall,

I'm doing a project where I want to cite some brainstorm / perceptor interactions, and I'm looking for the one where brainstorm says something like "got any theories? I've got hundreds!" and perceptor says "sounds like you've got a lot of eliminating to do"

Does anyone remember which issue this is from? It would help me a lot.

Thanks

[in1-nutshell]

Can i request mtmte Simpatico, the youngling, getting kidnapped by the djd? What would happen? Will they survive?

I nearly had to do a double take reading this. Poor little Simpatico...

Hope you enjoy!

Simpatico's encounter with the DJD

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Slight Angst, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

Simpatico, like every bot, had a bad habit that they couldn’t seem to shake off.

Some of the habits were more manageable, like Rung’s sweet tooth for rust sticks.

Other habits were a bit more ingrained, like Brainstorm and Perceptor’s time in the lab affecting their sleep schedule.

Simpatico’s habit was a strange one.

They could sleep at will anywhere at any time.

From sleeping in the vents to sleeping on top of Chromedome’s shoulders.

It also didn’t help that they were THE heaviest sleeper on the ship.

At Swerve’s… Simpatico was drinking some of their energon while talking to Chromedome and Whirl. Whirl: “I don’t believe you.” Simpatico: “You don’t think I can?” Whirl: “I bet…” Whirl quickly looked around. Whirl: “If you really sleep on command, I’ll personally get some of those energon goodies that Brainstorm has.” Simpatico thinks for a minute. Simpatico: “And pray tell, how are you going to do that.” Whirl swings an arm around Chromedome. Whirl: “That’s why Chromedome’s here.” Chromedome: “Wait what? I didn’t agree to this.” Whirl: “Too late. You in Sim—” SLAM! Simpatico’s face hit the bar counter, their entire frame suddenly going lax, with soft snores following. Whirl blinks. Whirl: “I did not see that coming.” Chromedome sighs as he carefully scoops up Simpatico in his arms. They were still sound asleep in the mechs arms. Chromedome: “Just wait until they wake up in a couple of hours. You better have those goodies.” Whirl: “And like I said, that’s why you’re here.” Chromedome: “…I should have stayed in the habsuite with Rewind…”

It had been a stressful couple of weeks on the Lost Light.

The ship was getting repairs on one of the engines from some large space debris.

The lab was getting washed after Brainstorm decided to experiment with some sort organic slime and to make a long story short, the slime had some corrosive properties.

Because of this experiment, it caused a fight between Brainstorm and Perceptor.

Leaving poor Simpatico confused and alone.

Brainstorm: “I say we move it back!” Perceptor: “We have to move it forward!” Brainstorm shoving his helm into Perceptor’s helm harshly. Brainstorm: “Back!” Perceptor pushes Brainstorm back with his helm. Perceptor: “Forward!” Brainstorm: “Back!” Perceptor: “Forward!” Simpatico: “Can I say something?” Both mechs look angrily at them. Brainstorm and Perceptor: “NO!” Simpatico: “…I’m just going to go see what Chromedome’s doing now…”

After the worse of the fight the two mechs refused to talk to each other.

Simpatico couldn’t sleep at night after that fight.

A whole 2 weeks later and the youngling was running on fumes.

Thank Primus for caffeinated energon.

But even that was starting to lose its effects.

Eventually after doing an inspection around the lower deck, Simpatico saw a lovely, quiet crate with their name on it.

They crawled inside the empty crate and turned off their comm line.

If someone wanted to get them, they were going to have to come downstairs and get them.

The youngling was out like a light.

A trap door underneath one of the floor panels slowly opens. Out comes out the leader of the DJD, Tarn, Tesarus, and Kaon. Kaon: “I didn’t think that would work.” Tarn: “Well it didn’t. We were supposed to enter to the upper deck. Not the lower deck!” Tesarus just looks around and spots some crates. Tarn: “How are we supposed to offline Megatron without triggering the alarms and making a scene!?” Tesarus: “Why wouldn’t we want to trip the alarm?” Tarn: “Because I don’t want a certain minibot to slap my helm right up my—” Tesarus grabs the crate with Simpatico. Tesarus: “Let’s just take this crate and think of a new plan later. Helex and Vos are going to beam us any minute now.” Tarn: “That’s… not a bad idea. Forgive me for the shouting.” Tesarus: “Please, after you Tarn, Kaon.” The DJD members slipped back into the floor panel and teleported back to their ship, flying fast and far away from the Lost Light. Somewhere on the ship… Chromedome suddenly gets the chills. Rewind: “You okay?” Chromedome: “Something just happened… Something bad…”

Back on the DJD’s ship…

The team was currently getting the scolding of a lifetime.

Why?

Because Kaon opened the crate revealing a sleeping youngling.

A youngling blissfully unaware that they were currently with the most feared group of Decepticon’s in the universe.

The mech’s were surprised to see a seemingly unaligned bot sleeping in the crate, and one that was a heavy sleeper.

They began to discuss what they were going to do with the youngling when Nickle came in and saw the youngling.

Tarn is still not sure how the youngling did not wake up from Nickle’s scolding.

She swiftly told them to get the youngling to somewhere safe and where they could call for help.

Tarn tried to reason with the minibot, but her word was law.

… and the last time he went against her word, Tarn found several sharp ended bolts up… some rather uncomfortable places…

The ship hadn’t even docked on the nearest planet before Tarn kicked the crate off the ship.

The crate bounce around the dusty terrain before coming to a full stop.

Simpatico was still sound asleep.

Meanwhile on the Lost Light… Most of the scientist and engineers are looking around the clock for any sign for Simpatico’s signal. Brainstorm was in the lab getting some weapons in top shape, getting ready for any battle that could come. Perceptor is on the main deck with the officers. Rodimus: “What do you think the DJD could have been doing on the lower decks?” Megatron: “Probably for an ambush.” Rodimus: “But why take Simpatico?” Magnus notices Perceptor flinching a bit. Magnus: “Rodimus—” Megatron: “There could be a number of reasons why.” Magnus: “Megatron please—” Megatron: “For example, hostage situation, but they would have broadcasted something by now.” Rodimus: “What about an exchange?” Magnus: “Both of you—” SLAM! Perceptor slams his servo on the desk. Perceptor: “SHUT IT!” Everyone: “…” Perceptor sighs heavily: “Our priority right now is finding Simpatico. Not to guess what they… they are…” PING! Perceptor’s neck turns so quickly half the bots int eh room are convinced he snapped it. It was a video call from Brainstorm. He opens the call. Perceptor: “Brainstorm what have you—" Brainstorm: “I FOUND THEM!”

One of the tracking devices Simpatico still hadn’t picked out gave the Lost Light a location was to look.

Everyone knew it wasn’t wise to get their hopes up.

They all knew what the DJD was capable of.

It didn’t take them long to get to the planet.

The crew was half expecting Tarn to be out in the open with his team, but there was no sign of the Cons anywhere.

Perceptor and Brainstorm were one of the first ones out of the ship.

The crew looked around for a bit, all of edge in case of an ambush.

Perceptor was the one who found the dinged-up crate.

The pair slowly walked to it.

There seemed no sign of the crate being tampered with or an explosive attached to it.

Brainstorm’s servos shook as he slowly opened the lid of the crate.

The pair was mentally preparing themselves to find their sparklings remains.

But no, Simpatico was there, completely unharmed sleeping.

Simpatico slowly opening their optics. They look up to see a distraught Perceptor and crying Brainstorm. They slowly start blinking the sleep from their optics and slowly get up. Suddenly they get yanked upwards, and two chassis start squishing them. Simpatico: “Stormy? Percy? What’s going on?” They feel something wet falling down their helm. They don’t know which one is crying harder. Probably both. Simpatico: “Guys?” The crying continues. The youngling temporarily gives up and gently rubs circles on their parents’ servos in comfort. Whatever just happened it must have spooked them badly if Perceptor was openly crying with Brainstorm.

When they get to the ship, Brainstorm puts more tracking devices on Simpatico’s plating.

Perceptor hovers around Simpatico for 2 weeks.

His partner does it for 2 months straight before Chromedome and Rewind had to step in.

Simpatico was temporarily not allowed to go around the ship by themselves without a trusted bot with them.

Whirl is banned from this list.

The youngling also gets more sleep studies done.

Simpatico, seen here sleeping while everyone is loosing their minds

[myemuisemo]

In approaching the first chapter of The Hound of the Baskervilles in this week's Letters from Watson, I initially felt that I was sort of cheating as I know I've read this more recently than middle childhood. Then I read the first chapter and realized my memory of the story consists of a vague impression that it has a moor and a dog. Oh well.

Mortimer's staff being referred to as a "Penang lawyer" reminds us that when you live in a colonialist society, the mindset is everywhere. The staff is presumably made from Licuala acutifida, a sort of cane native to China, southeast Asia, and Pacific Islands. By 1889, when the novel is set (five years after the date on the walking stick), British Malaya had been under direct crown rule for a couple decades. The Brits had owned Penang since at least the secret Burney Treaty of 1826.

Dr. Watson's initial wrong guesses provide a window into his world and preconceptions. My first reaction was "how did he think hunt rather than hospital when he himself has medical training?"

Growing up in the genteel countryside would explain "hunt." But Charing Cross Hospital, then located just off the Strand, would have been only about two miles from Baker Street. How do you miss a large hospital?

There might be a titch of snobbery in play, as Watson did his residency at much, much older Barts (St. Bartholomew's). Barts dates from the 12th century, while Charing Cross Hospital was an early 19th century upstart. Watson also went for additional training at the military hospital at Netley.

Watson really puts up with a lot, though.

James Mortimers' publications focus on the idea that illness stems from throwbacks to a more primitive state, an idea also applied to criminology of the day. Through 2024 eyes, this is unlikely to be a good thing, but let's see where Doyle goes with it. I have faith in Holmes due to his love of that book that attributes much of human civilization to non-white world cultures. (Coveting Holmes' skull reeks of phrenology, but I can't believe this was meant as an appealing trait.)

After being informed that Sholto was based on Oscar Wilde, I'm wondering which of Doyle's acquaintances was the pattern for James Mortimer (who is not addressed as "doctor" because he's a surgeon; it's a British thing).

While Holmes describes Mortimer as "amiable" before meeting him, he does not find being described as "the second highest expert in Europe" all that simpatico. There's some impatience in Holmes' chapter-ending request that Mortimer explain why he's there.

At this early stage, I dislike James Mortimer. It's partly the nature of his publications, but also the false humility of calling himself a "dabbler in science" when he in fact has publications, an award, and a degree. It's dabbling to collect bones or bugs or whatever and be perpetually working on a treatise that never gets finished or published. It's not dabbling when you have official recognition within your chosen career for your research.

So what is Mortimer here about?

[noodleblade]

Preview snippet for the @tf-bigbang! Worked on this with @elmonstro who did stunning art for our chaotic simpatico expedition project! <333 can't wait for you guys to see our works in full next week!!!!!

Surely, everything goes according to plan:3

[cellarspider]

11/30: Full steam ahead

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We return to Body Desecrator 2093, Prometheus. There were no post this weekend because I felt like it. Now I feel like it even less, because it’s this scene.

The horrors do not end here. The movie hasn’t even got to what it considers horrors, but I’d already screamed quietly at the screen by this point several times, so it’s safe to say that me and the movie were not simpatico.

There are times when a movie will do things that fall entirely outside your personal beliefs or understanding of logic, and you just roll with it. Magical realism does this all the time, as do movies reaching for the psychedelic. 2001: A Space Odyssey eventually dissolves reality itself around the protagonist as he travels through another dimension. On the first sit, you have no way of knowing what you’ll be shown next, but if the movie’s got you, then you go with it.

Then there are movies where everyone is acting according to some sort of logic, but it feels twisted, like things are happening for a reason, but the logic doesn’t connect. Horror movies love this, particularly ones with cultic antagonists–Midsommar being the most notable modern example, and the original Wicker Man being another.

I mean, the Nick Cage movie also has that, but sometimes it has that because Nick Cage is in a bear costume, punching a woman in the face and stealing bicycles at gunpoint like he’s in GTA.

Prometheus, unfortunately, unintentionally places itself somewhere between the two Wicker Men. The characters’ decision making is a shambolic mess. The movie intentionally invokes religious fervor in Shaw especially, and might intentionally invoke that plus megalomania in Holloway, but it doesn’t draw a line around those characters and their bad decisions. Everyone is just going with their bullshit. This suggests to the audience that in the movie’s world all scientists behave like this.

I mean, in our world, scientists sometimes try to fit entire oranges in their mouths (source), but I should like to think that The Orange Incident wouldn’t have happened if that guy had been on board the most important scientific expedition in human history.

Things just kept happening in this movie that made me feel like I was dissociating. The cast is back at the Prometheus, with their stolen artifacts and mortal remains. Cool. They need to be decontaminated. Like, inside and out.

Next, we see Shaw and Holloway in a lab, along with Maybe-Chemist-Lady whose name fell right out of my head as I watched, because she’s never given a character to speak of. They are wearing scrubs, hairnets, and blue surgical masks, which tells me the movie thinks this is appropriate personal protective equipment for handling an alien head. Holloway is sitting on a counter in the corner, getting drunk.

So many things have just hit me here. How long is this since they got back? Apparently no more than a couple hours. These people took their helmets off in an active alien biosphere, with worms in the dirt and an alien corpse on the ground and who knows what else. They should be quarantined forever, or at least for a couple weeks. 

When the Apollo 11 crew got back to Earth, they were quarantined for 21 days. NASA didn’t consider it likely that anything lived on the moon, but they were taking no chances. Here’s Nixon getting a chance to see what good people look like!

But no! No quarantine for Prometheus! The guys who breathed moon dust? Into the quarantine trailer. The people who stuck their faces near an alien corpse? Nah! It’s all good!

What about the head they looted from the structure? These people already got a dramatic reminder that altering the conditions around sensitive artifacts can cause them to degrade. I’ve already rambled at length about how NASA still sterilizes their equipment to not contaminate anywhere probes are sent to. Hell, as a geneticist, I can tell you that there is a very strict hierarchy of sample isolation and biosafety deployed when it’s appropriate–either you work fucking hard to protect the samples from you, or you work hard to protect yourself from the sample. 

But the crew of the Prometheus have scanned the head with a little light and declared “Sample is sterile. No contagion present”, which is an odd thing to declare now, after they already breathed all over it. Trusting their all-knowing (and wrong) computer, they take their surgical masks off. Fully sealed suits? A glovebox? Even movies show people using a glovebox sometimes!

NOPE! HAIRNETS AND A LABCOAT, LET’S GO

Do we kick out Shaw’s boyfriend who’s in his casual clothes? NAH, LET THE MAN BE COMFY. Are we going to pry the bottle away from him, because bringing drinks into a lab breaks basic safety standards? Standards that I’ve only ever seen broken by one place that also allowed open-toe sandals in a lab where boiling hot gel and mutagenic chemicals were regularly mixed? NOPE, LET HIM HAVE HIS BOOZE, HE’S SAD HE DIDN’T GET TO MEET GOD.

Don’t worry, that one lab doesn’t do the sandal thing anymore. And Holloway will pay for his crimes against laboratory safety.

But I can't stress enough how utterly uncanny this scene felt, unintentionally on the part of the movie. Every decision felt wrong. Everything everyone was doing, saying, and wearing was wrong. They’re not even wearing the right kind of gloves! They should at minimum be wearing nitrile gloves! They’re wearing PVC gloves, which have stupid high leakage rates, even if you double-glove! They’re not even more comfortable than nitrile gloves! This is my nittest of picks, I know! I’m doing it anyway!

The movie had lost me, but part of me was still hoping it would come back around, that something in it would be the movie I’d thought it would be.

Next time: the movie will not do that, and I will, paradoxically, find myself in more of the frame of mind the movie seems to want from the audience: not giving a shit about its characters. 

Stay tuned for some bonus workplace hazards below the citations.

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1. https://youtu.be/P1gn06np-7g  2. https://youtu.be/KhRo2WbWnKU?t=35 3. https://youtu.be/JjCh7lTVNwo  4. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Airstream#Space_program  5. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astronaut_transfer_van  6. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umarell  7. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Upgrade_(film)#Production

Alright, let’s behold some images from my institute’s safety training module on compressed gas cylinders. Please note, these were not taken at my institute, these are probably the result of the team finding cursed images they wanted to inflict on their coworkers and us.

This was how they chose to communicate the idea of “don’t let canisters heat up, or they might explode”. How else might they explode? If the canister becomes old and corroded, develops any other sort of fault, or is stored improperly, especially near cylinders of other kinds. Like so!

This is the least bombastic of the images, but it exudes a quiet menace and/or the promise that Video Game Physics are imminent.

What do I mean by Video Game Physics? Glad you asked!

Terrifying yet also compelling! Finally, here’s a video from that most terrifying of places, a Russian highway.

Video description, which I realize I haven’t been doing up to this point and now I want to: A GazpromTech company truck carrying unsecured acetylene tanks passes a motorist on a separated highway at high speed. On the side of it, “ОГНЕОПАСНО” (“FLAMMABLE”) is briefly visible as it rockets by. It makes no to minimal attempt to slow down as a bus enters its lane, rear-ending it. The viewpoint car skids to a stop, and what might be the truck driver can be seen sprinting toward the central barrier of the highway. “Scream & Shout” by will.i.am and Britney Spears can be heard playing on the radio as the viewpoint car tries to back away, complete with an audible “Britney, bitch”. At 0:54 the view cuts to a camera on the other side of the highway, which one commenter estimated as being 200 m away based on the delay between explosions and the sound of the blast reaching the camera. 

There are, in fact, MANY explosions from the fireball that has engulfed the truck. A semi tanker is being guided backward away from the explosion, while a blue box truck does the same. A silver sedan, briefly visible in the first angle, is parked within under 50 feet of the truck. Its apparent owner is dithering on whether to try and reach it, eventually deciding, as they should, that this is not worth it. The cameraperson, on the other hand, apparently thinks this is worth it, as do several others in the other lane. 

One man is filming on a tablet. Multiple times, canisters and truck shrapnel can be seen rocketing off from the wreck to distances that make it clear everybody in shot is well within decapitation range from these things, especially as explosions fling more burning cylinders onto the roadway. At 1:45, Tablet Man gets the fuck out of there, but our self preservation-less cameraperson remains. At 2:14, a flaming canister in blown clear of the wreck and lands with its bottom end pointing directly toward the cameraperson, who still does not take the hint. Starting at 2:37, the body of the truck is blasted apart, a canister goes flying off past the camera, and a piece of the truck flips and lands on a nearby road sign. 

At 3:32 another cut happens and there are more people standing in view of the camera. Are they official emergency crew? Nope! Rubberneckers, although the cop car that’s even closer than them gets a wakeup call when a canister slams into the divider in front of it and tumbles away, still spitting gas. The cop backs up, and the video ends.

End description. Also, end post.

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[bad-tf-fic-ideas]

(175) An established relationship Simpatico bodyswap fic, primarily dedicated to the smut. An invention goes wrong, and Brainstorm and Perceptor end up inhabiting each other's bodies. They know exactly how to reverse the problem, but the internal machinery of the invention that did it will take them at least a week—working together in the close confines of its insides—to fix.

It is unreasonably sexy, Brainstorm explains, to know precisely how it feels when, for example, someone plays with that little aileron just so. This is like the much, much better version of fragging his clone, because in THIS scenario, his clone is also his conjunx.

The bodies are stable and the problem is really more inconvenient than dangerous. They do fix the machine, because Perceptor insists it has to take priority, but they are very distracted with one another and it still takes them another 3 weeks to get around to actually using it...

[qweerhet]

you know, regardless of the details of this week's drama, i truly do not think that we will get anywhere with trans liberation so long as the response to people with supposedly "contradictory" transition experiences & coercively assigned sexes at birth is to publicly hold up occasional examples of bad actors as, like, representative of the entire demographic.

is the individual person described in the particular AITA drama that took off this week operating in good faith? probably not, at least not if the narrator of the drama is to be believed. trolls like that tend to stop eventually when they get bored, though, and it tends to be unhelpful to give them the outraged attention they're looking for if you want them to stop.

is the existence of this one particular troll a good argument for using CASAB language and ousting all intersex and genderqueer individuals from transfem language & spaces unless they are willing to reveal they were CAMAB? i mean, i would very much argue no. TMA people of all genders are experiencing a wave of social and state violence over the last few years; i would say that cutting TMA people off from trans support networks, even transfem-specific ones, is violent.

the entire reason TMA/TME is a better framework for viewing transmisogyny through than CASAB language is because CASAB as a lens can't accurately represent how gendered violence manifests for intersex and (non-sex-binary-conforming) trans people; someone who was CAFAB, goes through testosterone-dominant puberty, is categorized as male in middle/high school, and has to fight to access estrogen-based HRT as an adult, certainly has material experiences of transmisogyny simpatico with traditional transfem ones. to view this person through the lens of what they were coercively assigned at birth is to miss their experiences starting near-immediately after birth--hence the term TMA to discuss those of us for whom transmisogyny is a relevant, daily concern in our material realities, without relying on intersexist and exorsexist concepts such as CASAB-as-gendered-lens.

the existence of a cobra starship song where the singer flaunts how he only makes out with men in order to get women to sleep with him does not mean that authentically bisexual men do not exist, nor is it compelling evidence for interrogating every bisexual man you come across to confirm that he is, in fact, genuinely and authentically attracted to men, nor is it a compelling argument to go back to "gay or straight" language and decommission multisexual labels for fear of them being co-opted by obnoxious trolls.

[transingthoseformers]

Considering: simpatico + sex pollen (blame Brainstorm or the Lost Light Adventure Of The Week) + brainstorm blushing so hard he swears his mask turned pink too + pin the teal scientist

[electrificata]

things my 38 yr old nightmare-millennial manager from my last retail job did

we played music and there was a rule that we stuck with one person's playlist for an entire day, and if you changed it even for one song while it was hers she would give you a really serious lecture about how this was about respect and she would never do that on another person's day. it was her playlist 5 days a week.

play this song and talk for an uncomfortably long time about how her and the de facto assistant manager (24, underpaid, essentially functioned as calming companion labrador to her cheetah) liked it because they were so close and so simpatico and both so "dark" ("yeah, we're dark")

also she'd rhapsodize about the band ajr in general and this song in particular despite the fact that everyone else was clearly irritated by them

explained to me that she lived her entire life according to an extremely literal interpretation of the song "take me or leave me" from rent (shes straight and i never saw her flirt with a single person so i think she was listening only to the chorus and using it to justify never listening to anyone or evolving as a person)

would, at the drop of a hat, launch into a lengthy and enthusiastic defense of some random minor reality star (different each time), usually starting with something like "people hate on her so much but..." and ending on something like "actually she would have called the cops on anybody so it's not racist that this time she happened to call the cops on a black woman for flirting with her boyfriend" or "i know he didn't even touch her he was just in the room with the other guys when they [redacted]" and then she'd like. keep talking and keep looking at me with her eyes full of a desperate need to be validated in her feelings and it would get more uncomfortable the longer i didn't agree with her, and then i'd be like "i don't know if i'd call that not-racist" and i could see her desperation peaking because deep down she knew she was wrong but didnt want to admit it and id only be saved when a customer came in to take her away

when the de facto assistant manager gave 2 weeks notice on the phone (i was on shift with him she was at home) she immediately began sobbing and hung up and nobody heard from her for two days

fired me a week after that so they could keep him

[robot-thighs]

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 🥹

-

Perceptor was confident they’d gotten a few knowing looks from the security team, even if they hadn’t 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. Perceptor’s 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 and—if Perceptor was right in remembering the measurements of his lab partner’s face (and he was, being quite familiar with it) —it 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 Brainstorm’s insistence. It didn’t seem necessary anymore, but he supposed there was no telling what other adverse effects the chemical might have had. He wasn’t 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 entirely—something 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 medbay—only then did he finally allow himself to consider the ramifications. Brainstorm had been overwhelmingly enthusiastic in his consent, but…

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 catch—the 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 Brainstorm’s 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 and—if he dared to think he was right—adoration. He remembered it all with perfect clarity despite the slow, cloying grasp of chemicals in his processor. He would remember the sensation of Brainstorm’s frame surging under his own until his spark sputtered out.

Ratchet had given him a clean bill of health—any 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 Brainstorm’s 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.

—

Perceptor was late returning to the lab the next day. He’d recharged longer than intended, and his internal chronometer hadn’t signaled him awake as usual. An oversight on his part—he put it down to the state he’d 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 hadn’t been for the explosion of that project, none of what they’d done yesterday would have been likely to happen.

As Perceptor entered, Brainstorm’s 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.

“Hey! Thought you’d never wake up. Here’s me, taking on the burden of all the routine lab work all by myself.” Brainstorm’s jaunty tone didn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary, even if his body language did. “Just kidding! I left the stuff you usually do. I’m not that charitable.”

Perceptor felt a smile flicker across his face despite himself. “I wouldn’t have expected you to take over my duties in the lab, Brainstorm.”

The look Brainstorm gave him was sidelong; hesitant. Perceptor had gotten somewhat proficient in reading the flier’s moods—even the moods he wasn’t keen to share openly. He’d 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 wasn’t certain what he had on his mind, but he could guess.

“Good,” he said, finally, turning back to his work. His hands moved stiffly as he picked up a screwdriver and started tightening down a panel. “Cuz I was starting to wonder if you were gonna come in at all.”

Perceptor crossed into the lab and hesitated at his own workstation. He needed to attend to his checklist so that he could get to work—he 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.

“Brainstorm…” he started. “About yesterday...”

He heard the screwdriver hit Brainstorm’s desk. He didn’t look up in time to notice if he’d dropped it or simply put it down too hard. The jet’s posture was wound tight. He broke a glance off in Perceptor’s 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. “Yeah?”

Perceptor deliberated. Conversations such as these were difficult for him. No, he couldn’t say that, in truth. He’d never had a conversation quite like this. A part of him yearned to sweep it away, but he’d seen where remaining silent had gotten him. It seemed neither of them were particularly proficient with navigating their feelings, but he wasn’t going to allow either of them to pretend it hadn’t happened.

He vented out. He needed 100% certainty.

“For one thing,” he resumed. “I wanted to apologize again. My behavior yesterday was… unseemly.”

Brainstorm’s wings bobbed, dipping down slightly before returning to their previous position. Hurt. Perceptor frowned lightly.

“Hey, don’t worry, Percy,” Brainstorm said easily, nothing of the hurt that had been evident in his wing language carrying in his voice, “You weren’t yourself. Obviously. Let’s… we don’t have to blow it up, yeah?” He put on an ironic laugh. “I've got 'blowing up' covered already. So don’t worry about it.”

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.

“No, Brainstorm, I was entirely myself,” Perceptor explained. When Brainstorm didn’t 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. “The chemicals only affected my interface protocols and my inhibitions. They didn’t affect my judgment.”

That caught Brainstorm’s interest. He turned in place, looking like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs. His hands reached back and caught the edge of his desk, kneading there nervously. “You… sure?”

“Quite.” Perceptor ceased with scrutinizing his targeting lens, but still tensed his fingers around it as he looked at Brainstorm seriously. “I meant the things I said. Especially towards the end.”

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. “Y-yeah. Okay. I mean, when you left and didn’t say anything after… And then when you were late this morning… I kinda worried, m-maybe you were, uh. Ashamed, or something.”

Perceptor’s 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.

“Brainstorm…” he said, voice gentling. “The only thing I’m ashamed of is the fact that it’s taken me so long to set things straight between us.”

Brainstorm froze. Whether he was stunned or simply caught in a lingering grip of uncertainty that he couldn’t force himself to part with was unclear. Perceptor braced himself. 100% certainty. “When… Yesterday.” He couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. He cleared his intakes at the memory. “I asked if you wanted me to court you.”

“Yeah?” 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.

“Well?”

The moment was heavy with expectation. Brainstorm cycled his optics several times in succession, causing their light to flutter. “I… yes! I said yes, didn’t I?”

Perceptor eased. He hadn’t 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 couldn’t help it. “Actually, you said—and I quote: ‘I want you to frag my lights out.’”

He felt his frame warm up at the memory. Whatever misgivings he might have had at repeating Brainstorm’s course plea—no doubt spoken in the thoughtless haste of his arousal—he was rewarded when the jet’s wings bobbed upward and his field gave off a bright wave of joy. “That I did…” he said with a lilt of smugness. His optics thinned in a hidden grin. “And that you did. And…” He dithered. “Um, what I definitely meant was. Yes. Yes, though. I’d like that. I’d really like that.”

Perceptor smiled genuinely. The angle of Brainstorm’s wings changed as he watched him, settling into an expression he wasn’t sure he’d 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 Perceptor’s. 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 Brainstorm’s 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.

“Then do I have permission to begin now?” Perceptor asked, smiling unwavering.

Brainstorm’s optics dimmed, posture loosening almost precariously. “Don’t let this get to your head or anything,” He managed to keep his words hemmed into his usual smugness. “But you had permission ages ago.”

Perceptor reached up to Brainstorm’s 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 jet’s 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.

[dinosaurqueenmab]

I plan to update "Missing In Action" soon. It's still my pride and joy, I love my simpatico fic so so much.

However, the more I read it in depth the more typos and grammatical errors I find 😅

I will be fixing things and adding more details to already created chapters as well as releasing a 6th chapter by next week's end.

If you're here for the simpatico fics and memes, I promise that I have returned. And I have several new ideas brewing.

MAY SIMPATICO ALWAYS RULE SUPREME

[o-uncle-newt]

Cabin Pressure Advent Day 8: Helsinki

OK, so Helsinki doesn't get the ultra-enthusiastic "HELSINKIIII" that I've been giving to episodes like Fitton and Gdansk because, well, it's just not a favorite of mine particularly. It's been a while since I listened to it, and there were a BUNCH of things that I noticed that really surprised me on relisten.

Like, it's significantly nastier than I'd remembered! I was expecting Ruth to be horrible and Kieran to be an annoying little shit, but I didn't expect Martin to actually hit Kieran (I remembered a contretemps and Kieran beating Martin up but couldn't remember Martin's precise role) and I also, less flashily, didn't expect Douglas to directly call Arthur an idiot while addressing Carolyn, and her basically being okay with it. I guess in the context of a defense of Arthur's zealousness in trying to find Carolyn a present for her 63rd (that very significant birthday...) she let it go? But I feel like that's a lot.

(Also, as one of four children... Arthur is the onliest only child I have ever heard of. Like, everything about every one of his plans and interactions this episode... wow.)

I was also kind of surprised that the plot felt a bit weaker than usual- it's hard to really understand why Carolyn was okay with paying for a whole flight largely on the strength of Douglas's ulterior motives. I can't decide whether the Northern Lights viewing is meant to have been one of those ulterior motives and is therefore worth it for her... which is sweet, but doesn't really explain her taking him at his word for what would seem to be, on the surface, literally no reason with every reason to reject him (the cost, the fellow passengers...). Maybe this is me not being subtle enough or something, but I was really surprised when she agreed to do the flight, it felt under-justified. Idunno, YMMV.

It's interesting- I REALLY can't decide whether I think that the Martin and Kieran scenes work better alphabetically or as aired. Is it funnier to listen to it in Helsinki already knowing that Martin isn't paid, or is it funnier to take this scene for granted as written and then only the next week in Gdansk have it be suddenly retroactively funnier? I'm not really sure, and I welcome all opinions on the matter.

The episode as a whole was definitely on the darker and bitterer side, and I can't decide what I think about it. Martin hitting Kieran is pretty insane, though of course after Arthur LITERALLY MANSLAUGHTERING A GUY it's tame relatively speaking, and while Kieran is annoying as fuck the storyline is fine. I did feel, though, like I would have liked just a bit more of a throughline for the Carolyn and Ruth storyline. It's SO vitriolic and angry, and I feel like, in order to be entertaining and not just discomfiting it needed to either have a clearer emotional throughline OR to just be funnier/sillier. Them leaving Ruth and Kieran behind, and Philip hiding away on the plane and turning out to not be deaf, is very funny, but it doesn't really change, for me, that their fight felt very bitter but in a bit of a pointless way. We learn a bit about Carolyn and her past and some of her sore points, but Ruth herself as a character is basically just there to be nasty and I wish she could have been there for just a bit more than that. (NOT that I think that they should have reconciled or whatever- just that their interactions felt kind of pointless except for the sake of being mean. And she was right that the fact that Martin hit Kieran is nuts, and ideally to be funny a character like that shouldn't be right about anything...)

Helsinki has some super funny bits (obviously- the fact that I keep saying that feels a bit redundant at this point- it's Cabin Pressure, obviously there are funny bits- so I'll point out that Arthur celebrating his numbers winning the lottery is precious), the birthday celebration at the end is sweet and a sign that they're simpatico with each other by now, and of course this is the episode that launched a thousand and one Douglas-centered ships. So it's fine- but not really the kind I go for.

Unlike tomorrow... when we go to IPSWICH!

[noodleblade]

Swerve is hosting a human themed holiday party at swerve's and he's set a mistletoe over the door for the next unsuspecting bots of your choice who enter (very cliché) :3c

nckjsendkjsfkjef any of them bots would be good, but it has to be simpatico for you <3 its a little off topic but we get there in the end:3 also look who failed their maximum 500 words fdnksjfnkdkfv

“We’re late.”

Drift hummed unbothered, glancing up briefly from his datapad as he sat cross legged on Perceptor’s workstation. 

“Fashionably late.” He turned back to quickly type out something before adding, “We all know your social meter runs rather short so we should wait for the peak to get there.”

Perceptor…couldn’t quite argue with that logic, but he still felt the anxiety ticking through his frame, his processor tracking the kliks that passed, of the time he was missing, wasting. 

For once, he had actually planned to spend the entire night at Swerve’s Holiday Bash. He hadn’t initially when the invitation was sent to nearly every mech aboard the Lost Light over a month ago. In his servos, he held the flimsy tin pamphlet adorn with tiny, twinkly lights and glitter. Lots and lots of glitter. It promised music, drinks and “fun, Earth customs!” with a crudely drawn snowman holding a cube of energon. Perceptor was going to toss it away, ignore the social gather in favor of focusing on his work but…

His optics darted to the other half of the lab currently unoccupied. Its inhabitant was on the other side of the ship. Probably enjoying music and drinks and whatever Swerve’s best guess at Earth holiday festivities included. 

Brainstorm had been giddy when he had received the invitation. His golden optics had met Perceptor’s and casually asked if Perceptor would be going to. Any thoughts of spending the night alone had flown out the window as he gave his lab partner a single, solid nod. 

It seemed now, he was back to his usual plans. He wasn’t sure why Drift had insisted they would go together, only to keep Perceptor held up in his lab for nearly an hour, but…it felt like the cosmic forces were against him. Or maybe just Drift. Despite his neutral, calm demeanor, Perceptor felt the other mech was hiding something from him. 

“The party is going to be over before we get there,” Perceptor tried again.

Both of Drift’s optic ridges rose as he met Perceptor’s gaze. “Trust me, it won’t. Rodimus is usually the last to leave and I know for a fact he plans to spend the whole night-”

An alert sounded from Drift’s datapad. He immediately looked at it, cutting off his train of thought. A bright grin flashed across his faceplates as he jumped off the counter.

“Actually, let’s go now.”

Suspicion rose across Perceptor’s frame but…he checked his internal chronometer. Brainstorm had left with Nautica and Velocity nearly an hour ago. Perceptor didn’t want to waste anymore time, suspicions and Drift’s general weirdness aside.

“Okay,” he said, standing up quickly, hoping it didn’t come off eager. 

Judging by Drift’s widening grin, it did.

They walked in silence. Perceptor forced his pace to remain slow and even, despite wanting to rush down the halls as quickly as possible. He had been amping himself up for weeks about finally making a move and talk to Brainstorm, taking those weeks to plan out his words, gathering up the courage to cross the invisible barrier of lab partners to something more. He was ready and he didn’t want to delay it any further. He just want to get to Swerve’s, find Brainstorm and take him aside to a small, secluded booth and-

A firm hand grabbed Perceptor by the wrist, halting his pace just as the doors to Swerve’s came before them.

Perceptor couldn’t even hold back his annoyance as Drift gave him a sheepish smile.

“One more minute.”

“Why?” 

It came out blunt, almost rude. Perceptor only briefly felt bad for his callousness. 

Drift opened his mouth to explain but before he could, the doors to Swerve’s opened his optics widened. With two firm hands, Drift pushed Perceptor through the opening, an apologetic wince on his faceplates.

Perceptor stumbled. He bumped into someone and braced his hands against them for support. An apology on his lips as he turned and-

“Percy!” Brainstorm yelped. His golden optics were wide, wingtips twitching with embarrassment as he clung to Perceptor. Behind him, Chromedome stood, his arm still outstretched. “I didn’t know you were coming in! Or that you were coming at all! I thought you weren’t interested or…” the words died in Brainstorm’s intake as the jet’s optics rose up to the doorway. Embarrassment, dread and anxious desperate worry curled around his field, brushing up against Perceptor’s. “Sorry.”

Perceptor remained unmoving as he let his own optics follow Brainstorm’s, landing on a curious bundle of colored aluminum, mangled to look almost like…a flower?

Almost like…a mistletoe…

Oh.

Perceptor’s brief stint on Earth had given him a crash course on Earth and its inhabitant’s culture. Even more so, his own research had supplemented the rest. Even if the craftsmanship of the mistletoe was shoddy at best, its intent was still beyond apparent. 

“We…” Brainstorm’s intake made an audible click, “...on Earth, they have to…when humans stand under it…they have to…” the words trailed off once more, Brainstorm’s optics staring at Perceptor’s in complete and utter dismay.

Distantly, Perceptor was aware of multiple eyes on them: Swerve, at the bar, grinning bright and wide; Chromdedome, Nautica and Velocity forming a small crowd beside them; Drift surely as well behind him.

Oh. He turned his gaze from Brainstorm to throw a withering glare at Drift. Unaffected, Drift only nodded his helm back to Brainstorm, ushering with his hands for Perceptor to get on with it.

Evidentially, this had all been planned. Perceptor…didn’t have time to dwell on that. Not with Brainstorm attempting to shrink himself as small as possible while still in Perceptor’s hold.

“Kiss,” Perceptor murmured, dropping his voice low. “Traditionally, speaking.” Brainstorm’s optics were glued to Perceptor, wide and fearful. It made Perceptor’s spark drop painfully. Weeks of courage and weeks of pep talks and weeks of planning all swirling down the drain as he whispered, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Brainstorm blinked, slow and owlishly. “If…If I don’t want to?”

A sickly warmth crawled up Perceptor’s cheeks. Leave it to Brainstorm to dissect the meaning of his words now. “Yes,” Perceptor gave a faint nod, his optics closing as he added, “I am…not opposed.”

The silence was deafening. 

Perceptor began calculating the probability of socially ever being able to recover from this. It truly depended on the Rodimus and Whirl factors. If they were here and watching, the ridicule would be endless. Though with Drift watching behind him, the sting would last a bit longer. He would just have to hole up in his lab for a few weeks. Unless Brainstorm still wanted to be lab partner, then he’d have to steer clear of the labs and-

His thoughts were interrupted with a quiet hiss of depressurization. Before he could open his optics, soft, warm melt brushed against his lips. Shyly, almost timid.

Hope, horrible and all consuming hope, burst in his chest as he reached forward, one hand finding Brainstorm’s arm and the other cupping his cheek.

“Is this okay?” Brainstorm asked quietly, ringing in Perceptor’s audials.

“Yes.” Perceptor onlined his optics to meet Brainstorm’s. “Is this okay with you?”

His grin was on full display, blast mask hanging gingerly between two digits. “Absolutely, Percy.”

[fuchsiaamorouscoils]

A small painting I made for someone and completed this week:

Simpatico

mixed media on (salvaged) redwood panel

4 1/2 × 4 1/2 inches

Artist - Kimberly Montiel

[brandwhorestarscream]

more simpatico spark eater AU please 🥺

Eeeeee ok!! :D

So, pretty much the second they find out Brainstorm is expecting they schedule a c-section with Ratchet. Perceptor isn't willing to risk their unborn sparkling literally eating his mate from the inside. They have a really difficult conversation about what they'll do if it turns out the little one is cannibalizing him in-utero, and Brainstorm agrees to a termination in that case. If he doesn't, they'll both die, so even though it hurts they both agree it's the best course of action.

Thankfully it doesn't come to that, but we can get to the actual emergence later 🤭

Nerds that they are, the parents-to-be turn the whole thing into a little science project. This is the first natural conceived sparkeater pregnancy, ever! It's uncharted territory, they'd be stupid not to observe! Brainstorm goes through a lot of really weird, sometimes painful symptoms. Like he'll get indigestion and acid reflux from hell, nauseous for days on end, stuck with a constant bought of hiccups and surrounded by a cloud of noxious, corrosive steam from the formation of the sparkling's acidic blood. It'll leave him with little burns and rust spots, itchy and sore, poor guy. Thankfully, Perceptor is a doting mate and will gladly rub special nanite gel on those sites and drags him to Ratchet once a week for a check up. He'll get weird cravings; mostly metals that can be found in living Cybertronian steel, and sweetened coolant. At one point he gets a very, very intense urge to lick a spark, and locks himself in the washracks for several hours until it passes. They record every little bit of information, because even the tiniest kernel is new and interesting and could be useful later! Weird monster pregnancy does qeird things to your body, who could have predicted?

The most normal part of this carrying cycle are the mood swings and increased sex drive--Brainstorm's usually pretty tense and snappy, or entirely mellow, and it just depends on the day. Regardless, the only one he really wants to be around is Perceptor. He's always encouraging his mate to talk to his chassis, prompting him to kiss the sparkling goodnight and remind it of their love. He's so excited to be a parent

Perceptor also gets increasingly more growly as the cycle progresses. He's already a pretty introverted guy and prefers to have his space, but now, someone gets within three paces of Brainstorm and he hisses at them. Full on sparkeater posturing; fangs bared, long glossa out, tentacles raised. He stays in front of Brainstorm and growls angrily at the other party until they take the hint and go away. He doesn't want anyone near his mate or their sparkling 🤭 though he was originally against the idea their unborn baby has become indescribably precious to him, and those sparkeater instincts push him to protect them both at any cost.

By the time the carrying cycle is at it's climax, no one can approach Brainstorm without explicit permission. Most people would find it stifling but Brainstorm is the monsterfucker onboard. There's nothing sexier than his mate growling like a rabid animal and ready to devour someone if he deems them a threat. Everyone else is 😨 while Brainstorm is 😍