#Logistics Tracking and Tracing

[thomas-carol]

Vee Technologies' Tracking & Tracing Status Updates Services

Their tracking and tracing experience helps you save time, money, and effort by reducing manual inspections, lowering logistic costs, and increasing revenue while giving your customers the information about their shipments.

Explore More: https://www.veetechnologies.com/industries/logistics/tracking-and-tracing-status-updates.htm

[veetechnologieslogistics]

Vee Technologies' Tracking & Tracing Status Updates

Vee Technologies' tracking and tracing experience helps you save time, money, and effort by reducing manual inspections, lowering logistic costs, and increasing revenue while giving your customers the information about their shipments.

Explore More: https://www.veetechnologies.com/industries/logistics/tracking-and-tracing-status-updates.htm

[logistiservices]

Enhancing Supply Chain Visibility: The Role of Track and Trace Monitoring

In the fast-paced world of logistics, maintaining real-time visibility over shipments is paramount for ensuring smooth operations and meeting customer expectations. This blog explores the importance of Track and Trace Monitoring in logistics, highlighting its significance in command logistics services and command centers.

1. Understanding Track and Trace Monitoring

Real-Time Visibility: Track and Trace Monitoring refers to the ability to monitor the movement of shipments in real-time throughout the supply chain. By leveraging advanced technologies such as GPS, RFID, and IoT sensors, businesses can track the location, status, and condition of goods at every stage of the journey.

Proactive Problem-Solving: Track and Trace Monitoring enables proactive problem-solving by providing early detection of issues or disruptions in the supply chain. Whether it's a delay in transit, a route deviation, or a temperature excursion, real-time tracking empowers logistics professionals to identify problems swiftly and take corrective actions to mitigate risks and minimize impact.

2. The Role of Command Logistics Services

Centralized Monitoring: Command Logistics Services utilize Track and Trace Monitoring as a central component of their operations. These services establish command centers equipped with sophisticated monitoring tools and dashboards that provide comprehensive visibility into the movement of goods across the supply chain.

Dynamic Decision-Making: By integrating Track and Trace Monitoring data into their command centers, logistics service providers can make dynamic, data-driven decisions to optimize routing, scheduling, and resource allocation. This enables them to respond swiftly to changing conditions, minimize disruptions, and enhance overall operational efficiency.

3. Leveraging Command Centers for Success

Strategic Planning: Command Center serve as nerve centers for strategic planning and execution in logistics operations. By consolidating Track and Trace Monitoring data alongside other key performance indicators, these centers enable logistics professionals to gain valuable insights into trends, patterns, and performance metrics, empowering them to make informed decisions and drive continuous improvement.

Customer Satisfaction: Ultimately, the benefits of Track and Trace Monitoring and command logistics services extend to customer satisfaction. By ensuring transparency, reliability, and responsiveness in logistics operations, businesses can enhance the customer experience, build trust, and foster long-term loyalty.

Conclusion: Harnessing the Power of Track and Trace Monitoring

In conclusion, Track and Trace Monitoring plays a critical role in enhancing supply chain visibility and efficiency. When integrated into command logistics services and command centers, it enables proactive problem-solving, dynamic decision-making, and strategic planning, ultimately driving operational excellence and customer satisfaction. Embrace Track and Trace Monitoring as a cornerstone of your logistics strategy to stay ahead in today's rapidly evolving marketplace.

For Original Post Content:- https://www.statusthoughts.in/enhancing-supply-chain-visibility-the-role-of-track-and-trace-monitoring/

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] Fly away (with you)

How LIs would react if he wants a romantic getaway with you, but he misreads your hesitation as disinterest and withdraw the offer. You reassure them and clear up the misunderstanding and it's cute <3 Genre: Fluff + (veery mild) hurt/comfort

SYLUS

The air seems to hold its breath around you, the remnants of his question fading into a busy silence filled with your unspoken thoughts.

While Onychinus isn't exactly in peril, you know enough to tell the stakes have shifted, and Sylus has been working more than usual to eliminate any issues before they become a proper threat.

Sylus leans back in his chair, gaze sharp. “Forget I mentioned it. Clearly, you have priorities."

You grab his wrist before he can stand. You can't let him dismiss the thought of travelling just yet. “Sylus- it’s not that. I just know the N109 Zone’s unstable right now. If you leave, your enemies might-"

His scoffs, flipping the grip so that he's the one cuffing your wrist instead. “Oh, kitten. You think I’d let vermin ruin our time?"

He pulls you onto his lap in one languid motion. “But since you’re so concerned… I’ll burn their nests to the ground before we go."

“Sylus, you don't have to-”

He hums, gaze steady as he presses a finger to your lips. “Now, let's decide on a destination.”

___

XAVIER 

You contemplate the idea. An early-morning flight, disrupted circadian rhythms, only three full days before you fly back again to start work the next morning.

As the seconds tick by, Xavier’s smile fades. 

“You’re right. It was impulsive."

You scoot closer to him on the sofa and cup his face. “Xavier, I want to go. But think of the logistics of cramming an international trip into four days. A plane ride? Time zones? I don’t want you exhausted."

He blinks, then melts into the touch. 

“You… worry for me."His thumb traces the curve of your cheek.

“I do," you say. Then you decide to tease him. “If I have a sleepyhead Xavier dozing off at the airport, how can I carry a big luggage alone?”

He scrunches his nose at the thought, then places his hands over yours and moves them to his chest, holding it close to him.

“Then let’s go somewhere closer. A place where the stars are bright, where we can unwind. Just the two of us."

 ___ 

ZAYNE

You hover opposite him, thinking about his gruelling roster over the past week, while he reads through some documents in preparation for a surgery the next morning.

With his upcoming schedule as well, a vacation would only drain him more over the long weekend. 

Zayne adjusts his glasses, his voice even. “Withdrawn. The odds of compatible availability were low anyway."

You recognise the tone- he uses it to mask any emotion, delivering speech devoid of any subjectiveness. The same tone he uses when delivering bad news to patients.

But you know better. He's not Dr. Zayne right now, he's just... Zayne. At home, in cosy cotton loungewear. Clinical stoicism will not stand- at least, not on your watch.

You step into his space, sitting down and threading an arm between the sofa and his back as you lean into him. 

“Zayne. You’ve pulled four overtime shifts this week That's nearly twenty extra hours of work. A vacation isn’t rest if you’re jet-lagged."

He makes a small contemplative hum, his hazel eyes softening as he looks at you. “…You tracked my shifts?"

You poke his chest. “If it isn't me, who else?"

He exhales, almost a laugh. “Fine. A staycation, then. Let me know if you need assistance with planning."

 ___ 

RAFAYEL 

You look at all the documents and drafts Thomas left in Rafayel's studio, all of which he has pushed to the corner of a work desk.

Now he asks you to go on an island-hopping trip to see all the art installations spanning more than five coastal exhibition sites?

Not a chance.

Rafayel flops onto the couch. “Wow. Rejected by my own muse."

You toss a cushion at him. “You have so many events happening soon! What if you get tired? Or catch a cold traveling? Then who's gonna have to listen to you complain about your dark circles and headaches? Do you expect your bodyguard to be a makeup artist and a nurse?"

He sits up, eyes gleaming. “Ohhh, you do care!"

Grinning, he tackles you into a hug “Don’t worry, Miss Bodyguard- I’ll charm the germs away! And if I do get sick…"

He looks at you with puppy-dog eyes. “You’ll take care of me, right?"

You sigh, letting him drag you to the table to show you a website of the hotel he wants to stay at. He peppers your face with kisses with each tab he shows you- and you know he's already won.

 ___ 

CALEB 

Is it really a good idea? The thought of Caleb going for another Deepspace Tunnel mission- the ones you dread the most- and then a flight the same night once he returns, close to midnight, just doesn't sound like a rest-and-recharge situation.

You stand with your hands on your hips, and purse your lips in thought. 

Caleb's gaze lingers on your lips, but he catches himself as he notices the silence stretch on. “Sorry- stupid idea. We don’t have to-"

Your gaze snaps back onto him. Oh, crap. He misunderstood.

You squeeze his hand, and hold back from the urge to just hug the living daylights out of this man. “Caleb. Your mission could run long. I just… don’t want us to get disappointed if plans change."

His jaw tightens, his purple eyes blazing. “Then I’ll finish the mission early."

“And if anything tries to stop me…" He kisses your knuckles. “I won't allow that to happen. I promise."

“Caleb," you murmur, “Just make it back safely. It's all I need, vacation or not,”

“Anything for you, pipsqueak,”

And with the kiss he presses to your lips, you know he means it with every fibre of his being.

[xinganhao]

cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (4)

stories like this always end with a damsel in distress. except—this time around—you’re not the one who needs saving. previous chapter + masterlist.

📄 Minutes of strategic information meeting, filed by Kim Mingyu (Mafia Soldier, Logistics & Recon)

Date: ██████████ Location: Safehouse Omega-9, Undisclosed City Perimeter Time: 03:17 HRS

ATTENDEES:

Yoon Jeonghan (Underboss)

Lee Chan (Combat Unit Leader)

Chwe Hansol (Surveillance Division)

Kim Mingyu (Logistics & Recon; Recording Officer)

Civilian Target [REDACTED] (Unauthorized Attendee)

AGENDA:

Contingency Plan for Retrieval of Boss (S.Coups)

Chain of Command During Absence

External Threat Assessment

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

JEONGHAN: We go in through the east dock. Two snipers posted by 03:40. Chan leads breach. Hansol, your eyes stay on thermal—no improvisation this time.

HANSOL: I never improvise. My brilliance is structured.

CHAN: Can we not do this right now?

JEONGHAN: [ignoring them] Mingyu, once we get him out, you're on evac. Full blackout route. No trackers, no chatter.

MINGYU: Copy.

HANSOL: Any updates on who turned? Someone had to leak coordinates.

CHAN: There’s a list. We’ll handle it after we bring the boss home. One fire at a time.

[DOOR SLAMS OPEN. SOUND OF HIGH-HEELED FOOTSTEPS. SILENCE.]

CIVILIAN TARGET: You’re planning this without me?

JEONGHAN: [visibly tense] You weren’t invited.

CIVILIAN TARGET: He’s my belo—my boyfriend, Jeonghan. You think I’m just going to sit around while you play war games?

JEONGHAN: This isn’t a movie. You’re a civilian. You don’t belong in this room.

CIVILIAN TARGET: No, I’m the reason he still believes in soft things. I belong more than half the people at this table.

CHAN: She’s got a point.

JEONGHAN: Chan.

CHAN: I’m just saying. She’s not exactly fragile.

HANSOL: She did rewire one of my bugs with a paperclip. That was... not unimpressive.

JEONGHAN: [sighs] This isn’t about guts. It’s about blood.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Then you should know mine’s already on the line. Every second he’s gone, I feel it. And I’m done being sidelined. I’m not here to ask. I’m here to help.

[BEAT OF SILENCE. THEN—]

JEONGHAN: You get one job. And if you screw it up, I’ll personally drag you out.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Deal.

JEONGHAN: Hansol, give her the map. Mingyu, loop her in.

MINGYU: You’re going to need a comm. And a bulletproof vest.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Got both. And a knife in my boot.

CHAN: Okay, badass.

[MEETING CONTINUED UNDER LEVEL-2 SECRECY PROTOCOLS. TRANSCRIPT REDACTED. END OF MINUTES.]

FINAL NOTES:

Civilian Target formally added to Operation Homecoming roster.

Jeonghan authorized conditional field involvement.

Morale status: heightened.

Risk level: astronomically high.

🗂️ Operation Homecoming: Field Notes & Briefing Report, compiled by mafia underboss, Yoon Jeonghan

Clearance Level: Top Confidential Date Logged: ██████████ Location: Safehouse Omega-9

SUMMARY: Boss (S.Coups) was captured 48 hours ago following the receipt of a falsified emergency ping traced back to the civilian target’s encoded channel. The ping claimed she’d been injured and was en route to an undisclosed hospital in Sector D. According to surveillance logs, the Boss diverted course alone, abandoning standard security protocol. We believe he was intentionally isolated through signal jamming, then intercepted at the underpass beneath Route 14.

AUTOPSY OF THE TRAP:

Fake GPS tag mimicked civilian target’s bio-signal pattern

Voice distortion software replicated her distress call

EMP deployed upon vehicle arrival to disable tracking

Tactical unit waited with sedation-grade rounds

CURRENT LOCATION OF BOSS: Confirmed. Underground storage facility, formerly Syndicate-aligned. Defected cell now controls the zone. Reinforcements on site. Boss presumed alive—last thermal footage confirms faint movement.

INTERVENTION STRATEGY: OPERATION HOMECOMING

Phase One – Extraction:

Entry through east dock (03:40 HRS)

Chan leads breach unit, Hansol on thermal, Mingyu handling evac

All units silent channel only

Phase Two – Internal Sweep:

Civilian target assigned distraction and misdirection role (see below)

Two-minute window to locate and stabilize Boss

Phase Three – Extraction + Fade:

Mingyu initiates blackout route

Decoys deployed on west perimeter to delay pursuit

Rendezvous at Site Echo

CIVILIAN TARGET: PERFORMANCE LOG

Arrived wearing borrowed Kevlar and jeans tucked into combat boots. Asked if bulletproof vests same in women’s sizes. Did not wait for response.

Showed immediate enthusiasm, zero tactical finesse. Hansol gave her the map. She held it upside down. Twice.

Informed her she’d be working as the visual diversion. Her response: “Like bait?” Followed by: “Cool. I’m good at being annoying.”

Surprisingly effective. Created a loud enough ruckus on the perimeter to draw three guards off their posts. Managed to bluff her way past checkpoint by pretending to be a lost food delivery driver. Claimed she had gluten-free soba for a man named Kevin. There is no Kevin.

Still not sure how she pulled it off.

When Boss was found, he was semi-conscious but breathing. Whispered her name first.

END STATUS:

Boss retrieved.

Minimal casualties (1 injured – not fatal)

Facility compromised but not traced

Civilian target cried in the van. Then threatened to punch me for writing that down. I'm writing it down anyway.

FOOTNOTE — for Seungcheol’s eyes only: You’re reckless, stubborn, and impossible to reason with. But apparently, that’s your thing. You’re also luckier than most of us ever will be.

She didn’t sleep. Not once. Kept looking at every door like you might walk through it.

When you did, she didn’t even say anything. Just threw her arms around you like gravity stopped working.

Try not to make her go through that again.

– YJH

📱 Phone history log, filed by mafia soldier Chwe Hansol

Device: S.Coups' Personal Line (Encrypted Channel #017) Status: Outgoing Messages Only – Blocked by Signal Jammer Timestamp Range: ██:██–██:██ (Time of Abduction)

NOTE: Texts never reached intended recipient. Recovered during post-mission diagnostics. For archival purposes.

[01:12 AM] Where are you? They said you were hurt. I'm on my way.

[01:15 AM] Which hospital? No one's answering. This isn't funny. Call me.

[01:17 AM] Your signal keeps bouncing. Something's wrong. Stay where you are.

[01:21 AM] I swear to god if they laid a hand on you

[01:24 AM] No ambulance ever came.

[01:25 AM] This is a setup.

[01:27 AM] I'm so stupid. They used you. Fuck fuck fuck

[01:28 AM] I should've followed protocol. Should’ve sent Mingyu. Should’ve sent anyone but me.

[01:30 AM] If you get this, lock all the windows. Call Jeonghan. Stay put.

[01:34 AM] They knew I’d come for you.

[01:36 AM] This isn’t your fault.

[01:39 AM] Don’t come after me.

[01:41 AM] Love, beloved, please. Don’t try to save me.

[01:45 AM] You always do this—you throw yourself into fires you don't understand.

[01:49 AM] If they hurt you because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.

[01:52 AM] Tell Jeonghan to burn everything. Get out. Go far.

[01:54 AM] Forget me if you have to. Just live.

[02:01 AM] I love you. Please, please, please, don’t be stupid.

[END OF RECOVERED LOG]

📰 Excerpt from "The Ethics of Mafias: Love in the Line of Fire", a follow-up think piece by Xu Minghao

... If leadership within organized crime is already an ethical minefield, then love within it is something more volatile still: a paradox of vulnerability embedded in violence. New whispers surround the figure known only as S.Coups—the alleged mafia boss whose name, until recently, conjured images of discipline, domination, and an empire forged in precision.

Now, another narrative has emerged. One that reshapes how we understand not just the man, but the very myth he embodies.

According to rumors sourced from both within and outside the organization, S.Coups may have a romantic partner. Not a fellow operative, nor a political alliance. But a civilian. Someone unaffiliated and—crucially—untouched by the bloodied logic of the underworld.

If this is true, the implications are vast.

To love in his position is a risk. It is weakness, some would say. Yet others might argue that such love is the only thing capable of keeping a man like him from becoming monstrous. If the rumors are accurate, she is the reason he looks over his shoulder less. The reason he checks his own wrath. The reason his most trusted lieutenants have stopped fearing him and started worrying about him.

Love, here, is not a diversion. It is discipline.

And perhaps that is the most fascinating ethical twist of all: that this boss, so often theorized as either tyrant or savior, might be both—because of her.

Some say he texts her between assassinations. That he buys her gummy bears because she mentioned liking them once, months ago. That he has started folding her laundry and learning her aunt’s dietary restrictions. These are, of course, unconfirmed. They seem almost laughably mundane. But within the shadowed world of syndicates and secret wars, what could be more radical than tenderness?

Others claim that he was taken. There are now verified reports of a failed abduction and his eventual rescue. She was allegedly involved. They say she showed up unarmed, untrained, and utterly unafraid. They say she demanded to be part of the rescue mission. They say she was reckless, infuriating, and ultimately, instrumental.

And that when he saw her again, he wept.

To be loved, it turns out, is not always soft. Sometimes, it is brutal and inelegant and wildly inconvenient. But in the context of a life built on violence, to be loved is to be saved. Again and again. In the ways that matter.

Whether S.Coups is worthy of that love is not the question. The question is whether it has already changed him. Whether, in the end, the girl outside the syndicate might be the only thing real in a world made of smoke and mirrors.

And whether that, more than power or fear, will be his lasting legacy.

Mafia boss S.Coups is many things. Protector, manipulator. Brother, enemy, friend.

It seems we must add two more things:

Lover, and loved.

FIN. THANK YOU FOR READING CHERRY ON TOP!

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[fastandcarlos]

Sleepy Bug : ̗̀➛ Carlos Sainz

summary: it's the surprise of a lifetime for carlos as you flew halfway around the world for him, and as jetlag greets you, carlos is determined to see you getting the rest you deserve

A heavy sigh escaped from you as your hands brushed over your face, dancing lazily through your strands of hair. Your eyes were heavy as you struggled to keep them open, the effects of many busy days at work, coupled with your last minute to fly halfway around the world to support Carlos for the weekend were taking their toll. 

You barely had the strength to carry yourself around the bathroom as you finished your night routine, stretching your fingertips out to turn the light off so you didn’t have to take any more steps than you needed to.  

“Come here you,” Carlos smiled, extending his arm out across the bed, inviting you to fill the space that was beside him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so tired in my life.” 

You hummed in response as you placed your phone down, tossing the clothes you’d taken off into your suitcase. “As much as I love coming to support you, jetlag is my worst enemy right now, I can’t begin to tell you how much I hate it.” 

Once you were sorted, you threw yourself down onto the bed and rested your head against Carlos' arm, feeling him drape the duvet over your frame so that you could get as much warmth from it as possible. 

“How’s that now?” 

“It’s almost perfect.” 

“Only almost perfect?” Carlos chuckled. 

You hummed as you rolled further into Carlos' side, tucking yourself into him as tightly as you possibly could. Carlos' hand moved from the top of your shoulder to your waist, allowing his head to rest down against the top of yours with a kiss against it for extra comfort. 

“Now it’s perfect,” you whispered, resting your hand against Carlos' chest. “I think I could stay here forever with how sleepy I feel right now.” 

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” Carlos chuckled, keeping his eyes on you, watching you closely. “I was all prepared to fall asleep in this big bed all by myself tonight, wishing that you were here with me. And now here you are, as if you knew just how much I wanted to have you here.” 

It was the surprise of a lifetime for Carlos never expecting you to be there. The excitement he felt when he opened his hotel room door to see you stood before him was a feeling that he knew would not be matched for some time. 

Carlos never took for granted the sacrifices that you made for him, for most of the week you’d called him and told him about how tired and stressed work had left you, yet you still found the energy to fly out and make sure that you were there for him. 

“I don’t have to be at the track until lunch tomorrow, so we’ve got plenty of time to lay here and make sure that you catch up on all your sleep too,” Carlos informed you, keeping his fingers tracing along your skin. 

You nodded in response, too tired to muster up a proper reply. However as you began to think about tomorrow, you couldn’t help but begin to worry about all the logistics that came with being a driver’s girlfriend. 

“Will they let me in tomorrow? We haven’t organised a pass or anything,” you reminded Carlos , your voice a faint whisper that he could only just understand. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it all under control,” Carlos assured you, “whilst you were in the bathroom, I made all the necessary calls and made sure you have access for everywhere for the whole weekend.” 

There was nowhere else that Carlos wanted you than by his side now that you were there. As soon as he saw you, he knew what he had to do, and luckily for him, Ferrari was always incredibly accommodating to you.  

The longer that time passed, Carlos could see you struggling to stay awake more and more. “Rest, sleepy bug,” Carlos told you, not wanting you to stay awake just for him. 

“That’s a new one,” you chuckled at the surprise new nickname that came from Carlos . He was forever creating new names for you, toying with finding ones that he knew would stick. 

The smile on your face was everything that Carlos needed to know that this was yet another nickname that he could add to his least of ones to use and surprise you with when you least expected them. They were nicknames that he would never share with anyone else, keeping them safe between just the two of you, not quite wanting to show that side of him to the rest of the world. 

“You need to sleep,” Carlos smirked as your voice perked up once again, “I can’t begin to imagine how tired you must be after all the work and travelling you’ve done over the past few days, you must be insane.” 

“It’s worth it,” you assured him, “being here to cheer you on is always my favourite thing to do.” 

Yet another kiss was planted to the top of your head as Carlos spoke, “I don’t think I’ve really told you yet just how much it means to me to have you here, I can’t believe you came here for me, no one’s done anything like this for me before.” 

“I’m your biggest fan, I’ve got to be here,” you reminded him, pressing gently against his toned chest. “It’s worth it for all these moments anyway, when I get to have you all to myself.” 

Carlos hummed in agreement with you, “these are the moments that mean the most, like it’s only the two of us who exist in this crazy world.” 

“That would be nice,” you laughed, “but unfortunately I have to share you with thousands of fans.” 

“None of them compare to you though.” 

“So cheesy,” you teased, feeling Carlos jab in against your side. “I wonder how you do it sometimes.” 

Carlos' eyes rolled at your remark, knowing exactly what you were like. You loved to make fun of him, tease him, but he would never want for it to be any other way. As silence descended once again, Carlos felt your body relax in his hold, the sign he needed to know that you were feeling sleepy once again.  

“Close your eyes,” Carlos instructed, tilting his head to make sure that he could see you doing so. “As much as I love you, I don’t want to talk to you anymore, I just want to make sure that you’re finally getting the rest that you deserve.” 

Your head shook against Carlos' chest, “that’s rude,” you teased, hearing him scoff above you. 

“I said I love you,” he laughed, “but you’re so sleepy, it’s what you need.” 

“I’ll sleep if you sleep,” you suggested, “you’ve got a pole position to achieve tomorrow, it’s the least you could do considering I’ve flown all the way out here for you.” 

“I’ll make sure that I’m pole just for you,” Carlos whispered, making his promise to you, “knowing you’re cheering me on in the garage will be the boost I’ll need to get it too.” 

You never doubted Carlos' ability, knowing just how capable he was to get his car at the front of the grid. 

“Come on sleepy bug,” Carlos smiled, “goodnight my love.” 

“Goodnight Carlos.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´��˗

[bullet-prooflove]

Broken: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @pear-1206 @keyweegirlie @nu1freakshow @trublu2u

Companion piece to

Texas - Travis and you make a realisation about your relationship.

The Vet - Rip comes face to face with a nightmare.

Travis isn’t in Montana the night Malcom Beck comes for you. He’s back home on his ranch in Texas, wrangling cattle and trying to forget about the fact the two of you decided to call it quits a couple of weeks ago. It still hurts like a fucker, no matter how much he tries to busy himself.

When he gets the call from Rip he thinks it’s about horses. The Duttons have been expanding onto the rodeo circuit, he suspects they want to talk logistics. He doesn’t expect Rip to tell him he needs to get his ass to Yellowstone right fucking now, because your ex husband has beaten you so badly they weren’t sure if you were going to make it through the night.

He gets on the first plane he can out of Texas, praying to God and replaying that phone call over and over and over again his head. It’s the longest four hours of his God damn life. A living fucking nightmare.

“They’ve moved her to the ICU.” Rip informs him when he lands. “He beat the living shit out of her, if Imogen hadn’t turned up when she did...”

Then they would have found your body instead of you bleeding out across the tiles trying to fend off Malcom Beck.

“Did he…”  Travis can’t bring himself to say the words.

“No.” Rip says, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel, remembering the scene he walked into. “But it was close.”

Travis wants to murder Beck. He wants to tear him apart, to scatter his remains into the tar pits in Texas where they wouldn’t find a trace of him. The impulse surges through his body like a wildfire burning him up inside.

“I’m going to kill the fucker.” He snarls, his hands clenching into fists. “I’m going to…”

“You’re not going to do anything but take care of your girl.” Rip says sharply, the harshness of his voice stopping Travis in his tracks. “You’re the one she needs right now, leave Beck to us.”

There’s silence then as Travis tries to rein in his temper. He knows Rip’s right, that he needs to be there with you, supporting you because despite the fact the two of you aren’t a thing anymore, he’s still deeply in love with you.

“He needs to suffer.” Travis says finally, his voice rough. “I’m not talking a bullet to the head Rip, it needs to be fucking biblical.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Rip promises and Travis already knows  from the tone of his voice that Malcom Beck is going to die screaming.

When he gets to the hospital, Lloyd is waiting for him near the gift shop. They fall into step and he gives Travis the latest details regarding your condition. You’re in and out of consciousness due to the pain medication. You have a broken arm, multiple fractured ribs, internal bleeding and a concussion so severe they would have refused to let you out the hospital even if you didn’t have the other injuries.

“You need to prepare yourself.” Lloyd tells him, pausing outside the door. “It ain’t pretty.”

Travis’s throat constricts and he nods his head in understanding before the other man opens the door and gestures for him to step inside. His eyes come to rest on you and for a second he doesn’t actually recognise the person lying in that bed. His breath catches and his knees grow weak. Lloyd’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, squeezing lightly and that sensation it anchors him. He lets his bag drop to the floor, before he approaches your bed. You’re asleep, a deep exhausted rest that comes with heavy medication. He wonders if you’re dreaming, he hopes that if you are they’re sweet ones, ones of you riding Artemis over the pastures with that pretty smile on your face.

His thumb traces over the cuts on your knuckles, split from defending yourself against that animal. His eyes began to sting because he cannot imagine how scared you must have been in those moments with Beck, how you’d literally fought for your life.

“I’m gonna give the two of you a little time.” Lloyd says, squeezing his shoulder again. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Travis nods his head, waiting for the door to close before he takes the seat alongside of you, his hand clasping yours. The tears, they’re following freely now, salt stains his cheeks as he chokes, the sobs wracking his body with a violence that vibrates through every single one of his nerve endings. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried, his daddy died over a decade ago and he hadn’t shed a single tear for that man.

Your hand slips from his as he tries to stifle the sound but it tears from his chest as his heart shatters into a million pieces. Something soft brushes his face and it takes him a second to realise it’s your fingertips, trying to chase away his anguish.

“You’re here.” You say, your voice barely more than a rasp.

“Yea honey.” He whispers as he kisses the pads of your fingers. “I’m right here.”

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[clairdelunelove]

I just know that itadori yuuji would be the guy on the beach that you get a glimpse of and never forget. 

what started out as a summer trip planned by friends turned into more of a self-care day that you all could share. to take a break from the usual, mundane cycle of school and work. just a pause to relax due to the rare occasion you all can clear your schedules to enjoy your youth. to have a little fun. to breathe in some fresh air and soak up some sun. you weren’t expecting a flawless trip; in fact, you kept your expectations pretty low and didn’t stress too much about the logistics. nothing too hectic. thus, when it was a blazingly hot day with not a single cloud scattered across the cerulean sky and the wind was perfect– traveling to the beach was a no-brainer. so after packing a few essentials you all hit the road. the car ride was a jumble of upbeat, carefree music and all the radio’s top tracks. with the car’s windows rolled down, your group of friends zealously croon all the wrong lyrics with pride and erupt in laughter when people from other cars stare a bit too intently. bright, mirthful smiles on all your faces in hopes of making new memories with this trip. just a good time, overall. 

so imagine your surprise when your friends assign you to unpack the beach chairs from the car and drag them over to the designated spot. in their defense, it’s a beautiful spot. the ideal blend of shade and dazzling sunlight since it’s right underneath the beach’s main cove. it overlooks golden sand that’s bordered by the water’s white foam due to the spilling waves that caress the shoreline. not to mention that the water is superbly tepid, the right temperature that has your friends sighing in content. it’s the hangout spot that anyone would treasure for the day. extraordinarily so, that your friends immediately grab a handful of items (towels, bags, etc.) from the car’s trunk and quickly dash to claim it. leaving you to haul the heavier pieces by yourself.

“guys! seriously?” you rhetorically ask, aware that your voice wasn’t going to reach them from how far they were. 

a heavy exhale leaves your lips as you continue to heave the obnoxiously colored chairs across the sand. you suppose that this was probably the best option, though. the beach already had a handful of people scattered along the stretch of land and it was bound to get busier by the second. but the heft of the chairs, coupled with your need to briskly catch up to your friends, proved to be more responsibility than you can manage. it happens abruptly. before your grip on the aluminum handles slip, a heavy hand descends to alleviate the extra weight and you’re face-to-face with the most attractive stranger you’ve ever laid your eyes on. 

“need a hand?” 

and a part of you wishes to blurt that you might need more than just his hand. because he’s stunning– in the way that causes your face to warm as your eyes drag along his physique. his skin is glowy like he’s grazed by sunlight itself and brushed with freckles that you yearn to trace your fingers over. his hair is a blushy, vibrant shade that creates a halo behind him and emphasizes his boyish charm. and his smile, the one that good-naturedly curves along his lips, is blinding as he regards you. he’s clad in a white tank top and swim trunks, although, you’ve never quite seen such prominent dips of muscle despite him being completely covered up.

you stutter out your gratitude, too occupied with furiously bowing your head to notice how his gaze shifts to do an inquisitive once-over. and he already knows he’s in trouble. you’re oh so pretty; big, sparkly eyes and glossy lips. a voice that sounds like someone slowly plucking the strings of a violin. soft skin that gleams. his dream girl. knocks the wind out of his chest and he discreetly clears his throat in order to speak. 

“don’t worry ‘bout it,” he mentions while drawing a finger to bashfully swipe at his nose, “just didn’t wanna see such a pretty girl in distress.” 

and you can already tell he’s sickeningly sweet. not like the type that you usually run into when you’re strolling through the city streets. no, you were certain that he wasn’t from around here. probably stored away in a faraway town that you’d never have the chance to visit. after all, the boys that pursued you were accustomed to low effort and unkept promises. not him, however.

hands raised in alarm, he hastily tries to correct his overly blunt compliment and you’re left giggling at his dismay. 

“the ball, dude!” 

a group of athletic males, you assume they’re the stranger’s friends, holler at him as they point to the volleyball that rolled beside you. must’ve been launched over when you were focused on the attractive stranger. you awkwardly shift your feet. of course, all good things must come to an end. too much heaven is bound to make a person selfish. but this was almost too quick for you to thoroughly enjoy. he remains unmoving despite his friends’ chiding for him to come back so they can resume their game. almost reluctant. his gaze deviates to the ball and then goes back to you. a glimmer in his disheartened eyes. 

you glance over, shyly smiling at his unwillingness to hurry back to them, “I think they’re waiting for you.” 

and that breaks him out of stupor. he bites his lower lip, seemingly debating, and promptly utters another apology. quips about how impatient they are over a silly game of beach volleyball. muttering about how they had all day to play. the words spill out of his mouth. reasoning to explain the short-lived encounter. and you can’t help but swoon because he has such a boyish charm to him. 

yet, before you can take your leave, the blushy-haired male blurts, “can you give me a second?” 

“please.” 

recognizes that he’s got you hook, line, and sinker when you press your lips together with an appeased nod. you’re fighting off the beginnings of a smile as he visibly perks up at your response. like a dog finally rewarded with a treat after a session of training. he scoops up the volleyball, eagerly tosses it back to his friends, and mentions for them to not wait up for him. doesn’t bat an eye to how the ball whizzes past them and into the sea. never thought twice about his appalling strength.

and he’s giddy now. all dizzying grins and flighty movements. it's almost too adorable. accidentally brushes against your hand as he’s walking and hastily pulls away like he’d been burned. visibly gulps when you teasingly smooth your hand over his shoulder. and his eyes flutter in desperation when your fingers gently card along his soft hair. though, his eyes never leave yours. they're the perfect shade of liquid honey. makes you reminisce of apricot trees and apple pies. set in determination to etch you into his mind. you'll be in his memory forever. and it’s mushy and gentle. you never want this day to end. 

yuuji ends up carrying all your beach chairs in one strong hand. wasn’t too inclined to accept your compliments for his strength but he does notice how your gaze often drifts to the apparent veins on his forearms. he never comments on it, however. just causes him to puff up in pride when he offers you his other arm and you hold onto it for stability (or so he believes). such a pretty sight as you waltz in the sand and throw him an overjoyed smile when you pick up sparkling seashells. you’re completely satiated. an unexpected surprise during the lax, summery trip. a drop of saccharine that sent his dull world plummeting into the deepest depths of the very sea that you pranced along. and if your friends notice the rather recent and charming addition to their group, one that hangs upon your every word– they don’t mention it.

at least now they have someone to carry all their heavy stuff for them. 

[thomas-carol]

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[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. 

[logistiservices]

Navigating Logistics Excellence: Unveiling the Trifecta of 3PL Command Centre, Track and Trace Shipment, and Logistics Business Process Outsourcing

In the dynamic realm of logistics, businesses are increasingly turning to advanced solutions for enhanced visibility, streamlined operations, and cost-effective strategies. This blog delves into the crucial role played by the 3PL Command Centre, the efficiency of Track and Trace Shipment systems, and the transformative benefits of Logistics Business Process Outsourcing (BPO).

1. Mastering Logistics Control: The 3PL Command Centre Advantage

Centralized Oversight:

The3PL Command Center stands as the linchpin for orchestrating logistics excellence. Offering centralized oversight, it empowers businesses with real-time monitoring and control over various logistics functions, including order fulfilment, transportation management, and inventory tracking.

Proactive Decision-Making:

One of the key advantages is the ability to make proactive decisions. With a comprehensive view of the entire logistics network, the command centre enables quick responses to challenges, minimizing delays, and optimizing the supply chain for peak performance.

2. Trailblazing Transparency: Track and Trace Shipment Systems

Real-Time Visibility:

Track and Trace Shipment systems bring unprecedented transparency to logistics operations. Businesses can monitor the movement of goods in real-time, providing accurate and up-to-date information to stakeholders. This transparency contributes to improved decision-making and customer satisfaction.

Predictive Analytics:

These systems often incorporate predictive analytics, allowing businesses to anticipate potential disruptions and proactively mitigate issues. By providing insights into shipment routes and delivery times, businesses can optimize their logistics strategies for efficiency.

3. Logistics Business Process Outsourcing (BPO): Unlocking Operational Efficiency

Operational Streamlining:

Logistics business process outsourcing services play a pivotal role in operational efficiency. By outsourcing non-core functions, businesses can streamline processes and allocate resources strategically. This results in cost savings and enables in-house teams to focus on core competencies.

Scalability and Flexibility:

Logistics BPO services offer scalability and flexibility. As business needs evolve, BPO providers can adapt quickly, ensuring that logistics operations remain agile and responsive to market demands.

Conclusion: The Future of Logistics Unveiled

In conclusion, the trifecta of the 3PL Command Centre, Track and Trace Shipment systems, and Logistics Business Process Outsourcing unveils a new era of logistics excellence. Businesses that embrace these advanced solutions position themselves for heightened control, transparency, and operational efficiency. As the logistics landscape continues to evolve, integrating these technologies becomes not just a strategic choice but a necessity for staying ahead in a competitive market. Navigate the future of logistics with confidence, leveraging the power of the 3PL command centre, real-time shipment tracking, and strategic BPO partnerships.

For Original Post Content: - https://froodl.com/navigating-logistics-excellence-unveiling-the-trifecta-of-3pl-command-centre-track-and-trace-shipment-and-logistics-business-process-outsourcing

[mychlapci]

Sowwy I keep putting weird pet content in da royal inbox I'm on a weird kick anyway- (again spoilers for anyone reading da comic)

Most fucked up way for the ll crew to figure out who the pet is is when they run in with the djd again and minimus recognises that the pet is in heat. Mims being a turbofox means he's hardwired to be extra sensitive to the pheromones of other foxes. He wouldn't know who it is. But maybe the ambus family were like the last known turbofox alts out there? Maybe they were that rare? Maybe even just the tiniest sliver of a possibility that it could be someone he knows makes him seek it out?

Especially after rewind has asked him about dominus before. Maybe he can't help it. He has to know.

Gawsh logistically what if this happens on the necrobot planet. Mims having to sneak out of the fortress just to trace the scent. He's not been in his true alt mode for millenia probably. It feels weird, stiff, but oddly freeing at the same time. It gives him a better sense of smell, so he uses it to track the scent.

The fear that strikes him when he realises he tracks it down to one of the djd bases. Unsure if it's better or worse to find out if whoever this scent belongs to is a member of the djd or is currently a prisoner. The absolute hubris of sneaking into the base on his own.

And finally when he pinpoints the scent, as he sneaks through the vents and finally pokes his snout out a little opening where the source of the scent is, he sees it. The pet. Drooling, slobbering all over itself, whimpering and wriggling and presenting its swollen valve to its sick master.

The thoughts are slow to come together. Gears turning in Minimus' processor but not quite meshing properly, clicking and jumping and refusing to move as they should. Maybe it's because he doesn't want them to. Maybe he doesn't want to come to the realisation that that thing isn't a sparkeater. But he does. He realises that thing is undoubtedly in heat. That thing is undoubtedly a turbofox. And just as he realises which turbofox it is, he's watching as Kaon leans over the pet, stroking his sparking servos over the pet's bucking hips, before clicking his interface panels open and shoving his spike in in one smooth stroke, making the pet howl

OUUhhh my god,,,.. Minimus finding out who the Pet really is by smelling his heat is so nasty. He knows he smells a turbofox, but he can’t believe it. He almost wants to deny it again as he watches Kaon slide his spike into the Pet’s swollen, aching valve. mhmm that’s Dominus, right there, howling for his master. mhmm

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

travel restrictions.

i had vaguely wondered how the holy knights were supposed to protect the interests of the celestial dragons, like logistically. given they’re also cds and thus ~too good~ to live outside mariejois, how could they get to those low-lying lands where rebellion and rabble-rousing happen fast enough to do anything?

as a solution to that problem, teleportation totally tracks! control of travel and transportation is one of the more significant powers the world government has over its citizens.

the ancestors of the celestial dragons used superweapons on their enemies that flooded the world. imo it’s still up for debate whether the flooding was the point or an unanticipated side effect, but regardless, as a consequence nearly all land masses became islands. people were cut off from each other—except for the winners of that fighting, 95% of whom decided to move to the highest habitable land above sea level, hm, isn’t that a curious decision—and with the monsters lurking in the ocean, that separation became very permanent. and not just physical.

communication across the world is difficult because how does a message get to you. there’s, like, one newspaper with worldwide distribution, and it operates as wg propaganda most of the time. snailphones are expensive and the ones available to civilians have limited range. (vegapunk having the technology to transmit a message worldwide near-instantaneously was a disaster for the wg for a reason.) your knowledge is limited to what you see on your island, what the newspaper says, and what travelers between islands can tell you. that’s mostly going to be local news. and what do you care what’s happening on the other side of the world, anyway? what’s that got to do with you?

ships are expensive and time-consuming to build. they are not a casual investment. and unless you have materials that are limited in supply (adam wood, seastone, etc), you might still die at sea. it’s costly and dangerous to leave home. why take the risk? what’s so great out there that’s worth pursuing?

and even when you’ve got yourself a ship that can safely travel dangerous waters, you can only go so far so fast. a pirate can be impossibly strong and very influential compared to an ordinary man, but even the emperors’ travel time is limited by the laws of physics.

not so the holy knights!

but then, i wondered, why are the cds having a food shortage? can’t they just pentagram-transport food directly from their constituent kingdoms? and how has no one outside mariejois copied this magic yet? no matter how many witnesses you kill, somebody is going to see this happen and live. somebody’s going to get sloppy and leave some trace behind. so what makes this stuff unstealable, unreproducible?

in 1140 we get an answer for that: once again the wg has restricted access. whatever (or whoever) powers these abyss pentagrams, however it works, only those with the mark (of the holy knights? of nobility?? as yet unclear) can go through them.

it’s always about control with the world government. control of knowledge, control of travel, control of power.

[crescentcxdes]

( DRAKE RODGER, CISMALE, HE/HIM ) They say the city never forgets a name and BRENNAN O'ROURKE is no testament to that. The TWENTY EIGHT-year-old has carved out their place in NYC’s underbelly. On the surface, they’re all METICULOUS, smooth moves and sharp eyes. But dig a little deeper and you’ll find something far more dangerous , VINDICTIVE, with no hesitation and even less remorse. They move through the streets like they own them, wearing the colors of the PENTAVITA and running the game as a FIXER. Some say they’ve always been here. Others swear something’s changed. Either way, they’re not just part of the story. They’re rewriting it.

On the Surface:

Unshakably Calm – Even in chaos. Body on the floor? Blood everywhere? He’s still buttoning his sleeves.

Highly Intelligent – Fast thinker. Knows forensics, psychology, logistics. He’s ten steps ahead—and he needs to be.

Meticulous – Obsessed with details. Nothing left behind. Not a single trace.

Emotionally Detached – Rarely shows anger, joy, fear. Keeps his face and tone neutral. Terrifying in its own right.

Efficient – Everything is clean, quick, controlled. He doesn’t waste time or bullets. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t need to. You won’t hear his name in stories—just “he handled it.”

Beneath the Mask:

Guilt-Compartmentaliser – He’s done horrific things, but files it away under “necessary.” Or so he tells himself.

Loyal—but not blindly. He’s loyal to the job, the system, or select individuals—not the organisation as a whole.

Sleeps in a different place every night. Trust issues. Paranoia. Its taking over more and more lately and he feels unsettled.

Power-Hungry (quietly) – Plays humble, but has ambitions far beyond cleanup work. He’s waiting for a vacuum.

He's got a guilty kill. – Everyone thinks it was just another job. But he did it because they begged. Or because he couldn’t bear to see them suffer, when a mess was left for him to clean up.

A Deeper Insight:

Brennan was born last, a surprise baby after saying they were done now there was two of each. By the time he arrived, the family rhythm was already well established — older siblings were loud, busy, opinionated. He learned early that listening got him more than shouting ever could. While the others wrestled for attention or argued over the dinner table, Brennan stayed under the radar. But his mother, Maggie, noticed how he tracked everything — who was hurting, who lied, what wasn’t being said. She taught him the power of silence, and how to read a room the way others read books.

His father, Sean, loved him in a different way — not through words, but through tasks. Fix the hinge. Help with the gutters. Don’t cry, just get up. Brennan absorbed the lessons, but unlike his father, he didn’t believe strength had to mean silence.

As a teenager, Brennan became the emotional sponge of the household. He handled things quietly, surgically — preserving the family’s image, especially in their tight-knit Irish-American community, where reputation mattered. He wasn’t a golden child. He wasn’t loud or particularly praised. But he was needed, and that gave him purpose.

Instead of chasing prestige, Brennan took work that kept him close to people. He became a quiet need for people around him — something that gave him access to the broken corners of the city where quiet action mattered more than big talk.

He has a pattern of attracting broken people, but never lets anyone take care of him. He wants intimacy, but fears what it would mean to be truly seen — because what happens if he can’t fix everything? He's held together by a routine of control, favors, errands, and calls. But beneath it all, there's a crack starting to form — not out of weakness, but from too many years of holding everyone else up.

Wanted Connections:

The One Who Sees Through Him

Type: Friend, therapist, bartender, lover, or just someone sharp

Why It Matters: Brennan isn’t as invisible as he thinks. This person doesn’t push — they just see. It unsettles and comforts him.

They call him on his bullshit in a quiet, disarming way. Might become a true confidant — or a threat, depending on the story. Possibly a platonic soul connection — someone who keeps him tethered.

The Troublemaker Who Keeps Calling

Type: ex, neighbour, a friend... Why It Matters: This person always drags Brennan into messes. He resents it — but keeps showing up.

A toxic push-pull dynamic. This person might blow Brennan’s cover or pull him into something dangerous. Could force Brennan to finally say no — or go too far.

The Kid He’s Trying to Steer Right

Type: someone that looks up to brennan and thinks they're cool, brennan disagrees. Why It Matters: Brennan sees himself in them — smart, angry, trapped. He’s trying to help without smothering.

Could be a neighbor’s kid, a client, or the child of someone Brennan once helped. This kid pushes boundaries, maybe even betrays Brennan’s trust. Forces Brennan to confront the limits of what he can control.

The Rival Who Works Loud Where Brennan Works Quiet

Type: Another fixer, or someone with political/public power Why It Matters: Brennan handles things in the shadows. This person is all about noise, ego, and credit — and they’re stepping on Brennan’s turf.

They don’t trust each other — but may need to work together. They could expose Brennan. Or admire him more than they’ll admit. Sharp banter. Ideological tension. Slow-burn respect... or explosion.