#braying mule

[heartlandians]

Ty related clothes from seasons 5-10 from the Heartland Auction

[amielot]

Some things are just universal.

[corruptionchronicle]

[willrogerssays]

[testmule]

mules don’t neigh, they bray

[moonymelly]

— The Start of Something New —

The small mule slept outside in the grass, the soft wind of the morning tickling his long soft ears. His eyes slowly fluttered open, but he stayed put. There was no reason to get up yet, if he wasn't needed.

He was a verryyy laid back guy.

He looked around with those half-lid, bored eyes of his, smacking his lips. Lots of grass, even though the family he was now a part of wasn't very good at maintaining it. They had a bad habit of uhh...accidentally killing what they grew from time to time.

But it was fine, he guessed. If he could shrug he would, it didn't bother him all too much. His ears swiveled to the sound of stirring from within the house, loud voices chattering like chipmunks.

He heard two little boy voices faintly from inside the house, even though he couldn't really, y'know, understand what they were saying.

"...DONKEY?!" "MULE?!"

"Yes dears, I brought you a baby donkey!! He's outside, go do whatever ya want with it."

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" And before he knew it, two little boys came tumbling out of the house, their shoes not even on and their bodies still clad in pajamas.

The baby mule tilted his head, even raising a brow. Two? Of the same person? They looked exactly the same, sounded exactly the same...He huffed. He didn't care, whatever.

The two boys swooped and cheered upon laying their eyes on the animal, tripping over each other as they bounded over to it.

"MULLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEE" "DONKEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY" Before he could react, the two small humans jumped on top of him, making him involuntarily roll over onto his back.

"I'VE ALWAYS WANTED A--" "--DONKEY!!" They giggled while poking his nose and and tickling his ears. The mule brayed in slight annoyance but once again internally shrugged. Whatever. This was his family now, he supposed.

"BOYS!! C'mere and get yur breakfast!! We prepared it already!!"

The two identical children perked up and immediately they beamed, jumping off of the mule and running over to what the the baby guessed to be their mother.

And just like that, the two were gone, leaving the baby mule covered in torn up grass and leaves, his eyes perplexed.

Well....back to eating grass. Or sleeping. Whatever.

He shook off most of the dirt from his fur, then slowly settled back down into a comfortable position.

Just as the wind slowly rocked him to sleep, his baby eyes slowly drooping into slumber, he heard that same door click again.

He huffed. Great. Just as he had gotten comfortable.

With a mule-like-sigh he lifted his head up, eyeing the door with perked ears.

Huh...a different small human.

This one eyed behind him nervously, then eyed the small donkey, then back and forth until finally, he held his breath which inflated his round youthful face, tip-toeing outside.

Once he slowly closed the door behind him, he immediately beamed, running his small body over to him as he giggled cheerily, tripping over small pebbles and his own feet.

The baby mule braced for impact, shutting his eyes as he expected the same treatment from him. This child had to be from the same family, so he must also be pretty rowdy.

Instead, however, he...wasn't tackled? Wearily opening one eye, he now saw that the small child was on his knees, a big smile on his round face, his blue eyes and their lashes blinking with joy, his smile showing gap where a recently lost tooth had been.

The mule tilted his head, carefully inching his snout to the child, sniffing it. The child laughed, tickled by the warm breath tickling his face.

After his giggling died down, he pouted, brushing off the rest of the torn up grass and soil from the mules fur.

"Awh no...what'd they do to you? How mean..."

The baby mules eyes showed a rare emotion of his: Being intrigued. This small child was...helping him out?

The child smiled once he brushed off all the dirt, then placed his small hand on the mules snout, petting it softly.

"I think they're gonna forget about you in around two days, baby. But dontcha worry, I won't!! I'll be your friend, if you'd like."

He cheekily smiled and gently grabbed the mules head, making it nod and mimicking a dopey voice.

"Oh yesss Mr. Onceler!! I'd love to be with you every day!!"

The child giggled, letting go of the mules face and instead now snuggling into it warmly, his soft black hair tickling the mules snout.

"I can't wait to have so much fun with you, baby mule. We're gonna be the best of pals, right?"

Something inside of the mule’s heart warmed and he snuggled back into the child as well, huffing out another warm breath which caused the child to smile, closing his eyes.

This child was sweet, real sweet. Yeah…he could tolerate this kid.

[verdemoun]

Kieran in guarma

if Kieran was in guarma

He would've immediately proved his usefulness by catching fish with a make-shift net, and the gang would've had a near-steady supply of food. The whole group would've switched from calling him O'Driscoll to Duffy before Arthur even found them.

He'd notice how terrible Arthur looked, shipwreck aside, and gently encourage him to rest at every opportunity. This would include trying to offer to help Dutch rescue Javier, which Dutch would've shut down with a 'oh, as long as Arthur's with me, I have everything I need' in one of the constant digs about loyalty.

He'd follow them anyway and somehow steal Levi's mule, galloping in just as the gang reach Javier and creating the perfect distraction as well as getting Javier away significantly faster than Dutch can carry him.

Kieran would've tried to turn the mule loose once they got back to 'camp' but it followed them anyway.

Later, Dutch 'jokingly' said the mule was a distraction and Kieran stammered a reply about how useful having a mount was before Dutch laughed and said he was teasing. Kieran would've bitterly mimicked Dutch under his breath when he was out of earshot.

He would've snuck Arthur extra fish by telling him it was 'all that was left' because Arthur would've never accepted charity and Arthur doesn't catch on until Micah complains about not having eaten since yesterday, when Arthur's already had two meals.

During the attack of the fort Kieran would've been shaking like a leaf the second cannon-fire started thanks to those army days flashbacks and hidden in the castle, only shooting those who made it to the door.

He would've redeemed himself however by proving an insanely talented sniper when they had to rescue the captain, taking out soldiers before they even got to the sugarcane fields and allowing the gang to focus on fighting their way through the town/barracks.

Arthur made a joke about not being able to bring the mule on the boat with them and Kieran scowled but still needed a minute to say goodbye to the mule he nicknamed Catsi.

He was also miserable the entire trip back to America because Catsi followed the boat on the shore braying.

[metmuseum]

Two satyrs placing Silenus on a braying mule and a third satyr at left. ca. 1515–1600. Credit line: Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1926 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/341473

[quillofspirit]

POTC characters if they had horses

This is now officially a series! Though the next installment is not yet scheduled, inspiration will most likely strike one night, like lightning to a lone tree. Unfortunately, some pictures are not the specific horse, though they do all resemble the idea behind the choice.

Do excuse the various lengths, I had more ideas for some than others. And my skills at moodboards, I am but a youngling in the skill.

I would love to hear your thoughts or questions! either about this or other characters, and other fandoms 😊

Elizabeth Swann

A chocolate Hackney stallion, mostly sweet though also the type to feign coming when called before running away. It was an active young thing that was a gift initially meant for Governor Swann. Elizabeth fell in love with the horse when it almost got away from its holder, at first presentation. Her father was nervous about her having such an energetic animal be responsible for his daughter’s safety, though he quickly realised the love was reciprocated. Its character only part of the reason why she loved that horse, most of it being the freedom it offered. The first time she let it go at a full gallop is the moment she fell in love with the speed, and the muscles beneath her, tensing and relaxing with each stride. She would rarely confess to loving that horse more every time it resisted orders, snorting and pawing in disagreement when they tried to control it by the reigns. She named it Neptune, though she often referred to him as her First Mate.

Governor Swann

A dark bay Hackney gelding, a sweet sweet thing. The type to nudge you for affection, and have enough confidence in its rider to make them a better rider. The Hackney was, and still is, a sought-after breed, known for its trot, as well as its docile and friendly composure. Although the Governor is a skilled rider, having been instructed in all matters of high English society, he still preferred the convenience of a carriage, than riding on a horse. Over time, he found himself growing to love going on rides with Ambassador, but even more when he accompanied Elizabeth on rides. (Though he only ever went in full gallop to hear her laugh from happiness).

Will Turner

A molly mule, though very pretty, he called Hellebore. Named in honour of Rosie, Will initially got the mule with a forge he bought when Elizabeth and him could settle. The last owner left it with the deed, saying he “didn’t know the last time he’d find the thing useful.” Hellebore however, was quick to warm to Will’s soft voice and gentle pats. Mules are known to be smart, social and affectionate. They also tend to be very protective, so the fool who tried to steal from Will’s workshop got a big surprise when Hellebore bit him and trapped him in a corner. The commotion and braying got Will’s attention quickly, and when he arrived, he found the robber trembling in fear. After that, Hellebore became a loyal companion, often nudging Will for more affection, regardless of his half-hearted attempts to push it away while he worked.

Jack Sparrow

A dark bay Spanish Mustang mare. It was left behind by a Spanish general, and Jack stumbled upon it when hiding running from the law. He didn’t know how to approach such a creature, but he found he didn’t have to. It followed him around, until he relented and took care of it. The next night, it came to his rescue when a man Jack owed money to cornered him in an alley. It came charging at the man, snorting and pawing at the ground. When the man attempted to side step, it gave out a big neigh before pushing the man aside. Jack had no other choice than to be grateful, and he named it Maelstrom for it temper. Spanish Mustang are known for their intelligence, their curiosity and their sense of self-preservation. Skills that are most useful when in proximity to Jack Sparrow.

Hector Barbossa

A black Irish Draught mare, intimidating but loyal to a fault. will kick at anyone that tries to steal from the many bags it often holds can often be find stealing apples. Generally easy-going, they need a firm hand to push them to use their athletic abilities, but they are known to be surprisingly agile. Barbossa named her Themis, after the Greek goddess of Justice and Wisdom.

Joshamee Gibbs

A New Forest mare, named Scallywag. It is intelligent, good-natured and sure-footed, and it stumbled upon a drunk Gibbs one night. It jumped over Gibbs, and the first thing he saw upon waking up was the very close, soft nose of a pony sniffing him. He startled, and the pony snorted in his face. At first, Gibbs tried to shoo it away, but the horse was persistent, pushing its fuzzy nose into his hair, and he would have found the gesture endearing, if it did not grab his hat and run away with it. He looked for the horse for a few days, before he found it, moving its head all around and slapping the hat on nearby bushes. In the end, he did find it endearing.

James Norrington

A stunning silver Turkoman stallion. As a military man, James needs to trust his horse. Turkoman horses, now mostly extinct, are renowned for their stable feet, robust body and stamina. They are intelligent, and often form a very strong bond with their owners. James Norrington would be the kind of man to want a reliable horse, willing to wait months for one to be imported. The first few months together, James had to calm it a few times, before it knew it could trust. More often than not, talking to it and pressing a firm hand to its neck sufficed to calm the horse. Now, he's the type of horse to finish a race alone, and win. It has proven itself time and time again, often the calmest amongst the cavalry. He took a few weeks before deciding on a name, finally settling for Aquila.

Cutler Beckett

A white Thoroughbred stallion, it looks bigger than it really is, though with Beckett's stature it's no wonder. Generally, thoroughbreds are known to be strong and have good stamina, but tend to have nervous and stubborn spirits. Riding a thoroughbred requires a firm but knowledgeable hand, and is often the measure of a excellent rider. Lord Beckett called it Triumphant Venture.

BONUS

Davy Jones

If he had another creature at his command, but horse-inspired, it would be a kelpie. HOWEVER! I do think it would have a few lights in its mane, like an anglerfish. It would look like tiny fireflies stuck in seaweed, and might just be enough to attract curious sailors. The kelpie would generally consume all souls, but would bring some back to Davy Jones. I didn't do a moodboard for this one because it gave me nightmares!

These are my dividers, please do not use them.

[shift-shaping]

devour

solas takes enaste to the fade. poor decisions are made.

rating: m

pairing: solavellan

previous fics | 1 2 3 4 5 6

To shape the Fade into a form Enaste would recognize was no small task, but Solas needed her to feel comfortable for her first exploration of it. Her half-bare feet crunched on the gravel road leading into Haven. She looked around her, transfixed by the sights and sounds of his recreation. The smell of fire, pine, and cold filled the air. He heard the distant shrieks of magpies, the cutting winter wind, the braying of a mule. The village of Haven breathed to life around them, unharmed and whole.The illusion was complete, and would be stable as long as she did not panic.

"I'm pleased to see you were able to rest, Inquisitor." She turned slowly, taking it all in, and her warm green-brown eyes fell on him with a foggy, dim recognition.

"I..."

He approached her slowly, and she blinked in confusion. "Take your time. Do you recall where you are?" He kept his voice low and gentle. The ringing of an anvil caught her attention, and she shook her head suddenly, as if to clear her thoughts.

"This is Haven." She looked at him again. "I remember."

"Well done." He said it without any irony: it was good that she stabilized herself without his assistance, and the praise made her relax.

"Solas." His name on her lips made his heart stir. Had it always? Or was it the amplified emotions of the Fade? She looked up towards the chantry, eyes narrowing in the bright sunlight. "Why here?"

"Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you." He gestured up the steps, through the gate, and led her up the hill.

"Did we--'' She stopped for a moment, looking behind her, then shook her head again and looked at him. "Ir abelas. I feel... off."

"In what sense?"

"I..." Tempted as he was to help her, he did not. Learning to center her mind was vital if she wanted to continue this dream, and he’d already given her the training necessary to do so. "No." He smiled slightly, and she let out a shaky breath. "I'm alright. A lot happened here."

"Indeed." He led her through the chantry doors, into the dungeon below. In a dark room, lit by sparse candlelight, they stood before a set of chains bolted to the floor.

"I remember this room..." Her voice was more confident now, more solid. "Cassandra and Leliana interrogated me here. I was so confused. I... don't recall ever being so scared before." She looked at the chains in the center of the prison. "I had no idea why they were so angry with me, but I know what the Chantry thinks of my people." She blinked slowly. Her voice was pained. "I believed I would die here, probably painfully, and my clan would never know what happened."

"Yet you survived, lethallan." He had witnessed more of her imprisonment than she had, and it was better she not know all that was said about her.

"Thanks to you, as I understand." It had nearly been the opposite. He had intended to remove the anchor by any means necessary, even if she had to be sacrificed for it. Part of him still thought it the wiser choice. The rest of him felt nauseous even considering it, knowing now what a massive waste it would have been.

"I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor."

"Wasn't I out for days?" She looked at him with furrowed brows. "How long can it take to look at a mark on my hand?"

To look at the mark? Minutes. To decide whether he should try to remove it, or just kill her? Days. She did not need to know that, though, and it was not a thought he should linger on. "A magical mark of unknown origin, tied to a unique breach in the Veil? Longer than you might think. I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing."

"I... am glad it wasn't boring, then."

"No. Quite the opposite. Cassandra suspected duplicity, and threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn't produce results."

Enaste smirked and rolled her eyes. "Cassandra's like that with everyone."

He barked a laugh. She was getting used to being here; he could feel her presence solidly beside him, and that she felt steady enough to make jokes was reassuring. "Come, there is more to discuss." He led her back outside, into the bright sunlight, under the eye of the swirling Breach high overhead. "You were never going to wake up. How could you? A mortal sent physically through the Fade." He stopped near the path towards the apothecary, where their view of the Breach was clear. "I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted were driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra... or she in me. I was ready to flee."

"To flee?" She cocked her head with interest. "After all that?"

"Without the promise of protection? And minimal likelihood of your recovery?"

"But where would you have gone? Rifts threaten the whole world. And you would have been on Cassandra's shit list forever, regardless."

He snorted, unused to her cursing in common. "'Shit list'?"

Enaste balked defensively. "Varric says it all the time."

"Ah. Ever the master at wordplay, our dwarven friend is." She frowned at him, but he could tell she was trying not to smile. Her eyes were alight, more green now in the light of the Breach --and just as entrancing. "I would have gone somewhere far away, where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me."

She let herself smile now, and even here, it disarmed him. "I’m glad you stayed."

He returned her smile. "I never said it was a good plan." He turned away from her, towards the Breach, and gestured towards it. "I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts."

"On your own?"

He nodded. "It may feel like a fool's errand now, but what other hope did we have?" She stepped closer to him, looking up at the Breach herself. "I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then..." He turned to her, and she looked down at her left palm. He lowered his voice. "It seems you hold the key to our salvation." Their eyes met. He went on. "You had sealed it with a gesture... and right then, I felt the whole world change."

She inhaled sharply. Unlike when they had actually lived in Haven, she wore the vest and pants that Josephine arranged for her as Inquisitor, clothing that would have been unsuitable for the valley's freezing winds. They were tight-fitting, and somewhat --revealing. He kept his eyes on her face, on her full lips and soft eyes and grey-streaked black hair, and held his wrist tightly behind his back. She tilted her head, her smirk subtler now. "Felt the whole world change?"

He returned her smile, and squeezed his left wrist tighter. "A figure of speech."

"Is that really... all it is?" She was close to him now, watching him, her gaze just as intense as when she'd asked him to her quarters, or when she told him she could choose to submit. She bit her lip. There was a scar on the left side of her mouth, sharp and deep. What would it feel like to run his thumb across it, across her lips?

"You change... everything." The words came out before he could stop them, but he didn't want to stop them. He wanted them to be false, and he was tired of lying to her. There needed to be some truth he could give her, even if she deserved so much more.

Her cheeks were flushed pink, but she shouldn't feel the cold here. "You're sweet, when you want to be," she said, and her voice was so soft and low.

He needed to end the dream.

Instead he felt her hand on his cheek, turning him to look at her. Then she pressed her warm, soft lips to his. Heat pulsed through his blood, chasing out whatever was in his mind, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

She pulled away, too quickly, and a single thought came roaring back: absolutely not. He grasped her by the arm and brought her lips back to his in a desperate kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, felt the slope of her back, the curve of her waist in his hands. His tongue traced her lower lip just as he'd imagined so many times before, and a sharp gasp escaped her. He tightened his hold, pulled her close to him, her chest pressed to his so that he felt the swell of her full breasts against his body. Her hands grasped at his sides, tugging on his shirt, as though she could somehow bring him even closer.

He wanted to devour her.

She opened her mouth to him and their tongues met, heat rushing in what little space could be found between their bodies. Another noise slipped from her: a quiet, breathy sound half-way between a moan and a gasp. He leaned her back and pushed his thigh between her legs, pressing into her, earning another shuddering inhale into his mouth. Again she grasped at him, fingers gripping his shirt, then opening to splay across his lower back.

He shifted, pressing his leg harder into the meet of her thighs, and a full-body shudder raced through her. He felt it, felt her, and even when he pulled back to catch his breath the only thought he had was how badly he wanted to feel her come undone. He shook his head, taking in her reddened face and the wash of color on her chest. She reached up to touch his cheek, and if he didn't return to her he suddenly felt he would melt into the floor.

He kissed her again, just as hungrily. Her hand stayed on his cheek, surprisingly gentle for how desperately she'd pulled at him before. It was almost a caress, moving from his cheek to the back of his neck again, sending shivers down his spine. Need pulsed in his core: need for her body, her touch, her. And now he knew with certainty that she needed him, too.

With a sudden and brutal clarity, his heart dropped like a stone.

He pulled back, hands raised as if to ward her away. She blinked at him, slightly dazed, hand still hovering where he was a heartbeat before. "We shouldn't," he sputtered. "It isn't right." He retreated further, putting more distance between them. "Not even here." It wasn't enough. This was a terrible mistake, and he had to end it now.

She looked around, still flushed, visibly confused. "This isn't real."

He smirked at her, appreciating the irony. "That's a matter of debate." He exhaled, determined to compose himself. "Perhaps best discussed after you wake up."

He forced her from the dream. It was all he could think to do. That meant she was awake, and would certainly come to find him in the waking world.

What was he thinking? She wasn't even supposed to exist --her world wasn't supposed to exist. It would be better to stop this now, to end it before it went too far.

Unless, of course, it had already gone too far. She trusted him, went out of her way to spend time with him, and he'd stood at her side for nearly all of her endeavors. Their relationship was already inappropriate in the eyes of some --he had overheard the rumors from their allies, and he knew she had as well.

The only ending to this was cruelty. The only difference was in degree. But the thought of what rejecting her now would do to her, of never having a meaningful conversation with her again, of ending her training just as she showed so much promise, was too much to bear. He was weak, and selfish, and one day he would beg her forgiveness. He just wanted to put that day off a little longer.

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[kareuraa]

UHHHHH HUUUUHHHH!

Braying like a mule I am in this applebees, ladies!

WAKE UP, new total drama just dropped!!! [i blast an air horn in your face]

[corruptionchronicle]

[willrogerssays]

[aurumacadicus]

BRAYING LIKE A MULE I'M LAUGHING SO HARD THE GROCERY STORE FORGOT TO CHARGE ME FOR MY SIRLOIN STEAKS

[deadlysoupy]

Faultline

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Brainstorm/Perceptor, Brainstorm & Perceptor, Brainstorm & Nautica Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Mind Manipulation, Happy Ending

Perceptor is a hard mech to handle when it comes to his patience with Brainstorm. Thus, after Brainstorm gets his load of Perceptor's fury, the Ship's Number One Genius takes matters into his own hands — and attempts to make Perceptor fall in love with him.

It goes in the exact opposite direction.

my Secret Solenoid gift for @elmonstro !!! thank you @secretsolenoid-revived for hosting the event and being so very patient with me!! first time doing anything like this event and i had,, troubles. also huge shoutout to @trashhole who beta'ed this mess i wouldn't be there without them!!

posted on AO3 (requires an account) or under Read More for easy access!

It’s quiet in the lab today. Not a good quiet, not the kind of quiet that makes Brainstorm excited to get going and create something incredibly genius, and slightly explosive. Not the kind that makes him focus and drift from reality itself in search of the unexplored, to make the unreal, real.

This quiet had him slightly tilting his back to throw a look at a laser-focused Perceptor and envy the fixation he has had with his own project. Because he, as it stands, cannot get the anti-gravity blaster to work. Try as he may, re-wire, calculate from the beginning – nothing seemed to help. He considered banging his helm on the table, but that would only damage the equipment. 

After a while of struggling, Brainstorm decided to seek assistance. Two heads are better than one, obviously – even if one is more genius than the other. 

Which had been a bad decision from the start. And he should have known it, too, because whoever distracts Percy from his work is to be stricken with a fiery glare and such a passive look it could kill the desire to ask in just about anyone. Anyone but Brainstorm.

“Hey, Percy, do you think I should re-adjust this or leave it as it is? It isn’t working right,” Brainstorm says with a half-finished component in hand, its insides dangling in the air when he swings it. He slides into Perceptor’s line of vision, occupied by a biocell beneath his microscope. It leaves a silence hanging between them. 

Perceptor doesn’t even blink, let alone vent in his general direction. So, Brainstorm tries again, the tone of his voice slightly more rough around the edges. 

“He-ey, ships’ genius number two! Get out of your head, it’s begging you to dissect it, c’mon!”

His lab partner’s faceplate shifts from cold concentration to a slight frown, one you wouldn’t notice if you hadn’t looked hard enough. He notices it anyway. 

“Brainstorm, whatever complication it is you have right now, I assure you, it can wait until I’m done.”

“Waiting would require patience! I’m kind of at the brink of my own discovery here – at least tell me if you think it needs work?” Brainstorm pleads, shifting his approach, his optics round, but Perceptor is unrelenting. 

Brainstorm’s optic-ridges furrow.

“You’re mean, you know that? A real stick in the mud. A stubborn mule. A…” Brainstorm gestures his free servo in search of a new expression to throw. His vents get hotter.

“Are you done?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I distracting you?” Brainstorm’s wings flutter in exasperation as the air inside his mask gets a little too warm. “My work is important too, if you didn’t know! And I would love it if you could pull your helm out of your aft once in a while!”

Perceptor’s shoulder plates answer Brainstorm as he straightens up and looks at him with such a fire in his gaze that burns Brainstorm’s insides. His mouth a perfect line, but the sharp edges of his optics and the brilliant light behind them are what turns Brainstorm’s entire resolve around. 

As he backpedals, Perceptor’s watchful optics follow him until he’s at his desk again, and only then does the scientist turn away to chip away at his work once more, as if nothing had ever happened.

Brainstorm has trouble forgetting the incident even hours after. 

Truly, it is Perceptor’s fault. He is the one missing Brainstorm’s potential, his drive. Now his gun sits alone, it’s insides full of holes, and Brainstorm tosses it a look more than once like it had personally offended him.

So he does the best thing he can – he drowns himself in the work that most would call “unethical” and “useless”. What else is he supposed to do, really? It would not hurt to put his other work on a pause until he deals with his more pressing problems. Mainly – his lab partner being an uncooperative aft.

Days later, Brainstorm stares at a flat metal plate, its silver and smooth top reflecting his faceplate in a morphed and grotesque image, his servos firmly planted into the workstation. It had nothing Brainstorm-like in it – which is what makes his cords uneasy, optics never settling on one detail of the device.

Despite all of his efforts, despite the drive that went into his work, he couldn’t put it to use. He’s not that kind of bot – not even when he’s full of sadness and bitterness. 

So, he puts it away in their lab, far from the prying eyes; he burrows it under the pile of other failed experiments and fried chips to be long forgotten. 

At least his honour is saved.

That is, until someone else finds it.

Brainstorm never liked Whirl much. If it wasn’t him, then it was Whirl who could turn everyone's attention to himself, a chaotic force of nature. And sometimes – or most of the time, really, – he tended to cross the line.

“Oh, hey, what’s this thing?” he says, putting an eerily familiar disc in his servos, its shiny surface glinting in the lab’s bright lighting.

Brainstorm’s never run faster in his life. He does almost trample over the scrapped projects Whirl’s been digging through, but he catches himself in time.

“That,” he grunts while gripping one side of the machine to pry it away from Whirl’s claws, “is none of your business.” 

“Stormy, you should know by now – everything is my business,” the menace answers back, his optic glimmering and squinting. The device is then pulled, but Brainstorm has a good grip on it, and he tugs right back. 

Brainstorm dares a quick look to his left – Perceptor is too engrossed in his documenting to pay attention to them – which, in the heat of the moment, gives Whirl an advantage. 

He pinches on Brainstorm’s pede and blunt pain betrays his reflexes. Whirl manages to pry away the machine and hold it above his frame while he helplessly reaches for it; his efforts in vain. 

“‘Make-Perceptor-love-me machine’? Seriously?” Whirl reads out loud while Brainstorm struggles against his hold to snatch the device away. Out of all the things to label, he decided on that one?

“Wait, Whirl–”

“Oh, this is gold,” his optic shines with malice and Brainstorm only has two solid seconds before he can hold Whirl’s pedes to stop him from going straight for Perceptor.

They both topple down like cards, and Percy’s definitely noticed the fight by now. He peers from the table they usually keep the scraps behind, a little too close for Brainstorm’s comfort. 

He pulls Whirl’s impossibly tangly pedes away from Perceptor – because the aft is long too, curse his impossible build – and Whirl huffs in effort, but Brainstorm notices the device is still in his pincers. 

“Whirl, I swear to Primus, if you don’t stop I’ll–”

“Got it!”

Brainstorm gives Whirl one last pull and collapses on the floor backstrut-first. Tangled in a web of pointy joints, along with a couple of wires from the pile. 

What he just heard could not have been anything good. 

He grunts as he scrambles to his feet, some forgotten wire still stubbornly stuck on his servo, and looks up at Perceptor. 

The disc looks tiny in comparison to their joints, but Brainstorm spots it on Perceptor’s pede as his lab partner pulls the device away, definitely making contact. Brainstorm doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not; at least he can test it.

The reaction is delayed by two seconds, but Brainstorm catches the barely noticeable tremor and electricity running through Perceptor’s frame, starting at his pedes, and ending at his processor. Presumably, of course. Brainstorm’s wing twitches. 

“Uh… hey, Perceptor, are you okay?” Brainstorm asks in a surprisingly small voice he doesn’t remember having. 

He regrets ever having the idea of making such a machine in the first place.

Perceptor’s cold, unwavering stare gives him a chill. A loud thud makes Brainstorm’s frame jump as his machine is thrust into his servos. He scrambles to hold it properly, a stare etched into him. 

“Get out of my lab. Now.”

Percy’s voice booms, echoing through the whole lab – their lab, as Brainstorm had priorly thought. 

His processor can come to only one conclusion: he had invented the complete opposite of what he had intended to. Not this aggressive ignorance, not this hatred. He wanted admiration, not hate – not again.

He has no time to make sense of that revelation as he scrambles for the exit, pushing away the bots who had probably heard the commotion and came to poke fun at him. 

He continues to his habsuite, the device close to his chassis, a slight fog creeping into the edges of his vision that doesn’t leave until he’s slamming the door shut. 

Brainstorm slides down onto the floor, pulling the machine closer, almost crushing it with his servo – or hoping to, at the back of his mind.

The silence fills his processor and ugly static pours out. 

How could he think it was ever going to work? He’s no manipulator. Making guns, weapons of destruction, and something that would twist reality and emotional stability of a mech is a night and day difference. He shouldn’t have invented this cursed thing, should never have been this angry, this pitiful, and frag, everyone was watching him, how is he supposed to prove he was good at something– 

One, two knocks at the door tremble his frame as he presses against the door. A muffled “Hey, Stormy, it’s Nautica” beyond the door causes Brainstorm to shift in his seat. 

No knocks come after, but Brainstorm’s emotionally aware enough that his amica endura is still there. Waiting to put a comforting servo on his shoulder – one he doesn’t deserve. 

He manages a sigh that trails through his entire frame. Then he gets up and shuffles to the berth, his servos pressed tight against its flat surface.

The door creaks open, Nautica’s purple paintjob standing out from the shining light of the outside corridor against his dim room. “Hey, Stormy. Can I come in?”

He gives her a look that she reads as inviting, closing the door behind her. She takes a seat next to him, still servos on her lap.

“You know I’m here for you, right?” she says after a few minutes of silence. Brainstorm stares at the floor. “Whatever you need. And I’m sure Perceptor didn’t even mean it back there, you know how–”

“He did, though,” Brainstorm croaks out. Nautica’s frame leans closer to his. “I– I messed up. I wanted an easy way out, but I messed it up again. What kind of a scientist am I if I can’t even make a mind control device work properly?”

Nautica moves a little closer to him and puts her servo on his. “At least it worked, right? And we know the problem, so we can fix it.”

“But he hates me, Nautica.”

“You don’t really know that. I’m sure we can convince him to cooperate on a project with you. Until then,” she removes her servo that seems to leave the warmth on his plating well after their talk, “try and get some rest, okay? We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

She leaves him with a tender smile, shutting the door behind her, and letting him and his thoughts linger under the shadows of his unlit walls. 

In the meantime, he figures out his next steps.

Next day doesn’t come easy, but Brainstorm is considerably more determined to mend the broken trust. His processor doesn’t scream profanities at him, at least, and he would consider it progress. 

Nautica catches up to him in the hallway when he’s on his way to the lab.

“Brainstorm! Do you actually know what you’re going to do? This needs a plan or… something.”

“Nah, I’ll figure it out when I get there,” he says, waving his free servo that isn’t holding the culprit of his problem.

Nautica steps forward before he can enter the lab, his cool demeanour slightly broken. “Okay, wait, I have to confess something. I’ve already talked to Percy the night before: he agreed to help you with one project, as he’d said.”

Brainstorm arched an optic-ridge. “Wait, really?” 

“Yeah, but only one. So you have one chance, got it?” she says, as sternly as she can, yet Brainstorm can’t help but smile at her worrying. 

“Aw-w, thanks, Nautica! You always know how to help out a friend.”

She rolls her optics with a fond smile before cycling and pushing him into the lab.

“Hello,” Perceptor and his carefully folded servos, along with the best passive-aggressive look, meet him right at the entrance, and Brainstorm has to take a step back to regain his footing. “How may I be of assistance?”

Brainstorm coughs into his mask. He vaguely registers the door behind him sliding closed, Nautica’s work wide and proud. “Well, now that you’ve mentioned it,” he dawns, peeking into Perceptor’s personal space despite his better judgement; the scientist leans backwards only slightly, to Brainstorm’s delight, “there’s this tiny little thing wrong with my newest invention. It is imperative that we work together to mend it, as a lot, and believe me, a lot, depends on its success. So, what do you say?”

Perceptor’s field shifts from passive observation to open disgust as Brainstorm talks. And it stings, of course. But, somehow, in the moment, he understands it. The loathing, unease, hatred, – those aren’t new concepts to him. 

What truly intrigues him after a few seconds, though, is the cool response Perceptor gives him. 

“Alright, then. Let’s get this over with.”

Because… huh? Perceptor, in his twisted mind, under the direct intention of outright hating Brainstorm’s cords, agrees to help. Brainstorm’s inner core dances to the feeling of appreciation, of simply earning Perceptor’s attention and kindness which he has always possessed.

They work in silence once Brainstorm expresses what needs to be done with the machine to “fix” it. Each on their own little workshop, pouring familiarity over Brainstorm’s processor, yet swirling with alienation. 

He knocks a fragile chip off the table while fidgeting with the casing, his wings fluttering in desperation, and the sound bounces off the walls of the soulless lab. Perceptor only tosses him a look, but a look that Brainstorm will have to push to the back of his memory cords to make peace with. 

He never wants to earn that look again. It makes his resolve to complete their work as fast as possible all the more potent. 

Just two hours after, they have their pieces done and assemble the machine together. Their shoulders pressed close, but not touching, the invisible gravity pulling Brainstorm closer.

Staring at them is their own reflection, the two of them this time, the bottom of their faceplates inflated as if in a ugly mirror. 

“Now, what are you going to do with it?” Perceptor wonders.

Brainstorm sighs as he takes the device in his servo with careful precision not to grip the wrong side. “Fix my mistakes.”

And he thrusts his servo into Perceptor’s chassis.

It does not have the same effect as Brainstorm has hoped. Instead, Perceptor catches his servo, but doesn’t squeeze it or draw it away. 

So Brainstorm lunges at him. They fall to the ground, knocking some lab equipment on the floor, the sound of their frames making contact loud in his audio receptors. Brainstorm has to reach out in order not to collapse on Perceptor’s flat chassis completely. 

Before any of them can adjust to this position, Brainstorm on top of Perceptor, their pedes inbetween one another, Brainstorm sticks the bottom of his doom on his partner’s chassis. 

Perceptor has his optics closed. Until he shutters them on and off, letting the silence fill both of their cords. Another, familiar shock courses through Perceptor – Brainstorm can taste the electricity this time. His frame catches heat from underneath, and his own vents shorten.

A subtle sigh pulls Brainstorm out of the trance. “What did you do this time?”

And, Primus, how quickly his world can become right again. Perceptor’s voice is even, but Brainstorm catches the light in it, the teasing and love behind it. The notion almost makes him outright giggle – but he doesn’t have time for that. He smiles wide behind his mask anyway, Perceptor’s tiny smirk reflective. 

“Oh, nothing, just goofing off. As usual.”

“You do not ‘goof off’, Brainstorm. On the side note…” his optics dart around, “why, exactly, are we on the floor?”

“Oh, right!” Brainstorm pulls his pede from underneath him for support and deftly stands up. He reaches a servo out for Perceptor, who takes it with a warm smile. 

Brainstorm takes both of Perceptor’s hands once they’re up. He stares into his blue, genius optics, and his spark melts. 

“Percy, I’m… sorry. I know you weren’t angry at me when you said those things, I know it because it’s right, but logic goes out the window when you’re… me. I’m sorry for trying to control you, for having those betraying thoughts. You’re the best lab partner anyone could ask for, and I’m very grateful to have you after so many mistakes. Will you… forgive me?”

Perceptor soon brushes his digit over Brainstorm’s servo. His faceplate warms, and Perceptor’s gaze is kind on him. “I will. I appreciate you telling me the truth. In honesty, I was not aware I hurt you. I apologise for that. In turn, would you be able to express your feelings more… genuinely next time? To let me know when you’re hurting.”

Brainstorm registers his wings flying up. “Oh, of course! Or, well, I can try, but that counts too, right?”

They laugh together, and soon find themselves taking apart the “Make-Perceptor-love-me” machine. Brainstorm flushes more than once. He doesn’t miss Perceptor’s shoulderplates nudging him, precariously. 

Staying up until late, they walk past a lab table with Brainstorm’s failed experiment in complete disarray, wires and bolts pulled apart. Brainstorm doesn’t mind it. Not when he has the real thing right beside him, their servos interlaced.

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - A Line-storm Song

tagged by @elfinismsarts @thana-topsy 💚 @viss-and-pinegar @thequeenofthewinter

I am tagging @gilgamish @greyborn2 @dirty-bosmer @skyrim-forever @totally-not-deacon @mareenavee @paraparadigm @polypolymorph

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: Explicit Category: M/M Genre: Old👏Men👏Yaoi👏 Pairing: Pavo Attius/Gat gro-Shargakh

Summary: Pavo and Gat weather a spring storm in the Reach.

My brain has revolted against only working on Aristeia during NaNoWriMo and I compromised by working on this one-shot which takes place in the same 'verse. I needed to let these two Married Forever guys fuck. And oh boy are they. Excerpt below is not explicit.

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“Rain’s coming,” Gat said, leaning against the smelter as Pavo stepped out of the shadows of Kolskeggr mine. Pavo blinked a little in the late afternoon sun. The golden rays were illuminating white pillars of clouds in the east, only the deep purple shadows beneath them hinting at the possibility of inclement weather.

“I suppose I’ll do the evening chores early then,” Pavo said, moving to stand next to Gat. “Get Juniper settled before the tempest.”

Gat slipped his arm around Pavo’s waist, and Pavo leaned into his comforting bulk. Even after twenty years, his touch never failed to send a thrill down Pavo’s spine.

“I’ll finish up here, get everything secured against the wind,” Gat said against Pavo’s ear, his large tusks tracing the corner of Pavo’s jaw.

“Gat, I’m disgusting, at least wait until I’ve rinsed off!” Pavo yelped as Gat turned and took hold of him with both hands, pulling him close.

“Mmmm, if a little mine dust was a problem—” Gat buried his face in Pavo’s neck while Pavo laughed and tried to push him away. “—I don’t think my people would be nearly as numerous as they are.” He gave Pavo’s neck a final nip before releasing him.

“You’re insatiable,” grumbled Pavo. When he turned to head down the path to their cottage, Gat’s laughter followed him.

The chickens allowed him to drive them into their coop with the bribe of some kitchen scraps, but Juniper, their mule, brayed her protest when he came to collect her from her picket, despite the bucket of oats and corn he rattled at her.

“I know it’s early old girl. But you’ll be glad of the roof and walls tonight, mark my words. Don’t go kicking them down if the thunder gets loud, now.”

As he puttered around the small barn, Pavo heard the front door to the cottage open and shut several times. As he was filling the water trough, Gat appeared in the doorway, wearing a clean shirt with water droplets clinging to the fuzz of his shaved head.

“I left a towel and some clean clothes by the river for you,” Gat said.

“Oh? I thought the dirt was an Orc aphrodisiac,” Pavo said archly. “I’m getting mixed messages here.”

“Smelling like ore is one thing, smelling like Juniper is another.”

“Don’t listen to him Juniper, you smell wonderful.”

Gat laughed, and turned to leave. “I’ll get supper started. Don’t take too long—hey!” He whirled and Juniper brayed and tossed her head at his shout. Pavo just grinned back at him, trying to look entirely innocent and like someone who would never dream of pinching an Orc’s arse.

Shaking his finger at Pavo, and walking backwards until he was well out of range, Gat retreated back to the cottage.