#but i might have like. remembered it? kept exercising the muscle?

[still-a-morosexual-help]

That scene with the pact was so beautiful! And very romantic in a weird sort of way?? Like the pact sign in Mammon's eyes made me go YOOOOO I can't believe that this might have been how all our MCs made their pacts with the brothers!!

I just wish we knew what Mammon said, but I recall Satan already saying the pact's words in the game so that might be what he's saying.

Also am I the only one who's kinda hopeful this manga gets physically published in the future? Because even if it never gets translated I'd buy that thing ASAP with no question asked!!

Also... The amount of Mammon fanservice so far is delicious. Can't wait for the others to eventually get the same treatment-- even Levi technically got some with that supplex on Mammon (is it legal to give the otaku that much abs??)

-@luminari-mc

God the pact scene was amazing - Mammon's eyes!!!!!????? 😖

I haven't kept up with the manga at all but I think we only get multiple shots of Mammon's bare ass?????

And I gotta say:

Okay okay the thing about Levi's abs:

He canonically doesn't have them!!

And that's one thing about om's sprites and devilgram art that always annoys me - they always make the brothers' built, with defined abs when canonically that's not what they look like

There's a whole devilgram about how Levi has a soft tummy and sides with actual fat

There are chats about how Mammon isn't physically strong and struggles to exercise and how his arms are thin and not muscled

Asmo says he doesn't like his muscles being too well defined, heavily implying he loves being slender but not muscled

Belphie canonically is not physically active at all and you can't tell me he has a six pack when the only thing he does is sleep all day

Luke is canonically more physically active and stronger than both Levi and Belphie

I hate how the sprites and devilgrams give them all so-well-defined-they're-probably-dehydrated-abs for "fan service" like give Levi his love handles and tummy! Let Mammon be lanky! Let Asmo have a slight soft body! Hell, go the extra mile and give Beel a nice extra padding of fat over his muscles so that he'd look more like an athlete and less like an action movie star! They'd all still be hot damnit

Also a bit of a tangent but here are more canon things about their bodies that I love:

• Beel's sprite may not be that much bigger than the rest but canonically Beel is huge. If I'm remembering correctly Satan actually calls him "giant" once

• Lucifer needs glasses to read

• Levi has a bad back, which is referenced in at least two different places, that he actually throws out and needs help with standing up again when that happens

• Lucifer has large hands

• Belphie's tail has spines/spikes on it

[clonedchaos]

Marathon

Orchids and Oranges: A Yasammy Week Special

Yasammy week brought to you by @yasammyweek!

Sorry this one was late, I had some errands to run yesterday and an 8 hour shift early this morning. I'll try my best to catch up, but I might be a day late on my prompts.

Day 2: Firsts Rating: G/PG Summary: Sammy attends her first marathon. Fortunately, she has an expert partner to coach her along. 

AO3 Version:

Tumblr Version:

"Ready for this, Sammy?" Yaz asked, reaching down to touch her toes. Her hair was done up in a tight bun, preventing any loose strands from obscuring her vision. Sammy had ditched her boots for a nice pair of pink running shoes; courtesy of her amazing girlfriend. After so long sporting boots, this experience felt foreign. It was far more practical for running at least.

Sammy quickly copied her action as Yaz continued to lead her through the stretching exercises. "Ready as I'll ever be," She smiled. This would be the first time since Nublar that she would be running such long distances. And, it was the first time Yaz had done anything akin to track since the island. Plus, it was fundraising for the local hospital in Yaz's district. All around, this would be a fun time. She was thrilled to be able to partake in an experience and hobby that was close to Yaz's heart. She just hoped she could keep up!

"Alright. You know the basics. Conserve your energy until we near the finish. When going downhill, let gravity do the work for you. It'll make your pace far easier, trust me. And don't push yourself too hard. If you need to take a break, we'll take one," Yaz listed, twisting her upper body to loosen her muscles.

"You got it!" Sammy chirped, playfully saluting her. Yaz chuckled and nudged her with her shoulder.

"Runners! To the starting line! We will begin shortly!" A man's voice crackled through a loudspeaker.

Sammy noticed the flame of competition erupt in Yaz's eyes at the announcement. She was so passionate, so confident. Oh, how she wished she had that sense of valor.

Yaz turned her attention onto Sammy and extended a hand. "Ready, cowgirl?"

"Always, track star," Sammy replied, playing up the nickname. Her fingers intertwined with Yaz's and they headed for the starting line.

Sammy's heart beat wildly in her chest as the anticipation began to build. Her first marathon! This was going to be so much fun! 

She was forced to wait-- she hated waiting when she was this excited-- until the announcers dropped the welcome banner and the marathoners took off. Sammy was instantly pulled forward as Yaz shot off like a bullet. She felt like a cartoon character with the way her legs were flailing back and forth.

Yaz glanced over her shoulder and slowed her pace. "Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away," She apologized, her movements deliberate and precise.

Sammy put a bit more pep in her step and took the lead. "Don't tell me you wanna slow down! We've got competition!"

The marathon path snaked through the thinning shops of the town square and out into a lush pine forest. Miniature markers were laid out on the trail, directing them where they should go. Despite the event not being a race per se, the duo kept toward the head of the pack.

They passed by a small blossoming flower field with vibrant daisies. It took Sammy all the self-restraint in the world to not divert off the path and pick a few to give to Yaz. She'd look astonishing in a woven flower crown.

A medial incline was up ahead.

"Remember, Sammy. Let gravity do the work for you," Yaz panted, having vast control over her breathing patterns.

Sammy nodded and powered forward. By the time her and Yaz reached the top, her calves felt like they were on fire. As they descended, Sammy reserved her energy and let motion take hold. The breeze tickled her cheeks as they picked up speed. She couldn't help but laugh, causing Yaz to do the same.

The next locale was to skirt around the edges of a lake. The sand pulled at her feet, a much rougher terrain to balance on and navigate through than hardpacked dirt or concrete. And boy, cannonballing into the water was getting more and more appealing by the second. It was hot. Really hot. Why had they chosen to do this in the summer again?

Sammy wasn't sure how much time had passed when her pace began to slow. She wanted to keep up with Yaz, but her body felt like it was in the process of shutting down all together. With every gulp of air, her chest burned and her throat stung.

"Sammy? Do you need to take a break?" Yaz asked as they crested another hill. She began to slow her own pace.

Sammy shook herself. Come on, Sammy! You can do it!

Maybe she could. From the high vantage point, Sammy could spot the finish line at the bottom of the hill. Several onlookers awaited them, as well as volunteers with numerous water bottles and towels at the ready.

"We're so close. We can't stop now!" She insisted.

"But Sam--"

Sammy released Yaz's hand. Just a little bit further. Her legs felt like jelly and her cheeks burned. The sun was relentless. Was she going to black out?

Yaz suddenly overtook Sammy. She crossed the finish line and spun on her heel. "Come on, Sammy! You got this!" She encouraged, waving her hands. She didn't take Yaz for the cheerleading type, but she sure inspired Sammy.

Yaz was right there! She was waiting for her. Just a few more steps. She could do this, couldn't she? Seeing Yaz standing there, waiting for her, it filled her with hope. Sammy pushed forward with one last burst of energy. Her legs completely gave out from under her and she crashed into Yaz, sending both of them toppling onto the ground.

Sammy blinked, her throat burning and chest heaving as she fought to take in oxygen. Sweat dribbled down the side of her face. She was used to the heat and physical exertion of working on the farm, but she forgot just how taxing running could be. Being chased by dinosaurs had surely lit a fire under her back on Nublar.

Sammy finally snapped back to reality as she moved into a sitting position. Immediately she helped Yaz do the same. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?!" She immediately began checking her over for any bruises or scrapes that she might have accidentally inflicted upon her. Exhaustion was thrown to the side as her girlfriend's wellbeing was of far more importance; to her at least. She didn't even care her vision was slightly spinning.

Yaz grabbed her hands. "Sammy. I'm fine, really." Her eyes searched Sammy's expression thoughtfully.

Sammy set a hand on her forehead and wiped away the sweat on her brow. Why was she feeling fuzzy?

Yaz leapt to her feet, dashed over toward one of the water refuel stations, and grabbed two ice cold bottles of water. In seconds, she was right by Sammy's side. "Here, drink this. You're dehydrated," She uncapped one and handed it off.

Sammy brought the bottle to her lips and took in the refreshing icy chill. In ten seconds, she had downed the entire thing.

Yaz held the other bottle against her forehead to help cool her off. With her other hand, she supported Sammy's back in case she fainted. "Feeling better? I don't want you passing out on me. If you need to lie down, I'll help you," She quickly rambled off and bit her lip.

"I'm fine, Yaz," Sammy assured as she leaned against Yaz's shoulder. Her breathlessness had begun to subside, and the water bottle had done wonders for her heat exhaustion. "Just out of it is all. I forgot just how much running takes it out of ya. You make it look so easy."

Yaz chuckled and moved to set a hand atop Sammy's. "It took years of practice to get to where I am today. Or, well, to where I used to be. You did amazing. Besides, I can say the same for you and horseback riding. Remember what a disaster I was trying to ride for the first time?" She teased.

Sammy thought back to that particular, eye-opening experience. "I thought you got an A+ for effort," Sammy mused with a smile. "Give it a few more lessons and you'll be a proper cowgirl in no time."

Yaz laughed. It made Sammy's heart flutter. "I know it's hard for us to find the time when we live so far away... But what do you say about going on a few nature runs with me from time to time? In return, you can give me horseback riding lessons."

Sammy dropped her empty bottle and squealed. "Ooo! That sounds perfect! There are tons of places around the farm with a more scenic view. Or, or-- We could go camping! I've only done it a few times, but I think we'd have tons of fun. We could roast marshmallows, tell spooky stories, cuddle by the campfire. Imagine hiking in the mountains! Going for a morning jog while overlooking a breathtaking view would be just the sight to get us up and going!"

Sammy continued to ramble on with her ideas, Yaz listening intently. There were so many things they had yet to experience together. Where would they go next?

[a-god-in-crime-alley]

So I’mma do a quick rant on Tim and the whole “forever 17” thing people are always going on about.

Disclaimer: some of this is based on my own experience with how I changed as I got older and comments from people that I went months and years without seeing.

I’m AFAB so it’s not quite the same. But I’ve never been one to remember a skin care routine and have relied on good genetics and good hygiene to make this point.

When doing some calculations for another post (you’ve probably seen that post I reblogged about the batkids ages) it hit me WHY it doesn’t look like Tim has aged.

Sure it might just be a style choice because DC wants to keep a chokehold on their Teen audience with Tim. (Even though Damian is RIGHT THERE!!! DC stop making Damian look like Tim for the love of GOD!)

A lot of people don’t actually CHANGE that much from ages 16-24 as long as they are keeping to the same exercise routines and diets. With the exception of Tim’s Brucequest, he kept to a fairly stable routine for Years!

The reason most people change so much early on is because they drop off their usual exercise (gym class) and repetitive diet (school or packed lunch). So you see people’s weight fluctuating (this can have an effect of visible face shape) hair either thinning or thickening and skin either clearing or getting more acne.

Add this to Tim probably having pretty good genetics (his mom looked like she was maybe pushing 30 when she died but was probably closer to mid 40s. Both Janet and Jack were around 10 years older than Bruce, who would have been mid 30s at the time.)

Tim not showing any signs of facial hair can also be down to genetics. Some cis men just NEVER get more than a single chin hair, maybe a max of 5 sparsely scattered along their chin. Those guys usually just pluck them out. They never actually have to shave. Though I think we Have seen Tim shaving again one point. Can’t remember when.

Either way, it makes sense for Tim not to actually look his age in any more than muscle mass. He’s noticeably built compared to how he was when Damian was introduced. (When the artists are going for a more realistic art style.)

Then considering his most recent dimensional adventure to save Bruce after the shit with Failsafe, you see just how much older he looks next to his mother (from that universe) and she didn’t seem that surprised with how he looked. Meaning her version of him is probably around the same age, and anyone who read that issue can see she looked pretty young.

Add all this to the fact it’s Canon that Jason is 23! He’s only at most 3 years older than Tim but is probably closer to 2 years older. (With Jason being 15 going on 16 when he died. And Tim was 12-13 by the 6 month mark after Jason died and Tim became Robin.)

So in conclusion, DC needs to stop acting like Tim’s still a Teenager and acknowledge that he’s a lot closer to 21 (hell, if we go by proper calculations he SHOULD BE 21).

What I’m saying is give us Tim going out for drinks with his older brothers. Have him show up at Jason’s after something bad happens and ask if he’s still up for that drink (in reference to that one time Jason offered to get a 16 year old Tim into a bar.)

Give us Funny Drunk Tim shenanigans to balance out that Dick is a miserable drunk! Have Jason get stuck babysitting both of them because he’s the only one that can actually hold his alcohol. Have the Girls be watching and laughing from across the bar because they unintentionally had their Girls Night and the same place the guys had their Boys Night.

Please DC, I am Begging you!

[marthawrites]

Congratulations on your follower milestone! I humbly approach with my begging bowl to request Aemond + voyeurism - please and thank you!

ABSOLUTELY, DADDY 💖 I hope you like it!

A Dragonkeeper's Secret

Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 2.2k+

About: After being disappointed by a fellow dragonkeeper, an event in the dragonpit makes you think: perhaps not all men are disappointing.

Includes: Porn with plot. Explicit sexual content featuring voyeurism, exhibitionism, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, clothed sex, public sex

Note: Hello lovely reader! Reader is a hoe and Aemond is a hoe in this. Fight me 🤗 As always, please enjoy!

-

Helaena, for as long as she could remember, preferred to have Aemond's company in the dragonpit over any dragonkeepers. It was no surprise to see the royal siblings enter unannounced, nor was it surprising to not see them depart for another couple of hours.

The two kept mostly to themselves – Aemond moreso – while Helaena entertained conversation and questions about Dreamfyre. The princess and her dragon had a bond unmatched by many in the Targaryen ancestry. During such a conversation with a dragonkeeper, Aemond touched his sister's elbow in a silent goodbye before wandering off on his own accord. 

Training with Ser Cole often had the young prince sore. Between the various exercises, routines, and spars, fatigue settled into his muscles. Truthfully, it wasn't entirely unpleasant and he enjoyed feeling his dexterity and strength grow. Walking felt good. The quiet of the dragonpit's cavernous hallways had his body and mind relaxing.

Minutes passed uneventfully and Aemond's thoughts began to wander to things of less importance. That's when hushed voices, a man's and a woman's, caught his attention. He squinted suspiciously and padded on silent feet in the direction of whatever was happening.

Giggles, shuffling, and panting breaths? What in the…

Perfectly hidden, he peaked around until he had a clear line of sight as to what was causing the commotion. 

Beneath torchlight, you and a male dragonkeeper were aglow in the act of undressing. You helped push aside his layers of clothing until they hung open and loose on his shoulders. He did the same to you too, and his much larger hands wasted no time in greedily squeezing and toying with your breasts. Your spine arched, pushing your mounds further into his attention, and your mouth parted with the sweetest sounds. The man's mouth closed around one of your peaked nipples; greedier than his hand.

A silent smirk pulled on the prince's lips. He could have your quarterstaff for this. He could have you revoked from your duties as a dragonkeeper for your blatant debauchery. 

Never, in all of Aemond's years wandering the dragonpit, had he ever seen something like this. He didn't know to be shocked, horrified, or embarrassed. He watched, partially stunned and wholly enchanted, as you and this other man became more heated. Surely it had to be a rushed affair. How long had you two been doing this in secret? How long did it take to find the courage to fuck right here, while in the middle of duties, where anyone might stumble and see? Whatever the case, Aemond couldn't look away.

Then, almost as quickly as it started, it seemed to end. Did you even fully couple? If so, it couldn't have lasted more than a couple strokes at best.

Your pretty brow furrowed as you whispered angrily at the man who so rudely disappointed you. You gave the center of his chest a push so you could knee him out from between your legs. Standing, you glared up at him before shaking your head with a short unamused laugh. 

The man's voice, hushed and curt, snapped back at you. It appeared his pride, ego, or something else, was wounded by whatever you said. Aemond couldn't quite tell, but he swore he saw an angry flush color the man's face and neck.

A strip of the full front of your naked body was exposed, and Aemond, still hidden, gawked appreciatively. You were lovely. It didn't last long, however, for you were quick to cover yourself. 

Whatever happened was an obvious disappointment.

It was as if you felt the prince's cold long stare from across the rocky corridor: hair prickled to life on the back of Aemond's neck and before he could move out of your line of sight, you saw him. 

A myriad of emotions ran through him at once and they all canceled each other out until he was merely standing there, frozen. 

Shit shit shit. 

Almost as quickly as you saw him (it was Aemond, right? No way it was someone else. He had distinct features unlike anyone else) he was gone. You blinked. That spot was so empty and quiet, now, you might have witnessed his ghost. 

You were frozen too. Yet, still, a thrill danced up and down your spine.

-

The following days were somewhat of a blur. Dragonkeeping, on a good day, could be dangerous, and when you mixed that with the inability to shake off the sensation of being watched, it created a thick air of tension. You'd seen Aemond and Helaena three more times. 

Each time you were around him excitement bubbled in your stomach. Lingering gazes, darkened eyes, and smooth quiet words of "good job", "Dreamfyre seems to like you too", and "the best dragonkeeper around", had your belly and heart fluttering. Accidental hand touches lead to, surely, purposeful touches, and when you brushed away some ash from his chin and shoulder, you were utterly amazed to see the pretty purple of his eye shrink to a void. 

When you saw him the next day he didn't grace you with praises. Instead he tutted, words sharp as the dagger around his waist, as he said, "the saddle strap would fail in that position. Are you daft, girl?" He yanked your wrist away from where you were fastening the saddle for princess Helaena's ride, eye bright with fury. Your bodies were close now, much closer than they had ever been before. He smelled like smoke and spearmint. Blood rose to your face.

"I would have seen it before leaving, Aemond. Leave the poor dragonkeeper alone. Mistakes happen," Helaena’s gentle voice came from where she prepared on the opposite side of Dreamfyre.

"This little acolyte needs to be reminded of the dangers of ill-positioned saddles. Come." The tiny smirk he wore could be sarcastic or threatening or a dozen things between. His hand pushed against the small of your back, guiding you away, his touch burning through your attire.

Once away from any listening ears you turned your head over your shoulder to eye the prince suspiciously. "Are you always such a creep? Stalking around corners, looking where you shouldn't, and leading innocent girls away?"

He laughed. "You are far from innocent," he said knowingly, pushing you into an alcove. "Are you too busy being wanton to know how to properly secure a princess' saddle?" Fingers curled around the back of your neck and he tugged your hair to make you look up at him. "All that neediness only to be disappointed by a fellow acolyte's incompetence."

A surprised gasp escaped your lungs. He looked down his nose at you, soft mouth curled into a cruel smile. The hard angles of his face made you want to punch him as much as they made your belly tighten with desire. "So you are always a creep."

"Mayhap if you weren't panting like a bitch in heat I wouldn't have heard you," he mocked as his grip tightened in the hair at the base of your skull.

An inward breath hissed between your teeth. Despite the dull ache, mischief danced behind your features. "You sound jealous, my prince. Did you like what you saw?"

"Hardly," he replied easily. "More like secondhand embarrassment. 'Tis would be a pity to have a broken cock."

Speaking of, you could feel his pressing between your bodies. Goosebumps trailed up and down your skin. Was this really happening? Your chest rose and fell with noticeable breaths, your pupils expanding with each passing moment. "In my experience men are quite disappointing." Taunts were coming slower to your tongue, now.

Aemond's grip eased. That same hand moved forward across your jaw until the tips of his fingers brushed along your lips. "Do you think he'd come if he heard your pretty little moans again?"

You'd had a secret crush on the young prince since the first time you saw him, and you couldn't believe this was happening. You looked up at him with a mixture of pleading and impish delight. "Let's find out."

In this particular alcove there were natural ledges along the walls, and Aemond wasted little time in urging you to sit atop one. His slim hips fit easily between your thighs. Your heartbeat lowered to your core; excitement buzzing your mind as if intoxicated from wine.

"Since your little show I've hardly been able to think of anything else. Are you always so brazen? It's like you knew I was there watching," he said, warm breath fanning the flyaway hairs by your ear. Teeth nipped your delicate lobe and you gasped as more goosebumps tickled across your skin. "The dragonkeeper who makes my cock ache."

"My prince…," you whined, arching your soft chest into his lean torso.

"Mmh… that's what I thought," he said. 

In a fumbling display of desperation, he opened the front of your acolyte garb as you worked open the front of his Targaryen blacks. He freed your breasts and sighed in satisfaction at the sight of them, the feel of them, thumbs grazing over your pebbled nipples. One wide hand splayed down the front of your belly until he met the waist of your bottoms. He unlaced them. "Lift your hips," he said, already beginning to tug the material down. 

"Need you, Prince Aemond," you whispered, reaching to work his belt open.

He didn't stop you, and while you opened his tunic he pulled your bottoms down your thighs. "Such a needy little thing…," he cooed darkly as he eyed your exposed cunt. Evidence of your arousal glistened on your folds and it sent his cock twitching. "Fucking soaked."

There was no hiding it. You were. A blush of half embarrassment burned your cheeks. "Are you gonna keep talking or do something about it?" You taunted with a smirk and bite of your lip.

In answer, he traced up your slit to work your slippery clit. When you gasped and tilted your head back, he took advantage of the gesture and nipped tiny bites all along the exposed curve of your neck. He continued working your bud until it was nice and swollen beneath his attention. "Filthy girl. Shuddering and moaning for all but a stranger. Let's see how many fingers you can take."

You kicked your legs until your bottoms were hanging off one ankle, the fabric partially pooling on the dirty ground as Aemond sunk a finger into you. One was so easy. He crooked it inside your walls even easier. You choked on a gasp, practically hiccuping at the sudden sensation. If that didn't feel good enough, he added a second and that's when your body instinctively clenched around him. Soft moans filled the air around you.

"Fuck… look at your cunt. Watch, girl, see how you take these? Think you can take a third?" He flexed his wrist, thumb circling your throbbing bud, and increased his pace and pressure. Lewd wet sounds accented your moans.

Pressure and pleasure alike built in your core and you were embarrassingly close to peak already. Where you were taunting before, now you could only babble half coherent whimpers. You watched his fingers disappear into you over and over, shiny with your arousal.

Perfect. Just how Aemond wanted you.

"Mm… think I'll save that stretch for my cock." He continued to drive those two digits in and out of you – curling and pressing along all your right spots – while using his free hand to open the front of his trousers. Fully freed, now, he could return his undivided attention to you. 

"Shit… you're so big," you managed to say between breaths, excited eyes wide as his length bobbed with the force of his finger fucking. The growl in his throat at your praise was the final kindle that sent the embers of your belly to a roaring blaze. Lovely white bliss overtook you. Your spine flexed, nipples hardened, and cunt spasmed around his fingers through your orgasm.

Aemond pulled out of you and you barely had time to miss him before he lined his swollen cockhead to your opening. He planted his feet firmly into the ground and thrusted forward, wholly spearing you in half. Curses trembled from both of your mouths as your body yielded to his. "Perfect little cunny," he groaned. He gripped harshly onto your hip, palming and squeezing one of your breasts in the other.

The view of his length sliding in and out of you, along with his rough touch, was enough to send a second orgasm tickling the base of your spine. "Gods! Aemond! I'm… I'm close again," you whined, desperate and pitiful.

That same cruel little grin from before filled his angular face. "Be a good girl and come all over this cock."

And you did.

He didn't relent. He fucked you through it until you were sure you saw stars. Everything else aside from him, and where your bodies joined, disappeared from your mind. Only him. 

Right before climax made him incapable of forming a coherent thought he pulled out of your depths. A powerful wave of throbs sent the entirety of his manhood twitching, and he released ropes of spend all over your belly and thighs. He panted. Sweat beaded along his brow.

"Next time…," he started, voice thick, as he gripped your jaw to turn your attention outside of the alcove. "Let's give him a closer view, hm?" He quirked a pale brow before turning his head over his shoulder, glaring triumphantly at the bystander who witnessed at least some of the tryst.

You couldn't find a single care to give as you smirked breathlessly at the fellow dragonkeeper who disappointed you so.

"Please, my prince."

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow and/or reblog and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! After writing this there's a high chance I'll revisit voyeurism and Aemond being a creep in the future 🤭

Masterlist

Taglist: to be added or removed please let me know!

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @targaryenbrainrot @ruby-dragon @silverwinged @chompchompluke

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @sahvlren @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @teamaemond @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @okfashionista

[silverskye13]

uh. is it a bad idea to sleep with a wrist brace (or future knee/ankle braces i get) or is it fine as long as it's loose enough

(i currently have bloodwork in and i possibly have arthritis or smth along those lines, very very bad muscle and joint pain, daily in legs and occasionally in wrists, but it started with only wrists)(aka why i have wrist braces but nothing else)

tbh im just sending this to you because. i think you mentioned joint pain stuff. but if not you can ignore.

(Oh also im gonna try to get a cane if i can but we'll see. other achey tips,, very appreciated? im taking the supplements i should and everything, exercising, but unfortunately nothing's been getting better and ive been dealing with it since 15/16)

Oh jeez! I'm sorry that's something you're dealing with anon. Joint pain gets really intense. Unfortunately I can't help much. Most of my personal issues stem from tendonitis and carpel tunnel, which while they give similar pains, give them for different reasons than arthritis. Mine is stress from repetitive motions, yours [possibly?] isn't.

So! Blanket disclaimer here that I'm not a doctor and I never saw a physical therapist. Below are my personal anecdotes. If you've already seen a doc or physical therapist about your arthritis, I recommend asking them specifically about sleeping with a wrist/knee/leg brace before taking my advice.

I've personally slept with a wrist brace when my pain was at it's worst -- especially when I still needed to draw during the day, so keeping the brace on while working wasn't helpful. I toss and turn and contort a lot in my sleep, so the brace helped keep my wrist stable, and gave me some compression while my muscles were learning how to relax again.

I saw some relief after I've tried it, but if it's something you're experimenting with, I would do it cautiously. I've read online that some people don't think it's beneficial [mostly because, if the brace is too tight or you experience swelling at night, it can cut off blood flow and become painful or, in extreme cases, might damage nerves. This is, obviously, not a problem I've had. But given arthritis specifically involves swelling and inflammation, it's a caution you might want to keep in mind.]

If you're in the experimental stage, and it's an option you would like to try, I would start with your brace loose? When I tried it the first time with my wrist brace, I made sure I could still wiggle my wrist around pretty good [normally I kept it tight enough during the day that it was difficult to bend my wrist when it was on.] Just having the brace made me want to lay more still. I also experimented with sleeping on my side with a pillow under my elbow, so it stayed at a 90° angle, and my arm stayed more or less perfectly horizontal. It was difficult to sleep like that, but it helped me keep my arm in a position that didn't induce the same repetitive stress. If you want to check out this YouTube video here, the last option she goes through with all the pillows is what I used the most.

Otherwise, most of my pain regulation involves taking hot showers, doing regular [hourly, half hourly] stretches. Things like that. Because my pain is mostly tendonitis, generally speaking, rest and stretches does most of my help. Also taking specifically anti-inflammatory pain killers, like ibuprofen, because the stress pain comes from inflammation. Hot and cold compresses, sitting with the painful limbs elevated. I'm sure all things you've heard before, but they're worth recommending again just in case.

It's also worth mentioning this stuff isn't an overnight cure. When my tendonitis was at it's worst, starting the sleeping with a brace / propped up on a bunch of pillows / stretches / etc helped in a matter of 5-10 days, and if I stopped at any point during that time, the flare ups would resume. I remember getting really pissed when I [finally] figured out playing video games strained the same muscles, so the reason all my "resting" didn't help sometimes was because I was too dumb to actually rest. Now when I draw for a few days in a row and my shoulder starts burning, I stop what I'm doing and find a good TV show to disassociate to for the rest of the week.

I'm sorry you're dealing with all this. It sounds like your pain is worse than mine was, and I know mine made me miserable. I am wishing you so much luck with your coming tests! I hope they find the root cause of all this, and some more specialized folks can get involved to help you find relief. Stay safe anon.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 6

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Damen watched Laurent enter with his first adviser Vannes

LET’S GOOOOOOOO

The little brow furrows as he searched for vocabulary, the ‘How do you say—?’ and ‘What is it called when—?’ were gone.

awww cute that damen noticed them before :’) sweetheart

‘It’s lucky for him he speaks our language so well,’ said Nikandros, as they returned to the Akielon camp. ‘Nothing involving him has anything to do with luck,’ said Damen.

Their camps, they agreed, would be kept separate.

ah, the sitcom “line down the room” solution

The Veretians were scornful too, in a different way. Akielons were barbarians who kept company with bastards and walked around half naked. He heard the snatches of what was said on the edges of their camp, the ribald calls, the jeers and taunts. When Pallas walked past, Lazar wolf-whistled.

this reminds me of the two factions from the infamous avatar the last airbender episode “the great divide.” also look, new gay people!

And that was before the more specific rumours, the murmurings among the men, the sidelong speculation that had Nikandros in the warm summer evening, saying, ‘Take a slave.’ Damen said, ‘No.’

so it’s like a social expectation. but he’s still not doing it. even LAURENT does it (kinda), although he has much more to prove than the akielons

He buried himself in work, and in physical exercise. During the day he threw himself into the logistics and planning, the tactical groundwork that would facilitate a campaign. He plotted routes. He set up supply lines. He commanded drills. At night he went alone from the camp, and when there was no one around him, he took out his sword and practised until he was dripping with sweat, until he could no longer raise his sword but only stand, his muscles trembling, the tip of his blade pointed to the ground. He went to bed alone. He undressed and sluiced himself down, and only used squires to perform those menial tasks without intimacy. He told himself that this was what he had wanted. There was a working relationship between himself and Laurent.

no this is so sad, but so relatable. breakup behavior transcends worlds

There was no longer—friendship—but that had never been possible.

tell that to laurent, who allowed himself to become your friend and sexual partner, fully aware of the fact that you killed his brother

He had known it would not be some stupid fantasy of showing Laurent his country; of Laurent leaning against the marble balcony at Ios, turning to greet him in the cool air overlooking the sea, his eyes bright with the splendour of the view.

HE 🗣️ WAS 🗣️ WATCHING 🗣️ THE 🗣️ ROAD

To Kastor, he sent only a single message: I come. He didn’t watch that messenger depart. It’s not naive to trust your family. He had said that, once.

damen. girl.

love the conflicting themes of trust here. damen needs to learn that he can’t trust everyone to have intentions as noble as his, and laurent needs to learn that some people in the world can be trusted to have noble intentions. mistrust makes them both feel alone—laurent takes comfort in that loneliness, because it means no one can hurt him, but it also means that he’s never truly relaxed or vulnerable (in a good way). damen feels awful with the loneliness of mistrust, and wants so badly to reach out and make connections with people even when the flags are very, very red.

Guion was a man in his late forties, with an indoor figure.

does “indoor figure” mean “not fit” because that’s so funny 😭 let’s not bruise the man’s ego by calling him out of shape, he’s just an indoor cat instead

When he saw Damen, Guion bowed in the same way that he would have bowed to the Regent: deeply, sincerely. ‘Your Majesty,’ said Guion.

bitch.

Damen had come here to learn what he could of the Regent’s plans, but there was only one question rising to his lips. ‘Who hurt Laurent at Charcy? Was it you?’ ‘He didn’t tell you?’ Damen had not spoken alone to Laurent since that night in the tent. ‘He doesn’t betray his friends.’

i love damen. he is giving laurent the distance he requested, despite it breaking his (damen’s heart), but he’s also still fiercely protective of laurent behind his back. to the extent that his questions about guion hurting laurent feel more important in the moment than tactical ones about the regent. laurent pretends not to care in an attempt to lie to himself, but damen is only pretending in front of laurent to respect his wishes. he’s not lying to himself about giving a shit, and hasn’t even tried since like chapter 6 of book 2.

also - “he doesn’t betray his friends” implies that damen doesn’t see laurent’s poor treatment of him as betrayal, because knowing the truth now about laurent’s awareness, damen would never expect laurent to have considered him a friend. this gives book 2’s “friends? is that what we are?” a whole new layer of complexity.

'I captured him on his way to Charcy. He was brought to Fortaine, where he negotiated with me for his release. By the time he and I came to our arrangement, he had spent some time as a prisoner in the cells and had suffered a little accident to the shoulder.'

to be fair, i think this is what laurent would want guion to say, and might have even dictated to him exactly. anything else would make him sound weak. but damen knows laurent better than that, and can easily read between the lines.

‘You put Govart,’ said Damen, ‘in a cell with Laurent?’

run.

‘Yes.’ Guion spread his hands. ‘Just as I helped to bring about the coup in your country. Now, of course, you need my testimony to win back your throne. That is politics. The Prince understands that. It is why he has allied with you.’ Guion smiled. ‘Your Majesty.’ Damen made himself speak very calmly,

being a king sucks, you can’t even throw hands with the guy who had your divorce husband tortured because said divorce husband is using said guy as a political asset

‘Did the Regent know who I was?’ ‘If he did, having you sent to Vere was rather a miscalculation on his part, wasn’t it?’ ‘Yes,’ said Damen. He didn’t lift his eyes from Guion. He watched the blood rise and mottle Guion’s cheeks. ‘If the Regent knew who you were,’ said Guion, ‘then he hoped that when you arrived in Vere, the Prince would recognise you, and be provoked into a blunder. Either that, or he wanted the Prince to take you into his bed. The realisation of what he’d done then would kill him. How lucky for you that didn’t happen,’ Guion said.

the regent failed to anticipate the secret third option: laurent knowing exactly who damen was from the start, accidentally falling in love with him and semi-purposefully gaining a powerful ally, taking him into his bed despite the brother killing, having a messy breakup about it, but still remaining a powerful duo of world leaders unified in wanting to take him (the regent) down

‘You swore a sacred duty to hold the throne in trust for your Prince. Instead you turned on him, for power, for personal gain. What has that won you?’ For the first time he saw something genuine flicker in Guion’s expression. ‘He killed my son,’ said Guion. ‘You killed your son,’ said Damen, ‘when you threw him into the path of the Regent.’

i think this has one of two meanings, diverging with the interpretation of guion’s line.

damen: you swore to help the prince, but then you turned your back on him for personal gain. so did you gain enough to justify that decision? guion: (briefly genuine) meaning #1: i lost my son when the regent’s manipulations resulted in his (aimeric’s) death, so actually i lost something. meaning #2: the prince ended up being so mean to my son that he killed himself, so he wasn't deserving of my loyalty. damen: you’re the person most responsible for aimeric’s death, because you let the regent use him as a political pawn and sexual object.

i’m really not sure if it’s meaning #1 or #2 here. #2 might not make sense at all, because it’s not guaranteed that anyone told guion the details of laurent’s reaction to aimeric’s betrayal—it had only been damen, laurent, aimeric, and jord in the room, right?

regardless of guion’s meaning, damen’s response still stands. and at least it hurts guion emotionally, if not physically. it’s almost like damen is finding himself turning into laurent, acting the way laurent did in the court of vere. he can’t take the direct route, so he has to be backhanded and cruel instead.

He had not dealt with Makedon. Round one came when Makedon refused to accept the extra rations available to his troops from Fortaine. Akielons didn’t need pampering. If Veretians wished to indulge in all this extra food, they could do so. Before Damen could open his mouth to respond, Laurent announced that he would likewise change the provisions among his own troops, so that there would not be a disparity. In fact, everyone from soldiers to captains to kings across both troops would receive the same portion, and that portion would be determined by Makedon. Would Makedon inform them now what that portion was to be?

jesus christ laurent (affectionate)

Round two was the skirmish that broke out in the Akielon encampment: an Akielon with a bleeding nose, a Veretian with a broken arm, and Makedon smiling and saying that it had been no more than a friendly competition. Only a coward feared competition. He said it to Laurent. Laurent said that from this moment on, any Veretian who struck an Akielon would be executed. He trusted the honour of the Akielons, he said. Only a coward hit a man who wasn’t allowed to hit back.

in a way, damen helped laurent with that one, since he’s the honorable akielion who told laurent the same thing in book 1.

It was like watching a boar try to take on the endless blue of the sky. Damen remembered how it felt to be coerced to Laurent’s will. Laurent had never needed to use force to make men obey him, just as he had never needed men to like him in order to get his way. Laurent got his way because when men tried to resist him, they found, sweetly outmanoeuvred, that they couldn’t.

he thought to himself, with heart-eyes,

(i don’t think anyone here is interpreting laurent as “sweet” but you, damen)

In fact, the way Laurent’s men talked about their Prince now was not substantially different to the way that they had talked about him before: cold, ice-cold, except now he was cold enough to have fucked his brother’s killer.

:)

No one was looking at Laurent. It wouldn’t have mattered if they had been. His face showed nothing.

but damen looked at them not looking, and thought of laurent, because this is marlas they’re talking about

‘I’ve been there before,’ said Laurent. ‘Then you’re familiar with the area,’ said Nikandros. ‘That makes it easier.’ ‘Yes,’ said Laurent.

He wanted . . . he didn’t know what he wanted. For Laurent to have looked at him when Nikandros had announced that they would travel to the place where, six years ago, Damen had killed his brother.

messy messy

A rueful flicker of guilt: he knew that these men breaking curfew would not expect their King to appear and admonish them personally. His presence was ludicrously disproportionate to their crime, he thought.

damen kingship theme

‘Stand,’ said Damen, ‘like the men you think you are.’ He was angry. The men, standing, perhaps did not recognise that. They didn’t know the slow way that he came forward, or the calm tone of his voice. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what it is you are doing here.’

wait no we are totally seeing the laurentification of damianos

The boy was badly bruised, and he could not stand under his own weight once the ropes were cut. Damen lowered him to the ground. More had been done to him than target practice. More had been done to him than a beating. They had put an iron cuff around his left wrist, like the gold cuff around his own—like the gold cuff around Laurent’s. Damen knew with a sickening feeling in his stomach exactly what had been done to this boy, and why. The boy didn’t speak Akielon. He had no idea what was happening, or that he was safe. Damen began to speak to him in Veretian, slow, calming words, and after a moment the boy’s glazed eyes focused on him with something like understanding. The boy said, ‘Tell the Prince I didn’t fight back.’

oh fuck, laurent would be horrified by this. it’s like an echo of nicaise and aimeric’s victimhood, and the only reason the boy hadn’t fought back was laurent’s threat. that lack of self-defense goes against so much of laurent’s own values and behavior, and he’d be disturbed to realize how he had inadvertently disempowered this vulnerable person.

‘Makedon of the north,’ said Damen. ‘You were a friend to my father. You fought with him for almost twenty years. That means a great deal to me. I respect your loyalty to him, as I respect your power and need your men. But if your soldiers harm a Veretian again, you will face me at the end of a sword.’

okayyyy so we’re starting to see a hint of where the kingship theme is going—damen getting past the whole “this is how it’s always been done, so i have to do it the same way” idea, and approaching “well i’m the king now, and this is what i think should happen instead”

‘You walk a fine line with Makedon,’ Nikandros said, on his return to camp. ‘He walks a fine line with me,’ said Damen.

YES BITCH!!!

‘Bruising, a broken rib,’ said Paschal. ‘Shock.’ ‘No, I meant—’ He broke off.

aw. damen really has come a long way, in terms of how he sees veretians. i think some of this is laurent-related, but i also think that damen is now extending the honor he’s always shown his own people to people he wouldn’t have considered worth honoring before the series’s events.

‘Thank you,’ said Damen. He heard himself continue, ‘I don’t expect—’ He stopped. ‘I know that I betrayed your trust, and lied to you about who I am. I don’t expect you to forgive me for that.’ He could feel the incongruity of the words, falling awkwardly between them. He felt strange, his breathing shallow.

i really appreciate paschal’s role in this story. a male figure in damen and laurent’s lives who cares about them both, but doesn’t give a shit about their sex lives in the slightest. paschal has always been kind of grey re: the war between akielos and vere too, evaluating people based on their individual qualities rather than their political allegiances. thanks doctor dad, you’re a real one.

‘We all do what we have to,’ said Paschal.

mysterious old man is mysterious…

[jolapeno]

Hello lovely human!

since i am a part of mostly GhostXHelen, for #mmvalentinesevent i was wondering if i could request Simon and Helen but them at home having a good time in his big bed in Manchester that she loves so much? You might remember me from the previous ask when i asked if we would ever get that so... i was wondering if this would be a good opportunity to request it :') i fell into the domestic hole with the rest of people here it seems and i can't help myself, but if you rather not then it's totally okay ^w^

of course! i’m going to answer this more as bullet points — just because it’s more rambling thoughts than a plot, hope that’s okay ☺️

simon ghost riley x f!reader (helen!reader)

fluffy headcanons re: his super king bed

the first time he invites her to stay, he shows her where to put her bag. her body coming to a halt at the sight of it. because outside of plush hotel rooms, she’s never seen one that size. her eyes widening towards him, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his head. because simon owns a super king bed and has kept it a secret. it’s plush, the bedsheets as expensive as the mattress. there’s more pillows than she thought he’d own.

“you tested it out, the mattress?” “i’ve slept in it.” “but, have you tested it?” “no, helen. i’ve not fucked someone in my bed.”

they change that. over and over again. her muscles sagging into the mattress after her shower, damp hair against his pillows.

“it’s a nice bed.” “most expensive thing i’ve ever bought.”

she could believe it. the rest of his place minimal, not to the highest spec. his television in his living room good enough, but not the best. no console or gadgets, no expensive leather sofa, but a worn fabric one she suspects he’s always owned. but his bed…

he’d later tell her it’s all he wanted when he got off the plane. that if he wasn’t fighting for something, he wanted to be sleeping in something good. something which wouldn’t be willing to let him go with ease.

helen sleeps in more than he does. her body clock adjusting the moment her skin meets british air—his mattress has something to do with it. it hugging her, making all of the aches and pains feel less.

mostly, she can stretch out. even when he’s next to her. the space between them large, expansive. so when her leg stretches out as sleep lessens it’s hold, she’s not surprised she doesn’t brush against him. her arm able to fully extend, it taking a second for her lashes to lift, to see his side empty.

she almost rises, almost gets up to go find him. seek out coffee and something to eat, but it’s just so nice to not have anywhere pressing to be. to not feel the uncomfortableness of a cot or the springs of her base bed. the sheets soft, comfortable—fucking expensive. the pillows full of feathers…

so she doesn’t, she turns her head to the cold side, eyes growing heavy, and she lets sleep take her.

“i think you’re only with me for my bed.” “what gave you that idea,” she winks.

he’s used to waking up to space, but he’s not used to waking up to space and her. her face turned towards him on the pillow, peace etched into her features—his muscles relaxing at the sight of her.

since he was little, he’s never been able to fall back asleep once he’s awake. it takes hours, most of the day, before he could feel tired again. if she weren’t here, he’d get up, exercise, stretch—drink cups of coffee like they’re water.

instead, he slides across the mattress, feeling her warmth enveloping around him. she doesn’t even stir when he brushes his fingers over her cheek. but her leg does slide over his, the softest murmur leaving her lips. he doesn’t want to wake her, just wants to feel her—show himself the evidence that she’s really here.

his head lying back down on the pillow, palm pressed against her cheek as his thumbs draws the laziest lines. his eyes slowly closing, feeling sleep sliding it’s fingers over him, taking him back under. the softest smile on his face as he does.

[sunsafewriting]

favourable conditions - chapter 4 (3.9k)

chapter excerpt:

Beatrice doesn’t sleep that night, but still, there are routines that can’t be broken. 

She slips out of bed, dresses, and runs.

She runs too far and too fast to pretend it’s only exercise for the sake of conditioning. She runs until she can’t breathe, until the muscles in her left side cinch tight and burn, and still, she runs. 

This time, she changes her route and heads for the beach, keeping the Governor’s manor safely out of view. 

It doesn’t matter if Ava is awake. It doesn’t matter if there’s a light on. A candle isn’t a signal, only a flicker in the dark. 

Beatrice knows that; she knows better .

And yet. 

There is still the impulse to find Ava and demand something of her, to tug her close by both her hands, to hold her the way she has always held Beatrice, even without touching. 

But there would be no use in any of it.  

This was always going to happen. 

(Beatrice remembers the first parade of suitors, when they were eighteen — remembers hearing about it second-hand from one of the other officers, and then sparring with Lilith until even Lilith’s usually inexhaustible fury was wrung out, and only Beatrice stood to go again. 

“What has got into you?” Lilith demanded, with something almost like approval. Lilith, the only person to ever like Beatrice more after Beatrice split her lip. 

And later, at the manor — Ava carrying on as she always had, barely waiting for Beatrice to take up her post in the foyer before abandoning her latest art project in favour of other pursuits. “I was informed by one of the guards that you speak Dahulean fluently.”

“Yes, Miss Silva.” 

“I have been teaching myself. Perhaps you might permit me to practise with you?” 

And then, in a lapse of restraint, unexpected and unstoppable, perhaps among the first things she ever said to Ava that she desperately desired to take back: “Wasn’t one of the young men here today from the Dahulea Isles? Surely he would’ve been the better candidate for this revision.” 

Ava fixed Beatrice with a delighted smile. “Are you keeping track of my suitors, Officer?” she asked, twirling her paintbrush to tap Beatrice’s chest with the wooden end, and smearing a streak of blue over her own wrist.

“No, Miss Silva. One merely hears things.” 

Untrue, and Ava might’ve known it, as she seemed to easily know all of Beatrice's secrets. 

“Regrettably, as I had to inform my uncle, they were each exceedingly ill-fitting as matches, although many of them were quite lovely.” 

“Your uncle heeds you on this matter?” 

Something passed across Ava’s face, then — not anger, exactly, but not unlike it. “For now,” she said. And then the unease was gone, replaced by the kind of amusement that Beatrice feared and longed for in equal measure, that was invariably the prelude to head-swimming dizziness. “Have you forgotten my request?”

“No, Miss Silva. I will practise with you.” 

It had not taken especially long for Beatrice to realise that the verbs Ava kept mixing up were very particular verbs with very particular meanings that did not, in fact, sound alike at all. Beatrice gently corrected her as often as she could, flushed and stammering herself, but Ava proved to have an inexhaustible number of mistakes ready to be made.)

[moonsilkwisdom]

Notes on Self-care

I would like to talk about self-care. Some self-care is remembering that you as a human have some of the same needs as a complicated house plant. This means getting good food, water, and sunlight. Yes, humans need sunlight for vitamin production, specifically vitamin d. Beyond a few food sources where modern practices add it in, most of the vitamin d the human body needs, is acquired through sunlight interacting with our skin.  At minimum, please work on feeding your body the food, water, and sunlight it needs to function well. This is the minimum of taking care of yourself. Then there is getting enough physical activity to keep bodies healthy. Good exercise is finding ways to keep moving. Not just bid muscles like arms and legs, but fingers can benefit from being kept busy.

            Health and self-care is more than caring for the physical body. Mental and emotional health is important as well. One reason I keep writing guided meditations, is it helps to exercise and calm your minds. I believe that part of my job as a volunteer minister is to help with mental and emotional health as well as providing space for spiritual work. Puzzles and crafts are great for keeping minds sharp and help with keeping hands flexible and strong. The requirement is materials you can access and something you enjoy. For me that is all kinds of needlework, embroidery, knitting, crochet, mending. You might also try origami, tradition paper folding, gardening/helping with landscaping or cooking as suggestions.   

            Also, I will say it out loud. There is no shame in needing medication for your mental health or your physical health. Some people do not produce enough insulin to keep their blood sugar from getting too high. Others do not produce enough neurotransmitters, chemicals like serotonin that help regulate brain function, to keep their moods balanced. I rather you all take the prescriptions the doctors give you to keep you healthy.

            Finally, personal connections are important. Healthy non-toxic relationships are important to humans as we are a pack creature. It is usually described as tribal, but the meaning is the same. Individualism is a lie designed sold to us, when communities have been the norm since the beginning of civilization. Sharing talents and supporting each other helps us all be better people. This also means being able to say no and set boundaries to what we can and will do for others and having that respected.  

[pure-garbage]

Preoccupation Over Discipline. What Does Zoro Want?

Zoro was having a hard time focusing. Training usually cleared his head, but in this case, his routine only drew him nearer the source of his distraction.

"Up... over... pivot... and slice!"

Lana went along with the motions of Zoro's drill, empty hands mimicking the swordsman's form. He watched a drop of sweat slide down her neck, eyes following its trail all the way until it disappeared between her breasts, falling below the collar of her top. Lana noticed Zoro's intent gaze and frowned tersely.

"Am I doing it wrong?" she asked.

"Uh... no! But... just bend your knees a little more."

"Like this?"

"Yeah. Now, up... lunge. Hold..."

Zoro tried to lose himself in the familiar, rhythmic flow of one form to the next, but his eyes kept escaping his control and drifting back to his crewmate. Lana's concentration was complete, the movements engrained just deep enough in muscle memory that she could follow his instructions without studying his posture. She breathed carefully, evenly, through barely parted lips that drew Zoro's gaze. It had been less than a week since those same lips had met his, under water and the desperate pressure of his imminent drowning.

He felt a flush creeping over his face as he remembered their softness, the sweet taste they'd left behind on his. His tongue darted out absent-mindedly, as if it might catch a remainder of that faint, sugary essence lingering still.

"One more set? Zoro? Zoro?"

"Huh?"

Lana's voice ripped him back to the present. He diverted his eyes quickly, stretching to hide his discomfort at being caught staring.

"No, I uh... I need to cool off some."

"You're done?"

"Go on without me."

"You're just looking for an excuse to get out of meditation," Lana accused playfully.

"I'm not, I'll finish up later. I'm just too hot, that's all," he insisted.

Lana dipped into a deep stretch as Zoro prepared to dive overboard. His hands froze, sudden chagrin overcoming him at the thought of taking off any more clothes in Lana's line of sight. He started up the mast instead, causing Lana to raise a questioning brow at his break in routine.

"No swim? We'll raise anchor soon, you know."

"I know. It's fine."

Zoro climbed faster, heaving a loud sigh of relief when he reached the crow's nest.

"Get it together, would you?" he berated himself, running a hand through his hair as the cool sea breeze soothed his flushed skin and cleared his foggy mind.

"1, 2, 3..."

Lana was still exercising on the deck below. Zoro caught himself glancing down and pointed his eyes skyward hastily.

'Don't be indecent. That damn cook does more than enough gawking for the whole crew,' he scolded himself inwardly.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Lana's exerted counting rose like a lullaby, calling the restive swordsman to the sweet reprieve of unconsciousness. The events on the Seeker pirate ship kept pulling him back, replaying against the pitch backdrop of his eyelids.

Zoro kept revisiting the instant he set eyes on Lana, bound to the mast, her former captain leering over her with a possessiveness that bordered on maniacal.

"You're mine, Avariya!"

Even remembering the words nearly tore a growl from Zoro. He steadied his breathing and opened his eyes, which was so much more than he'd been able to do in that moment. Zoro prized control, but watching Corrin leaning so close to Lana, seeing his hand muzzling her, seeing her so distressed...

Zoro didn't regret losing control, but he couldn't deny it either. When he cut Corrin down, it wasn't a decision and that fact bothered him.

'I'd have done the same for anyone else,' he reassured himself. The act alone was nothing special. The rage that drove it though... that was unlike anything he'd ever felt in his life. Even privately, he couldn't deny that his wrath wasn't motivated by chivalry. Far from it.

"She's not yours! She never was, and she never will be!"

Zoro shivered at the memory, not of what he'd said. The words he held back were what shook him.

'Avariya Lana is mine!'

Except she wasn't.

Zoro groaned, letting his head fall into his hands, eyes snapping open as Lana continued counting below.

"... 108, 109, 110..."

She was his shipmate. His sparring partner, his occasional medic, but rightfully, he had no claim on her. Her words rang through his mind, fresh as they'd been two days ago when they traded histories.

'I've spent my whole life running from one jailer to the next.'

Zoro knew he needed to kill his growing desire to possess Lana. She wasn't something to be owned. Given her experiences and the importance she placed on her independence, he doubted possessiveness would go over well with her if she caught wind of it.

"... 244, 245, 246..."

He leaned back, gaze cast over the side of the lookout, watching Lana as she kept going through her self-prescribed routine.

'Her form is good. You can stop looking now,' he thought grumpily. It took longer than it should have, but he did tear his gaze from her body.

He closed his eyes with a sigh. Instantly, he was back under the sea, Lana's lips burning against his.

'It wasn't a kiss,' he reminded himself. 'It was just air. It was a clever trick to keep me alive. That's all it was.'

The same for the second time. The third as well.

Suddenly, Zoro's memory shifted, his imagination taking over and tugging him into the realm of fantasy. The sensation of Lana's lips on his, her palms on his chest, her legs wrapped around his waist...

His heart pounded and he gasped for breath at the vividness of the scene, pieces torn from separate memories and merging into a vision that left him reeling from its impact. He clutched the rails as fire raced through his veins, Lana's soft voice echoing at his ear.

'Zoro...'

It sounded so real that he had to look down to make sure she was still exercising.

"I need to get a grip," he groaned. He couldn't keep drifting off to fantasy land every five minutes.

"... 391, 392, 393..."

Zoro stormed down the mast, resolve fixed. He wouldn't look at her. Not until he got a handle on the confusing feelings brewing inside him. When he reached the deck, he grabbed his shirt off the barrel where he'd left it. Robin sat reading in the sun near the cabin door. Zoro paid her no mind and she ignored him in turn. Despite their adventures together in the clouds, he still couldn't bring himself to fully trust their newest crewmate. Even so, Nico Robin's possible motives and the looming potential of her betrayal were shoved to the back of his mind.

"...436, 437, 438..."

Zoro circled the deck needlessly, stripping down to his boxers out of Lana's line of sight. Still, he felt eyes following him.

'Nico Robin,' he grumbled internally. He clenched his jaw and ignored her gaze as he dropped into the water. He sank gratefully, but as the salt stung his eyes and the cool ebb and flow caressed his skin, he was reminded even more strongly of his near drowning.

Lana's quick solution may have saved his life, but now he couldn't stop thinking about kissing her.

Oh.

'Is that all?' he wondered.

He broke the surface of the water, floating lazily on his back as he surrendered to indulgent fantasizing.

'I could walk up to her any time.'

Maybe after training. Before dinner, after. Maybe in the dead of night, mid-watch, his or hers.

'Zoro? What is it?'

He would have to lean down. He stood easily a head taller than her. Once he was on her level, he could do it.

Back in reality, Zoro's tongue crept out to swipe slowly over his lips as he imagined kissing Lana.

'Yeah... that's it. That's what I want,' he realized. Now that the nebulous desire had a name, it didn't seem so daunting anymore. Excitement bubbled up in his chest as he cemented the conclusion in his mind.

Zoro always took what he wanted. Why should this kiss be any different?"

"Idiot!" he cursed aloud, sinking beneath the waves as he was overcome with frustration at himself.

'She's not something I can just take like a nap or a swim or a drink. It's more complicated with a person. What if she doesn't want me kissing her?'

Zoro remembered how irritated she'd been when he tried to pull her mouth to his for a fourth time. The look she'd given him...

He sighed underwater, then followed the bubbles to the surface so he could breathe.

Lana definitely didn't want Zoro to kiss her.

'That settles it,' he thought glumly. 'I'll just forget about the whole thing. I won't think about it again. Easy.'

___________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

==First Chapter ==

[asimplearchivist]

ℂℍ. 𝕀 — 𝕀𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕥

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary 🗡 ⤏ cade yeager’s older sister never knows what she’ll find in their barn upon returning from her routine antiquing trips—the submission box at the driveway is often littered with junk of all kinds that they try to fix for a living. ⤏ you just never would have expected for him to take on the task of repairing a cybertronian. pairing 🗡 bayverse!optimus prime/yeager!reader word count 🗡 8.7k a/n 🗡⤏ i've been cleaning out my docs drafts debating on whether to upload certain unfinished works, seeing as some of them are partially complete (like this one). this was going to be a longfic that followed the events of aoe and would go on to tlk, but i lost steam for it pretty early on. there are a few more snippets that wouldn't stand well enough on their own to be posted, but i thought these three chapters would express the vibes i was attempting to convey. ⤏ this is an aoe ua where lucas didn't call the government about optimus right away, cemetery wind didn't find him immediately, and cade has an older sister by one year. the reader is ex-military and protective by nature, and not one to be trifled with - especially in regards to her family, as she would gladly sacrifice her life for theirs. she suffers from a psychosomatic limp in her right leg after sustaining a gunshot to her left shoulder while serving in afghanistan years prior. still suffering from ptsd, she's turned to exercise and bodybuilding as an outlet. she spends her time and makes money restoring antiques and furniture and occasionally collaborating with cade on his robotics. ⤏ this is kind of silly looking back on it (also not as well written, seeing as i created it back in 2017 [oh my god that was six years ago]), but i've promised myself i would try to work against my internal criticism and not cringe at something i spent a lot of time and love to make. i saw a few posts on tumblr floating around about posting old drafts and i thought i might do that with this, among others, so keep your eyes peeled for those.⤏ let me know if you see any glaring grammatical mistakes/spelling errors i missed, but more importantly, please enjoy this gem of my past! :)🗡 MASTERPOST 🗡 🗡 ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER 🗡

Tessa woke dreamily, a pleasantly warm haze dampening her thoughts as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. Shimmering sunlight streamed in through the window, lighting up her room and causing motes of dust floating in the air to gleam like tiny flecks of gold. She stretched slowly, enjoying the feeling of tension releasing in her muscles. She smiled when she remembered that finals were over. She was free. (Until she went to college, that is. If she went to college.)

Though with the bliss of waking up to a quiet morning, she realized that it was actually quite out of place. It was suspiciously quiet. There wasn't any shouting from the landlord trying to sell the house again, or explosions coming from the barn. It was awfully peaceful, and Tessa really didn't know how to feel about it. It was only when she closed her eyes in contemplation of dozing off again that she remembered.

They had a transformer in the barn.

"Dad," she groaned, rubbing at her face and sitting up slowly.

A week had passed since Cade Yeager had unknowingly brought home a wanted, illegal alien (a literal alien, funnily enough) in an attempt to dismantle it for salable parts. But of course - of course it had to have been her dad. It couldn't have been anyone else's, because that's just what her life was: hectic and chock-full of crazy shit. So why not add housing an Autobot to the list?

She still couldn't believe her dad had managed to talk both her and Lucas down from making a call to the government about their accidental find. She didn't know how he did it - but he'd kept haggling and nagging and pushing until they'd acquiesced, and now they had a half-destroyed thirty-foot robot living in their barn.

Tessa couldn't say that she disliked Optimus, however - on the contrary, she was rather intrigued by him. He was very benevolent and soft-spoken (only did this show after their initial scare - Lucas wouldn't step close to the 'Bot for a solid two days afterward), and his voice never failed to soothe her with its otherworldly rumble. He was quiet, though, and didn't talk much - at least around her. Her dad said that he spoke with him very frequently, usually while he was repairing or constructing a makeshift part for the injured Autobot, and that entailed them being alone.

Cade had told her, the first night after he’d convinced her and Lucas not to call in the government, that he intended to let Optimus stay there for as long as he needed - until Cade could get him back into fighting shape, at the very least. It was wrong, what the government was doing to the Autobots - hunting them down like animals - and Cade sympathized greatly. Tessa admitted that she did, too, now that she knew the government wasn't actually targeting just Decepticons, but she was scared of the repercussions that it could potentially have on her family. Her father had assured her that nothing was going to happen to them, and that helping Optimus was the best thing that they could do right then. And he was already getting better info on robotics, just by looking at the 'Bot's inner mechanisms - not to mention that the Cybertronian made the continuous effort to answer any sort of question that Cade asked him. It was benefiting them already, he'd said. Tessa had sighed softly, pushing the tray of already lukewarm dinner into her father's hands before returning to the safety of their room.

Needless to say, Tessa made sure to give them both ample space. She would rather not have another missile ricochet through the house.

Tessa yawned, stood, and trudged into her bathroom, already resigning herself to cooking breakfast (again). She figured that the typical eggs and bacon would suffice - she just sincerely hoped that her dad hadn't pulled another all-nighter. Optimus had urged the stubborn human male to rest accordingly before, so maybe he'd done the same the previous night. She'd noticed that her dad was starting to get dark circles under his eyes.

After taking a soothingly hot shower and dressing for the day, she wandered downstairs and into the kitchen. It was methodical, routine, how she went about cooking the eggs and frying the bacon to her dad’s taste. Soon the savory smells were wafting from the stove, and when she heard the dull thumps of heavy, uneven footsteps descending the staircase she breathed out a sigh of relief. Cade shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and tugging the hem of his shirt down over his stomach. His hair was mussed, his movements stiff, and Tessa lamented her lack of foresight in not setting up the coffee pot beforehand.

"Morning, Dad," she said, flipping the bacon as it sizzled and hissed up at her. He mumbled something that could have potentially been English, trudging over to the fridge to pop the door open and draw a glass bottle of soda from its depths. He twisted the cap off, tossing it haphazardly towards the trashcan tucked into the corner of the kitchen (and effectively missing it by a long shot) before sinking into the chair already pulled out from beneath the table. His head fell into his hand, his shoulders slumping as he mumbled under his breath.

He was tired.

"How late did you stay up last night?" she asked him, transferring the now crisp bacon over onto the plate already loaded with heavily salted and peppered eggs. She moved over to him, setting it down in front of him before shuffling back to grab him a fork from the drawer.

Cade, obviously still submerged in a half-catatonic state, made the mistake of plucking up a strip of bacon. He jolted up, hissing and cussing as he swiped his fingertips against his pajama pants. Tessa gave him a scolding look, handing him a fork.

Cade sighed, taking it. "Eleven...?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, cocking her hip and planting a fist above it.

He averted his gaze guiltily, looking entirely like the man-child he was. "...Maybe closer to two. Or three. Or was it three thirty...?"

"Dad," she groaned, tugging at her hair in frustration. "Nothing good is going to come out of this if you work yourself into the ground! Optimus doesn't need to be repaired in the span of four nights-"

"Tessa - honey, you don't understand!" he interjected, squinting against the sunlight streaming in from the window. "I've already been able to make three of my inventions work because of him! He's helping me build these things, and the sooner I can sell them, the sooner we can get some money rolling in."

The young blonde opened her mouth to argue further, but the genuine look in her father's eyes made her stop short. She hesitated, and he took the opportunity to stand and grasp her arms gently, drawing her into a tight, reassuring hug. She resisted but for a few seconds before sighing and giving in, wrapping her arms around him and breathing in the familiar scent of mechanical grease and sweat. Memories lingered in the back of her consciousness. This was her father, what embodied him. Comfort and grease.

How lovely.

"Tess, baby," he murmured into her hair, brushing his fingers through it slowly, "I promise this will turn out okay. Just give me a little time. Optimus is genuinely grateful for what we're doing for him, and he's trying to repay us in any way that he can." He squeezed her affectionately. "We'll get out of this soon. Everything will go back to normal."

"I sincerely doubt that," she mumbled into his shirt, though secretly she was soothed by his words. He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before they both drew away from each other. Cade returned to his seat, digging into his cooling breakfast while Tessa moved over to the coffee pot to get a fresh brew going. She knew he was going to need it, if he was going to function at all that day.

"Did Lucas get those parts you need?" Tessa asked, popping the top off of the coffee maker before grimacing. She hadn't made coffee in a week, how old were these grounds? Yuck.

"Yeah. Most of them," Cade said through a mouthful of eggs. Tessa sighed, but did not scold him. "I'll have to order some. If I can fix up that old tape recorder, I've got a buyer on Ebay. Fifty bucks."

"Hmm." Tessa tossed the old filter out, disposing the forgotten bottle cap while she was at it. She opened up the cabinet, straining on her tiptoes to reach the filters and grounds. Curse her short genes.

"Optimus says that a lot of his self-regenerating systems have kicked in now that he's out of emergency stasis-lock. Whatever that means." Cade swallowed before shoving a wad of bacon into his mouth. "But he's still looking pretty rough. I think he needs a good wash."

"But won't that make him more obvious?" she asked, filling the pot up in the sink and pouring it into the tank. "Won't the government be looking for his old paintjob? Maybe we should paint him a different color or something."

"He mentioned that he changed his vehicle mode while on the run from that ambush," he said. "Combine that with all the rust he's got, I don't think he'll be easily identifiable for a while. But, still..." He polished off the soda before sighing. "I feel bad for him. He seems to be in a lot of discomfort, and I'm pretty sure he's still in pain. He's cooped up in that barn, having to crouch or sit all the time. The guy can't even step outside for fear of satellites seeing him..."

"Maybe he can go out at night," she suggested, sympathizing greatly. Texas heat sucked sometimes, and some days in the summer you couldn't even step outside for fear of suffocating on contact. "He can stretch his legs a bit without so much fear of being seen."

Cade visibly brightened. "Good idea. I didn't think of that."

Probably because you're just running on fumes, Tessa thought wryly as she flicked on the coffee pot.

"In any case," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the counter. She jabbed a finger at him, giving him a firm (and faintly pleading) look. "I want you in bed before midnight tonight."

Cade grinned around his fork, his eyes glittering with faint amusement. "I'll try," he said, swallowing, "but I can't make any promises."

"I'll make Optimus lock you out of the barn," she warned, knowing full well that the thirty-foot mech would most definitely agree to it. They both knew it. "Just...try, okay? Or I'll spike your dinner with melatonin, too."

Cade shuddered, cringing. "Okay, okay, chill," he said, picking up the last strip of bacon before standing with his plate and wandering over to the sink. "I'll go to sleep at midnight."

"Before midnight," she pressed.

"Before midnight," he acquiesced.

Cade washed off the plate, chewing studiously on the bacon like a tobacco addict while Tessa stepped over to the fridge and unraveled the loaf of bread. She dropped two slices into the toaster when Cade's cell phone began to ring.

He growled softly, flicking the faucet off before fumbling with his pajama pants. "It had better not be that damn..." He drew out the phone from his pocket, squinting at the name before the blood drained from his face.

Tessa's face creased in immediate concern. "What? Who is it?"

Cade's trembling thumb slid across the screen before he lifted it to his ear. "Heeyyy, sis..."

Tessa felt her blood run cold, a thrum of nervousness welling up in her stomach. Cade cast her an anxious glance before rubbing at the back of his head. "I'm fine. Tessa's fine...wait, you found a what? That's awesome!"

His enthusiasm was short-lived, as it died just as quickly as it had come when Tessa gave him a sour, pointed look. "Uh, yeah...Tessa finished up her finals. Yeah. No, I haven't finished that...you found a part for it? Nice." He fidgeted where he stood, leaning against the counter and rubbing at his mouth. "Listen, we've, uh...I made a big buy here a few days ago...no, it wasn't...okay. I, uh..." He grimaced, his teeth bared as he ran his fingers through his hair. "How long's it going to be 'til you get here?" He paused, listening intently, before the barest iota of relief relaxed the muscles in his shoulders. "Okay. This evening? Later? All right...yeah, see you then. Love you, too. Bye."

The second he lowered the phone from his ear and ended the call, he let out a prolonged, hissing curse through his teeth. Tessa worried her lower lip between her teeth, waiting for the ball to drop. Cade sank back against the cabinetry, his head hitting the upper section with a dull thunk. "We're screwed. I completely forgot about..." He shook his head slowly. "She's coming back tonight, maybe around seven. We've got to hide Optimus somehow."

Tessa stared at him incredulously. "How? He's a thirty-foot robot!" she hissed at him. "She practically lives in the barn, and that's the only place he can hide! She'll sniff him out in minutes!"

"I know that," Cade pressed, shoving the phone back into his pocket so he could scrape his hands down his face. "But she'll kill me when she finds out-"

"What, that you accidentally bought a literal illegal alien and now you’re trying to fix him?!" she cried exasperatedly. "Of course she's going to kill you!"

"We can't tell her," he insisted. "She's ex-military. Who knows how she'll react when she finds out we've got a Cybertronian in the barn."

"We can't keep it from her," she protested. "Even if we do manage to hide him at first, she'll find him eventually. She spends as much time in there as you do, if not more - which is stupid," she muttered. "And you'll have to continue repairs on him eventually."

Cade sighed resignedly, dropping his face into his hands. "At least make spaghetti for her," he mumbled, voice muffled. "The most we can do is butter her up before we tell her. I...I need at least tonight, so I can think about how I'm going to tell her."

Tessa stared at him for a long moment, but the tense silence that threatened to fall was broken by the toaster popping. At least that was one device in the house that Cade hadn't tampered with.

"Don't worry about it," Tessa told him, trying to offer some relief to his nervousness. "I'm sure once you explain everything to her, she'll understand. Like you said, he's helping out a lot with your robotics, so it's not a completely fruitless endeavor. And, once he's fixed up and leaves, we can call the government and point them in the opposite direction. That way we'll get the money but we'll throw them off his trail."

Cade looked up at her, a slow smile tugging the corners of his mouth apart. "I love you," he cooed. "You're smart like your mother."

Tessa flushed, turning to she could both pluck her toast out of the toaster and hide the smile that split her face in two.

It turned out to be a terribly hot day, as was typical of an early Texas summer. The only respite against the blazing sun was the industrial-sized fan humming near the barn door and the tin roofing reflecting most of the sun's oppressive heat. Sunlight streamed in from between the wood paneling and the opened loft window, providing enough illumination to cast dark shadows against the interior of the barn not under its direct assault. But, despite the dust and rust and grime clinging to his plating, the few unmarred spots of Optimus' armor gleamed.

Cade swiped an arm over his forehead, the beads of sweat and friction serving to wipe away at least some of the grime that had collected there. He had half the mind to take off his shirt, soaked and sticking to him in all the wrong places. He felt about as dirty as he probably looked. Even still, he doubted that Optimus would appreciate seeing a half-naked human - especially a half-naked human that was as dirty and unkempt as Cade knew he was. Or maybe the mech wouldn't care at all. Either way, he wasn't going to risk it, particularly since he was working with hot metal. He'd experienced the repercussions of that before and it had been no bueno.

Hefting the heavy-weighted hammer and setting the rounded metal casing against the molding sphere, he tapped out an angle that had been too sharp. The shift and scrape of metal on concrete almost made him flinch, but the movement in his peripheral reminded him of the barn's other occupant. Optimus was clearly uncomfortable, hunched over and grimacing every time he jostled one of the chains hanging from the ceiling or bumped against the scaffolding Cade had set up so he could reach his chassis. It had struck Cade how clearly he could read the mech's expressions - he was certainly human-like, despite the vastly differing components that made up the Cybertronian's faceplate.

"You took a hell of a hit, you know," he said, squinting at the casing with a merciless eye before wandering over to the standing cutting torch. "The missile just missed your power source."

The massive mech blinked, tilting his helm slightly, before he glanced down to the exposed internal workings within his chassis. His spark flickered erratically, casting an eerie glow against the dim shadows within the barn. "We call it a spark," he responded softly. "It contains our life force...and our memories."

Cade stilled, staring up at him in surprise. He hadn't thought... "Yeah...we call it a soul."

Optimus ex-vented slowly, his optics flicking away. He absently scratched at part of his pectoral plating, rolling his shoulders slowly. Cade inwardly winced at the metallic grating noise, trying to remember if he had some car grease. Yeah...add that to the growing list of things he was going to have to fix.

God, this guy was a mess.

Optimus grimaced suddenly, glancing down at his armor and plucking at a sizable shell casing embedded in the rusted, peeling metal. He tugged it free, staring down at it rather apathetically before flicking it away. Cade heard it bounce off the side of something somewhere to his right with a sharp cling. "Cade..." The Autobot hesitated, blinking as his optics shuttered, making the mechanic wonder if it indicated deep thought. "...why are you willing to help me?"

Cade paused, fiddling with the nozzle of the blow torch. "I guess maybe because you trust me to," he mused, leaning back as the torch roared to life and illuminated everything around him in a flaring orange glow. He quickly popped the welding mask down over his face, adjusting his grip on the round casing before bathing it in the spurting flame. Optimus watched his actions in rapt attention, seeming to absorb the human's reply.

When the metal was glowing as orange as the flames that were heating it, Cade shut off the torch and trotted back over to the ball bearing before pounding out more angles. He eyed it one last time before trotting over to the barrel of oil he'd had for years, dipping it in gingerly and being wary of the flames that flared and licked up at his hands. He then doused it in the barrel of water he'd set up next to it, turning his face away from the steam that hissed and shot up into the air. When he lifted the mask again to admire his handiwork, Optimus leaned over slightly as though to look at it, too.

"It look okay?" Cade asked while popping the mask back up onto his head, turning and walking up to the massive 'Bot so he could inspect it. The Prime nodded and reached out with an open servo, taking the casing before slowly and carefully fitting it around the flickering blue light within the depths of his chassis. He let out a heavy gush of hot air that ruffled Cade's oily hair, not quite a sigh of what must've been relief but probably the closest thing he could come to it.

"Thank you, Cade," he murmured sincerely. His shoulders slumped as though he finally had the chance to relax. Cade supposed he would, too, had the physical manifestation of his soul been so exposed for so long - and around strangers, no less.

Around strangers who were the same species as those who had made him wary of them in the first place.

"Hey, Optimus," Cade began tentatively, drawing out his syllables as he tried to conjure up the right words to inform the Autobot of their growing predicament. He didn't really know how he was going to react. "I've...got some good news and some bad news."

This seemed to set the mech on his guard, as his shoulders drew up again subtly with a tenseness that Cade suddenly regretted inciting in him. His optics shuttered, narrowed, and focused wholly on Cade, quiet and waiting. Of course, the moment he'd finally had a chance to relax, Cade had to go and ruin it.

The inventor sighed, pulling the mask from his head and rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. "Good news is my sister is coming back." He looked back up to Optimus. "The bad news is that my sister's coming back."

Optimus shifted restlessly, optics flickering rapidly between extreme dimness and flaring brightness. "Is she one that could pose potential danger?"

"Not really - at least, I don't think so," Cade added hurriedly. "I just...I don't know how she's going to react to...this." He gestured towards Optimus vaguely, for lack of a better word. Or any word, for that matter. "She's ex-military, and I know you guys worked with them for a long time. I don't think she ever worked with the Autobots, though, since she was discharged before the first attack in Qatar, but..."

Optimus stilled, tilting his helm slightly. "Do you wish me to tell her the circumstances of how I arrived here?"

"No - no, it's fine," Cade responded, "I can handle it. I've just...I've been trying to figure out how to tell her."

"Tell her the truth," Optimus said simply, gently. "That is was an accident. It was most definitely not your fault." He paused. "If she should wish me to leave, then I will be on my way. I do not wish to cause dissonance within your family."

It's a bit late for that, he thought wryly, but didn't voice it. "Optimus, we've been through this - I want to help you. I want to help you get back on your feet, if nothing else - it's just not fair how these guys are chasing you around like you're some wild dog." He frowned, anger beginning to simmer low in his gut. "I think she'll understand."

...At least, I hope she will.

Dear God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, it was good to be home.

You pulled off of the interstate onto the highway branching off and directing you closer to your destination. You hummed softly along with the radio playing just over the rumble of your tires rolling over the pavement. Your arm was probably well sunburned by this point, having laid across the open windowsill for five days straight. The wind tugged at your tightly-bound hair, warm and dry as the sun brushed the edge of the horizon. The scent of flat, grassy plains - the scent of home - had you finally, finally relaxed after your trip.

Finding fixer-uppers for Cade and yourself to restore proved to be something you'd long ago gotten into the habit of doing - every three weeks you'd pack up your truck and trailer and drive around your proud home state in search of potential quarry. Scholarship opportunities for Tessa, as well as acceptable colleges, had recently been added to your list. None particularly met your standard, but...it was your niece in question, and you had always been protective of Tessa. Perhaps more so than Cade, in your mind. Maybe it was a Yeager trait.

You breathed out a sigh as you slipped your sunglasses off the top of your head and over your eyes. The sunset was certainly a sight - vivid oranges and reds melting together like a forge, blazing just as hot. You couldn't wait to take a long, hot shower and sleep in your own bed - cheap inns and motels be damned to the seventh circle of Dante's hell, honestly.

Paris, Texas welcomed you soon enough. There were a few people lingering in the streets or stores, but it was quiet for the most part. You waved towards a few acquaintances as you drove by, feeling relieved excitement bubbling up in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to home. You couldn't wait to work with Cade on some of the things you'd found in your brief travel. You'd even bought a couple of things for Tessa that you could freshen up and give her for her college dorm as a going-away present.

God, you were going to miss her. But...it would be nice to have the house to Cade and yourself again. Just like the good old days.

A flush of warm contentment washed over you when you pulled onto the familiar old farm road, dust swelling up from your tires and rising up in a thick cloud behind your trailer. You slowed down as you approached the rickety old mailbox and the metal crate welded beneath it, turning in slowly. You stopped when you saw that the electrical lines were crossed.

Oh, boy...maybe you shouldn't have gone on this last trip.

It seemed that your arrival was well anticipated. The robotic mut you and Cade had built what seemed to be forever ago was already whirling around in circles, yapping on and on about voice recognition and dialing nine-one-one. You could've sworn you'd fixed that. Cade was standing on the front porch, arms folded over his chest and fingers drumming against his arm.

He was nervous. What the hell did he do this time?

Parking and disengaging the engine, you grabbed your duffel and purse out of the passenger's seat before sliding out of the truck. Cade stepped down from the porch to take them, to which you waved him off and instead pulled him into a tight hug. The strong, familiar scent of motor oil and grease filled your nose. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he said, arms resting on your back. He rested his cheek against the crown of your head, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Drive back was okay?"

"Yeah. Didn't shoot anyone."

"Always a good thing." He pulled back, grinning and grasping your arms gently. "Tessa made spaghetti."

Your hunger, now making itself apparent in the way your stomach twisted and growled irritably, predominated your rising suspicion. "Praise God. I've had enough McDonald's to last me three lifetimes."

Your brother's warm laugh, more relaxed than his tense body language had been moments before, followed you into the house as you both went inside. The hearty smell of the Yeager family spaghetti sauce filled your nostrils and your mouth watered immediately, the tension draining from your limbs as you cast a glance back at Cade. "Let me go put this up real quick," you told him, trotting up the stairs. You heard him acknowledge you with a grunt as he turned into the kitchen.

The upper floor was dark and quiet, and it allowed you to breathe in the scent of home as you made a beeline for your room. You entered, tossing both bags onto your bed and making a flying trip to the bathroom to relieve yourself. You made quick work of washing your hands, simply wiping off the warm water on your jeans as you descended the stairs. You heard Cade's voice before you got to the doorway leading to the kitchen, the urgent, low tones initially obscuring Tessa's lighter whispers. Your suspicion returned, but you couldn't make out what they were saying because of the music playing softly from the radio.

You really hoped they hadn't broken something they shouldn't have. Didn't matter if it was a law or piece of equipment - if Lucas had been messing with your punching bag again, you'd be wringing his skinny little neck soon enough.

You made a show of yawning, stretching your arms over your head as you clomped around the corner. Cade turned to you, holding a pitcher of tea in one hand and a glass of ice in the other.

"I'm assuming you wanted tea," he said.

"Yeah, that's fine," you said, taking the glass after he filled it and sitting at the table. Tessa was distributing spaghetti on three different plates, as well as corn and salad. She set it in front of you with a swift one-armed hug around your shoulders, which you readily returned. "Heard about your finals. Good job, kiddo."

"Thanks!" she said, smiling and practically oozing pride in light of your praise. She meandered over to the oven, popping it open and grabbing an oven mitt to draw out a tray of garlic bread. "Want one?"

"Yes, please," you breathed, plucking one from the tray when she proffered it to you before dropping it on the edge of your plate to save your fingertips from the hot sting.

Cade plopped down in the seat across from you, reclining back and exhaling deeply. He rubbed at the dark circles beneath his eyes. You squinted at him, about to ask if he had been staying up late again, when Tessa, too, sat to your left.

"Pray?" she said, glancing between the two of you. You nodded, and all three of you bowed your heads so you could utter a brief prayer of thanks. Afterwards, you scooped a generous forkful of spaghetti into your mouth, practically melting in your chair as the warmth and flavor blossomed over your tongue.

"Oh my god, Tessa, never change," you told her firmly after swallowing. She flushed, hiding her smile behind her glass as she sipped lightly.

"How was the trip?" Cade asked, tearing the slice of garlic bread apart and stuffing a chunk past his lips.

"Good, for the most part," you said, reaching for the salad dressing to drizzle it over the chopped lettuce and tomatoes. "Got a few things that I can fix up pretty quick. Joe Anderson's been nagging me for a table for three months now. I think it's Amy's birthday soon and he's looking for something to give her."

Cade breathed out a sigh of relief. "I've almost got a couple of doohickeys fixed. Got a couple of buyers on Ebay. I think I'll be able to pay the electric bill with them."

You looked up at him, your chewing slowing to a stop. "Is that why we're borrowing the neighbor's electricity?"

Both Cade and Tessa stilled, exchanging a hesitant glance. The nervousness in the air was palpable.

"Is that what's going on?" you asked, voice simultaneously firm yet gentle. "You've been acting weird. Were you not wanting to tell me?"

You didn't miss the very pointed look that Tessa directed at her father.

"I thought I shouldn't have gone on this trip," you muttered. "I'll try to get that table done tomorrow. The sooner we can pay it, the better."

Cade shifted uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing at his neck anxiously. "That's...not what I wanted to tell you."

You raised a brow. "Is it about that 'big buy' you made?"

"I...yes," he replied hesitantly. "It's a truck."

You blinked. "A truck."

"Yes - an old truck. A semi. A cabover. I was planning on dismantling the engine for parts to sell."

"Planning on it?" you asked curiously.

"Yeah. I...ran into some...trouble with it." He straightened, fiddled with his fork. "You'll have to see it for yourself."

"If all you needed was help on it, all you had to do was ask," you told him gently. "But we'll start on that in the morning. I'm tired. You look tired - have you been staying up late again?"

He flushed, opened his mouth perhaps to protest, but Tessa interjected with a flat expression and a strong nod.

"Sleep," you pressed firmly, "and we'll tackle it when we're both fresh. Comprende?"

"Sí," he muttered, casting his eyes downward.

"Good." You smiled, half affectionate and half exasperated. "I'll cuddle you aggressively if you don't."

"Resistance is futile," Tessa chimed in, spearing a chunk of lettuce with her fork.

You reached over and squeezed her arm with a grin, directing it at Cade. He finally met your eyes, and after a long moment he returned it, looking as tired as you'd ever seen him.

You had once been a very deep sleeper. When you were younger, back when Cade was smaller than you, he always thought something was wrong whenever he would get up in the mornings and fail to rouse you unless he were to practically scream in your ear. You slept through thunderstorms and fireworks alike, never once stirring from your oft dreamless slumber. Very rarely did you dream, even rarer did you suffer from nightmares.

Unfortunately, that was a long time ago.

After graduating from high school and enlisting your services in the marine corps, you'd quickly learned that sleeping deeply was not an asset useful to a soldier. Countless times of interrupted rest trained you to be instantly alert at the slightest of noises or potential dangers. It had served you well, the night your base in Iraq had been attacked - you'd heard the distant rumble of non-American military engines across the way and you'd saved your troop by waking and warning them just in time to escape your bunker before it was incinerated into smoke and ash.

The ambush had been long and violent. They'd come in under cover of the dunes on the far east side, near a mountain range, and had wreaked havoc on the base, killing many and injuring more. Snipers, unfortunately, were present - when you'd gone to rescue your superior officer from a burning quonset, one had nearly managed to blow your left arm out of its socket. It was only by God's grace that your squadron's medic had gotten to you in time to staunch the bleeding. Your arm barely survived, and as a result of some psychological bullshit, you now had a rather inconvenient limp in the opposite leg. Unnoticeable to you (and your family) now that you've all gotten accustomed to it and have dealt with it long enough that it wasn't as bad as it used to be. Only if you had one of your spells did it act up again.

And by 'spell', it obviously meant a full-blown anxiety attack courtesy of your PTSD, which used to be triggered by anything ranging from the sound of someone dropping a pen to having night terrors. The night terrors, in themselves, were not particularly bad - you'd gotten used to the images of blood spattered across the sand and the sounds of screams and explosions ringing in your ears, echoing over the rivulets of time and memory. No, it was the aftereffects that you hated; waking in a cold sweat, trembling all over, nausea and lightheadedness threatening to send you over the side of your bed. Over the years, however, you'd gradually recovered - returning home after being medically discharged and falling back into a semi-normal, tamer routine certainly helped. The night terrors and your spells grew fewer and farther between as the years drew on. Having Cade and Tessa as a support system helped majorly, as well.

But, as is the case with everything, there were always exceptions. Sometimes, out of nowhere, you would dream of the ambush - crying out in your sleep as a result and never failing to draw Cade into your bed to wrap you up in a tight, warm embrace. His presence, the sound of his heartbeat and his gentle murmurings and reassurances helped to calm you down, but it still frustrated you every time that it would happen. You thought you were getting better. You thought that you'd forgotten the terror and the pain. But revisitations of it were inevitable.

Tonight, it would seem, would be one of those nights.

The air was cold. The sand was cold. Your heart, heavy and lodged in your throat, was thumping painfully as you crouched low and wide-eyed in a grenade-blown pit, avoiding crossfire and the sight of the enemy. You were trembling, deep and wholesome panic thrumming through your entire body as you tried to think, tried to comprehend what was happening, tried to articulate what you needed to do. A distant murmur of sentimentality in the back of your mind told you that you should go back to your bunker, try to salvage what few belongings you were permitted to have. Shock and the ingrained soldier's sense would not let you.

Gun. You needed your gun. You needed your gun so you could fire back, save others, protect your squadron. Where was it?

In the smoldering remains of your bunker, along with everything else you'd owned.

Another grenade clattered against the smoldering side of the communications center, falling dangerously close to an armored Jeep and rocking it on its wheels with its concussive explosion. You winced, shied away from the flash of fire and shrapnel, and looked wildly, desperately around for an ally, someone you knew, someone you trusted.

"Yeager!"

Your head shot up, eyes focusing in on the medical facility. The chief medic was hunched in the doorway, clutching an IV bag in one hand and its partnering needle in the other as he stared straight at you.

"Merendsen!" he shouted. "Merendsen's trapped in his bunker!"

Now given an order, a purpose, your mind locked onto it with renewed determination. However, when you told your body to move, it did not budge. You shook and shivered, but your limbs would not accept the commands given to them. You heard an unintelligible shout from another point in the camp, closer to the medicinal facility, and the chief medic looked back to you with furrowed brows. "They're readying a mortar! We've got to evacuate!"

To this day, you still don't recall ever getting up. All you remember is no longer laying in the sand, only running headlong through the crossfire and explosions and yelling towards the bunker where your commanding officer dwelled. The building was half collapsed, crackling and hissing with flames that licked against the shadows of light. You stumbled to your knees, digging at the crumbling and charred cement and hoping you wouldn't get hit. You gasped and cursed when you scorched your hand, but you were rewarded when you heard a groan amidst the rubble.

"Sir!" you gasped, trying to find the location of the sound. "Merendsen! Captain Merendsen!"

"Yeager...?" he rasped, and grunted when you shifted a rather large chunk of rock.

"Help me, sir," you panted. "I can't get you out by myself."

He groaned, though whether through pain or delirium you didn't know. You saw his bloodied, swelling fingers poke out from between a gap in the debris. Several painstaking and anxiety-riddled moments slid by, and as soon as his shoulders were visible you grappled for him and tugged him free of the debris. He choked out a curse, blood dripping from his head and hands as you dragged him onto the sand.

"We - we need to evac," he wheezed, glazed eyes taking in the decimation that was once home camp.

"We're working on it, sir," you managed, using a sizable chunk of concrete for cover as you tried to plot the best route to the medical facility. There was heavy fire being exchanged through the main route, several of your comrades hollering and bleeding while trying to hurl back as much as was being given to them. None noticed your predicament.

The medical facility. If you could get him there, he'd be safe until everyone got organized. It was the most well-protected place in camp (or what used to be the camp).

"Can you walk?" you hollered above the blast of fire swelling around a Jeep that had been turned over on the edge of camp.

"I'm fine!" he shouted back, gritting his teeth and trying to get his legs beneath him. His pupils were blown. He had a concussion. "Let's move! We need to get out of here!"

You hauled his arm around your neck, drawing his weight into your side and hefting both yourself and him to your feet. You huffed and strained beneath the extra weight, eyes stinging as sweat and dirt and smoke blurred your vision.

It was painstaking, bobbing and weaving through debris and smoke for cover. Your comrades made way for you, giving you cover-fire when crossing areas where you were plainly visible. Your commanding officer was grunting and cursing due to pain, trying his best to support his weight despite the fact that his leg was bent at a rather unnatural angle.

You rounded the corner, spotting the welcoming entryway to the medical bunker, and somewhere in the back of your conscious mind you recognized it - recognized this moment - and began to dread despite not being able to change the events of the past. All you registered was the distant flicker of red right before Merendsen was hollering in your ear. Your mind and focus clicked into place in that instant - sniper. Deeply ingrained instinct kicked in and you threw your weight to the side, shoving your captain into the sand as pain unfathomable exploded in your uncovered shoulder.

The next thing you knew was Merenden's face over yours, mouth moving but no sound coming forth. You realized you couldn't hear - not just him, but everything else. Your ears were ringing, body cold and frozen. Your heartbeat, hot and painful, throbbed in your shoulder (or, in retrospect, what was left of it).

Turning your head in an attempt to gain your bearings, you saw the sickening color of scarlet staining the sand beneath you, splattered over Merendsen's pinched face as he hunched over you protectively. He dug his palms into your shoulder, eliciting a weak, breathless gasp as pain bloomed across the forefront of your psyche. You felt the squish of blood against your torn and rent flesh. Your vision flickered, the dark draw of unconsciousness tugging at the edges of your consciousness. You were suddenly tired. Tired, and dazed, and hurting.

"...eager! Yeager! Stay with me, soldier! Don't you dare give up on your family!"

You blinked slowly, eyes listlessly returning to Merendsen's. His face was twisted into a pained, worried grimace.

"You've got a niece to go home to!" he shouted above the din, and you vaguely recognized the shift of sand as someone else skidded to a stop beside your head. The chief medic's face, illuminated by fire, swam on the side of your vision as though submerged in water. "Your brother needs you! Your family needs you!" Merendsen lifted his hands away from your shoulder so the medic could replace them, and your captain moved to grip your limp, trembling hand with his own. "Don't let go, soldier - that's an order!"

You remembered smiling, thanking him with a broken and soft and terrified voice. Then you remembered no more.

You remembered the pain, and its clawed grip upon your rapidly fluttering heart, and that was the first thing you felt when you jolted awake - except for the fact that there was no pain, and no slick, stickiness of blood soaking your shoulder and the cold sand beneath it. Your heart was still beating, though, thumping in your temples and throat and making quite the impression of itself on the inside of your chest cavity.

You blinked and sat up slowly, sucking in several lungfuls of cool, clear air. Your brain began to reboot slowly, gradually swimming out of the dark depths it had submersed itself in. You exhaled shakily, your hand going to your left shoulder. A pang of remembered agony tingled through the damaged nerve endings. Damn phantom pains.

Several tense, quiet moments passed. You breathed, focused on your heartbeat, closed your eyes against the vestiges of fear and shock. Your heart calmed, your body stopped trembling. You brushed your dampened hair away from your neck and grimaced as you registered the sweat clinging to your skin. Your eyes settled on the band of moonlight shining through your opened window, allowing the pleasant night air passage. A cursory glance towards your alarm clock assured you that yes, it was far too early to be awake.

4:21. Great.

Your eyes adjusted slowly, and you frowned when you saw your bedroom door still secured tightly shut, realizing your brother's warm presence wasn't currently wrapped around yours.

Cade hadn't come. He always came. He always knew. Where was he?

The distant clatter of metal against wood caused you to freeze. Your senses focused in on the sound, ears straining to hear anything else. Instead, dead silence settled over the outside world once more.

Your hand slipped silently under your pillow, the familiar bite of cold metal a comfortable weight in your hand as you settled your fingers around the grip and drew it out into open air. Your pistol gleamed in the moonlight as you slid your legs off the bed and slowly eased your weight into your feet. The floor did not creak nor groan as you crept to your window, peering around the edge to scrutinize the yard below.

No signs of life, nor disturbances. All was quiet.

Your eyes narrowed, and you made your way into the hall to check on your brood. Tessa was asleep beneath her sheets, hair strewn out over the pillow beneath her head. You closed the door silently. Cade, too, was in bed (thankfully), snoring and sprawled out over his mattress. He was deeply under, you could tell - how much had he been working before you'd returned?

Assured that they were safe, you padded down the stairs and made your way to the back door, grabbing a flashlight on your way by and stealing outside without a sound. You kept to the shadows, prowling towards the barn warily. Though every fiber in your body was tensed and focused on making your approach undetectable, your mind was buzzing. Who would be in your barn at this time of the night? Your first thought went to some wayward teenager or young adult looking for a quick buck, but you found that unlikely given you hadn’t heard a vehicle approach. A glance to the field and road beyond your home also proved that fact, as there was not a vehicle in sight. It could've been a raccoon, but you found that unlikely. Maybe something had just fallen over?

Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to check. You just really hoped that you wouldn't have to use your gun. You really weren't in the mood to shoot anybody.

Circling around to the back of the barn where the larger door rested, you readjusted your grip on your gun and tucked it behind the barn’s door handle. You braced yourself, taking a steadying breath. In one smooth motion you clicked on your flashlight and raised it level with your head, throwing the massive but relatively light door open before raising your gun to the immediate darkness within. "Whoever the hell you are, raise your hands - and don't make a mistake you'll regret, because I will shoot you!"

Two wide, startled, glowing blue eyes blinked down at you from inside the depths of the barn.

Shocked out of words for a split second, you froze. Then, "What the actual f-"

You had only a moment to register that the eyes belonged to a gargantuan, alien frame. It seemed that it, too, had been stunned by the mutual shock of discovering the other, but not for a moment longer. In that same instant, the gargantuan, alien frame lunged for you.

Screw not being in the mood to shoot somebody.

You raised your pistol and your finger twitched over the trigger, but the unknown figure was faster. A massive hand swiped out at you from the shadows, knocking both the gun from your grip and your entire body off of your own feet. The breath gushed out of you as you made harsh contact with the ground, the jolt stunning and dazing you. You scrabbled for purchase on the dewy grass beneath you as the figure leapt to loom over you, blocking a huge portion of the sky and casting a dark shadow over you. That same massive hand slammed down into the soft soil next to your head, fingers groping for your comparatively tiny body. You rolled away, stuttering out a curse as your hand found purchase on something cold and metal and heavy enough to be used as a weapon. Without thinking (not that you had the capacity, with your mind scattered and adrenaline coursing through your limbs), you found the creature's glowing, narrowed eyes in the dark and chucked the object at its crested head.

The clang of metal meeting metal rang out with the brief flash of sparks right before it was drowned out by a deafening bellow of pain. A disk-like shape fell from the creature's head and you had naught but a second to again roll to safety before it sank into the ground like a blade while your flashlight clattered a few feet away from you, light flickering across the ground. Green fluid spurted freely from the figure's cracked skull, but you were distantly confused to see electrical sparks shooting from the open wound.

Cade's shocked outcry of your name snapped you back into focus. Your head whirled to see him jumping from the front porch, sprinting straight for you and your still growling attacker. The ground shook beneath you and you were startled to hear the unknown figure (danger threat protect) garble out a roughened, pained version of your brother's name before its massive hand made another move to grab you.

"Optimus, no, don't-!"

"Cade, stay back - this human has a gun!"

"What the hell?!" you cried, staggering to your feet and away from the - holy shit, was it-?

Was it a transformer?

"Cade, get back!" you shouted, your eyes now finding the metallic sheen gleaming off the figure's silhouette. "Get back, get the shotgun!"

"Wait, just - wait a second!" Cade sounded panicked, worried, though you realized with terror he was running for the transformer and not you. "Optimus, wait!"

'Optimus'? Why did that...

The gargantuan figure froze as the human male stopped between it and you, waving his arms frantically and looking as pale as a sheet in the moonlight. "Please, just hang on a second!" He glanced wildly between the both of you, eyes pleading. "Let me explain!"

Both you and the transformer stilled, chests heaving and eyes looking from Cade to the other with suspicion and wariness.

"This is your sister?" the robotic alien rumbled, taking you off guard. It eased onto its haunches, sitting up and allowing the moonlight to illuminate its figure. Rust and peeling paint caught your eye, dust and grime obscuring much of what must've once been shiny metal. Its face was twisted, mouth pinched as it turned its glowing gaze to you. You realized that the disk that had fallen from its head was one of two ear-like arrays with sensor finials. The open wound(?) was still dribbling that same green substance. Blood?

"Yes, Optimus, this-" Cade exhaled heavily, hands and voice shaking with relief as you both stood down. He looked to you, guilt and apprehension forming in his eyes as he gestured towards the mechanical being behind him. "I..."

A short silence settled upon the three of you, tense and anxious. After a beat, you sighed and glanced up at the transformer, leveling it with a pointedly non-aggressive look. You saw the stiffness in its metal-plated shoulders relax minutely, then looked back to Cade only when you were sure the unspoken ceasefire was cemented.

"So..." you deadpanned, a wry, weary quirk forming at the edge of your mouth as you rubbed your sore cranium. "...who put him in your basket?"

[lottiecrabie]

Hey! Super duper random, but how did you get into writing? Your stuff is my absolute favorite and I have some ideas of my own that you inspired tbh. I’m thinking of starting to post on my blog but I don’t even know where to start! Any tips?

tysm! tbh writing has always been something very intrinsic to me. i’ve been writing stories ever since i was old enough to hold a pen, and before that i was rambling them out loud. its just part of who i am. that means i’ve had fifteen whole years to practice my writing! that is unfortunately the best advice i can give you; practice, practice, practice. writing is a muscle and it must be exercised.

for more concrete advice, it’s important to follow an idea and story you personally enjoy. you need to find something that sparks and makes you want to write, or you’ll be unable to finish it. having an interesting idea, loveable characters, and being able to capture the attention of an audience is the most difficult skill for an author to have, yet the most important. even writers you might find lacking— all the most famous smutty romance writers who people might complain about the technique still manage to have this skill few others have, which is why they are bestsellers.

i believe there’s two type of writers; those who write dialogues more easily, and those who favor action. finding what comes easier for you is a great way to exploit your strength and work on your weaknesses. believe or not, i used to be a dialogue writer, yet i’ve worked hard enough on my prose that i think i’m now morse known for that than my dialogues.

if you are a dialogue writer, try to remember to vary the distance between dialogues. i mean that quite literally; when you view dialogues, they shouldn’t all be one after the other, or you might as well write a play. remember to distance with interjections, thoughts, feelings, reactions, descriptions, actions. it doesn’t have to always been a big distance between two exchanges; sometimes, during arguments or particularly vivid teasing, quick, snappy dialogues is the best option. you need to find the perfect rhythm depending on the mood.

if you are more an action writer, i find that prose is the most fun and beautiful thing to write. stylistic choices really give a certain personal vibe to your writing, whether you enjoy prose or not. a dry, direct style gives a personal trademark as well. i think the balance of it is the most important, and something i myself have not even mastered. knowing when adverbs and adjectives are becoming too many, when you’re teetering on purple prose, when you are too much tell and not enough show are all things that you must look out for.

paragraphs are an absolute must. the first thing that makes me exit a story is a lack of paragraph. one idea, one paragraph. following this rule is essential to being coherent and not a terrible struggle for your readers. switching between your speakers is essential too!

in the end, especially in the case of smut, as long as its not boring, you will have people reading. everything else can come with practice, and that is what is very essential. you would not like what i wrote five, four, even two years ago. i do not even like it. but i got there because i wrote, and i kept writing, and i got better. good luck !

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

Mildly annoyed at my body.

Probably venting. Mostly complaining. Some medical talk.

I kinda want to get a second shift job, but I just got a raise and starting this month, I will be making really good money. Like, double minimum wage money. I don't think I'll be finding that wage anywhere else with no college degree and only 5 years of office experience...

I want to put more of my books on the shelves, the ones still boxed in the living room and the basement. Go through the comics I probably have no real attachment to, maybe offer them up somewhere. Put the books I keep thinking about that somehow didn't get their boxes marked "FAVE" and thus weren't put upstairs when I moved. They're in the basement. I KNOW I have more books by my favorite author. I've been wanting to reread the ones I haven't unpacked.

But I just ate. I can't go up and down the stairs, let alone carrying 2+ boxes and unpacking them. Not to mention, some of them are practically buried in others' boxes... I can't exert myself by moving them around, either. I might be able to reach the ones by the shoe rack, but I don't remember. I can't stand up and bend over to look.

For my stomach AND my back reasons. Ever since I had the neurology appointment, during which they twisted me in ways that made my mostly-fine back start hurting at a Level of 5/10 Again, and when I said it started hurting they kept twisting and asked if it still hurt. Yes! Fuck yes, it hurt WORSE!

And it still hasn't entirely calmed down. The pain now is worse than it was before the appointment. Even two weeks later (or is it three?). Even with lidocaine patches and muscle relaxers. They want me to start steroid shots. (And do physical therapy again, but I already spent most of my PTO built up this year on Sisu's vet appointment and my teeth. I need to build up more hours for things in April, a concert road trip and taking the day of the solar eclipse off because I absolutely REFUSE to miss the eclipse, when I live conveniently RIGHT in the path of totality! I can't take 4 hours off work every week because the PT only has appointments during my work schedule.)

I need to do at-home physical therapy exercises more often anyways, but I can't lay down (let alone lay on my side for 10 minutes) after eating, and by the time my stomach's done making me uncomfortably aware of the food I've eaten, I need to go to sleep.

And tomorrow, I want to watch some panels at an online convention and go grocery shopping and clean the pet cages and shower. Maybe sweep my room and do dishes. I'm still debating if I want to wake up at 10am for a panel on something I've often wondered about (thanks in large part to the name of a roller coaster at Cedar Point), but that will sacrifice about 4 hours of sleep.

Precious sleep. Which is ALWAYS a struggle working first shift. When I worked 3pm to 11pm, I slept for 9 hours every night, no problem. (I was constantly exhausted for Other reasons, but sleep wasn't the problem.) But working first shift? I have to fight my body tooth, nail, and pharmaceuticals to get it asleep before 11pm. Half the time it doesn't happen. The meds make me sleepy, but won't KEEP me asleep.

I take melatonin, L-theanine, herbal supplements (valerian and lemon balm and passionflower and lavender), magnesium citrate, and an anti-depressant and muscle relaxer, all in the desperate hopes that I MIGHT be able to sleep for 8 hours a night. (I struggle with delayed circadian disorder. It's not insomnia, because I can easily fall asleep and stay asleep if it's within my body's natural circadian rhythm. Sleeping about 1-3am, waking about 10:am to noon.)

It isn't the ADHD meds that keep me awake because, once again, due to my stomach being a Little Bitch^tm, I can only take them when I'm having Really Good Days with my stomach. Which is, at most, about 1 in 5 days. It's rare that I CAN take them 2x a week. Let alone every day.

At the core of it, if I didn't work 40 hours a week and didn't have to ride a bus for an hour each way to and from work and didn't have to wake up at 7am every day, I'd have more time and more sleep to endure and work around my stomach's issue with Being Active After Eating, and work around Needing to Sleep or I feel Dead On My Feet.

....though with the raise, maybe I'll be able to get my temps again, and once I get my license, have the budget to start paying for gas and parking downtown...? I figure that's another $200/month, at least, but even if I break even with what my cashflow is NOW, I'd get about 80 minutes of my life back every day. That actually sounds really nice...

But currently, as it stands, my schedule is perpetually packed and my body is perpetually fighting me on doing Anything Ever. =_= Not to mention, the ADHD making it really hard to overcome that executive dysfunction...

It's just frustrating, wanting to do So Much but needing 2 weeks to recover my social battery after being at a wedding for 5 hours. I can't catch up on sleep when my duplex neighbors are massive inconsiderate assholes who blast music every Saturday morning. I want to wake up a little early to hear a really interesting topic discussion tomorrow, but it comes at the cost of spending the entire next week exhausted from sleep deprivation.

Where's the Quality of Life when the amount of life you can live is so small, you can't fit a lot of Doing Things in it anyways?

Worst of all, I've been too exhausted to write, whether that's roleplaying or fic. I'm lucky if I can come up with 5 words for my Pokemon character to tag on a blog post. I can't come up with New Things Happening very often. I really desperately want to continue some Old RPs with Dove, but my brain is fried mush. It's burnt on the outside and just a gooey mess on the inside. I can't jog it enough to Imagine New Things.

I'm not exactly depressive. I'm having fun at the convention this weekend! I'm glad for the 5 words I can scrouge up on the Pokemon RP blog! I'm eating good food and stealing every minute of personal time I can get! I'm watching Teen Titans and ATLA with my roommates once a week! I only have minor complaints with my actual job duties! It's not All bad.

I'm just frustrated that working 40 hours a week is so fucking much to work around that it's a chore all its own to try fitting my life around it without sacrificing sleep health.

Fuck capitalism.

[tuulikannel]

New year is a time when people make a lot of resolutions. I guess it makes sense, as the beginning of the year also sort of symbolizes a new start in your life? Honestly, though, I’ve never quite understood the practice, and you can have a new start any time you want.

One common subject of these resolutions, after the holidays filled with all kinds of delicacies, is exercising and losing weight. I’ve recently been talking about this with a couple of friends who both fret about their weight and how hard it seems to be to do something about it, even though (so they think) it shouldn’t be. Anyway, the internet’s full of all kinds of motivational stories about how simple it is practically to become a new person. I remember one, from years ago, of a young woman who grew tired of being called such a weakling and started doing daily push-ups to gain strength. And sure, her development was quite something, in the end she was able to do that trick where you clap your hands together when you push yourself up.

But the thing is, the starting point… on day 1, she did proper push-ups. That was kind of crushing to me. She’s someone people consider weak, and she can do push-ups? I could barely, somehow, do some kind of half-assed knee push-ups. If I took the proper push-up position, I just stayed there a moment on shaky arms and then collapsed down. So if she was weak, what was I? >_> What was supposed to be motivational, was for me anything but.

In autumn 2020, I met with one friend and complained to her how now that I’m just sitting at home I’m getting in even worse shape than before. She recced me these youtube exercises, a certain channel, and… well, I thought it’s definitely not my thing, but I decided to give it a try. The first video I was doing was this 20 min home walking thing, quite simple, but boy was I sweating when I was done with it. But to my surprise, I kept on doing it, 5 or 6 times a week. Quarantine times were perfect for that, really, as I was home all the time. 20 minutes, that’s not much, and with a youtube video I could do it at any point during the day I wanted.

Relatively soon my weight started going down a bit. Then it stopped and I in fact gained a bit weight back (I guess muscle weighs more than fat?). I didn’t mind, though, as my waistline was still a bit smaller, and to be honest, I was doing this to get in better shape, losing weight was just a side benefit. Now, I’ve been doing these exercises for over two years. (Yeah, I’m still myself stunned about this!) Not anymore as often as in the beginning, but I try to do them at least 3 times a week. I’ve also moved to heavier exercises, and it’s been really fun to realize that I can do things I wasn’t able to do before.

I can do push-ups. I can finally for the first time in my life do fucking push-ups! Ok, so not that many, and no tricks, but still! (I didn’t start working on upper body before I’d exercised at least for a year, simply because being so weak in my upper body made those exercises extra hard, and so I hated doing them. ^^;;) Anyway, my waistline is now 10 cm thinner than when I started, and that 20 min video I was doing in the beginning is now light(er) exercise I might do when watching something else.

Also, I haven’t really changed my other habits at all. I love chocolate (and everything unhealthy) too much for that. ^^ Just eating some chips as I write this…

Anyway, I guess the point here is that if you wish to lose weight/get into better shape, find something that suits you and stick to it. Of course, if you want faster and bigger effects, I bet stuff like changing your diet helps too, but honestly, you don’t have to give up the good stuff in your life for this. (It’s all about priorities. Chocolate over sixpack for me!)

(Maybe I should link that video I started with, too. It’s here.)

[firespirited]

Managed to list the monster high stock and dolls. I'd been putting it off in the distant hope that i'd show improvement enough to warrant waiting. It's stupid I have plenty of projects kept and there will always be gunky bundles. Still my brain bought this and that for a reason and I had often had something specific planned, so a sense of, not quite obligation but when each doll head was in hand there were moments of "well this one only would require an hour or two to complete the vision" and "that one's so rare I'll never see that again while I have the right supplies".

Bratz spare clothes and project dolls tomorrow. Kiwi too. Not sure whether to split Barbie and other 1/6 from 1/7th Licca and Anthro. I have to keep the momentum and remember the relief. It's so SILLY having to go through the same mental blocks every time. I post in the hopes it'll make me cringe someday and maybe learn something.

If you're in the EU, you can still get the whole lot for $100 shipped (if it's not western eu it might be a bit more shipping) massive bargain for you and no ebay hassle for me.

Then new shelves/glass cupboards for the Rainbow High and possibly a few anthro hybrids. Now that the collection has more monsters and novis, they won't be out of place.

There's been an odd sense of loss of identity with not being able to customize but it's so much easier seeing how many people know how to reroot now and also letting myself enjoy being a collector (occasional restyler!) who doesn't have to do anything spectacular to enjoy a doll.

January pushed me out of my habits to learn some minor bead embroidery skills and I did some fun upcycling with clear plastic, silica beads and plastic ab rhinestones. It was a fun exercise in using unusual materials and reminded me that I love a challenge and the odd far more than a full pallette of high quality hair colours.

I have not made any progress on the recoding of the tutorials. I might be motivated if there's a section on the new doll collector site. Hard to get hyped/panicked enough: Tumblr's not ideal for the search engines but at least it's stable for now and people can ask questions directly on posts, spam's minimal, you build a rapport with other doll folks.

I do my walks, my exercises, and just have to hope that it's doing something. I can't build muscle like a normal person just have to measure in how many seconds before collapse or full body trembles. Patience is a virtue I've never had. The high pain shock collar built into my neck with a instant to 48h delay is having to do the work of keeping me on track lol.

On an unrelated tangeant, i really hope AI hype craps out soon. I hated the new 'predictive/most searched' google update, it basically broke the internet for me to not get the most accurate results for my searches.

I have zero interest in having a bot tell me what I really want to hear from some random blogger who happens to be into that subject or who sees a link between that subject and another. That's what this is for, to hear from other people not have their thoughts filtered through algorithms to give me an all sides version of the story. I don't want the review that's a condensed consensus matching the 80% of 2 star reviews I want to hear from the three dweebs who adore this film for entirely different reasons (the train schedule and effects are totally correct and it's the one vhs they used to watch with the neighbour and quote it as in jokes, it's also got great practical effects and it was filmed in a place that is now knocked down but used to be their workplace.) People make the internet interesting. I don't want the information without the superfluous personal ramblings attached. Give me the anecdote with the recipe, it's far less intrusive than the five adverts and I'll remember the recipe as the one that he found in a book about Greece and he's never been but he dreams about it sometimes.

[alienvauvva]

Read about atypical cardiac arrest /vascular disease symptoms and wow. Whose legs are fucking deceased after walking less than 1,5km??? I have ear pain with a pulsating rhythm and ear ringing also Jesus Christ the stabbing pain I feel in my back/chest area sometimes when I move my arm... Ughhhh... These might be explained by some other things too but also the article just kept mentioning how people just brush these symptoms off (there were many more and some rare diseases mentioned with their own set of niche symptoms [that don't seem like they might be cardiac]) and think of as the run of the mill pains or just something normal acting up.

Like ughhg I have a retainer and the pains of not having it were as horrible as these that I interpret as the healing pains and the jaw affects the ear and the balance sense. It's sucking the life out of me. But I have the leg symptoms !!!! Might as well be a fucking plantar fasciitis or whatever it was... But I don't feel the pain exactly where the point should be but they mentioned it as a side effect that the pain resides in the outer foot.

Ugh I don't have the knowledge of what to do like do I take these as the retainer doing its job and moving my jaw slowly to the right place and having the retainer out for the day and just sleeping with it is too little at this point and I need the new smaller retainer I can use at the day... Lord I hated taking those pressure point biting tests I almost threw up from those and not the mold making. I am disgusted. I would want the slimmer smaller retainer.. .but I immediately feel agony bc I have to use the public health care of course and it should've been scheduled like 4-6 months ago so that I would have some relief soon. I have eaten pain meds everyday now for more than a week bc I had the spiciest fucking menstrual pain and these migraines.

I have so many things to schedule and find out but it just doesn't help knowing it I completely get paralyzed from the information I should know for the appointment and scheduling it. Like yes they ask questions and I should be able to answer so the check up might go smoother but it's just pain I won't remember all the shitty nitty little things that should be looked up. Like my molars are really sharp? And I'm worried about the bruxism. And the retainer. I should exercise more all these muscles that's for sure.

Is it ADHD symptom that I don't remember all my symptoms and I usually feel like every little thing is just normal it will go away it's not something to focus on. And then it will get worse. And I keep the loop until it's so fucking bad. Idk maybe it's trauma response.