#pearl of the indian ocean

[tangerine-dream-machine]

do you wanna see the west with me?

Notes below!

This is not a realistic road trip at all, but here are the places/activities shown:

Yorktown Battlefield, Virginia: the site where General Cornwallis surrendered in 1781, bringing the end of the Revolutionary War

Liberty Bell, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: the famous bell with the message "Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land Unto All the Inhabitants thereof", and later a symbol of liberty for abolitionists and suffragists

Drive-in theater: outdoor cinemas that reached their peak in popularity in the 1950s to 60s; the film is The Searchers (1956)

Kayaking: a fun lake/ocean activity

Trail of Tears National Historic Trail: this trail crosses nine states and follows the forced displacement of Cherokees, Chickasaws, Choctaws, Muscogees, and Seminoles due to the Indian Removal Act in 1830

Traffic (and billboards): a bane to many and common in car-dependent cities

Cedar Hill Cemetery, Vicksburg, Mississippi: one of the oldest cemeteries in the US still being used; predates the Civil War and includes a Confederate burial site

Devil's Tower, Wyoming: a majestic (and sacred) butte and the first US national monument

Bonneville Salt Flats, Utah: a flat, empty salt pan estimated to hold 147 million tons of salt and a popular racing site

Old Faithful, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming: a geyser in the world's first national park known for its reliable eruptions

Gas station, Nowhere, USA

Horseback riding, Montana: no comment, just a fun time

Las Vegas, Nevada: the world renowned Sin City, a place that caters to many vices

Stanley R. Mickelsen Safeguard Complex, North Dakota: group of missile defense facilities including missile silos and the pyramid-shaped radar system; built in 1975 and decommissioned after one day of operation, a "monument to man's fear and ignorance"

Hoover Dam, Nevada and Arizona: hydroelectric power plant on the Colorado River; the highest dam in the world at the time of its completion in 1935

Space Needle, Seattle, Washington: an observation tower with a revolving restaurant built for the 1962 World Fair "Living in the Space Age", a theme chosen to show the US was not lagging behind the USSR in the Space Race

Sequoia National Park, California: home of the world's largest tree by volume (General Sherman) and the highest point in the contiguous US (Mount Whitney)

Muir Beach Overlook, California: a former base station overlook with dugouts that gained importance immediately after the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941 as a means to watch for attacks on nearby San Francisco

@usukweek

[sparksinger]

Everything I'm Not

Summary: When a Decepticon attack rocks the base and Cordelia's self-worth, Optimus reminds her that family is a choice. One that he makes every day.

Rating: Teen and up (canon typical violence)

Relationships: Optimus Prime & Cordelia (OC), father-daughter dynamic, not romantic

Content/Trigger warnings: canon-typical violence, no major character death, robot gore, Decepticon attack, depiction of battle

Word Count: 10.1k

(complete fic below cut)

“If I ever were to lose you,

I’d surely lose myself.”

‘Future Days’ – Pearl Jam

The sun was beating down unrelentingly on the Autobot base, situated on Diego Garcia deep within the Indian Ocean.  Cordelia’s chestnut-auburn hair was stuck to her face as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, her sneakered feet pounding the running track that seemed to stretch on endlessly before her. 

Coach Ros Hogan stood at the finish line, the whistle poised between her pursed lips, her dark brown irises tracing her class’s progress as they continued with their gruelling five kilometre run around the track. 

Cordelia’s calves burned more and more with each additional step as sweat trickled from the nape of her neck, down her t-shirt and onto the small of her back.  She cursed Coach Hogan inwardly, risking a quick glance over her shoulder as she tried to keep up with the rest of her classmates.  She was in the last third of people in the thirty-or-so of them that were running.  Sport, or indeed, any manner of physical activity had never been her forte. 

Unless she counted running from Decepticons.  That she could say she was really good at. 

The forty-degree heat did not help matters.  It felt like she had swallowed half the sand on the base, and she yearned for the cool, fresh water she knew was waiting for her after the last two laps that she had yet to run.  She had a sharp stitch making itself known in her left side and the pain behind her skull seemed to beat in time with her feet, each one worse than the last. 

Hannah Reid, a girl of British-Jamaican descent slowed her pace slightly in front of her, adjusting her stride so that she fell into pace easily beside Cordelia.  The bright sunlight cast a rich hue over her light-brown skin, accentuated by her dark brown hair.  Her hazel eyes found Cordelia’s and a raised brow posed her silent question. 

Cordelia had gotten to know Hannah a little better over the last year or so, once she had restarted at the school that was situated on the base at Diego Garcia.  Children of both the military and civilian personnel attended the facility, and Hannah was the only one that Cordelia had felt a genuine connection with. 

Hannah’s father was a Logistics Officer, and her mother was a medic.  Hannah herself was an easy-going, kind-hearted girl who had seemed to be the only one who hadn’t been intimidated by Cordelia’s bond with Optimus.   She had treated her like she treated everyone else, and after a year of being whispered about by the other kids, she found the treatment quite refreshing.

“Coach must be in a bad mood, huh?  Making us run around in this damned heat.  I wonder who pissed in her Cheerios this morning.”  Hannah made speaking seem effortless as she loped gracefully along beside Cordelia, her 5’7” frame covering twice as much distance as Cordelia’s own petite five-foot-one inch did. 

Cordelia exhaled heavily before she answered Hannah, trying to increase the seemingly limited capacity of her tired lungs. 

“This should be…illegal.”  Her words were punctuated by deep inhalations and exhalations through clenched teeth.  “My calves feel like they’ve been submerged in a vat of acid.” 

Hannah snorted and tried to cover it with a strategically timed cough.  “Well, to be fair, it’s worse for you.” 

Cordelia raised a brow in a silent question, unable to summon any more words while her lungs felt like they were in a concrete vice. 

Hannah chortled, placing a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder.  “Well, to be fair, it is worse for you.  You’ve technically run twice as much as the rest of us; or at the very least, you’ve done twice as many steps.” 

Cordelia regarded her friend with what she hoped was an unimpressed stare, blinking to try and stop the sweat from dripping into her eyes. She chose not to reply, but to spend the remainder of her quickly depleting energy on finishing the assigned distance before she collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

The beating of her feet on the floor became her monotone as the track disappeared beneath her, eaten up by each heavy fall of her trainers. It felt like she was having one of those anxiety dreams where no matter how hard and how fast she kept running, the finish line was always just out of her reach.

At long last, she crossed the painted white line and collapsed into a breathless heap onto the tarmac. Her lungs were working overtime, drawing huge volumes of air in before expelling it quickly, completing her respiratory cycle in record time. She scrunched her eyes shut against the harsh glow of the sun, bright as it was at three o’clock in the afternoon.

Cordelia heard Coach Hogan’s whistle blow, sounding like the hallelujah chorus. Hannah approached her then, holding out a bottle of still water to her. Cordelia took her outstretched hand and was pulled to her feet, slightly dizzy with being right-side-up again. She uncrewed the cap and took a long swig, the cool liquid a nirvana against the dry scratchiness of her throat after the run in the searing heat.

“Feelin’ alright Prime?” Hannah asked, taking a drink from her own bottle before replacing the cap. “You doing okay? I don’t wanna have to get the big guy over here to scrape you off the floor.” Cordelia rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her friend’s gentle teasing and nudged her in the side with an elbow.

“I’m fine. It seems my cross-country talents only kick in when there is a life-threatening situation happening, i.e. getting chased by a bunch of blood-thirsty Decepticons.”

Hannah shook her head in mock disappointment. “And here I was thinking that Coach Hogan’s whistle would get you running like Usain Bolt. Tut tut Miss Prime. And technically, wouldn’t it be Energon-thirsty Decepticons? Unless they’ve become afflicted with vampirism, in which case we’d better tell your dad straight away.”

“Oh my god. I think you are actually insane!” Cordelia laughed, pulling Hannah’s arm to link through her own. They started to amble slowly back towards the changing rooms, their heartrates now back down to a healthier rhythm.

Coach Hogan came up behind them, her ever present whistle swinging around her neck. “Come on ladies, get moving! I don’t particularly want to stand here and watch you two run another five laps of the track because you couldn’t be bothered to get back to the changing rooms before the end of the day.”

Cordelia bit back the retort that rose from the base of her throat, knowing it would be futile to argue with Coach on a Friday afternoon. Everyone was hot, tired and all wanted to go home.

Hannah apparently, did not share this viewpoint.

“With all due respect Coach, you set the times. If you had us running an hour ago instead of a half hour ago, we would have extra time to get changed and you could go and get that Martini that clearly has your name on it in the mess hall.”

For a second or two, Coach seemed to be too incensed with rage to reply. Cordelia watched the figurative tumbleweed roll across Hannah’s face, and she knew that Hannah knew she had messed up. Hannah’s grip tightened on her arm imperceptibly, denoting her friend’s instant regret at her smart remark to the temperamental coach.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you Reid. Another five laps!”

Hannah sighed and took her arm out from Cordelia’s, looking at her with an expression of irritated defeat on her pretty face. Coach Hogan didn’t appreciate the delay and took a step towards them both, her whistle grasped tightly between a thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t make me repeat myself Reid. Your father will hear of this insubordination.”

It took everything Cordelia had not to burst out laughing right there and then as she watched Hannah run back to the track and start to run at a steady pace around it in a clockwise direction. She stood there for a few minutes, her vibrant green eyes tracking Hannah’s long, lithe shadow, graceful and fluid as she ran.

I bet I don’t look like that when I run. More like a foal that hasn’t figured out how to stand up yet.

She felt her lips twitch at her inner monologue and worked hard to keep a neutral facial expression. Coach Hogan did not appreciate humour even when she was in a good mood, and though Cordelia had pity for her friend at having to run an additional five laps around the track, she did not particularly want to join her.

“Are you waiting for Christmas, Miss Prime? Unless you want to join Reid, I would suggest you go to the changing rooms and get changed.”

Cordelia did not need to be told twice. She mumbled a quiet ‘yes ma’am’ and scuttled off to the changing rooms at a brisk walk, throwing one last glance over her shoulder at Hannah who cut a lonely figure as she jogged on the tarmac.

The changing room was deserted when she got in there. She decided against having a shower in the school changing rooms. At their very cleanest they were about as enticing as eating her dinner off the floor in the mess hall. She grabbed her bag from the hook she’d left it on as she made her way past, grateful for the fact that there were toilet cubicles available now that everyone else had left.

Once she was dressed in her old band t-shirt and black cycling shorts, complete with her battered Converse shoes, Cordelia made her way out of the changing rooms and around to the front of the school compound where she had left her bike chained at the beginning of the day. 

The Autobot base was huge, easily seventeen square miles, and the quarters that she shared with Optimus were just over a quarter of a mile away.  She biked to school most days, it was an easy and efficient way to get there whilst at the same time meaning she didn’t have to rely on Optimus for lifts.

She was grateful for the base’s flat, smoothly surfaced cycle paths as she made her way leisurely back to the quarters she called home.  Her backpack was light against her back, filled with only her history assignment and the clothes she had worn for Coach’s impromptu run around the track this afternoon. 

A quick glance at her watch told her it was just after four in the afternoon.  She knew that Optimus wouldn’t be home until at least seven at the very earliest.  His average day consisted of back-to-back meetings with various human officials, appointments with government liaisons, overseeing the day-to-day running of the base and making sure that any and all potential Decepticon threats were closely monitored. 

Their shared quarters were in quiet darkness when she got there, punching the access code in that would grant her access.  She dismounted from her bike and walked it in through the ‘human’ sized door that hissed slowly open.  Everything was just as she had left it this morning, snippets of her own presence dotted about the place.

Their shared space was practical yet homely.  Directly opposite the entrance sat Optimus’ enormous desk, built to match the scale of the behemoth twenty-eight-foot tall Autobot leader.  It was constructed from various different metals, some of which had been brought by the second wave of Autobots in the Xantium and built using Cybertronian construction methods.  The chair that went with it was made from old storage containers that had been reinforced with industrial-strength concrete.  It was a sight that always made Cordelia laugh, but she was always grateful when they could work in a companiable silence together.

Her own desk sat atop his, amongst the data pads and other detritus that littered Optimus’ desk.  His was a tidy desk, but the last data pad he used was always sat near the front of his desk, away from the others that he had neatly piled up in the corner. 

A catwalk platform hugged the far right-hand wall.  It housed a small bathroom, kitchenette and an enclosed area where her wardrobe and bed were.  It was small but immensely cosy, and it was more of a home than she had ever known before.  On the left side of the room was Optimus’ berth, where he recharged once every ten days or so. 

Cordelia tucked her bike against the wall and then made her way over to the small kitchenette to grab a can of soda to keep her company while she attempted to make a start on her history assignment.  She grabbed a punnet of grapes and then hurried down the stairs of the catwalk before ascending the ladder that was attached to Optimus’ desk so that she could sit at her own and begin her work. 

The task that she had to tackle for her history assignment was to analyse the social and economical impact of the advancement of technology during the Industrial Revolution.  Cordelia was a well-rounded student and usually enjoyed history, but having to sit through the teacher’s last few lessons on this particular subject had been a difficult undertaking. 

Sighing, she settled herself at her desk and began making notes, trying to work out some kind of a structure on which to construct her essay.  

The time ticked by slowly, the background noises of the base fading into white noise that kept her company as she worked. 

Two soda cans later, she was halfway through a tedious chapter on the invention on the steam engine, and although it proved fruitless in the entertainment department, it had proven itself ripe with little snippets for her essay.  She was just in the middle of paraphrasing a particularly useful paragraph when she heard the familiar hiss of the door opening. 

She looked up in time to see Optimus walk through the door, his twenty-eight foot high frame just getting enough clearance between his ear finials and the top of the door-frame. 

She abandoned her work, springing up from the desk chair and ran over to the edge of the desk, their eyes finding each other at the same time.  A wide grin split her face in two, as it always did when she saw him. 

She got that same feeling of warmth blooming up within her from the very centre of her chest.  It seemed to spread throughout her entire body, causing the fine, baby-like hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck to stand up in accompaniment with the goosepimples that kissed the surface of her ivory skin. 

No one else on the planet, not even Leo, made her feel as safe and as loved as this gentle mech did.  It was a feeling that she cherished, and she had promised herself that she would never take it for granted, not for one single second. 

Optimus’ optics tilted upwards at their inner corners with his own small, signature smile that he seemed to bear only around her.  His footfalls sounded heavy and even on the floor, growing louder as he neared the desk. 

“Good evening my little one, how was your day today?” he asked, lowering his great bulk until he was sat comfortably before her.  He leaned his forearms on the desk, encircling her in a semi-circle of steel. 

Cordelia sat down, allowing her legs to dangle freely over the edge of the desk so that she could swing them gently to and fro.  Optimus’ optics traced her movements, bathing her in a pool of gentle blue light as his gaze settled upon her. 

“It was okay.  I managed to get some good notes done for my history assignment, although I might die of boredom before I actually manage to finish it.” 

Optimus raised an incredulous brow at her diatribe.  “Oh, that is something that I simply cannot allow to happen.  I would hate for you to perish due to lack of mental stimulation, and I know Mr Edwards for one would be absolutely devastated to be deprived of your contribution to…” he paused here, leaning forward slightly to read the mess of papers that lay upon her desk.  “…the social and economical impacts of the growing advancement of technology during the Industrial Revolution.” 

Cordelia eyed him will ill-disguised astonishment.  “Why, Optimus, it sounds like you’re being a little…sarcastic.  Don’t you know that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?” her lips twitched as she spoke, betraying her inner mirth at their exchange of gentle banter.

Optimus canted his head to one side, feigning innocence.  “Sarcasm?  I would not dream of sinking to such a…deplorable level.  I merely speak the truth.”  His expression was a perfect poker face, giving nothing away.  Not even the covers of his ear finials were spinning. 

Cordelia could hold it in no more and burst out laughing, shaking her head in gentle disbelief at her giant guardian.  “Do you know something big guy?” she asked, wiping a stray tear from her eye once she had recovered enough from laughing to speak. 

“I am sure you will make me aware, little one,” he rumbled, his own lip plates twitching infinitesimally.  He nudged her playfully in her ribs with an index finger as he spoke, causing her to yelp out in surprise. 

She playfully swatted him away and made a fist at him, waving it backward and forwards in front of his field of vision before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“You are the biggest dork on the planet.  Literally!” She was rewarded with his low, gentle and rumbling chuckle.  It reverberated deep within her ribcage, making her feel like rippling water. 

He placed a hand palm up on the desk then, waiting for her to step on.  She did so without hesitation, her feet knowing where to step without her having to look where she was going.  She assumed her favourite position on his palm; sat down with one leg tucked beneath her and her left arm hooked around the base of his index finger. 

“I will accept that, but only from you my little one.  Only from you.”  His optics softened as he spoke, looking at her with the pure unfiltered and unconditional love that existed in such unlimited bounds between them.  “How was the rest of your day, aside from the deep trauma of nearly being bored to death by your history assignment?” 

Cordelia leaned back easily into the gentle curve of his fingers, drawing absent-minded circles into the metal of his palm with her nails. 

“Oh, it was okay.  Nothing major.  Coach tried to kill us, and Hannah got five extra laps for being a smart-ass.”  She immediately regretted her choice of words when she saw the thin set of Optimus’ mouth and the way his optics had narrowed dangerously, the dull flare of anger glowing behind his cerulean irises. 

“Coach tried to kill you?”  his voice was quieter than usual, and it sounded like he was working hard to keep control of his tone. 

Cordelia sighed and buried her face in her hands.  “Ugh, obviously she didn’t actually try to kill us.  She just made us run around the track in this heat, and I thought it was a little unfair.”  She heard the whirring and hissing of hydraulics as Optimus moved, but she didn’t raise her face from her hands.  She felt the cool touch of his index finger, prying her face away from her hands with the incredible gentleness that only he seemed to be capable of. 

“How far did she make you run?” his tone brokered no room for argument, and she knew that sidestepping the question or trying to distract him would only make him more determined than ever for a straight answer.

“It wasn’t even that far, and---”

“Cordelia.”  Her name, uttered in that no nonsense baritone of his was enough to stop her in her tracks.  Stupidly, she felt the biting sting of tears behind her eyes and blinked them away furiously, refusing to show Optimus that she was upset. 

As usual, he saw right through her façade and tenderly moved his finger until it was underneath her chin, carefully tilting her face upwards until their eyes met.  “Oh Lia, please don’t be upset, I am not angry with you.  In fact, I am not angry…merely…displeased at the thought of you needlessly expending physical energy in this heat.  I simply wish to know if Coach Hogan put you and your peers at risk; for if she has, this is an oversight that must be rectified immediately.” 

His finger moved to stroke her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes against his gentle affection.  She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had suddenly taken up residence in her trapezius and deltoid muscles.  Optimus watched her with that eternal patience that he seemed to possess in such abundance, waiting for her response as if he had simply asked her what her favourite colour was. 

She dropped her eyes from his and placed a hand on his fingertip, patting it in a way that she hoped would show him she was not upset.  Or that upset, anyway.

“She made us run five kilometres.  It wasn’t that far; I’m just being dramatic.”  She felt rather than saw the gentle ex-vent of cool air from his nose, having been cycled through the ventilation systems situated underneath his helm, the ones that helped to keep his CPU at its core temperature.

Optimus’ own shoulders relaxed by a fraction of a degree, evidenced by the quiet hissing of his hydraulics.  He was silent for a short time, although the covers of his ear finials did a quarter of a turn counterclockwise, denoting his mild annoyance. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, shutting his optics for a few seconds before responding to her.  “Thank you, my little one.  While I wholly support the continual development of your physical health and education, I do not condone the needless pursuit of exercise when there is a high chance it will be detrimental due to the high temperatures that we have experienced today.” 

Cordelia smiled at him weakly and chewed on the inside of her cheek to buy herself some time.  She noticed that his pupils had grown smaller and that his brows were beginning to tilt down in his characteristic frown, forming a loose facsimile of the letter ‘V’.

“Hey, relax big guy.  You worry way too much.  We had water and she wasn’t y’know…being a total drill sergeant about it.  I’m fine, we’re all fine.” 

Optimus simulated a sigh and fixed her with that penetrating gaze of his, the one that she felt could see right through to the very depths of her soul, to the very foundations of all that made her, her.

“I trust your judgement, Cordelia.  However, it still does not sit well with me.  Are Hannah’s parents aware that she endured further physical exercise in the form of punishment?” 

Cordelia shrugged.  “I guess so.  I mean, Coach said that she would make Hannah’s father aware of her ‘insubordination’ as she called it, so yeah, I would imagine they know.  If Coach didn’t tell them yet, I know Hannah would have by now.  She’s even more dramatic than me you know.” 

That caused Optimus’ facial features to loosen, and a small smile moved his lip plates upwards at the corners, giving his face an overall more gentle and softer appearance. 

“Is that so?” he asked, clearly meaning it as a rhetorical question. 

Cordelia stuck her tongue out at him in response and he ruffled her hair playfully with his index finger. 

His face grew serious again.  “Would you allow me to speak with Coach Hogan?  I merely wish to understand her motivations for assigning the class such a task in this weather.” 

Cordelia shut her eyes, puffing out a mouthful of air from puffed up cheeks.  “Op…I’d prefer it if you didn’t.  She is…unique in her teaching methods, I’ll give you that.  But you speaking with her…it will only cause more aggravation.” 

Optimus ex-vented air from his nose again, the slightest hint of steam uncurling from his nostrils and into the open air.  “I will not apply needless blame, nor make it difficult for you and your classmates in future lessons, but” he paused, lifting a finger to stroke her cheek.  “But your safety is one of my most important priorities, Cordelia.  The thought of any harm coming to you, even harm that you may perceive as merely…minor, it pains my Spark in a way that I cannot comprehend or put into words.” 

“Oh Op, come here.”  Cordelia shuffled forwards on his palm, her arms outstretched.  He wordlessly closed the gap between them, nuzzling her face carefully with his nose.  She smiled against him and rubbed circles into his facial plating with her nails.  “I tell you what, would you be open to a compromise?”

Optimus pulled back slightly so that he could look at her properly.  “A compromise?  I will listen with an open mind little one.” 

“How about this time, you let it go, but I promise you that if Coach does anything again that I feel is…untoward or not…safe, I will tell you straight away and then you can speak with her.  Is that fair enough?” 

He regarded her with a look that could only be described as pure pride, his previously small pupils growing exponentially.  “Indeed…that sounds like a fair trade.  If you wish that to be the end of the matter, then it shall be.” 

Cordelia swallowed, suddenly overcome with a wave of emotion.  “Thank you, Optimus…for listening to me.  I can’t say how much it means to me that you do.” 

“Of course I listen to you Cordelia.  I always want you to be able to speak your mind with me.  Your viewpoint is incredibly important to me, and I will always listen to you and make sure your voice is heard.  Always.” 

Cordelia was about to reply when her stomach decided that that would be the appropriate time to emit a thunderous rumble.  She placed a hand on her abdomen, embarrassment flushing her cheeks with scarlet colour. 

Optimus raised an optic ridge at the sound, a wide smile making its way onto his face.  “I think it would be prudent to find a solution to your evident hunger, my little one.  Shall we see what you have in the cupboards?” 

.o

A dull, rumbling vibration roused Cordelia from the dregs of sleep.  She opened her eyes to the dark, murky shapes of her and Optimus’ shared quarters, her vision struggling to adjust for the first few seconds of consciousness. 

She pushed herself into a sitting position, the duvet falling from her shoulders and pooling at her waist.  Another low concussion rocked the foundations of the base, and she could have sworn she saw the bottle of water on her bedside table ripple slightly. 

The noise of the doors hissing open claimed her attention.   Optimus hurried through, the faint blue glow of his optics the only source of light in the otherwise dark room.  He had something clutched in his left hand and dropped it in front of her on the bed before wordlessly turning and retrieving a few bottles of water, tucking them into the subspace pocked on his forearm. 

The item he had dropped on her bed was a large jacket, army issue and one that looked miles too big for her.  She was about to ask him why he had given her a random jacket when the alarm began to sound.

It was low and deafening, filling her ears with its low, monotonous drone.  She didn’t need to be told twice to get dressed and hurried herself into a pair of leggings that she’d slung over the foot of her bed a day or so previously.  Next, she donned the jacket, tucking her arms into the long sleeves and having to roll them back two or three times so that her hands could actually be free.  The hem of the jacket easily fell halfway down her thighs, but that didn’t matter now. 

The next thing she was aware of was being scooped up into Optimus’ immense palm, his fingers holding her securely.  He held her close to his chest, his free hand hovering just above her.  He was in full Prime mode, his optics tight and trained on something in the near distance.  His mouth was pressed into a thin line, and just as another low explosion rocked the immediate vicinity, his battle mask slid into place across his mouth and nose. 

“Optimus, what’s happened?  What’s going on?” her voice sounded quiet and vulnerable amidst the muted booms and explosions, and Optimus armed himself with his Energon sword, clearly not wanting to take any chances. 

“The base is under attack.  I am taking you to the emergency assembly point.  It is one of the most fortified shelters on base.  You will be safe in there with the other civilians.  I am going to appoint Bumblebee to stand guard outside so that no one unauthorised can gain access.” 

He broke into a loose jog, his hold on Cordelia growing a little tighter with the increased movement.  She held onto his index fingers tightly, her own knuckles blanched white with the effort.  The base flowed along effortlessly beneath her, eaten up quickly by Optimus’ long strides.  NEST soldiers darted around like ants, gathering weapons and co-ordinating themselves into defence and attack groups. 

In what felt like no time at all, Optimus reached the entrance of the emergency shelter and dropped to his knees, a little more heavily than he usually would have done.  A tall, thick-set soldier was stationed at the door, taking a register of all who had gone inside so far.  Optimus lowered her to the ground and tipped his hand gently, allowing her to slide off his palm and onto her own two feet. 

She turned around before he had fully released her, desperate to speak with him before he went off to join the battle.  He shifted so that he was only down on one knee, leaning his weight on his forearm, resting on the other knee. 

“Go on my little one.  I will find you after this situation has been dealt with.  You’ll be safe here, I promise.”  He tenderly ran the tip of his index finger down her face as he spoke, drawing a path from her temple down to the fine line of her jaw. 

“Stay safe, promise me you’ll be safe.”  Cordelia looked up at him earnestly, not one ounce of worry for herself present in her mind.  All she could think of was that he would soon be running into a barrage of Decepticon fire.  Decepticons who did not care and who would stop at nothing until their end goal was achieved.  Whatever that end goal was. 

His battle mask retracted, and a look of gentle affection transformed his entire face.  “I promise you Cordelia, I will come back to you.  You have my word.  Now, on you go.  That’s my girl.” 

He nudged her gently towards the entrance of the shelter, anxious to get her inside.  The tall soldier reached out for her, taking her left hand in his and marking it with a messy ‘26’ in black sharpie. 

“I know who you are kid, but just in case.  Always good to have an ID system going in times like this.”  He turned to look at Optimus, standing to attention.  “Don’t worry sir, she’s in good hands here.  We’ll make sure she’s well looked after for you.” 

Optimus nodded gratefully and reached into the subspace pocket on his forearm, pinching two two-litre bottles of still water between a thumb and forefinger.  He handed them to Cordelia, his mask sliding back into place across his face. 

He rose to his full height then and sprinted off to join the fight, his heavy footfalls sending vibrations throughout her whole body.  She had no time to lament his absence as the large soldier ushered her inside, a hand on the small of her back as he guided her into the enclosed space.

“I’m Sergeant Grayson ma’am, nothing to worry about.  Prime and the Autobots will have this sorted in no time.” 

She didn’t reply but smiled at him weakly, watching him as he tipped his beret to her before going to resume his post at the entrance to the bunker.  She set the two water bottles down; evidently Optimus had not been the only one to be well prepared.  There were at least two dozen water bottles scattered throughout the small and sparsely furnished room. 

Well, at least we’re not going to go thirsty, she thought wryly, turning in a slow circle to take stock of her new surroundings.  The room itself was basic and clinical in every sense of the word.  Grey was the colour of choice for everything in the room, the only variation being different shades of the same colour. 

Her eyes scanned the room for Hannah.  Hannah’s barracks were in Zone D, the same zone in which she and Optimus’ shared quarters were located.  Hannah’s parents would not be in the shelter, her father would be co-ordinating with the other NEST personnel and her mother would be on standby in case of any unexpected casualties. 

Cordelia recognised some girls from her class at school and smiled at them with that surface level smile saved for casual acquaintances, but did not go over to speak to them.  She was too preoccupied with trying to find Hannah. 

The bunker was filling up fast, and though Cordelia recognised a lot of the faces that were pouring in, none of them were Hannah’s.  She decided to go and check the single toilet in case Hannah was in there, a growing sense of unease gnawing in the pit of her stomach over the whereabouts of her friend. 

Panic grew within her, slowly at first as the minutes ticked by without any sign of Hannah.  As time passed, her heart began to hammer more forcefully in her chest, beating a jumpy staccato against her ribcage.  Saliva pooled in her mouth as nausea claimed ownership over her stomach, threatening to eject her evening meal.  She focused on taking deep breaths in through her nose, and letting them slowly out through her mouth, attempting to replicate the gentle thrumming of Optimus’ Spark in her head.

Dull explosions continued in the distance, muffled by the bunker’s thick, reinforced concrete walls.  Cordelia weaved her way through the bodies that were pressed together once more, making sure she hadn’t missed Hannah in all the chaos.  After another two laps around the room, Cordelia was certain that Hannah was not anywhere within the compact throng of people. 

She positioned herself close to the entrance, waiting for the opportune moment to sneak out.  Sergeant Grayson was preoccupied with checking another few people into the building, marking the back of their hands in black sharpie as he had done with her.  Bumblebee was standing with his back to her, concentrating on a data pad he had clutched in one hand.��

Keeping herself tucked close against the wall, she allowed herself to be moved along with the constant current of flowing bodies, seamlessly blending in with everyone else.  The late-night air was mild, yet significantly cooler than the day’s blistering forty-degree heat.  Cordelia could smell hints of hibiscus and coconut palm on the sea breeze, a stark contrast to the muted booms that were coming from the south. 

Cordelia wasted no time, breaking into a brisk jog, heading straight for the barracks that Hannah shared with her parents.  It took her only minutes to get there, the non-descript building looking as it always had done, sitting innocently amongst the other barracks. 

The ground vibrated subtly beneath her with yet another explosion as she approached the front door and gave two loud raps with her knuckles.  She was met with nothing but eery silence. 

A few tense seconds ticked by as Cordelia felt her mouth grow drier as more and more time passed by.  She had just raised her hand to knock once more when the door was thrown open, causing her to take an involuntary step backwards.   

Hannah half fell out of the door, her dark wavy hair dishevelled and pointing in all directions.  She looked up then, her eyes meeting Cordelia’s. 

“Hey!  What are you doing here?  Come on, we need to get going!  My dad’s just rung me and told me that the ‘cons have attacked the main emergency shelter!  He told me to go straight to the command centre!” 

She gave Cordelia no chance to reply but grabbed her by the right wrist and started pulling her along in the direction of the command centre.  The command centre sat in the very centre of the base itself, the main hub of activity and communication for all who lived and worked on Diego Garcia.  Optimus spent most of his time there and when Cordelia had caught up on her schoolwork, she often spent the evenings there keeping him company while he finished up the fiddlier parts of his day. 

Cordelia struggled to keep up with Hannah’s longer stride, pumping her legs to make up for the lack of distance that she covered compared to her friend.  Hannah’s grip on her wrist was hard, and despite the relative mildness of the late night, her skin was cold to the touch. 

A low, whistling sound distracted Cordelia from her second sprint in less than twenty-four hours and she lifted her head to find the source of the sound.  A projectile was heading straight for them.  Whether it was a bullet or a missile, Cordelia could not tell.  All she was aware of was the sound growing louder and louder, reminiscent of a low growl as it got closer and closer to the two girls. 

Cordelia tried to pull Hannah out of the way of the incoming danger, but it was like trying to pull a brick wall down with her bare hands.  Hannah did not yield to her by one single inch.  Time seemed to slow as the projectile dropped in altitude, looking to make landfall right in their path. 

Then, just at the very last minute, a huge slab of concrete was thrown over their heads and into the trajectory of the ballistic.  The force of the following explosion knocked both Cordelia and Hannah off their feet, the world temporarily turning upside down as they flew through the air before falling back to earth with a sickening crunch. 

In the back of her mind, where rational thought still resided, Cordelia was mildly impressed that Hannah had managed to keep a hold of her wrist, fingers biting into her skin in a manner that bordered on painful. 

As she landed, her left arm bent underneath her at an unnatural angle and she felt a tangible crack before a jolt of severe pain shot down through her entire arm.  She barely had time to register what had happened before an enormous black, metallic foot slammed down mere inches from where she and Hannah were laying. 

Her eyes traced up the leg to which the foot was attached, and she felt her heart leap into her mouth as her eyes locked onto the scarlet optics of Barricade.  His mouth turned upwards in a cruel smirk as he bent down, a hand outstretched. 

Again, Cordelia tried to roll out of the way and pull Hannah with her, but Hannah didn’t budge.  She appeared to be completely immobile, seemingly rendered into shock by what was going on around them.  She pulled once more, wincing through clenched teeth as another jolt of pain shot up through her arm. 

Barricade’s outstretched hand was drawing ever nearer, and Cordelia scrunched her eyes tightly shut, sending a fervent prayer of love to Optimus, hoping that on some visceral level, he would be aware of it before her life was snuffed out by the encroaching Decepticon. 

At the last possible minute, another hulking black mass, this time flecked through with bits of gunmetal grey, hurtled through the air and straight into Barricade. 

The two titans’ bodies met in an explosion of sparks and metal screeching against metal, the sound almost painful.  Ironhide rolled to absorb the impact of his leap and before Barricade could get to his feet, swung his right arm and delivered a swift uppercut to the Decepticon’s jaw that sent him flying once more.  In a move so fast she couldn’t follow it with her eyes, Ironhide armed himself and unleashed a storm of bullets down on Barricade, pinning him to the ground. 

Chunks of concrete littered the air, falling like rain.  Hannah suddenly found herself again and pulled Cordelia easily to her feet and once more in the direction of the command centre.  Barricade was starting to retaliate against Ironhide’s relentless attack, but not before the Weapons Specialist turned his head in the girls’ direction. 

“What the frag are you doing out here?!  Get to the shelter – NOW!”

In any other situation, Cordelia would have found Ironhide’s tone of voice terrifying, however, it was not his tone of voice that terrified her, rather than the fact that he himself sounded terrified.

Hannah forced her legs into motion once more, pulling her along with a renewed sense of urgency and strength.  Cordelia had no choice but to be towed along by the stronger girl, her own feet pounding on the floor twice as much as Hannah’s to make up for the difference in their strides. 

Cordelia could smell the acrid scent of gunfire and scorched metal in the air, the night sky lighting up intermittently with explosions that rocked the world all around her.  She tried to concentrate on nothing except her own footfalls, trying to count along to a beat in her head. 

Behind them, Ironhide was still going toe-to-toe with Barricade, the vibrations from the force of their clash travelling through the ground and up into her body.  Her eyes widened when she saw Optimus directly in front of them, locked in a fierce brawl with no other than Soundwave. 

Fear clenched around Cordelia’s heart, her vision tunnelling until Optimus and Soundwave were the only things that she was aware of.  Her eyes tracked every iota of Optimus’ movements.  The way he lifted his left arm to block a blow from Soundwave and the way that he countered with a swift kick to the Decepticon’s chest before unleashing a powerful blast from his Ion Blaster, sending Soundwave flying through the air. 

Before Soundwave could get up, Optimus transformed into his vehicle mode and covered ground faster than Cordelia had ever seen him move before, crashing into Soundwave with a force that she felt in her bones.  Optimus executed a swift handbrake turn, halting Soundwave’s progress in getting back to his feet with his back fender, putting the Decepticon on his back once more.

Metal screeched against the floor with a ferocity that set Cordelia’s teeth on edge, her legs momentarily slowing to follow the progress of the battle.  Optimus transformed back to his bipedal mode, his foot slamming down onto Soundwave’s chest. 

Even from this distance, Cordelia could hear the groaning of Soundwave’s frame under Optimus’ immense weight as the larger and heavier Autobot leader bore down on the smaller Decepticon.  Soundwave lifted his head from the floor then, his crimson optics locked on the two girls running straight for them. 

Cordelia snapped back into reality then, digging her heels into the ground in an effort to slow Hannah down, pulling back at the same time.  This time, Hannah responded to the resistance and turned to look at Cordelia, a confused frown creasing her face. 

“We’re going the wrong way!” Cordelia shouted, pulling Hannah in the direction of the command centre.  Once again, Hannah was unyielding, seemingly totally unaffected by Cordelia’s attempts to get her to change direction.

“No, you’re wrong!  Massster says I must bring you this way.”  Hannah’s voice was toneless and devoid of any discernible emotion. 

Ice shot through Cordelia’s veins, paralysing her to the spot.  Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, in perfect time with the beat of blood in her eardrums that momentarily deafened her. 

“What-what do you mean?  The command centre is this way!” Cordelia could hardly hear her own voice over the cacophony of gunfire and metallic scraping. 

A horrific grin split Hannah’s face, metamorphosing it into someone that Cordelia did not recognise.  Bile rose up into her throat as she watched Hannah’s skin bubble and recede to reveal a purplish metallic surface, its plates shifting and rearranging until all traces of Hannah had been erased.  In her place stood a Decepticon at a height of around six feet, eerily similar to the Decepticon Frenzy. 

His face still bore that sinister grin, an evil laugh bubbling up from somewhere within him.  Now completely rid of his human disguise, he coiled his spindly limbs around her, ignoring her shouts of pain when he pinned her broken arm to her side with ease. 

He lifted her as if she was nothing more than a bag of shopping, slinging her roughly over his shoulder in a loose approximation of a fireman’s carry.  He sprinted toward Optimus and Soundwave, intent on delivering her to the superior Decepticon Commander. 

Optimus’ head snapped up then, his optics dilating with pure, undiluted fear as his gaze locked onto Cordelia.  Time seemed to slow between them as he launched himself off Soundwave, simultaneously transforming into his vehicle mode as he did so. 

He landed roughly on the ground, his suspension taking the brunt of the impact.  There was about 150 metres between them and his 425-horsepower engine ate up the distance as if it were nothing at all.  In less time than it took for her to draw another panicked breath into her lungs, Optimus was upon them, transforming back to his robot mode with a graceful flourish. 

He skidded forward on one knee, his left hand outstretched.  His fingers wrapped around the pair of them, lifting them from the ground with ease.  The fingers of his right-hand sought purchase on Rumble’s body, easily prising him away from Cordelia.  Rumble thrashed furiously in Optimus’ grasp, but it was futile.  Cordelia watched wide-eyed as Optimus’ fingers closed around the mini-con, effortlessly crushing him until he was nothing but a twisted mass of bent metal and sparking circuits. 

Optimus dropped him and cradled Cordelia protectively to his chest, lifting his head just in time to see Soundwave and Barricade hobble through the dying light of a groundbridge, disappearing into a swirling vortex of blue-green light. 

His optics fixed her in his steady gaze, still at their widest aperture despite the Decepticons’ retreat.  She felt the light tickle of a scan before his fingers palpated her body with the utmost gentleness, doubtless checking her for injuries.  He stopped abruptly when he got to her left arm, feeling the injury that she had sustained there.

“You’re hurt,” he muttered, rising to his full height and moving toward the med bay decisively.  “I’m taking you to Ratchet.”   

Cordelia suddenly found her words as she was carried over the remnants of the brief but intense battle, NEST personnel outing out stray fires here and there that dotted the immediate vicinity. 

“Optimus, wait, wait!  We need to find Hannah, she’s in trouble!” 

That pulled him up short.  A confused look crossed his features, moving the mosaic of his facial plating into a serious frown.  “Cordelia, Hannah is safe with her mother in the triage centre.  She’s helping with first aid.” 

Multiple feelings of simultaneous relief and disbelief flooded Cordelia’s psyche at the same time.  Immense gratitude for the knowledge that her friend was safe and away from danger, closely followed by the embarrassment realising she had fallen for the guise of a Decepticon Pretender. 

“Shh, it’s alright.  Come on, let’s get you patched up.”  No further words were exchanged between them as Optimus ducked to go through the doors of the med-bay. 

.o

Ratchet treated her arm quickly and efficiently, informing her and Optimus that it was a clean break and that she’d need to be in a cast for the next six weeks.  Other than that, he said, it should heal without complications and function as it had before, albeit with an added weakness. 

He’d shaken his head good naturedly at her as his nimble fingers wrapping the plaster of Paris around her arm with ease, saying “always the left arm with you!” 

She’d sat silently on the berth in the med-bay, Optimus sitting wordlessly beside her as Ratchet worked.  Once he was finished, Ratchet had gone to assist the other Autobots with repairs, setting up his own triage system in the neighbouring hangar. 

After Ratchet left, the silence was unbearable.  Neither Optimus nor Cordelia said anything, both too shell-shocked by what had just happened to form any coherent sentences.  Cordelia wasn’t aware of how many minutes ticked by, but she could not find it within herself to look at Optimus.  She did not want to see the weight of the disappointment in his gaze or feel the sense of shame anymore than she already was. 

She fiddled with the edge of her cast, tapping her nails on the fresh plaster.  Her blood beat furiously in her ears, audible evidence of time’s unwelcome passage.  She was aware of Optimus sitting next to her on the berth, her gaze fixed pointedly on his feet.  There was a good ten feet between the berth and the floor below, and Cordelia debated how likely it was that she would sustain another injury if she attempted to jump off the berth.  She was sitting on the edge, her legs dangling over from the knee. 

She shifted forward a few inches, mentally psyching herself up to make the jump.  It wasn’t that high, not really.  She’d fallen from higher places and not had injuries that had been too serious. 

However, before she could move forward another centimetre, she felt a gentle pressure around her waist and looked down to see Optimus’ digits there, wrapping around her middle and lifting her carefully into the air, mindful to avoid her broken arm. 

Her hands instinctively held onto his index finger as she was raised higher into the air.  Still, she did not look him in the eye as he transferred her onto the palm of his left hand and dominant hand of choice, raising her up to his eye level. 

The atmosphere between them was thick with unexpressed tension, weighing down heavily on the pair of them.  Cordelia could hear the increased volume of air being taken in through the vents on the back of Optimus’ head, cycling through his intakes quicker than usual and being ex-vented as a lukewarm steam that she could feel on her face and the nape of her neck.

Her chin dropped to her chest, her heart beating a furious tattoo behind her ribs.  Her hands shook slightly, and she clenched them into tight fists in an effort to stop it, her nails biting into her palm painfully.  Too late, she realised that was the wrong thing to do as a fierce pain travelled up her left arm, reminding her of the break Ratchet had just treated. 

“Shit!”

She shot up into a standing position on Optimus’ palm, cradling her injured arm against her chest.  Optimus did not reprimand her for swearing, or indeed say anything at all, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her.  She could hear the quiet click of his optics as he blinked and the whir of their housings as he tracked her frenzied movement across his palm. 

She peeked over the edge of his hand to see how high she was, her heart sinking when she realised, she would not simply be able to slide off.  A louder intake of air finally made her look up, the sight that met her eyes making her wish immediately that she hadn’t. 

Optimus’ face was a mask of inscrutable emotion, save for the set of his optic ridges.  They were tilted upwards by a fraction of an inch, denoting only a hint of the feeling swirling within him.  He regarded her for a long time, his blue optics unblinking.  She could not hold his gaze and dropped her eyes back down, tears threatening.

“By the AllSpark Cordelia…what could have possibly been going through your head to make you think that running into the middle of a battle was a good idea?” his voice rose slightly at the end, betraying the effort he was going to to keep his emotions in check. 

Cordelia could find no words to answer him at first, the confirmation of his disappointment in her too heavy to bear.  Her bottom lip quivered as treacherous tears fell, dropping soundlessly onto Optimus’ metallic palm.  She worked hard to control her breathing, not wanting it to run away from her. 

God, at least let me keep control over one damned thing!

“Cordelia?” he pressed her gently, evidently not taking the silent treatment for an answer. 

She took a deep breath, trying to arrange her thoughts into something legible so that she could understand them, not at least to convey them to Optimus. 

“I…I thought Hannah was in trouble, so I went looking for her.  I snuck out of the shelter, and I went to her barracks.  She was there and she said that the emergency shelter had been attacked and that her dad had said to go to the command centre.  I didn’t see any reason as to why it wouldn’t be true…there was nothing.”  More tears fell, punctuating her answer with the sad burden of Optimus’ evident frustration. 

“Cordelia, the base is filled with experienced and trained personnel who would have located Hannah if she was in any sort of trouble.  It is not your job to go looking for people who might be in danger!  Do you realise what could have happened today?” 

A sudden flame of anger ignited within her, burning through any shame she had previously felt. 

“Of course I realise what could have happened!” she hissed, taken aback by the venom in her own voice, but it was not enough to stop her.  “Don’t you think I know what could happen every single, solitary day?!  A Decepticon could drop a rocket on my head, a new liaison could order me away or put me into federal custody at any moment because of my connection to all of this!” she threw her hands up into the air, her anger snowballing.

“I have to watch you throw yourself into danger nearly every other day, not knowing if you’re going to come back!  So yeah, even if I am on a base with ‘experienced and trained personnel’, I will get involved if I think it is going to make a difference to a friend of mine!” 

Optimus showed no outward signs of responding to her outburst, his face infuriatingly calm. 

“Cordelia, when I adopted you three years ago, I took on a responsibility for your safety and well-being.”  He paused, letting his words hang in the air between them.  She felt the solemnity of his words in the deep cadence of his sonorous baritone. 

She said nothing in response, motioning with a small nod of her head for him to continue. 

“You are not yet eighteen, and as such, I have a legal, moral and ethical responsibility to you.  That includes but is not limited to your physical, mental and emotional health.  That was an oath I made to you and an oath I intend to keep until you send me away or I am no longer physically capable of doing so. 

“You are a choice that I make every single day, Cordelia.  I make this choice partly out of a sense of duty, but above all, because I love you, so so much.  And by law, you are my responsibility.” 

Despite the outpouring of love she felt coming from him, her temper flared again, pushed over the edge by his leaning on legalities to enforce his protectiveness.  Blood filled her cheeks as her heart rate soared, fuelling the fire that had already been stoked deep within her belly. 

“For god’s sake Optimus!!” she shouted, her voice full of indignant anger.  “I am not one of your soldiers!” 

He held her in his steady gaze, nothing but pure love emanating from his optics.  He was silent for a short time, the only sound between them her panting breaths as she tried to regain some sense of control over her wayward emotions. 

“Exactly.”  He said softly, a quiet reverence present in his gentle tone.  “You are my daughter, and infinitely more precious than a mere soldier.” 

His words pulled her up short, her anger extinguished as suddenly as it had been ignited.  She struggled to process his words, understanding the meaning behind them but not fully taking them in.  She had spent so much of her life hiding from pain and terror that accepting love, even though she had been with Optimus for three years now, still did not come naturally to her.

“You are my daughter, Cordelia,” he repeated, bringing her closer to his face.  “And because of that, I will do everything in my power to protect you.” 

Those words broke through the last of Cordelia’s feeble defences, and she crumbled into a heap on his palm, quiet sobs erupting out of her, as raw and unstoppable as a broken dam. 

“Optimus, what can I give you in return?  You are everything I’m not!  You are selfless, loyal, brave and the kindest soul I have ever met!  I can’t hold a candle to you.  I don’t know why you chose me, because you chose wrong.  You should have just let me fall and saved yourself all of this regret!” 

Her head dropped to her chest again, heavy with the weight of shame that had abruptly resurfaced. 

She felt the cool metal of his fingertip underneath her chin, tilting her face upwards to meet his gaze. 

“I must respectfully disagree with you, my little one.  I chose you because I love you.  I protect you because I love you.  More than you can possibly comprehend.  And as for what you give me in return; you give it to me every day.  You give it to me with the beat of your heart, with your infectious smile.  With the faith and trust you choose to place in me, day after day.” 

He dipped his head forward so that they were leaning forehead to forehead, despite their size difference.  She could feel the subtle vibrations of his inner workings and the deliciously cool sensation of his metal skin against her own flushed face helped her to ground herself. 

“And most of all, you have awarded me with the intimate trust of someone who I can simply be ‘Optimus’ with, as opposed to ‘Optimus Prime.’  You have shown me a part of myself I had long thought dead; the Optimus who remembers without regret.  The Optimus who leads without shame.  The Optimus who hopes for the future that we can build together.  Cordelia – there is no greater gift to be given among Sparks than that of hope – for hope can light even the darkest hour.  And where there is life, there is always, always hope.  I do not, for one, single astro-second regret saving you, and I never will.” 

He pulled back from her slightly, only to press his metallic lip plates tenderly to her forehead and press a paternal kiss there, one that spoke of the reverence and love which he held in such abundance for her. 

She looked up at him tearfully, wiping her eyes with the back of her right hand.  “I’m sorry Optimus, I didn’t mean to get angry with you.  Thank you…for always being there for me.  It means more to me than I know how to say.” 

He held her close, bringing his free hand up to support the one he held her in.  “Oh my little one.  You never need thank me.  Losing you is simply not an option.  It is something that I absolutely cannot allow to happen.  Not now or at any point in the future.” 

She allowed herself to be wrapped in the safety of his love, content just to enjoy the moment in the here and now with him, her heart happy in the knowledge that she was perfectly safe with the Autobot leader who had given her everything she had long thought lost to her. 

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

so 96% of you wanted to see me do a redesign of mermista. and while i can draw, i've been stuck in an art block so i opted to just draw over her current design. i don't hate all of it so i'm not changing everything.

let me go through the complaints i do have about her design.

first off, she does not look like royalty in the slightest. she just looks like some girl who likes the color blue. even the gold accents don't really help. i'm not saying she has to walk around in a gown and tiara but at least add something to her design to indicate that she's a princess?

secondly, those clown shoes are NOT IT. who even thought of that? they look uncomfortable and ridiculous, and doesn't make sense for her character design.

those sleeves/armor (??? i honestly don't know what those are) and gold gauntlets also do not look practical in the slightest. they look like they'd be a hindrance for a swimmer. and guess what, she still has them in her mermaid form.

the OG mermista design wasn't the greatest but at least it looked like she could swim comfortably.

so my objectives were:

give her outfit a more streamlined look so it would make sense for her powers

make her look like actual royalty and not some girl with a cool color palette

expand more on the indian-inspired design and reflect that in her usual outfit, instead of putting her in a saree-inspired dress for one episode and calling it a day (i say saree-inspired because it's not really a traditional saree, but more like a modern and slightly western rendition)

i made two versions of her redesign - one with a dupatta and one without. the dupatta, i understand, could be a hindrance in certain situations but i just wanted to give an example of how to take inspiration from a culture instead of just using it for brownie points. a dupatta is something indians would wear with their casual attire, mostly with salwars, unlike sarees which are generally reserved for special occasions (there are sarees that are casual wear, but they're still not the most convenient).

secondly, i gave her a headwear inspired from desi wedding attire and older indian tiaras. mind you, indian tiaras themselves are a lot more complex and beautifully crafted, but 1. it would take me ages to draw all the details and 2. i figured mermista would go for a simpler look, especially when she's not at her palace. also, while indian headwears are usually made with gold and jewels, i gave mermista's headwear pearls because.. pearls, oysters, ocean. mermaid vibes.

i changed the shoes and gave her a pair that are inspired by water shoes. i know that she would transform into a mermaid while swimming anyway, but these still look more comfortable without serving clowncore.

i replaced her gold accents with silver because the gold doesn't really mesh well with the teal, in my opinion. while indians are known for their love of gold, a lot of people nowadays opt for silver, because it is less expensive and more compatible with casual wear.

i highlighted the fishscale pattern in her outfit since you could barely see them in the original.

i gave her a bindi and the necklace that 80s mermista wore, as a tribute to the OG show, and the design is complete. i know that some of these may not be the easiest to animate but if they could animate perfuma's cape thing, entrapta's hair and a hundred different outfits for catra; this design is just child's play.

let me know what you think of the redesign and if you want me to do the same for the other characters!

[arkipelagic]

A lot of those who insist that Filipinos are Pacific Islander instead of (or, in addition to) Asian often rely on loose interpretations of the term Pacific Islander and the fact that the Philippines was used as a stepping stone in the Austronesian expansion to the east. What they ignore or may not know is that (1) the superficial similarities between Pacific Islanders and Filipinos are not unique to Pacific Islanders and Filipinos but with Austronesian-speaking peoples in general, including Austronesian-speaking Southeast Asians and (2) we Filipinos simply did not have as regular and as vigorous a contact with the Pacific Islands - if any - compared to the Asian continent. We still don’t.

Think about it: the earliest known trade network in the Philippines included what is now Taiwan and Southeast Asia, i.e., the Philippine jade culture which dates as far back as 2000 BC and lasted for 3,000 years. Nephrite jade from Taiwan was manufactured in the Philippines and distributed elsewhere in the nearby region. After that were the Sa Huỳnh-Kalanay Interaction Sphere from 500 BC through AD 100 and of course the so-called Maritime Silk Road during historical times. What followed was then the very familiar colonial era of Iberian, Dutch, and British presence in Asia.

The earliest Filipino artifact with a given calendar date is the Laguna Copperplate Inscription which was written in the year AD 900 using a Brahmic script in a combination of Sanskrit, Old Malay, Old Tagalog and/or Javanese. Upon the arrival of Magellan six hundred years later in 1521, it was a man titled rajah who greeted him in Cebu. Half a century later, the aged grandson of the sultan of Brunei was ruling Manila. To this day, among the lesser Hispanicized and Americanized ethnic groups across the Philippines, the Ivatan of Batanes speak a family of languages shared with the Tao of Orchid Island, Taiwan and the people of Bangsamoro have more in common with Bruneians, Indonesians, and Malaysians than they do with the Māori, Kanaka Maoli, or Fijians. Indigenous Borneans are closely related to Filipinos.

As for myself, I was raised in Davao where you’ll find Cebuano, Ilonggo, Kagan, Maguindanaon, Maranao, Mansaka, Mandaya, Manobo, Bagobo, Chinese Hoklo, Japanese, and Indian people live; no one local I’ve ever met has identified as Pacific Islander and there was never a question as to whether I was Asian or not because I was surrounded by fellow Asians. It’s certainly hard to deny it when your country of origin is one of the founding members of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, attempted to make a Malaysian-Filipino-Indonesian confederation happen, and contains the title “Pearl of the Orient” as a lyric in the national anthem.

Does this look like an archipelago that kept close touch with polities and cultures across the Pacific Ocean for thousands of years? Does this look like a society that is more Pacific Islander than Asian?

[amethystpearl222]

i’m a pacific mermaid and i love u freshwater mermaids … swamp mermaids lagoon mermaids . lake mermaids <3 atlantic mermaids <3 indian ocean mermaids <3 arctic mermaids <3 southern ocean mermaids <3 deep sea mermaids <3 pearl born mermaids <3 selkies <3 kelpies <3 undines <3 sirens <3

[bloomoonv]

What if Ariel was the mermaid princess of the Indian Ocean and the keeper of the orange pearl?🧡

I think they have many things in common. First of all, they would give everything for the one they love.

Ariel sacrifices her voice and tail to be with Prince Eric, showing her willingness to give up a significant part of herself for love. Similarly, Sara makes sacrifices in her life, driven by her deep emotions and connections with others. Ariel and Sara are both known for their singing. Ariel's voice is central to her character, and Sara, as a mermaid princess, uses her singing to protect and communicate.

Let me know what do you think c:

My instagram for more: https://www.instagram.com/blum.oons?igsh=enJzb24xbXM2ZXZx&utm_source=qr

[along-the-silkroad]

The Ptolemaic Gateway to India: Myos Hormos

© J.-P. Brun

The Ptolemies led a luxurious lifestyle at their court in Alexandria, showcasing their wealth through exotic objects from faraway lands—places known to the Mediterranean world only through bedtime stories. Egyptian trade with distant Asian countries was conducted via sea routes, as the Seleucid rivals, and later the Parthians, controlled the land routes through Persia. The Egyptian kings invested heavily in expanding the harbors along the Red Sea and improving the roads connecting these ports to the Nile Valley. One such port was Myos Hormos.

The name "Myos Hormos," according to one tradition, derives from the Greek words Μυὸς Ὅρμος, meaning "Harbor of the Mouse." More likely, however, is that it means "Harbor of the Mussel" (μύειν, to close, as in a shell), given the presence of pearl mussel fishery in the region. David Peacock and Lucy Blue of the University of Southampton have identified the site of Myos Hormos at present-day Quseir al-Quadim.

Myos Hormos was chosen as the principal harbor for trade over Arsinoe, further down the Red Sea, due to navigational challenges in the Heroopolite Gulf that ships bound for Arsinoe had to traverse. Another significant port in the region was Berenice, founded by Ptolemy II. However, Berenice began to flourish and rival Myos Hormos only during Roman rule.

Ptolemaic merchants from Myos Hormos sailed to various destinations in the Indian subcontinent, including the Indus delta, Muziris, and the Kathiawar Peninsula. A valuable source describing these routes is the anonymous Periplus of the Erythraean Sea, written in the 1st century CE, which details the harbors and stations along the Indian Ocean coast.

Myos Hormos continued to prosper under Roman rule, with trade with the Far East actively supported. Strabo notes that during the reign of Augustus, as many as 120 ships set sail from Myos Hormos in a single year (II.5.12). The Romans further fortified the road connecting the port to the Nile through the Eastern Desert and highlands. However, as the Roman Empire declined, so too did the trade through Myos Hormos with the Far East.

[death-mothblog]

Plerogyra sinuosa is a jelly-like species of the phylum Cnidaria. It is commonly called "bubble coral" due to its bubbly appearance. The "bubbles" are grape-sized which increase their surface area according to the amount of light available: they are larger during the day, but smaller during the night, when tentacles reach out to capture food. This species requires low light and a gentle water flow. Common names for Plerogyra sinuosa include "grape coral", bladder coral, and pearl coral. According to the IUCN, Plerogyra sinuosa ranges from the Red Sea and Madagascar in the western Indian Ocean to Okinawa and the Line Islands in the Pacific.

Colonies of Plerogyra sinuosa are in the form of an inverted cone that may be as much as a metre (yard) across. The corallites in small colonies are monocentric and trochoid, but become flabellomeandroiid (arranged in valleys, the neighbouring valleys having separate walls) in larger colonies. The septa have smooth margins and are irregularly arranged. The costae on young colonies sometimes form lobes which develop spines. These spines then elongate and a new polyp develops, this budding method being an unusual occurrence among corals.

In the living coral, Plerogyra sinuosa has vesicles resembling bubbles up to 2.5 cm (1 in) in diameter. These enlarge during the day but retract to a certain extent during the night to expose the polyps and their tentacles.

Plerogyra sinuosa is a zooxanthellate species of coral. It obtains most of its nutritional needs from the symbiotic dinoflagellates that live inside its soft tissues including the walls of the vesicles. These photosynthetic organisms provide the coral with organic carbon and nitrogen, sometimes providing up to 90% of their host's energy needs for metabolism and growth. Its remaining needs are met by the planktonic organisms caught by the polyps.

[sonofrose]

I've thought about how the Japanese names of the idols imply they're each a specific species of cephalopod, and everyone kind of just accepted that, but since Deep Cut's JP names are not cephalopods, we're stumped on their species.

So I thought to go over each plus what I believe are Deep Cut's.

Callie's name in japanese is Aori, so she is a Bigfin reef squid or aori-ika.

Marie's japanese name is Hotaru, so she a Firefly squid or hotaru-ika.

Pearl's japanese name is Hime, making her a hime-ika a.k.a. a Northern pygmy squid.

And for those who know, yes her last name Houzuki is in reference to the daiōhōzukīka, better known as the Colossal squid.

Marina as we know is Ida in japan, which comes from īdako, the webfoot octopus.

Now for Deep Cut.

Shiver's JP name, Hohojiro Fūka, is all in reference to sharks. Fūka just means shark and Hohojiro is the great white.

But did you know octopuses eat sharks?

Or at least the Giant Pacific octopus does.

Frye's name in japan is Onaga Utsuho, with her first name referencing utsubo the japanese name for the Moray eel.

There was a lot of talk of Frye being a Vampire squid, but that might not be the case, so I went for an admittedly safe option with the Indian Ocean squid or just the Indian squid.

Not much to talk about Big Man, his japanese name is the rather impressive Manda Tarō Kizaemon Munekiyo or just Mantarō for short.

He is a manta obviously.

But I think he is specifically a Giant oceanic manta ray

[deathmoth-blog]

Plectorhinchus chaetodonoides is found in coral-rich parts of clear lagoons and on seaward reefs. The adults are solitary fish, living in the vicinity of and sheltering beneath ledges or caves during the day. The juveniles are found sheltering in corals. It is a carnivorous species which preys on benthic invertebrates such as crustaceans and molluscs, as well as fishes, which it forages for during the night. The juveniles typically swim in a head down posture wildly undulating their fins as they swim, a behaviour which may mimic toxic or distasteful platyhelminths or nudibranchs and so provide some protection from predation.

Plerogyra sinuosa is a jelly-like species of the phylum Cnidaria. It is commonly called "bubble coral" due to its bubbly appearance. The "bubbles" are grape-sized which increase their surface area according to the amount of light available: they are larger during the day, but smaller during the night, when tentacles reach out to capture food. This species requires low light and a gentle water flow. Common names for Plerogyra sinuosa include "grape coral", bladder coral, and pearl coral. According to the IUCN, Plerogyra sinuosa ranges from the Red Sea and Madagascar in the western Indian Ocean to Okinawa and the Line Islands in the Pacific.

Colonies of Plerogyra sinuosa are in the form of an inverted cone that may be as much as a metre (yard) across. The corallites in small colonies are monocentric and trochoid, but become flabellomeandroiid (arranged in valleys, the neighbouring valleys having separate walls) in larger colonies. The septa have smooth margins and are irregularly arranged. The costae on young colonies sometimes form lobes which develop spines. These spines then elongate and a new polyp develops, this budding method being an unusual occurrence among corals.

In the living coral, Plerogyra sinuosa has vesicles resembling bubbles up to 2.5 cm (1 in) in diameter. These enlarge during the day but retract to a certain extent during the night to expose the polyps and their tentacles.

Plerogyra sinuosa is a zooxanthellate species of coral. It obtains most of its nutritional needs from the symbiotic dinoflagellates that live inside its soft tissues including the walls of the vesicles. These photosynthetic organisms provide the coral with organic carbon and nitrogen, sometimes providing up to 90% of their host's energy needs for metabolism and growth. Its remaining needs are met by the planktonic organisms caught by the polyps.

[fatehbaz]

In 1678, a Chaldean priest from Baghdad reached the Imperial Villa of Potosí, the world’s richest silver-mining camp and at the time the world’s highest city at more than 4,000 metres (13,100 feet) above sea level. A regional capital in the heart of the Bolivian Andes, Potosí remains – more than three and a half centuries later – a mining city today. [...] The great red Cerro Rico or ‘Rich Hill’ towered over the city of Potosí. It had been mined since 1545 [...]. When Don Elias arrived [...], the great boom of 1575-1635 – when Potosí alone produced nearly half the world’s silver – was over, but the mines were still yielding the precious metal. [...]

On Potosí’s main market plaza, indigenous and African women served up maize beer, hot soup and yerba mate. Shops displayed the world’s finest silk and linen fabrics, Chinese porcelain, Venetian glassware, Russian leather goods, Japanese lacquerware, Flemish paintings and bestselling books in a dozen languages. [...]

Pious or otherwise, wealthy women clicked Potosí’s cobbled streets in silver-heeled platform shoes, their gold earrings, chokers and bracelets studded with Indian diamonds and Burmese rubies. Colombian emeralds and Caribbean pearls were almost too common. Peninsular Spanish ‘foodies’ could savour imported almonds, capers, olives, arborio rice, saffron, and sweet and dry Castilian wines. Black pepper arrived from Sumatra and southwest India, cinnamon from Sri Lanka, cloves from Maluku and nutmeg from the Banda Islands. Jamaica provided allspice. Overloaded galleons spent months transporting these luxuries across the Pacific, Indian and Atlantic oceans. Plodding mule and llama trains carried them up to the lofty Imperial Villa.

---

Potosi supplied the world with silver, the lifeblood of trade and sinews of war [...]. In turn, the city consumed the world’s top commodities and manufactures. [...] The city’s dozen-plus notaries worked non-stop inventorying silver bars and sacks of pesos [...]. Mule trains returning from the Pacific brought merchandise and mercury, the essential ingredient for silver refining. [...] From Buenos Aires came slavers with captive Africans from Congo and Angola, transshipped via Rio de Janeiro. Many of the enslaved were children branded with marks mirroring those, including the royal crown, inscribed on silver bars.

Soon after its 1545 discovery, Potosí gained world renown [...]. Mexico’s many mining camps [...] peaked only after 1690. [...] Even in the Andes of South America there were other silver cities [...]. But no silver deposit in the world matched the Cerro Rico, and no other mining-refining conglomeration grew so large. Potosí was unique: a mining metropolis.

Thus Don Elias, like others, made the pilgrimage to the silver mountain. It was a divine prodigy, a hierophany. In 1580, Ottoman artists depicted Potosí as a slice of earthly paradise, the Cerro Rico lush and green, the city surrounded by crenellated walls. Potosí, as Don Quixote proclaimed, was the stuff of dreams. Another alms seeker, in 1600, declared the Cerro Rico the Eighth Wonder of the World. A [...] visitor in 1615 gushed: ‘Thanks to its mines, Castile is Castile, Rome is Rome, the pope is the pope, and the king is monarch of the world.’ [...]

---

For all its glory, Potosí was also the stuff of nightmares [...].

Almost a century before Don Elias visited Potosí, Viceroy Francisco de Toledo revolutionised world silver production. Toledo was a hard-driving bureaucrat of the Spanish empire [...]. Toledo reached Potosí in 1572, anxious to flip it into the empire’s motor of commerce and war. By 1575, the viceroy had organised a sweeping labour draft, launched a ‘high-tech’ mill-building campaign, and overseen construction of a web of dams and canals to supply the Imperial Villa with year-round hydraulic power, all in the high Andes at the nadir of the Little Ice Age. Toledo also oversaw construction of the Potosí mint, staffed full-time with enslaved Africans. [...] Toledo’s successes came with a steep price. Thanks to the viceroy’s ‘reforms’, hundreds of thousands of Andeans became virtual refugees (those who survived) and, in the search for timber and fuel, colonists denuded hundreds of miles of fragile, high-altitude land. [...] The city’s smelteries belched lead and zinc-rich smoke [...].

The Habsburg kings of Spain cared little about Potosí’s social and environmental horrors. [...] For more than a century, the Cerro Rico fuelled the world’s first global military-industrial complex, granting Spain the means to prosecute decades-long wars on a dozen fronts – on land and at sea. No one else could do all this and still afford to lose. [...]

By [...] 1909 [...], mineral rushes had helped to produce cities such as San Francisco and Johannesburg, but nothing quite compared for sheer audacity with the Imperial Villa of Potosí, a neo-medieval mining metropolis perched in the Andes of South America.

---

Text by: Kris Lane. “Potosi: the mountain of silver that was the first global city.” Aeon. 30 July 2019. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[beardedmrbean]

Alcohol smuggler Guled Diriye is exhausted.

He has just returned from his trip transporting contraband from the Ethiopian border.

The 29-year-old slumps in his chair inside a colonial-style villa battered by years of fighting in Somalia’s capital, Mogadishu - a city once known as the Pearl of the Indian Ocean.

His sandals are covered in a potent orange dust – the residue from the desert.

Mr Diriye’s dark eyes droop. The bags underneath speak of sleepless nights, the hours of tension traversing the dangerous roads and negotiating checkpoints with armed men.

There is also the haunting memory of a fellow smuggler who was shot dead.

“In this country, everyone is struggling and looking for a way out. And I found my way by making regular trips by road from the Ethiopian border to Mogadishu,” he says, explaining that smuggling was a means to support his family in a tough economic climate.

The use and distribution of alcohol is illegal. Somalia’s laws must comply with Sharia (Islamic law), which forbids alcohol, but it has not stopped a growing demand, particularly among young people in many parts of the country.

Mr Diriye’s neighbour Abshir, knowing he had fallen on hard times as a minibus-taxi driver, introduced him to the precarious world of alcohol smuggling.

Rickshaws began to take over the city, pushing minibus drivers out of business.

Both were childhood friends who had sheltered together in the same camp in 2009 during the height of the insurgency in Mogadishu - he was someone he could trust.

“I began picking up boxes of alcohol at designated drop points in Mogadishu on [his] behalf and manoeuvring through the city and offloading them at designated locations. I didn’t realise it at first but this was my introduction into smuggling.”

His involvement snowballed and Mr Diriye soon found himself navigating from the porous frontier with Ethiopia through Somalia’s rural hinterlands.

He understands that he is breaking the law, but says the poverty that he finds himself in overrides that.

The smuggling journey begins in Somali border towns such as Abudwak, Balanbale, Feerfeer and Galdogob.

“Alcohol mostly originates in [Ethiopia’s capital] Addis Ababa and makes it to the city of Jigjiga, in the Ogaden region,” Mr Diriye says.

The Ogaden or, as it is officially known in Ethiopia, the Somali region, shares a 1,600km (990-mile) border with Somalia. People on both sides share ethnic, cultural, linguistic and religious ties.

Once the alcohol is loaded, it is moved across the plains of the Somali region, and then smuggled across the border into Somalia.

The border town of Galdogob is a major hub for trade and travel and has been hit hard by the flow of alcohol being smuggled from Ethiopia.

Tribal elders have raised concerns over alcohol-related violence.

“Alcohol causes so many evils [such as shootings],” says Sheikh Abdalla Mohamed Ali, the chairman of the local tribal council in the town.

“[It] has been seized and destroyed on multiple occasions but it's like living next to a factory. It keeps putting out more and more, no matter what we do.”

“Our town will always be in the midst of danger.”

But for the smugglers the goal is to get the alcohol to the capital.

“I drive a truck that transports vegetables, potatoes and other food products. When the truck is loaded up it’s filled with whatever I'm transporting, but I make the most money from the alcohol on board,” Mr Diriye says.

Sometimes smugglers cross into Ethiopia to pick it up and at other times they receive it at the border. But whichever approach is taken, concealment is a crucial part of the profession as the risks from being caught are immense.

“The loader’s job is the most important. Even more important than driving. He’s tasked with concealing the alcohol in our truck, with whatever we have on board. Without him, I wouldn’t be able to move around so easily — at least not without getting caught.

“The average box of alcohol I move has 12 bottles. I usually transport anywhere from 50 to 70 boxes per trip. Usually half the load on my truck is filled with alcohol.”

Large swathes of south-central Somalia are run by armed groups, where the government has little to no control: militias, bandits and the al-Qaeda affiliate al-Shabab roam with impunity.

“You can never travel on your own. It's too risky. Death is always on our minds,” Mr Diriye says. But that concern does not get in the way of business and there is a brutal pragmatism to thinking about the make-up of the team.

“If I get wounded in an attack on the road, there has to be a back-up who can continue the journey. Everyone knows how to drive and knows the roads well.”

Smugglers drive on dirt tracks and roads that have not been renovated in decades. Landmines and unexploded ordnances left behind from previous conflicts are also an issue.

“I travel through at least eight to 10 towns to reach Mogadishu. But we don’t count the towns, we count the checkpoints and who mans them,” Mr Diriye says.

They encounter various clan militias with different allegiances, either lingering in the distance or at roadblocks.

“In case we get jammed up by a clan militia, if one of us is from the same clan as that militia or even a similar sub-clan, it increases our chances of survival. This is why all three of us are from different clans.”

He painfully recalls: “I’ve encountered numerous attacks.

“One of the guys that works with me is relatively new. He replaced my last helper who was killed two years ago.”

Mr Diriye had been driving in suffocating heat for six hours, so decided to nap, passing the wheel to his helper.

“While I was sleeping in the back, I heard a large burst of gunfire that suddenly woke me up. We where surrounded by militiamen. My loader was screaming as he ducked in the passenger seat.” The substitute driver was killed.

Once the commotion ceased, the loader and Mr Diriye picked up their dead colleague from the front seat and put him in the back of the truck.

“I’ve never seen so much blood in my life. I had to wipe [it] away from the steering wheel and keep on driving. In all my years, nothing prepared me for what I saw that day.”

As the pair drove off and got a good distance away from the militiamen, they pulled over to the side of the road and laid his body there.

“We didn’t even have a sheet to cover his body, so I took off my long-sleeved buttoned-up shirt and made do with it.

“It was a difficult decision but I knew I couldn't keep driving around smuggling alcohol with a dead body in the truck. We had a few government checkpoints up ahead and I couldn’t jeopardise my load or my freedom.”

Two years later he says the guilt of leaving the body by the road still haunts him.

He left behind a family, and Mr Diriye is unsure they even know the truth surrounding the circumstances of his disappearance and death.

The danger that Mr Diriye faces is a recurring reality that many smugglers endure while illicitly ferrying alcohol from Ethiopia to Mogadishu, in order to quench the growing demand.

Dahir Barre, 41 has a slim build with noticeable scars on his face that appear to tell a story on their own. He has a dark sense of humour and seems hardened by the near-decade of smuggling that enables him to bypass the possible consequences of what he does.

“We face a lot of problems and dangers but still continue to drive despite the risk due to the poor living conditions in Somalia,” he says.

Mr Barre has been smuggling alcohol from Ethiopia since 2015 and says lack of opportunity made worse by years of poverty pushed him into the dangerous trade.

“I used to do security for a hotel in the city centre. I was armed with an AK-47 and was tasked with patting people down at the entrance.”

Long nights in a dangerous job with meagre pay did not feel worth it.

“One hundred dollars a month to stand in the way of potential car bombs that might plough through the front entrance sounds crazy now that I think of it.”

One of the day-shift guards then put him in touch with friends from the border region and “I’ve been travelling these roads ever since”.

“Back in 2015 I was only getting $150 per trip, compared to $350 per trip now and those days it was far riskier because al-Shabab had control over more territory, so you risked more encounters with them.

“Even the bandits and militias were more dangerous back then.

“If you had red or brown stained teeth, the militias would assume you chewed khat and smoked cigarettes, meaning you had money so they would abduct you and hold you for ransom.

“As drivers we’ve been through a lot and the danger still exists,” Mr Barre says.

If they are caught by al-Shabab fighters then it can be most dangerous since the armed group has a zero-tolerance policy on contraband, especially alcohol. The Islamist insurgents set the vehicle on fire and then detain the smugglers before fining them.

Other armed men can be more easily bribed with money or liquor.

It takes an average of seven to nine days to reach Mogadishu from the Ethiopian border. The smugglers then make their way to a pre-arranged drop-off point.

“When we arrive, a group of men will show up and unload the regular food products into a separate truck, then leave. Afterwards, once that’s done, another individual will arrive, sometimes accompanied by more than one vehicle and they’ll take the boxes of alcohol,” Mr Diriye says.

“But it doesn’t end there. Once it leaves my possession, it’ll pass through more hands, eventually ending up with local dealers in the city, who can be reached with a simple phone call.”

Mr Diriye often thinks about his entry into smuggling, and where his future may lie.

“My neighbour Abshir who initially got me into smuggling alcohol, stopped doing it himself three years ago.”

Abshir offered his nephew, an unemployed graduate at the time, a job in smuggling. But he was killed on his third trip in an ambush by bandits.

“Afterwards Abshir quit smuggling. He became religious and turned to God. I rarely see him any more.”

Despite the dangers, Mr Diriye says it will not deter him.

"Death is something that is predestined. I can't let fear come in the way of making a living. Sure, sometimes I want to throw the keys on the table and start afresh but it's not that easy. Temptation is everywhere and so is poverty."

All names have been changed in this story.

[andaniellight]

Nine books that I— have been putting on hold since forever— want to read/finish in 2025

in no particular order:

The Adventures of Amina Al-Sirafi (1)

The Radiant Emperor Duology (2)

Cinder (1)

The Sword of Kaigen (1)

Babel (1)

The Biology of Human Survival: Life and Death in Extreme Environments (1)

A Reaper At The Gates (1)

Gideon The Ninth (1)

More about the books below because, mainly, the summaries are spot on (and kind of represent my taste / why I'm terribly intrigued to read them):

✨️🧋🥡📖✨️

The Adventures of Amina Al-Sirafi by S. A. Chakraborty

Amina Al-Sirafi is a middle-aged single mother with bad knees who lives in a modest country house and minds her own business. She was also one of the most fearsome pirates who ever sailed the Indian Ocean, at least until strange magic claimed a beloved crewmember and drove her to retire on dry land.

2023 historical fantasy.

—

The Radiant Emperor Duology by Shelley Parker-Chan

She Who Became The Sun

Set in an alternate China, She Who Became the Sun is a fascinating genderqueer retelling of the founding of the Ming dynasty, follows Zhu Chongba who had to become a monk even though she's only a little girl for her survival, from childhood to early adulthood, using her dead brother's identity, fighting to claim his destiny as her own.

2021 historical fantasy.

&

The sequel: He Who Drowned The World

Got the hardcopy as a birthday present for me because I couldn't stop yapping about it to my friend 🥹🥹🥹

—

Cinder by Marissa Meyer

Cinder is a cyborg mechanic living in New Beijing who, along with her best friend (a robot named Iko) and sister (a fully human gal named Pearl), fall in love with Prince Kai. But, life isn't all cleaning and singing, there's a ravaging plague and crippling poverty. The plague can strike anyone at any time.

2012. Part of The Lunar Chronicles.

—

The Sword of Kaigen: A Theonite War Story by M. L. Wang

Better to die sharp in war than rust through a time of peace. A mother struggling to repress her violent past;

A son struggling to grasp his violent future;

A father blind to the danger that threatens them all.

When the winds of war reach their peninsula, will the Matsuda family have the strength to defend their empire? Or will they tear each other apart before the true enemies even reach their shores? High on a mountainside at the edge of the Kaigenese Empire live the most powerful warriors in the world, superhumans capable of raising the sea and wielding blades of ice. For hundreds of years, the fighters of the Kusanagi Peninsula have held the Empire's enemies at bay, earning their frozen spit of land the name 'The Sword of Kaigen.'

Set on the planet Duna, on Mount Takayubi in the Kaigenese Empire, the story revolves around the populace of a remote, highly patriarchal village that, for generations, has raised and trained swordsmen with magical, almost supernatural abilities to fight enemies that invade the realm.

—

Babel by R. F. Kuang

Robin Swift, orphaned by cholera in Canton, is brought to London by the mysterious Professor Lovell. There, he trains for years in Latin, Ancient Greek, and Chinese, all in preparation for the day he'll enroll in Oxford University's prestigious Royal Institute of Translation—also known as Babel.

Babel take place in an alternative-reality in which Britain's global economic and colonial supremacy are fueled by the use of magical silver bars.

—

The Biology of Human Survival: Life and Death in Extreme Environments

Solely for writing reference since I am a deprived and amateur writer first, human second, after all.

—

A Reaper at The Gates by Sabaa Tahir

3rd book of Ember Quartet. To understand this, you must read its 1st book: An Ember in The Ashes (inspired by Ancient Rome, the story follows a girl named Laia spying for rebels against the reigning empire in exchange for their help in rescuing her captive brother; and a boy named Elias struggling to free himself from being an enforcer of a tyrannical regime.)

—

Gideon The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

1st book of The Locked Tomb Series. Brought up by unfriendly, ossifying nuns, ancient retainers, and countless skeletons, Gideon is ready to abandon a life of servitude and an afterlife as a reanimated corpse. 

That would be all! Thank you so much for tagging me, @kanronotatsu ! ! ! 📚🔍

Fingers crosed I get to at least finish one or two, this year. Now, I shall tag my friends @ikjun @dykealloy @reineyday @radiashen @lunaticus @beguilewritesstuff and YOU, whoever is reading this, are also welcome to share it with us ! ! ! :D

[longwindedbore]

Progressives bleating ‘Elon Musk is acting like he’s POTUS doing this and that domestically and in foreign countries blah, blah, blah’

Are we still not yet understanding that the true shot-callers in our ‘Democracy’ are the oligarchs who control the financial sector in conjunction with oligarchs who control natural resources and the major economic hegemonies which utilize those resources?

Do we still believe that POTUS and the Legislature run domestic or foreign policy?

Even after -

Vietnam (rubber takeover attempt #4** Couldn’t get it out of a combat zone after 10 years of occupation so EVERY domestic tire company closed up shop in the 1970s and we pull out)

Iraq 1 and 2 (oil competitor UNDERCUTTING USA export prices)

Afghanistan (the effing Taliban was going to eradicate opium just as pharmaceuticals got it approved! Oops…decades later opioid addiction crises and big lawsuit…pull out! Pull out! Pull out!),

Panama in any decade (raising prices on the oligarchs without giving them a chance to raise prices on us first!)

Niger (who knew we had troops doing security for lithium mining?)

Etc

Etc

Etc

Consider that that the current foreign ‘threats’ are…coincidentally…the last two oil producing countries - Iran and Venezuela - who are willing to undercut our export prices?

At best our voting putting Dems in power can result in some limited actual trickle-down for the 99.9%. I used to think the Dems could ameliorate foreign hardships but then there was Gaza 2024.

=====================

Skip the following if you thought the foregoing was tedious.

**All wars are for Plunder. The US made plays for French rubber in

#1. 1917-1919.

Wilson brought the US into WW1 (a war to seize colonies) immediately after the Bolsheviks concluded a peace treaty with the Central Powers.

The British and French debt for munitions and materials was so high it would have collapsed the US economy. Handing over the British/French rubber concessions in SE Asia would have gone a long way to paying the debts. (I suspect but have no evidence that Pershing kept most US soldiers off the battlefields for a year not for training as the history books state. Some contrivance over the debt and possibly seizing colonies by having the only unexhausted army in the field?)

The Brits and the French instead violated the terms of the Armistice Cease-fire (no victors) and, with Wilson’s contrivance, shifted the debt to newly declared ‘surrendered’ Germany which was stripped of its colonies and trade concessions.

The reparations forced on the Weimar German Republic, of course, created the conditions fueling the Fascist takeover.

#2. 1941.

FDR assumed it was likely that the Japanese would honor their Defense agreement with Germany and attack the Soviet Union in 1941.

At which point the US and Britain were going to seize Indonesia oil and French rubber before the Nazi occupation governments in Europe could assert control over the colonies.

The fleet sunk at Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7th was the Pacific Coast Home Fleet and should have been at its home bases in San Diego, San Francisco and Puget Sound Washington (see Major General Smedly Butler’s ‘War is a Racket’)

Instead the PCHF had been shifted to Pearl to provide support for the Asian Pacific Fleet whose home base was Subic Bay.

As soon as the Japanese fleet sailed from their home bases in November 1941 the US APF left Subic Bay steaming for SE Asia.

HOWEVER, the Japanese viewed their mutual defense obligation to Hitler voided because he attacked the USSR rather than being attacked.

So the superior Japanese battleships steamed to to SE Asia while their aircraft carriers steamed in complete radio silence toward Pearl.

In SE Asia the Japanese sunk the British Indian Ocean fleet as well as a joint Dutch/British/US APC fleet.

In the Philippines, MacArthur moved the US colonial forces to Bataan Penisula for the same reason Cornwallis moved his forces to Yorktown Pennisula and n 1781 - to prepare for forces to be evacuated.

Both Generals were unaware of where their respective fleets were. Ironically, both fleets were sent to plunder Dutch island colonies. Neither fleet was successful. Neither fleet returned for the abandoned soldiers.

Successful defense of the Philippines with both US fleets intact and a U.S./Phillipine army against a Japanese invasion had been considered a ‘fantasy’ as far back as the 1920s. The Navy and Marines in the 20s began preparing for the island-hopping retake that eventually occurred.

Accordingly, MacArthur grounded his obsolete aircraft to preserve the skilled pilots who’d have been sitting ducks for the Japanese Zeros.

[So much of US ‘history’ is rigorously factual with dates but uses whitewashing mythology as interpretation of events. I spent a long afternoon with Wikipedia’s entry ‘United States Asiatic Fleet’ which has a horrendous list of loses for late 1941 to early 1942. I did a spread sheet of when they sailed and where they were sunk to reinterpret all the texts I’d ever read on the War in the Pacific ]

#3. 1950s

[Haven’t studied this cluster-F in depth]. For whatever reason at the end of WW2 the US decided to back the French and Dutch in reclaiming their colonies (probably a white vs brown issue?). So we supported the French against US trained in WW2 Vietnamese revolutionaries The French lost.

The nation was partitioned in two.

I suspect we could have gotten the rubber cheaper from the Vietnamese than the French.

#4. 1965-1975

Neither Detroit nor the domestic tire manufacturers wanted to invest in the massive cost to change over to radial tires from the rubber tires we’d been using.

Nixon sunk the tire manufacturer’s hope for getting rubber by committing treason. To secure the 1968 election Nixon got the President/Dictator of South Vietnam to reject the Johnson Admin peace treaty. The 1968 Democratic Party was split between factions for/against the War in the same way the Democratic Party was split in 2024 for/against the Palestinians in Gaza

As the war dragged on foreign vehicles with radial tires made inroads in the US market. The tire manufacturers decided not to invest, closed their factories and sold their brand names. Detroit retooled for imported radials.

And NO, the obsolete factory machinery wasnt disassembled, packed up, and shipped to foreign countries. The machinery was disassembled, different metals and alloys separated, and shipped to scrapyards or junkyards.

[freehawaii]

THINK HAWAI`I CANʻT BECOME FREE?

Check out this article on the United Kingdom (UK) returning the CHAGOS ISLANDS to the Republic of Mauritius (a former British colony). https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c98ynejg4l5o

 It is an issue I’ve been tracking and speaking into at the United Nations for the past 10 years … because it is parallel to our situation… the manipulation of the UN decolonization process by a colonial power — the UK with Mauritius and the US with Hawai`i.

 When the Republic of Mauritius, a former colony of the UK, gained its independence in 1968, the UK withheld the Chagos Islands Archipelago from the new nation. Then the UK leased the largest of the islands, Diego Garcia, to the US to build a large naval base. Like Pearl Harbor in the Pacific, Diego Garcia, is the principal US military base in the Indian Ocean to project US military power in the region. Diego Garcia played a major role in the Gulf War (Kuwait), the Iraqi War and the war in Afghanistan.

 Here's a photo of me and my friend, Mehmet sukru Guzel, in front of the UN in Geneva with his then (2019 ) new book, The Chagos Archipelago Case in the International Court of Justice. It provides an excellent analysis of the situation.

[santmat]

We Are Heavenly Swans (Hansas) Journeying Back to the Beloved

"He, who carries on the practice of the true Sound, Beholds the Truth from the beginning to the end within his body. By realizing the true Sound with rapt attention, He attains the status of a pure swan. Such a devotee reaches the Immortal Abode, And there he sees mysterious and wondrous sights." (Sant Dariya Sahib)

My Commentary: The image of the swan is used in poetry and hymns of Sants to represent the soul, a heavenly being of Light, a hamsa. In Sant Mat Mysticism the hamsa or hansa is a soul that has been baptised in the Lake of Nectar and finds Its Original Nature restored — then it continues it’s upward ascent eventually reaching the Fifth Plane or Sat Lok. The Sants (souls have that reached the Fifth Plane or Above and are in Union with God) have composed, and continue to compose, descriptions of the Inner Regions, usually in the form of hymns (kirtans, banis, bhajans) and mystic-poems, including about hansas in Sat Lok or Sach Khand (True Eternal Realm of Timeless Pure Spirit). We are all hansas or hansas-to-be as we journey back to the Beloved, the Ocean of Love and Oneness.

We are destined to become Hansas — Birds of Heaven

A Hansa is…

Hansa: A white swan; esoterically, a soul purified by Shabd [the Holy Stream of Light and Sound]. In Indian spiritual literature, a hansa is symbolic of grace and purity; it is believed that the natural drink of a swan is milk or nectar (amrit), and its natural food is pearls, diamonds and rubies, which signify Shabd. It is further believed that the beak of a swan has the unique ability to drink milk (nectar) after filtering out the dirty water or poison of maya with which it is mixed. As long as a soul is conditioned by karma and dominated by mind and matter, it is an ugly crow. Its transformation into a swan begins in Daswan Dwar, where, in the process of its spiritual enlightenment, it sheds its gross coverings. The process culminates in Sach Khand, the region of immortality. Soami Ji generally refers to all souls in Daswan Dwar and beyond as hansas, but he has also occasionally used the term for devoted disciples who are on their way to becoming swans.

O Swan-Soul, Where Are You Going?

Swan, I’d like you to tell me your whole story! Where you first appeared, and what dark sand you are going toward, and where you sleep at night, and what you are looking for…

It’s morning, swan, wake up, climb in the air, follow me! I know of a country that spiritual flatness does not control, — nor constant depression, and those alive are not afraid to die. There, wildflowers come up through the leafy floor, and the fragrance of “I am He” floats on the wind.

There the bee of the heart stays deep inside the flower, and cares for no other thing.

-- Version by Robert Bly, The Kabir Book, Beacon Press