#I just get to the time I usually exercise and do it

[tanadrin]

I do not know why Americans have the sense that European food is somehow intrinsically healthier than their own food. EU food regulations are basically indistinguishable from American ones, and include many substances that are in fact banned in the US. EU regulations are tougher on GMOs specifically, but that’s bad, because GMOs are safe, and panic about GMOs is based on unscientific nonsense. And there is loads of stuff like partially hydrogenated oils that is banned in American food and fine in European food. There are more food dyes approved for use in Europe than there are in the US.

But I am so, so tired of Americans imagining Europe is some kind of food-regulatory utopia where somehow gluten works differently (!!!) and everyone is way healthier. They come to Europe on vacation and then they go home talking about how much better they felt and how they lost weight or w/e despite all the pastry they ate and it’s bc. Well. They were on vacation! They were more active than usual, and having fun! Of course they felt better! This gets compounded with, like, Mediterranean diet woo and progressive American cultural cringe and it’s really weird. I have spent a lot of time in Europe and in the US. Here in Germany people are marginally healthier but it’s mostly because middle aged Germans have a masochistic fetish for exercise. And even then it varies a lot by location and social group.

Also I f you are talking about literal nebulous evil forces rather than being able to name one (1) food additive you think has health risks you are engaged in wildly irresponsible scaremongering. That’s sort of reflexive conspiracism isn’t it? You have no ability to name specific harms you think might exist, just a vague sense someone is out to Get You. Even the anti-vaxxers can point to a (fictitious) causal chain like “vaccines —> autism.”

This is about to trigger a whole other rant about how social media-driven doomerism and conspiracy is shredding the social fabric and driving the rise of the far right, about how being cynical about everything makes you an easy mark for grifters, and about how nobody can tell the difference anymore between “thing that is complicated that I don’t understand (like US federal regulations) and a conspiracy,” but that’s kind of off topic, so I will spare you. But the tldr is that you folks really need to chill out.

people who for very silly reasons want to market prepared food products without preservatives in them who then discover why we started putting preservatives in prepared food products in the first place (because without a preservation method food quickly grows stale, and frequently also moldy or downright toxic) is a consistently good bit. like people really seem to think we put Evil Chemicals in food on purpose for no reason.

[techhiz]

part 1, part 2

Faded Spark (?)

Months had passed since Y/N’s death, but for Knockout, the pain felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Every time he entered the medbay, he was struck by the haunting memory of her lifeless frame on the table. No matter how much Breakdown tried to help him cope, the guilt and grief remained like a shadow he couldn’t escape.

Meanwhile, at the Autobot base, life had resumed its usual rhythm—until a strange signal disrupted their routine.

“Optimus, we’re receiving a faint distress signal,” Raf reported, his fingers flying across the keyboard. The signal was weak, barely holding together, but it was enough to catch the Autobots’ attention.

“Can you pinpoint its location, Rafael?” Optimus asked, his deep voice calm but laced with urgency.

Raf nodded. “It’s coming from about ten miles outside Jasper. Looks like... a Cybertronian life signal. Barely hanging on.”

The room went silent for a moment.

“A Cybertronian? Out here?” Arcee questioned, narrowing her optics. “Could be a trap.”

“Or someone in trouble,” Bulkhead countered, his tone serious.

Optimus considered for a moment before turning to the team. “Arcee, Bumblebee, Bulkhead—investigate the source of the signal. Exercise caution, but if someone requires aid, we will not turn our backs on them.”

The Autobots transformed and rolled out, leaving Ratchet and the others behind to monitor the situation from the base.

The source of the signal led them to a small ravine, where they found the broken frame of a Cybertronian lying half-buried in the dirt. The bot was barely recognizable at first—missing an arm, one optic dark, and their side leaking faint traces of energon.

“Primus...” Bulkhead muttered as they approached. “Whoever they are, they’ve been through the Pit.”

Arcee crouched down to get a better look, her optics widening as she realized something. “Wait... this can’t be. This is—”

“Y/N,” Bumblebee beeped, his tone equal parts shock and disbelief.

The name struck them like a thunderclap. Y/N was supposed to be dead. The Decepticons had been mourning her for months, and yet, here she was—alive, but barely.

“She’s still online,” Arcee said, placing two fingers to the side of Y/N’s helm. “But just barely. We need to get her to Ratchet, now.”

Without hesitation, Bulkhead gently lifted Y/N’s broken frame and carried her back to the GroundBridge.

“By the AllSpark...” Ratchet breathed as the team arrived with Y/N. He immediately cleared a berth and gestured for Bulkhead to lay her down. “I thought she was dead!”

“We all did,” Arcee said grimly, watching as Ratchet began to work on her injuries. “But here she is. Somehow.”

Ratchet quickly assessed the extent of Y/N’s damage. Her frame was still in critical condition, but it was clear that someone had tried to stabilize her wounds before abandoning her. The patchwork repairs were crude—likely done in haste—but they had been enough to keep her alive.

“Her injuries are consistent with what Knockout described months ago,” Ratchet muttered as he worked. “Missing arm, optic damage, energon loss... It’s as if time stopped for her.”

“Can you save her?” Bumblebee asked, his tone pleading.

Ratchet’s optics softened as he glanced at the young scout. “I’ll do everything I can, Bumblebee. But her condition is precarious. She’ll need time to recover, even if I succeed.”

The Autobots watched in tense silence as Ratchet worked tirelessly to stabilize Y/N. After what felt like hours, the medic finally stepped back, his frame slumping slightly from exhaustion.

“She’ll survive,” Ratchet said at last. “But she’ll need rest and energon to regain her strength.”

Days passed, and Y/N began to show signs of improvement. Her remaining optic flickered weakly as she regained consciousness, but she remained quiet and disoriented. The Autobots were careful not to overwhelm her, giving her space to process her surroundings.

But as Y/N’s condition improved, a difficult question arose: should they inform Knockout and the Decepticons about her survival?

“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” Bulkhead admitted during a private discussion in the main room. “I mean, she’s Knockout’s sister. He has a right to know she’s alive.”

“And what happens if we tell him?” Arcee countered. “He’s a Decepticon, Bulkhead. If he knows we have her, he might use it as an excuse to attack us—or worse, take her back to Megatron.”

“Y/N was never really a fighter,” Bumblebee interjected, his beeps soft and thoughtful. “I don’t think she’d want to go back to that life.”

“Regardless of what she wants, it’s her choice,” Ratchet said, his tone firm. “She’s not a prisoner here, and we are not her captors. But we can’t make this decision for her.”

Optimus, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. “The question is not whether we should inform Knockout, but whether Y/N wishes for us to do so. When she is ready, we will ask her. Until then, we will respect her autonomy.”

The Autobots nodded in agreement, though unease still lingered among the group.

As the days went on, Y/N grew stronger, and with that strength came clarity. She began to interact more with the Autobots, listening to their stories and learning about their lives. Though she still carried the scars—both physical and emotional—of her time with the Decepticons, she found a strange sense of comfort among her new companions.

One evening, as she sat quietly in the medbay, Ratchet approached her. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Y/N,” he began gently, “there’s something we need to discuss.”

She turned to him, her optic dim but focused. “What is it?”

Ratchet sighed, leaning against the edge of the berth. “Your brother... Knockout. He believes you’re dead. We’ve been debating whether to inform him of your survival.”

Y/N’s expression flickered with pain at the mention of Knockout. She hadn’t forgotten her brother—not for a moment. Despite everything, she still loved him. But the thought of returning to the Decepticons filled her with dread.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to face him,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “He... he’d never forgive me if I stayed here. But I can’t go back to that life, Ratchet. I can’t.”

Ratchet nodded slowly, his optics filled with understanding. “You don’t have to make a decision right away. But know that whatever you choose, we’ll support you.”

Y/N managed a faint smile, her spark warming at the kindness in his words. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she had a choice—a chance to rebuild her life on her own terms.

The decision wasn’t easy, but she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t the same bot who had left the Nemesis all those months ago.

And perhaps, in time, she could find a way to bridge the gap between her past and her future.

The year that followed Y/N's arrival at the Autobot base had been one of healing, growth, and transformation. Under the Autobots' guidance, she slowly regained her strength and found a new purpose. No longer the fragile and broken bot they had rescued, Y/N had embraced the Autobot cause, using her experiences to fight for a better future.

Her bond with her new allies had grown strong, especially with Bumblebee and Bulkhead, who treated her like a little sister. Though her frame still bore the scars of her time with the Decepticons, she carried herself with newfound confidence, wielding her past like armor.

But one thing she couldn’t shake was the memory of her twin brother, Knockout. Despite all the pain and suffering, she still missed him—his charm, his arrogance, the way he always managed to make her laugh. She often wondered if he’d moved on, if he’d forgiven himself for what had happened.

Unbeknownst to her, she was about to find out.

The Decepticons had launched a surprise assault on a remote Energon mine, and the Autobots had deployed to stop them. The battlefield was chaos—a flurry of blaster fire, clashing blades, and the deafening roar of explosions.

Y/N fought alongside her new family, her movements fluid and precise as she defended Bulkhead from a pair of Vehicons. Her optic narrowed as she brought her blade down on one, sending it crashing to the ground before turning to block the other’s attack.

“Nice work, Y/N!” Bulkhead shouted, smashing another Vehicon with his wrecking ball.

“Don’t get cocky, Bulkhead!” she called back, her voice carrying a teasing edge. “We’re not done yet!”

But as the battle raged on, a flash of crimson caught her optic, and her spark skipped a beat. There, amidst the chaos, was Knockout. He stood near the far edge of the battlefield, his polished frame glinting in the dim light of the mine.

He hadn’t seen her yet.

Her grip on her weapon tightened as conflicting emotions surged through her spark—relief, guilt, fear. For a moment, the battlefield seemed to fade away, and all she could see was her brother.

Knockout was in his element, darting around the battlefield with his usual flair. He didn’t relish combat, but when necessary, he made sure to leave an impression.

“Breakdown, watch your six!” he called out, firing a shot that sent an Autobot stumbling back.

“Got it!” Breakdown shouted, slamming his hammer into the ground and creating a shockwave.

But as Knockout moved to cover his partner, his optics caught something that made him freeze in place.

There, fighting alongside the Autobots, was a frame he knew better than his own.

“Y/N?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

It couldn’t be. She was dead. He’d seen her lifeless frame, held her cooling hand. And yet, there she was—alive and fighting.

For a moment, he forgot about the battle entirely. His optics locked onto her, scanning every detail of her frame. The scars, the missing optic, the arm she’d lost—all of it was still there. It was her.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice breaking with a mix of disbelief and desperation.

Y/N heard his voice and turned, her optic meeting his. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they stared at each other, the distance between them feeling both infinite and insignificant.

“Knockout...” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Before she could say anything else, another explosion rocked the battlefield, forcing them both to take cover. When the dust settled, Knockout was already running toward her, his expression a mixture of joy and anguish.

“What—what are you doing here?” he demanded, stopping just short of her. His optics roamed over her, as if he couldn’t believe she was real. “You’re supposed to be dead! I... I thought I lost you!”

“I thought I lost myself,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft but steady. “But I survived, Knockout. The Autobots saved me.”

Knockout’s expression shifted, his optics narrowing. “The Autobots? You’re... with them now?”

“They gave me a second chance,” she said, stepping closer. “A chance to fight for something better. I couldn’t go back, Knockout. I couldn’t.”

Before Knockout could respond, Breakdown’s voice cut through the moment.

“Knockout! Behind you!”

Knockout turned just in time to see an Autobot charging toward him. He raised his weapon, but Y/N was faster. She leapt between them, blocking the attack with her blade.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Knockout shouted, his voice filled with panic.

“Protecting you!” she snapped, pushing the Autobot back.

The fight escalated as more bots joined the fray, and Y/N found herself caught between her old family and her new one. She fought desperately to keep Knockout safe while fending off attacks from both sides, her spark aching with every strike.

“Y/N, stop this!” Knockout pleaded, his voice breaking. “Come back with me! We can fix this—we can fix everything!”

“I can’t,” she said, her optic shimmering with unshed tears. “I can’t go back, Knockout. I belong here now.”

“You belong with me!” he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. “We’re family, Y/N! Don’t do this!”

“I’ll always love you, big brother,” she said, her voice trembling. “But this is my choice.”

As the battle reached its peak, an explosion tore through the mine, sending debris flying in all directions. In the chaos, Y/N was struck by a falling beam, pinning her to the ground.

“Y/N!” Knockout screamed, rushing to her side. He dropped to his knees, frantically trying to lift the beam. “Stay with me! Don’t you dare leave me again!”

Y/N’s frame was battered and broken, but she managed a weak smile. “It’s okay, Knockout,” she whispered. “I’m not leaving. Not this time.”

Before Knockout could respond, Optimus arrived, lifting the beam with ease. He glanced at Knockout but said nothing, his expression heavy with understanding.

“Take her,” Optimus said, his voice firm. “Get her out of here.”

Knockout hesitated, his optics darting between his sister and the battle raging around them. Finally, he nodded, lifting Y/N into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ve got you, little sister.”

As he carried her away from the battlefield, Y/N rested her helm against his chest, her spark filled with a strange sense of peace.

For the first time in a long while, they were together. And that was all that mattered.

(spoilers: there is going to be a little something for Christmas ;) )

[whenfatecollides]

been exercising consistently for a month now (4 times a week) and I hate to admit that my energy levels really have improved so much 🧍‍♀️

[cuteniarose]

The consequences of my poor financial decisions are here!!

[memento-morri-writes]

I've been thinking a lot about how Rook's reunion with his former mentor, Zara, is going to go, and since I can't predict what the DM is going to have her do or say, I can only dwell on what I know is going to happen. Which happens to include taking off the illusion ring that's been hiding his injuries from her. So have a snippet of the description I have planned for that moment:

tw for description of (mostly healed) injuries

He hesitates, twisting a ring on his finger. Looking at it more closely, she can tell it’s very finely crafted, and must have been very expensive. A large emerald is set into the band. Rook sighs, and pulls the ring off his finger in one quick motion.  Immediately she’s struck by the difference in his appearance as the illusion melts away. He looks awful. His warm, healthy skin fades to a dull and sickly grey. There’s huge bags under his deeply sunken eyes, and his cheeks are hollowed, as though they have been carved out by an overeager sculptor. He looks like he’s recently risen from the grave.  While he was thin before, now she can see his ribs under the skin, and his collarbones are exaggeratedly pronounce. Thin white lines left by dozens upon dozens of recently healed cuts are scattered across his body. On top of that, faded bruises cover most of his visible skin, a mottled mosaic of purple and yellow. They’re clearly days, maybe weeks old, and she can only begin to imagine what they must have looked like when fresh. Bandages are barely visible under his shirt, wrapping around his back, hinting at even more injuries.

[itspileofgoodthings]

you know what I’ve realized lately? that’s really helped? the axiom: it just doesn’t really make that much of a difference. Or at least it doesn’t when you’re talking about good things and not, like, doing good vs. doing evil. Big choices, little choices, decisions, decisions —it’s not just that they don’t matter in the grand scheme of things—because they do! —but just. It won’t make that big of a difference. Life will continue to be wonderful AND difficult, fascinating AND hopelessly mundane, full of roses AND thorns and all the other cliches whether you walk down one road or another. And you’ll get used to the joys and sick of the sorrows whatever they are, and you’ll be ungrateful and bored and dissatisfied in some measure some of the time and you’ll have to work on all the things you have to work on anyways and just. Yeah! It doesn’t make that big of a difference! Even the biggest things!

[adore-gregor]

Lol I keep on doing this, saying I'd come back to tumblr to only disappear again 😂😭

[phantom-of-the-north]

Am I weird for trying out a new sport when I’m 22 years old?

[freebooter4ever]

Sending love from one depressive spiral to another.

One thing that's helped me, as I'm coming out of this one, was getting my friends to pick prompts for me (to write in my case) which I then committed to filling BADLY. Because sometimes intending to create stuff that is just dumb and shit, means it doesn't mind that my brain tells me that it's dumb and shit because I'm like "yes brain, I know, that was the brief" and then before you know it you're back in the creating zone again

Tldr: commit to being shit. 🤷‍♀️

Hello, thank you! Depression is a little shithead because it takes different forms for everybody and sometimes warps depending on the circumstances so even when i think i have a handle on it and can prepare for gaps in my exercise routine that keeps me functional....something will happen and throw me for a loop and im back to struggling. For me, when im like this, that constant voice in my head drowning out everything else - and i mean everything - saying 'you're worthless, this is pointless' over and over and over and over is almost paralyzing. Try writing a cover letter when your brain is telling you that you are probably the most useless person ever and you cant see anything even remotely good about yourself. Its why i have friends proofread if i make any major changes to my generic letter content. Especially this one friend who has the same problem - he cant sell himself, i literally can hear him talk himself in circles into thinking he's old and washed up and not valuable on the market anymore - and i cant sell myself. But i think he's the most amazing talented person ever, and he's never said it but im pretty sure he thinks similar of me, so we check each others work pitches to make sure they sound suitably enthusiastic and glowing. Ive had other people also read my letters but if they dont understand how depression can sit on the brain and make it impossible to write this shit, they dont quite know how to help me. While my one friend who gets it knows that he needs to tell me 'hey, you left out this very important vital contribution to that one project, dumbass' (only nicer lol). So i have one very happy sounding, very aggrandizing letter that i tailor to wherever im sending it. But thats all stuff i need to do. Its vital, its a requirement, i can force myself to sit down and do it.

Personal art isnt exactly a requirement. So instead of making myself sit down and do it, i can just lie on the floor feeling numb and wish i dont exist anymore 🙃

[tardis--dreams]

Gonna go running tomorrow!!!! Gotta hype myself up because i know once my alarm goes off at 6am i will not be as excited anymore ((((: BUT I'LL GO RUNNING!!!!

[jamiesfootball]

currently obsessed with in-universe roy/jamie rpf. have you any thoughts on this topic?

So.

I am assuming that this in partially in reference to that fic that's been making the rounds and I did read the fic and I do have one opinion on the fic that has haunted my waking hours which is:

Why would Roy's sister be into X-Files fanfic?

I'm not saying it isn't possible, and this may be a stupid hill to die on, but given her assumed age bracket this was not the fandom I would have given her.

The interest in medicine. The familial brand of sarcasm and sharp wit. The easy assumption that since her brother also has a bit of a dark sense of humor ('avenge me, keeley', ropes) she likely does as well.

You fools. She'd be into House MD.

(no disrespect at all to the author your fic was lovely I am just very much from the age bracket in question and this one detail threw me for a loop the way different experiences sometimes do)

[violettierre]

I : majored in english, has a masters degree in it, studying philosophy, and have been an English teacher/Junior translator for almost a decade now.

My grandma : there is our future doctor <3

[wolfeyedwitch]

Some items are handmade with love. Some items are handmade with annoyance. I hope the feeling comes through in the final product.

[sheepscot]

my dad said he made something similar to this when he was a kid. being a teen in the early 60's he liked to tinker with stuff and reportedly made a device that would turn off the family TV. and by family tv i mean it was my grandfathers tv because he paid for it. so if grampy wanted to watch tv it didn't matter if someone else was watching something at the time, they had to give it up for grampy. Dad said he'd camp out at the top of the stairs just in view of the tv and press the button to shut off the tv and grampy would get up from the couch and walk over to the tv and turn it back on and go back to sit. then intermittently my dad would turn off the tv several more times and grampy would have to get up and turn the tv back on again until grampy would get frustrated with technology and leave. then the tv was available for my dad to watch

this is so funny

[cinnabeat]

obviously the solution to my knee pain is to scrunch up in a ball in my chair while hunched over taking notes. surely this will not exacerbate any ongoing problems

[demarogue]

Gettin' Through the Holidays Mental Health Tricks

If y'all are anything like me, this time of year is triggering AF. Here are some small, very easy grounding exercises that I was taught by my therapist, basically in order of how much I like them for this rage-inducing season. You make like them in a different order, depending on your rage-to-despair ratio.

Push a wall: literally go up to a wall and try to push it over. Really try. I promise you won't push it over, but give it your best shot. Try to hold it as long as you can, and then take a breather and assess whether you need to repeat. Why it works: This is a quick, physical expulsion of the fight-or-flight feeling. It's a bit like punching a wall, but without the potential to hurt yourself/look scary/damage things. You can even do it in front of people and say you're stretching, they'll never know (unless the wall actually falls down, but this will not happen, I assure you).

Shake like a dog: Animals shake to release stress, and you are also an animal. Setting aside time to just shake it out, as vigorously as you can, arms and legs, face, stick your tongue out, pretend you're shaking like a wet dog. You can dance instead, if that feels better, and you can do this to music, but basically the more unhinged you can be, the better. If you are in a place you can scream, scream too! Why it works: like the above, this is a release of pent-up stress and anxiety. Especially if your rage-to-woe ratio is high, some kind of physical exertion is often the best way to burn through the cortisol and adrenaline you're building up.

Bilateral Tapping: Cross your arms over your chest so that your fingertips are at your shoulders, and slowly tap, one hand at a time, back and forth, for about a minute. Breathe slowly. Why it works: This is weird as hell, but because this engages both sides of your brain, it helps override the activity of the amygdala, which is the part of your brain that Makes The Fear. If you're being literally triggered in a situation, i.e. you're having a trauma response, or reliving some family trauma, this is a good one.

Box Breathing: From a comfortable position (can really be seated, laying down or standing), inhale slowly for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, exhale for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, then repeat. You can do it for shorter counts or longer counts, but if you vary the counts make sure the exhale is longer than the inhale. You can close your eyes or leave them open. Why it works: This exercise helps you move from a sympathetic (activated) nervous system response to a parasympathetic (balanced) response. I do this one every day, and it's a good gateway to meditation. Especially helpful in anxious or tense situations, but I find if I'm very triggered I need one of the other ones first, or it can make anxiety worse. Breathwork is amazing but not usually as a first exercise if you're very activated, or have been activated a long time.

Ice: Lots of ways to do this one – hands in cold water for 30 seconds, ice pack on the back of your neck, dip your entire face into a bowl of ice water (this one's the most effective). Why it works: I kinda think this is hilarious, but this activates your mammalian dive reflex. It immediately slows your heart-rate, so if you are feeling your blood pressure and heart rate rising, this one is very good. The only reason this one's at the bottom of my list is because I hate being cold.

I wish you all a very get-through-the-holidays-without-hurting-yourself. Take time alone if you need it.