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sakon76Yet another short tale in what I think I'm going to call the "Ghost Stories" arc. Follows "Ghost in the Machine" and "Poltergeist."
Apparitional Behavior
by K. Stonham
prereleased 7th October, 2007
One thing the Autobots had never understood was the human fascination with reproduction. On one hand they intellectually understood the need to propagate one's species and emotionally understood the desire for a creation one could teach, help shape, and be close to. On the other hand, though, they lacked the reference for biological imperatives and the pleasure humans seemed to take in touching one another regardless of actual reproductive capability or intent. Sam and Mikaela and the rest of their human contacts had taken stabs at explaining it to them, but in the end both sides of the conversation had acknowledged that there were things they simply couldn't understand about one another, and just accepted it. The general feelings among Autobots about human biological processes, therefore, ranged from tolerance to amusement to vague clinical interest.
"You really want to know," Sam asked, perched holographically on an outcropping just to Bumblebee's left. His amused glance took in all the collected Autobots in the clearing, a full half-dozen of them gathered around the dying fire. The humans (living humans, anyway) in their party had long since retired to their tents for the night.
"Yeah. What the Pit about it is so great that your people are so fascinated with it, even when it serves no purpose?" Ironhide demanded.
Sam shrugged. "It feels good. It makes you feel closer to the other person."
"How?" Hot Rod demanded. "Physical closeness is no reflection of emotional connection."
"Ooh, look who's been listening to Perceptor, using the big words," Sideswipe teased.
"Just because some of us haven't a decent processor in our heads," Arcee harassed Sideswipe back.
"Shut up, both of you," Springer groused.
Sam smiled and looked up at his guardian. "And you, Bumblebee?"
The Autobot scout shrugged a little, mimicking Sam's earlier body language. "I confess I don't understand your species' attachment to it either."
Sam mulled that over, nodding. "Well," he offered, "if you want a memory, I can give one to you. Are you sure you want it?"
*
Bumblebee considered it, looking around at the semi-circle of his comrades, who all seemed interested in the idea. It was something he and Sam had discovered by accident, how they could overlap in recharge and dream parts of one another's lives. It had only taken twice before they'd managed to construct walls and ways to keep themselves separate. Curious as he was about the human race, Bumblebee had found the brief experiences of living as one, the sheer sensory overload and knowledge of helplessness, terrifying. And Sam... Sam had nearly gone into shock while trapped in Bumblebee's memories, unable to feel as he was used to, learning things about the Cybertronian war that he'd never, ever wanted to know.
They had figured out ways to handle the data transfers better while they were both awake, only initiating the exchange when they were assured of a time and space of peace, carefully selecting the rare memories they immersed one another within. But given how intense the humans seemed to believe their sexual interfaces were....
"I am willing to try," Bumblebee said, more for the sake of his fellow Autobots than for himself. They were all curious, and this was likely the only way any of them could come to understand their allies better. Once the data transfer was complete, he could selectively edit its sensory intensity to be more within the parameters of his species' operational standards, if necessary, before transferring the information on.
"If you're sure," Sam said, and dissolved the hologram. Bumblebee felt the ghost's touch, a familiar endothermic energy field, spreading out through his systems. He consciously released control of his body, trusting his spectral partner, knowing Sam wouldn't hurt him. They'd done this before.
Out of the cool rose a heat, a warmth that wrapped around him, placing him inside a human's skin, resolving itself into a painfully distinct texture in the pattern of a woven blanket, and beneath him an unimaginable dichotomy of softness and hard planes that he could identify as a human body. His fingers--one too many, part of him always felt--were coated in damp heat, and the person below him, whom he recognized as Mikaela, even though she was no longer her proper size in relation to him, made whimpering sounds and gasps that the memory interpreted as approval rather than pain or distress. There was something coiled up inside him, a muscular knot of want and need that begged for more as a heartbeat pounded through him. And then she was guiding him, hands on a part of him that sparked strange, strange feelings of alien pleasure, and he was inside her, hot and wet and pressure and he couldn't feel this way, he shouldn't feel this way, it was too much--
Bumblebee broke free of the human memory, shaking, shuddering.
"Bumblebee?" Sam asked quietly, energy field still spread throughout him, like an embrace. His presence was cool and reassuring, though Bumblebee understood that humans found the ghost's non-holographic presence uncomfortable, too cold for their design parameters. Sam, like the rest of his species, put so much importance on touch, and Bumblebee was still only beginning to understand why. But he certainly didn't object to it, as it was something his partner needed, and even took a measure of pleasure in the spectral touch, knowing Sam meant it as a gesture of affection and trust.
"Why do your people," he managed to ask after a moment, "have to feel everything so intensely?"
"Because it's the way we are," Sam answered almost apologetically. "Sorry."
Cycling air through his cooling vents, Bumblebee managed to get his reactions back under control. Now at a distance from the immersive experience, he condensed it into a data packet that he transmitted to the others around the fire. One by one they received it and opened it up, optics going to half power as they considered it. Sam reformed on his rock, closer to Bumblebee now, close enough to touch in this form, and indeed, one hand did rest on his armor. It was faintly amusing at times to realize that Sam's image was made through his own holomatter projector, which made any touch essentially Bumblebee touching himself. In another way it was reassuring, and in a third way saddening; he never had to be wary of sudden moves around Sam because Sam wasn't physical any more. None of them were able to hurt his friend, even accidentally. And while Sam theoretically could hurt them, he never would. His telekinetic abilities were draining enough that he used them only for practical purposes.
Assuming one counted the occasional morale-raising prank under "practical," of course.
"Why do your people subject yourselves to that?" Ironhide asked, looking at Sam. "How can you enjoy that?" His shudder was expressive enough to make clear his meaning.
Sam blinked and looked up at Bumblebee. "I didn't think it was that bad," he said, questioning.
"Their sensational intensity is always that much greater than ours," Bumblebee told Ironhide. "It's what they're used to."
"No wonder humans can't take much of a temperature range," Sideswipe remarked. He rubbed his right shoulder. "Last time I felt anything that hot, my arm was melting off in a lava pit."
"No, I think I get it," Hot Rod disagreed. "I mean, you cut through the intensity and the temperatures and stuff, and... well, it's a little like a race. The road beneath you, the sky before you, and you want nothing more than to run, to win... sorry," he said, looking around at the others, "that doesn't make much sense, does it?"
"A little," Sam said, nodding thoughtfully. "Different kind of feeling good, different kind of freedom, but a little bit alike."
Springer shifted, the reddish firelight ghosting across his green armor, turning it brown. "It's about trust, too, and affection," he guessed quietly. "You wanted to make her feel good. She wanted to make you feel good."
"A little like spark-bonding," Arcee said, nodding at him. "Which we can do and humans can't. Not much, but... a little."
*
Sam nodded. "Yeah. A little." The experience of spark-bonding was one of the memories Bumblebee had shared with him, and one of the ones that made the Autobots seem the most like humans, while at the same time totally alien. There was nothing like it on Earth, not sex, not marriage, nothing. The closest thing he'd been able to translate it to, when he'd been asked, was telepathy, which didn't exist on Earth either but was at least a familiar concept through comic books.
The mech Bumblebee had spark-bonded with had been one of his own caste, model line, gender, whatever inadequate English word the Cybertronian concept was translated to, millenia back, when the war had just been starting. Sam had been overwhelmed as their two lives had spilled through one another. Everything was seen, understood, known. Everything each of them were was given up freely to one another. It was, beyond comparison, the single most spiritual experience Sam had ever encountered, and one based on perfect, absolute, unbreakable trust.
Goldbug had been killed not too long afterward, and it was that crippling act of devastation which had led to Bumblebee joining the Autobot cause.
"Humans can't spark-bond," Sam said, "so we do the best we can with what we have. Sex makes us vulnerable, mentally as well as physically. Well, aside from prostitution," he amended with a rueful half-smile. "And it does," he stressed, looking at Ironhide, "feel really really good to us. Like falling free. Like contentment. Like love."
Ironhide snorted doubtfully. "Your species has its system processors misaligned," he opined.
"Aw, and here I thought you liked humans," Sideswipe teased.
"Like? Yes," Ironhide retorted. "Understand? Never."
"No fighting," Arcee said, placing an arm on Ironhide's as he switched to his cannons. "The humans are recharging," she reminded him. Sam still couldn't help but think of Arcee as female, even though the Autobots didn't really have genders. Her model line, "femmes" as they'd been dubbed once they reached Earth, were really just another specialization of the transformer species, slight and designed for precision work--which made her a crack shot and a kick-ass sniper--and tending toward a higher pitch of vocal processor resonance, which came out as sounding "feminine" to Earth natives, the same way the bulkier "warrior" models like Ironhide had a lower pitch which sounded masculine. Bumblebee's more "general use" model was somewhere in between the two.
Assuming one translated model line specifications as "gender" rather than "race," Cybertron had once had forty-two distinct genders, a number which had amused Sam, and Bumblebee too once he'd explained the reference. Less than a dozen different types had arrived on Earth thus far, and many were feared to have been lost forever. Race probably was a better translation for the concept of femmes versus warriors versus scouts, Sam thought, given the way they'd each had their own distinct subcultures, but humans by and large clung to what they were used to, and so they viewed femmes as women, and the rest as male. It was an artificially constructed and imposed division, which amused most of the Autobots and irked the rest. Arcee and the other femmes, though, didn't seem to mind their being identified with one of the human genders. Some of them had even taken it on themselves to learn about the suffrage movement and act as role models and ambassadors for women's rights, even though they themselves were not actually "female" as biology would dictate it.
It always felt strange whenever Sam realized that he identified more, in some ways, with the Autobots than his own species. Granted, his was a pretty unique existence, whether he thought of himself as a ghost or as a "transmigratory energy-based lifeform engaged in a symbiotic existence" as Perceptor had put it, but still... he still counted himself as human.
"Were there ghosts on Cybertron too?" he asked.
Sideswipe blinked his optics, then leaned back a little. "We did have visiting energy lifeforms once in a while," he offered.
"Not really," Bumblebee replied. "Nothing like you, Sam."
"Huh. So no ghost stories, either, then?"
Springer laughed a little. "Those seem to be an Earth thing. Comes of being an organic species; simple sonic vibrations below twenty megahertz can make your kind think they're seeing and feeling things that aren't there."
"That sucks." Sam smiled and leaned back a little, looking up at the cold, clear moon. "It'd be the perfect night for scary stories around the campfire otherwise. But then," he laid out the bait, "I suppose that's an Earth thing too."
There was silence for a minute, and he had to hide his grin. "That doesn't mean we don't have scary stories," Ironhide finally rumbled. "Ones that would freeze your energon in your spark chamber."
"Oh?" Sam sat up a little straighter again.
"You go first, Hot Rod," Arcee urged. "You came the closest to them, after all."
Hot Rod shook his head. "I hate remembering that."
"Remembering what?" Sam asked.
"Cybertron had predators, too," Arcee said. "We called them 'Dwellers in the Depths' where I came from."
"We called them 'Slammers'," Sideswipe said, shaking his head. "And unlike you humans, the things that scared us were real," he leveled the charge at Sam.
Sam held a hand up, palm out, mocking a little. "Considering I'm dead, Sideswipe, don't be so sure all the things humans are afraid of don't exist."
"You met a Slammer?" Bumblebee asked Hot Rod, optics wide.
"Yeah." Chagrin and something else twisted Hot Rod's voice. "I was hiding out with Kup...."
*~*~*
Author's Notes: The title is a play on "aberrational behavior" (for a pretty good definition, go watch the trailer for "This Film Is Not Yet Rated") and really has to do with some things I've been pondering about Cybertronians. There seems to be a prevalent fanon belief that sex and spark-joining feel roughly the same, which I'm not so sure needs to be the case. We can be different kinds of entities, with different feelings and experiences, and still end up with the same beliefs and emotions, no?
Similarly, after the whole "don't want to have to explain girl robots" reason Arcee was cut from the movie... why do femmes have to be female per se? Given that reproduction doesn't happen the same way for transformers as it does for humans, doesn't it make more sense that they're simply a different model line, built along different requirements, the same way Jazz is smaller and faster, or Ironhide bigger and bulkier? As the show "Third Rock from the Sun" posited, alien species don't have to be limited to the two genders we have on Earth. And "genders," as in this story, can end up being a mistranslation anyway.
Lastly, the whole idea and story of the Slammers is borrowed without permission (and if the author tells me he objects, I'll happily delete that section of the story and rework it) from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
koilungfish's awesome short story "Slammers", easily the best Transformers horror I've read. In any case, I hope y'all enjoyed the story. It ended up a bit more "talky" than the first two in the series, which probably means it needs a bit of reworking, but it got some things out of my head.
Apparitional Behavior
by K. Stonham
prereleased 7th October, 2007
One thing the Autobots had never understood was the human fascination with reproduction. On one hand they intellectually understood the need to propagate one's species and emotionally understood the desire for a creation one could teach, help shape, and be close to. On the other hand, though, they lacked the reference for biological imperatives and the pleasure humans seemed to take in touching one another regardless of actual reproductive capability or intent. Sam and Mikaela and the rest of their human contacts had taken stabs at explaining it to them, but in the end both sides of the conversation had acknowledged that there were things they simply couldn't understand about one another, and just accepted it. The general feelings among Autobots about human biological processes, therefore, ranged from tolerance to amusement to vague clinical interest.
"You really want to know," Sam asked, perched holographically on an outcropping just to Bumblebee's left. His amused glance took in all the collected Autobots in the clearing, a full half-dozen of them gathered around the dying fire. The humans (living humans, anyway) in their party had long since retired to their tents for the night.
"Yeah. What the Pit about it is so great that your people are so fascinated with it, even when it serves no purpose?" Ironhide demanded.
Sam shrugged. "It feels good. It makes you feel closer to the other person."
"How?" Hot Rod demanded. "Physical closeness is no reflection of emotional connection."
"Ooh, look who's been listening to Perceptor, using the big words," Sideswipe teased.
"Just because some of us haven't a decent processor in our heads," Arcee harassed Sideswipe back.
"Shut up, both of you," Springer groused.
Sam smiled and looked up at his guardian. "And you, Bumblebee?"
The Autobot scout shrugged a little, mimicking Sam's earlier body language. "I confess I don't understand your species' attachment to it either."
Sam mulled that over, nodding. "Well," he offered, "if you want a memory, I can give one to you. Are you sure you want it?"
Bumblebee considered it, looking around at the semi-circle of his comrades, who all seemed interested in the idea. It was something he and Sam had discovered by accident, how they could overlap in recharge and dream parts of one another's lives. It had only taken twice before they'd managed to construct walls and ways to keep themselves separate. Curious as he was about the human race, Bumblebee had found the brief experiences of living as one, the sheer sensory overload and knowledge of helplessness, terrifying. And Sam... Sam had nearly gone into shock while trapped in Bumblebee's memories, unable to feel as he was used to, learning things about the Cybertronian war that he'd never, ever wanted to know.
They had figured out ways to handle the data transfers better while they were both awake, only initiating the exchange when they were assured of a time and space of peace, carefully selecting the rare memories they immersed one another within. But given how intense the humans seemed to believe their sexual interfaces were....
"I am willing to try," Bumblebee said, more for the sake of his fellow Autobots than for himself. They were all curious, and this was likely the only way any of them could come to understand their allies better. Once the data transfer was complete, he could selectively edit its sensory intensity to be more within the parameters of his species' operational standards, if necessary, before transferring the information on.
"If you're sure," Sam said, and dissolved the hologram. Bumblebee felt the ghost's touch, a familiar endothermic energy field, spreading out through his systems. He consciously released control of his body, trusting his spectral partner, knowing Sam wouldn't hurt him. They'd done this before.
Out of the cool rose a heat, a warmth that wrapped around him, placing him inside a human's skin, resolving itself into a painfully distinct texture in the pattern of a woven blanket, and beneath him an unimaginable dichotomy of softness and hard planes that he could identify as a human body. His fingers--one too many, part of him always felt--were coated in damp heat, and the person below him, whom he recognized as Mikaela, even though she was no longer her proper size in relation to him, made whimpering sounds and gasps that the memory interpreted as approval rather than pain or distress. There was something coiled up inside him, a muscular knot of want and need that begged for more as a heartbeat pounded through him. And then she was guiding him, hands on a part of him that sparked strange, strange feelings of alien pleasure, and he was inside her, hot and wet and pressure and he couldn't feel this way, he shouldn't feel this way, it was too much--
Bumblebee broke free of the human memory, shaking, shuddering.
"Bumblebee?" Sam asked quietly, energy field still spread throughout him, like an embrace. His presence was cool and reassuring, though Bumblebee understood that humans found the ghost's non-holographic presence uncomfortable, too cold for their design parameters. Sam, like the rest of his species, put so much importance on touch, and Bumblebee was still only beginning to understand why. But he certainly didn't object to it, as it was something his partner needed, and even took a measure of pleasure in the spectral touch, knowing Sam meant it as a gesture of affection and trust.
"Why do your people," he managed to ask after a moment, "have to feel everything so intensely?"
"Because it's the way we are," Sam answered almost apologetically. "Sorry."
Cycling air through his cooling vents, Bumblebee managed to get his reactions back under control. Now at a distance from the immersive experience, he condensed it into a data packet that he transmitted to the others around the fire. One by one they received it and opened it up, optics going to half power as they considered it. Sam reformed on his rock, closer to Bumblebee now, close enough to touch in this form, and indeed, one hand did rest on his armor. It was faintly amusing at times to realize that Sam's image was made through his own holomatter projector, which made any touch essentially Bumblebee touching himself. In another way it was reassuring, and in a third way saddening; he never had to be wary of sudden moves around Sam because Sam wasn't physical any more. None of them were able to hurt his friend, even accidentally. And while Sam theoretically could hurt them, he never would. His telekinetic abilities were draining enough that he used them only for practical purposes.
Assuming one counted the occasional morale-raising prank under "practical," of course.
"Why do your people subject yourselves to that?" Ironhide asked, looking at Sam. "How can you enjoy that?" His shudder was expressive enough to make clear his meaning.
Sam blinked and looked up at Bumblebee. "I didn't think it was that bad," he said, questioning.
"Their sensational intensity is always that much greater than ours," Bumblebee told Ironhide. "It's what they're used to."
"No wonder humans can't take much of a temperature range," Sideswipe remarked. He rubbed his right shoulder. "Last time I felt anything that hot, my arm was melting off in a lava pit."
"No, I think I get it," Hot Rod disagreed. "I mean, you cut through the intensity and the temperatures and stuff, and... well, it's a little like a race. The road beneath you, the sky before you, and you want nothing more than to run, to win... sorry," he said, looking around at the others, "that doesn't make much sense, does it?"
"A little," Sam said, nodding thoughtfully. "Different kind of feeling good, different kind of freedom, but a little bit alike."
Springer shifted, the reddish firelight ghosting across his green armor, turning it brown. "It's about trust, too, and affection," he guessed quietly. "You wanted to make her feel good. She wanted to make you feel good."
"A little like spark-bonding," Arcee said, nodding at him. "Which we can do and humans can't. Not much, but... a little."
Sam nodded. "Yeah. A little." The experience of spark-bonding was one of the memories Bumblebee had shared with him, and one of the ones that made the Autobots seem the most like humans, while at the same time totally alien. There was nothing like it on Earth, not sex, not marriage, nothing. The closest thing he'd been able to translate it to, when he'd been asked, was telepathy, which didn't exist on Earth either but was at least a familiar concept through comic books.
The mech Bumblebee had spark-bonded with had been one of his own caste, model line, gender, whatever inadequate English word the Cybertronian concept was translated to, millenia back, when the war had just been starting. Sam had been overwhelmed as their two lives had spilled through one another. Everything was seen, understood, known. Everything each of them were was given up freely to one another. It was, beyond comparison, the single most spiritual experience Sam had ever encountered, and one based on perfect, absolute, unbreakable trust.
Goldbug had been killed not too long afterward, and it was that crippling act of devastation which had led to Bumblebee joining the Autobot cause.
"Humans can't spark-bond," Sam said, "so we do the best we can with what we have. Sex makes us vulnerable, mentally as well as physically. Well, aside from prostitution," he amended with a rueful half-smile. "And it does," he stressed, looking at Ironhide, "feel really really good to us. Like falling free. Like contentment. Like love."
Ironhide snorted doubtfully. "Your species has its system processors misaligned," he opined.
"Aw, and here I thought you liked humans," Sideswipe teased.
"Like? Yes," Ironhide retorted. "Understand? Never."
"No fighting," Arcee said, placing an arm on Ironhide's as he switched to his cannons. "The humans are recharging," she reminded him. Sam still couldn't help but think of Arcee as female, even though the Autobots didn't really have genders. Her model line, "femmes" as they'd been dubbed once they reached Earth, were really just another specialization of the transformer species, slight and designed for precision work--which made her a crack shot and a kick-ass sniper--and tending toward a higher pitch of vocal processor resonance, which came out as sounding "feminine" to Earth natives, the same way the bulkier "warrior" models like Ironhide had a lower pitch which sounded masculine. Bumblebee's more "general use" model was somewhere in between the two.
Assuming one translated model line specifications as "gender" rather than "race," Cybertron had once had forty-two distinct genders, a number which had amused Sam, and Bumblebee too once he'd explained the reference. Less than a dozen different types had arrived on Earth thus far, and many were feared to have been lost forever. Race probably was a better translation for the concept of femmes versus warriors versus scouts, Sam thought, given the way they'd each had their own distinct subcultures, but humans by and large clung to what they were used to, and so they viewed femmes as women, and the rest as male. It was an artificially constructed and imposed division, which amused most of the Autobots and irked the rest. Arcee and the other femmes, though, didn't seem to mind their being identified with one of the human genders. Some of them had even taken it on themselves to learn about the suffrage movement and act as role models and ambassadors for women's rights, even though they themselves were not actually "female" as biology would dictate it.
It always felt strange whenever Sam realized that he identified more, in some ways, with the Autobots than his own species. Granted, his was a pretty unique existence, whether he thought of himself as a ghost or as a "transmigratory energy-based lifeform engaged in a symbiotic existence" as Perceptor had put it, but still... he still counted himself as human.
"Were there ghosts on Cybertron too?" he asked.
Sideswipe blinked his optics, then leaned back a little. "We did have visiting energy lifeforms once in a while," he offered.
"Not really," Bumblebee replied. "Nothing like you, Sam."
"Huh. So no ghost stories, either, then?"
Springer laughed a little. "Those seem to be an Earth thing. Comes of being an organic species; simple sonic vibrations below twenty megahertz can make your kind think they're seeing and feeling things that aren't there."
"That sucks." Sam smiled and leaned back a little, looking up at the cold, clear moon. "It'd be the perfect night for scary stories around the campfire otherwise. But then," he laid out the bait, "I suppose that's an Earth thing too."
There was silence for a minute, and he had to hide his grin. "That doesn't mean we don't have scary stories," Ironhide finally rumbled. "Ones that would freeze your energon in your spark chamber."
"Oh?" Sam sat up a little straighter again.
"You go first, Hot Rod," Arcee urged. "You came the closest to them, after all."
Hot Rod shook his head. "I hate remembering that."
"Remembering what?" Sam asked.
"Cybertron had predators, too," Arcee said. "We called them 'Dwellers in the Depths' where I came from."
"We called them 'Slammers'," Sideswipe said, shaking his head. "And unlike you humans, the things that scared us were real," he leveled the charge at Sam.
Sam held a hand up, palm out, mocking a little. "Considering I'm dead, Sideswipe, don't be so sure all the things humans are afraid of don't exist."
"You met a Slammer?" Bumblebee asked Hot Rod, optics wide.
"Yeah." Chagrin and something else twisted Hot Rod's voice. "I was hiding out with Kup...."
Author's Notes: The title is a play on "aberrational behavior" (for a pretty good definition, go watch the trailer for "This Film Is Not Yet Rated") and really has to do with some things I've been pondering about Cybertronians. There seems to be a prevalent fanon belief that sex and spark-joining feel roughly the same, which I'm not so sure needs to be the case. We can be different kinds of entities, with different feelings and experiences, and still end up with the same beliefs and emotions, no?
Similarly, after the whole "don't want to have to explain girl robots" reason Arcee was cut from the movie... why do femmes have to be female per se? Given that reproduction doesn't happen the same way for transformers as it does for humans, doesn't it make more sense that they're simply a different model line, built along different requirements, the same way Jazz is smaller and faster, or Ironhide bigger and bulkier? As the show "Third Rock from the Sun" posited, alien species don't have to be limited to the two genders we have on Earth. And "genders," as in this story, can end up being a mistranslation anyway.
Lastly, the whole idea and story of the Slammers is borrowed without permission (and if the author tells me he objects, I'll happily delete that section of the story and rework it) from
koilungfish's awesome short story "Slammers", easily the best Transformers horror I've read. In any case, I hope y'all enjoyed the story. It ended up a bit more "talky" than the first two in the series, which probably means it needs a bit of reworking, but it got some things out of my head.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 10:19 pm (UTC)Is this going to mess up your novel? 'Cause I'd sure hate for you to think that we're not enjoying this, or that you're working on the wrong thing...specially since this is a different take on Bee and Sam.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 10:28 pm (UTC)But, yes, I should be working on it.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 10:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 10:52 pm (UTC)The other thing I should be doing, of course, is editing Japanese translations... that one will probably win because it's shorter, faster, and my Wonderful Husband more likely to bug me about it. ^^;;
no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 10:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 11:34 pm (UTC)Good ol' Percy. Never use one word where twenty will do. ^_^
no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 11:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 12:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 02:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 02:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 02:49 am (UTC)(And... Hitachiin twins icon? Yay! Have never seen that image before. Is cute. I need to get back to that story series... if the two sets of twins will ever stop arguing over who gets the PoV for part three.)
no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 12:47 am (UTC)Continuing, I've been enjoying these fics. Well, basically everything you've written in this fandom, actually. Just thought I'd pop in and say thank you for writing wonderul things.
I'll have to go read Slammers now. Thanks. ^^;;
no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 02:08 am (UTC)Keep writing. I look forward to the next installment.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 07:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 10:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-09 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 02:41 am (UTC)Anyway, this was chock full of neat little differences between autobots and humans, and I liked how a few of the 'bots just shuddered at the memory of sex and a few 'got it'. 'spretty awesome.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 05:59 am (UTC)