#Expeller-Pressed Oils

[dwaherbals]

Vegetable oils are a staple in kitchens around the world, used for cooking, baking, and as ingredients in countless food products. Despite their ubiquity, there are many myths and misconceptions surrounding vegetable oils.

[creatureindustrysstuff]

Upgrade Your Kitchen: Innovative Equipment from Creature Industry

Essential Kitchen Equipment for Restaurants: Setting Up for Success

Setting up a restaurant involves careful planning and investment in the right kitchen equipment to ensure smooth operations and exceptional dining experiences. Among the crucial elements is selecting efficient kitchen equipment and tools that streamline food preparation, enhance productivity, and maintain quality standards. Here's a comprehensive guide to navigating through this crucial aspect of restaurant setup, including insights into semi-automatic pouch packing machines, designed to optimize packaging processes.

Key Kitchen Equipment for Restaurant Setup When establishing a restaurant, several essential kitchen equipment pieces are indispensable:

Cooking Appliances: Ranges, grills, fryers, and ovens tailored to your menu's cooking requirements. Refrigeration Units: Walk-in coolers, freezers, and refrigerators for storing ingredients at optimal temperatures. Preparation Stations: Worktables, cutting boards, and sinks for efficient food preparation. Storage Solutions: Shelving units and storage containers to organize ingredients and supplies. Dishwashing Equipment: Commercial dishwashers for fast and hygienic cleaning of dishes and utensils. Pain Points Addressed in Restaurant Setup Setting up a restaurant kitchen presents challenges that include:

Initial Investment: High costs associated with purchasing and installing commercial-grade equipment. Space Constraints: Maximizing kitchen layout efficiency within limited space. Maintenance Needs: Ensuring regular upkeep and servicing of equipment for longevity. Regulatory Compliance: Adhering to health and safety regulations governing food handling and kitchen operations. Importance of Semi-Automatic Pouch Packing Machines In food packaging, especially for spices and condiments used in restaurant kitchens, semi-automatic pouch packing machines offer significant benefits:

Efficiency: Automates the packing process, improving production speed and consistency. Precision: Ensures accurate filling and sealing of pouches, reducing wastage. Flexibility: Adapts to varying packaging needs and batch sizes. Cost-Effectiveness: Reduces labor costs associated with manual packing methods. Creature Industry: Your Partner in Restaurant Equipment and Pouch Packing Solutions At Creature Industry, we specialize in providing comprehensive solutions for restaurant setups, including high-quality kitchen equipment and innovative semi-automatic pouch packing machines. Our commitment extends to offering tailored advice and support to meet the unique needs of every restaurant establishment.

Conclusion Investing in the right kitchen equipment and packaging solutions is crucial for the success of any restaurant. By choosing efficient and reliable equipment from Creature Industry, you not only enhance operational efficiency but also deliver exceptional dining experiences to your customers. Explore our range of products today and embark on a journey towards culinary excellence and business success.

Visit Creature Industry to learn more about our offerings and how we can support your restaurant setup with top-notch equipment and packaging solutions.

[seoagency26]

4 Bolt Oil Expeller: Extract Fresh & Pure Edible Oil for Business

4 Bolt Oil Expeller Machine is a effective and effective device created to extract oil from diverse plant seeds and nuts. This device is beneficial in small and medium oil extraction approaches. It gives us with value-effective outcomes to produce natural and excessive first-rate oil. 4 bolt oil expeller device’s important function is to take seeds or nuts like sunflower seeds or peanuts and press them difficult to remove the oil.

Example — When you press a sponge to cast off water equal as a four bolt oil expeller gadget press the seeds to do away with the oil. The machine has a unique element called a screw press or bolt press that placed pressure on seeds.

The high-quality aspect about 4 bolt oil expeller machine is that it can work with a number seeds like Mustard seeds, soybean or sesame seeds and nuts like peanut, coconut, almond, cashew and so forth this system can extract oil from all of them.

Read More: 4 Bolt Oil Expeller

[foodmart01]

Sarso oil expeller machineSarso oil Expeller Machine In Bhopal

Sarso Oil Expeller Machine: Revolutionizing the Oil Extraction Process

Do you want to streamline your oil extraction process and increase efficiency in your kitchen or small-scale oil production business? Look no further than the fully automatic sarso oil expeller machine from Foodmart Agro Engineering! With our high-quality and reliable oil expeller machine, you can easily extract pure oil from sarso seeds, also known as mustard seeds, with minimal effort and maximum output.

Why Choose Sarso Oil Expeller Machine?

The sarso oil expeller machine in bhopal, varanasi from Foodmart Agro Engineering is designed to meet the needs of both domestic and commercial users. Here are some reasons why you should consider investing in this innovative machine:

Efficiency: Our oil expeller machine is equipped with advanced technology that ensures high extraction efficiency, allowing you to get the maximum yield from your sarso seeds.

Quality: The mustard oil expeller machine is made from high-quality materials that are durable and long lasting, ensuring reliable performance for years to come.

Easy to Use: Our machine is user friendly and easy to operate, making it suitable for both experienced professionals and beginners in the oil extraction industry.

How Does the Sarso Oil Expeller Machine Work?

The Cold Press Oil Expeller Machine works by crushing the sarso seeds and extracting the oil through a mechanical process. Here’s a step-by-step guide on how the machine operates:

Seed Feeding: The sarso seeds are fed into the expeller machine through a hopper, where they are crushed and pressed to extract the oil.

Oil Extraction: The crushed seeds are then subjected to high pressure, which helps in releasing the oil from the seeds.

Oil Filtration: The extracted oil is filtered to remove any impurities, resulting in pure and natural sarso oil ready for consumption or further processing.

Benefits of Using Sarso Oil Expeller Machine

Cost-Effective: By investing in the sarso oil expeller machine, you can save money on oil extraction costs and increase your overall profitability.

Healthier Option: The oil extracted from sarso seeds using our expeller machine is pure and free from chemicals, making it a healthier alternative to store-bought oils.

Versatile Usage: You can use the sarso oil extracted from our machine for cooking, skincare, haircare, and other purposes, ensuring maximum utility and value.

Buy Sarso Oil Expeller Machine from Foodmart Agro Engineering

At Foodmart Agro Engineering, we are committed to providing our customers with top-quality oil expeller machines that are designed to deliver exceptional performance and reliability. When you buy the sarso oil expeller machine from us, you can rest assured that you are getting a premium product that meets the highest standards of quality and efficiency.

[australianinfoworld]

Australian canola oil

Canola is known as one of the world’s healthiest oils. Australian canola oil is produced with strict standards and government regulations, ensuring the best quality.

[tottentz]

DROWNED AND DREAMT ── aventurine ◟1.3k w.c ◟sfw, hurt + comfort.

the first time you hug aventurine is months after his disappearance. 

you are there when he wakes up, crouched in front of him. it's 3 AM, and you're still disheveled—hair tousled, clothes askew—but he finds you beautiful. you are bright, brighter than the cosmic spark that ignited existence, a single bang setting in motion the events leading to your first meeting.

he should have slipped away before you stirred, fled like always. his bag is in here somewhere. you are the last thing tying you to this version of his life. but he is also tired, and weak, so now he is here with you looking at him.

there's a furrow between you eyebrows. he could reach out and poke it. he knows you would have left him, he stay still

"aventurine," you say, kind of rough, kind of... something. disbelieving, maybe. you don't speak. not for a long, stretching moment, so he musters up the strength to clear his throat.

"hello, friend," he says, and it comes out like a terrible croak. it hurts, the way the words rip through his throat. your face does this complicated thing, and then you lean into his space and hugs him. you hug him so hard it actually hurts.

he tries to come up with an explanation other than this, because he is not the kind of person you would hug, but there's nothing else it could be. he doesn't need to restrain you or hide you from something. there's nothing to protect him from. which means this can only be that. a hug.

your warmth envelops him, one arm around his shoulders, the other cradling his head. he presses his mouth to your shoulder, eyes closed, inhaling the scent of olive oil soap and jasmine. it hurts, a sensation long forgotten.

"missed you" you whisper, and there it is. his raw, sore throat tightens. his eyes doesn't quite well up with tears, but there's wetness, there's something. he wonders if he is supposed to hug you back.

"if i didn't know any better, i'd almost think you cared about me, friend," he wheezes. it hurts. your hair tickles his cheek. you smell like olive oil soap and jasmine, and his ribs feel cracked and broken under your touch.

you are gentle, inexplicably so. he breathes again, unsure how to respond when you pull back, still frowning. "are you alright?" you ask, and this isn't— he can't— he doesn't get it.

he looks at you. weariness and tension and adrenaline pouring themselves together to form one temper to be in, and his mood instantly soured in empathy when he felt the telltale hues of sadness rearing your gaze.

"i'm okay," he tells you, and you open your mouth, frowning, so he raises his hands in surrender. "as okay as someone who just escaped "death" can be, i swear—"

you don't say anything, you don't question it. what is he meant to do with that? someone else's trust—care? delusion? is that dangerous? it feels like care, in your concern, in the tight, hurting embrace, lingering on his skin. what does that say about him?

"okay," you say after a moment. you squeez his hand. vile impressions of himself brought swells of water to flood the cursed well of his glassy optics, something bubbling to the surface that you have to be very delicate with. you sit next to him on the edge of the bed. close enough that if you reached out you could touch your fingers to the center of his chest, feel the warmth of the skin there. he wants to. he won't. "should i ask what you plan to do from now on?."

nothing, he thinks. running away, maybe, away from here. away from you.

"you're so sure I won't just leave again." is not a question, it is a statement, a possibility.

your wrist shook in resistance, and aventurine began to fear his resolve would expel you. unspoken words sat impatiently on your tongue, but you kept the syllables suppressed with a heavy sigh breathed through your nose.

 "no," you say. "but will you consider—"

you stop. he feels like everything suddenly stops. he is doused in cold, cold water and burning at the same time as his stomach suddenly twisted in knots.

"me?," you whisper, the width of your squared shoulders caved and folded your figure into a timid recoil "will you consider me?."

he wants to hear your heartbeat, discern truth. he'd reach into your chest if he could. you're not a liar, not like him

he is not used to wanting. that's a lie too; he used to wanting, to needing with every bit of himself. what he isn't used to is being allowed to want. being encouraged to want. being wanted to want.

you could reach out and touch him. you're almost certain he would let you. the odds are in your favor. it's hardly even a gamble.

he tips, slowly, until his head lands on your shoulder. you don't stop him. you wouldn't. he warms up to you in steps, stages, like he has throughout the time you've known him. his heart sits like a small bird in his throat. he hesitates for a long moment before he wraps his arm around you. something settles with a certain kind of fragility. you are not soft with him. he is not soft with you. but you are trying, and the least hee can do is try too.

he closes his eyes. you smell like olive oil soap and jasmine. it's a clean smell. a safe one. you are warm. sturdy and stable in a way he hasn't been all his life. you squeez him to you with a gentleness he didn't realize you were capable of. that he didn't realize he was capable of receiving. he wonders, for a long moment, if he can really have this.

"don't lie to me, friend." you tell him.

you take a breath. there is a moment between that and when you lift your hand from his upper arm to rest it on his head. you comb your fingers through his hair like you are just as unsure about this as he is. it's been a long time since anyone touched him like this. your fingers trace the shell of his ear, and something in jim trembles. he has ached for this. he didn't realize until now.

"i would not lie about this," you say. he wonders if he can count it as a promise. he wants to. he wants you to mean it when you says kind things to him. he wants you to mean it when you treat him gently. he wants to deserve it, but he doesn't. and yet, you allow him to be greedy.

"okay," he tells you. your fingers run through his hair. he can't afford to make promises like you can, but he can do this. he can offer you this much. "i'll consider."

he is tired. he is weak. the world thinks he is dead. it can wait a little longer. he can stay here a little longer. and if it hurts him? well, he'll take whatever comes.

. ࣪✦ ៸៸ tottentz ▐ © 2024 ､ ? 𓄹 ܵ ۪

[msgexymunson]

walking around the house in nothing but one of eddie's old t-shirts... knowing that the second he sees you, you're getting bent over the nearest surface.

Well! How could I say no to this?? 

Warnings: p in v unprotected sex (wrap it folks) implied established relationship, dom Eddie x sub fem reader 

A/N: this was a good ask, exactly what I like, short and dirty (just like me) Comments and reblogs are what keep the cogs and springs in my steampunk heart oiled ❤️

Masterlist

Humming along to the radio in the warm light of the trailer, you try to be helpful, mixing ingredients in a plastic bowl you'd found in a cupboard. Eddie had left to do a deal and his uncle was away all weekend, so you'd crawled out of bed and decided to whip up some pancakes. He'd mentioned them the night before and left you with a craving so you thought you'd surprise him. 

You pad around the kitchen barefoot, only wearing one of Eddie's old Hellfire T shirts, the one he hated since it was too big. It was perfect for you as a makeshift dress, just covering the curve of your butt. 

Reaching on tippy toes you examine the top cupboard trying to excavate a frying pan from its depths. Over the sound of the tinny radio and your own clattering you don't notice the opening of the trailer door, or the metallic sound of Eddie's keys falling to the ground in shock. 

You cannot help but notice a warm torso against your back and an unmistakable bulge pressing directly against your ass. Jumping with shock, a squeal escapes your lips.

"Jesus Eddie you scared me!" 

No words. Just a firm hand gripping you by the hip, the other snaking fingers across your jaw, and a strong body pushing you hard against the counter. Panic grips you for a moment. What if it isn't Eddie? 

That is until hot breath winds its way into your ear. 

"Baby, look at you. What are you doing?" 

You attempt to answer, whilst he grinds his hardness against the fat of your ass cheeks. 

"I-I was, I was making pancakes. I was gonna surprise you?" Your words are unsure; he almost sounds mad, belying the urgent gestures of his hips.

"I mean, what are you doing in my shirt? Jesus baby, you look smokin' hot." 

You attempt to move but Eddie's holding you still, hand now gripping the nape of your neck whilst the other smooths across your curves and under the hem of his old shirt. As his fingertips ghost across your heat you can't help but back into his feathering touch. 

"Fuck, you're not even wearing panties? Well, fuck." 

His hand moves away, making you frown, until you hear the unmissable clink of his handcuff belt. Eddie unzips his jeans and pushes them down just far enough to release his cock from its denim confines. 

You feel the weeping tip rut against your slickened folds making you jolt. 

"Eddie, please." It comes out needy, begging; exactly how he likes it. 

"Yeah? You want it? Is that why you're wearing my shirt and nothing else?" You hear the grin in his voice and the wet noise of him spitting into his hand to wrap it around his dick. 

When he starts pushing into you a gasp forces its way out of your lungs; air expelling in relief at him entering you. 

Eddie gives you no time to adjust. He simply ruts into you animalistically, one hand gripping your hip leaving indents in your skin, the other leaning on the countertop as leverage, allowing him to drive into you as hard as possible. 

"You drive me crazy, just walking around in my shirt, and, fuck, nothing else. You fuckin' menace." 

"Eddie!" You try to retort but there's no air to breathe, unable to snap back when he's fucking you this brutally. 

You feel a deep bubbling in your stomach, a powerful release clamping down on your insides, about to spill. Eddie's thrusts become sloppy and somehow even deeper as you scream your release out into the world, pussy gripping him as if it were afraid to let him go. Eddie cums inside you with a drawn out groan, body flopping over yours on the countertop. 

Pressing soft kisses to your temple, he pulls from your heat and stands. You're not so lucky, legs wobbling, nearly giving out from under you like a new-born fowl. 

"Woah there, sweetheart" Eddie says as he grasps you firmly by your waist. "You OK?" 

Steadying yourself, you turn to face him. 

"Hi." 

"Hi." He chuckles, peeling a strand of hair out of your face. "You wanna go and clean up and I'll make the pancakes?" 

"Sure" You grin, planting a kiss to his chapped lips.

"You wanna hand me that then sweetheart?" 

Confusion floods your face, until your eyes follow his, and realise your gripping onto the spatula you had in your hands when he came in. You hand it over, fingers releasing from their death grip. 

"That good eh?" Eddie smirks, full of himself. 

"Shut up Munson" You hit his arm, but there's no force in it, as you make your way to the bathroom. It was, after all, a hell of a way to wake up. 

I only had a tag list for Rumour, so if anyone wants to be on my general Eddie taglist please comment/reblog to say so!

@munson-blurbs @eddiesprincess86

[forthelostones]

sev x bff!reader (nsfw, 18+) 🧚🏾‍♂️

loosely proof read. wrote on my phone. first sevika writing.

you and sev have been mates for a long time. after a good training session or a meeting, you’d meet up for a smoke and a drink or two. but the way she looked at you this night seemed a little different. her eyes were full of an identifiable glare of curiosity as if she hadn't known you for ages.

“great session today. you kicked my ass.” she chuckled, expelling smoke from her nostrils, nearly shouting over the bass in the music.

“yeah, what’s new.” you sipped some dark liquor from a gauntlet.

“haven’t had a lady handle me like that in … well, ever.” she smirked.

the look in her eyes was dark and mischievous. secretly, you had always found sevika very attractive. her umber skin and toned body left you speechless fairly often. you often thought about her when you were alone and desperate for connection. coming to the thought of her voice in your ear. but you could never truly admit that to yourself.

“i’m sure you get handled just fine.” you nudge, pulling the cigar from her fingertips and bringing it to your own mouth, tasting her drink ever so. sevika was comfortable with you in ways that might have jumped your friend status to best friend. although sev was a busy woman, she managed to court the occasional woman. sleeping with them and that was it. she confided in you with that information and sometimes the descriptions were so vivid that you became steaming with jealousy.

“fine is not good enough,” she rolled her eyes. “i need someone to do it behind doors, y’know?”

she looked off into the distance causally, as if that wasn’t an invitation. well, it couldn't have been, could it? you ignore her usual antics.

“hm, we could find you a girl here, that won’t be hard,” I say, scanning the room.

“i’m sure you’re right. so, why don’t you come over tonight?” she takes a big gulp.

if you and sev were just friends why was her mouth leaving bruises up and down your breasts right now?

the smoky flavor of the cherry in the cigar was now littered on your skin. you were enveloped in the scent of sev — her dark skin glittered with cedar and sage body oil and so were her sheets. how many nights did she come home and lay here alone, you thought.

she trails her hand over your body, from your shoulders down to your panties and she brushes her thumb gently against your wetness. you shudder at the feeling, trying not to show her how much you're enjoying this. just like ignoring the fact of how you didn't protest when she first laid you on this bed, despite the title you gave each other. friends.

“this okay?” she whispered.

“yes, sevika.” you moan.

“good.” she smiles and that gap you’ve learned to like over the years shines from the light emitting from the city. purple and green hues made her look even more beautiful.

her lips come close to yours and you meet her halfway, pressing yourself against that delicious mouth. she feels your hips rise and fall at each gentle stroke. you fell further into the pace she set. and when you can’t take it anymore, she pulls your panties aside to circle your clit.

she was perched on your thigh, slowly riding it, fully clothed, practically begging for relief. her ass bucked upwards and tucked down to stimulate both her lips and clit against the seam of her pants. the woman was too proud to say what she wanted, so you took the initiative and somehow those training moves came to be useful.

sev was on her back, shocked at the maneuver you made, as she easily has several pounds on you. without discussion you unbuckled her pants and pulled them off, tossing them into a corner of the room. you glide your hands up her thighs, admiring her bruises and tracing her scars. you raise your hand to brush a delicate stroke against her hole. her underwear was swallowed by her cunt, drenched, and all because of you. her metallic hand clanked as she guided your wrist up toward her clit. but you weren’t aiming for instant satisfaction, she had to wait. she had to beg.

[fluffy-dixon]

Title: Rose🌹

Summary: Reader Suffers from anxiety and struggles with a bad attack. Daryl comforts them.

Pairings: Daryl x Reader

Era: Prison

Word count: Approx 940 I wrote this on my iPad.

Warnings: extreme anxiety attack? It’s supposed to be fluff but apparently it’s also angst.

This was my first ever one shot which I have re-written – I wrote this for Valentines Day.

--

You awoke to a crushing weight on your chest, panic surging as you struggled for breath. Another episode was upon you.

The cell’s darkness was absolute, save for a sliver of light that outlined the door’s draped sheet. It was just enough to search for your blankets—the ones Daryl had gathered for you, knowing they eased your distress. Though not essential, he’d always find a way to bring one back, hiding it for you to discover later.

Desperately, you searched the cot’s emptiness for any sign of the comforting fabric.

But there was nothing, and time was slipping away.

Tears streamed down your face, each one scalding like molten rock. Your throat constricted, a vice tightening and choking off your breath. You screamed silently within.

Air. You needed air.

Swinging your legs out, you hauled yourself into a sitting position, hands bracing on your knees. You adopted the tripod stance Daryl had shown you—tripoding. Gasping, you tried to steady your breathing, passing out was not an option.

Inhale through your nose, count to four, exhale. Again, inhale, count to three but relief eluded you; none of the learned techniques were working.

You needed air.

The tingling in your hands spread, a fiery sensation engulfing your arms, neck, and face.

Reaching for the oil lamp you kept for emergencies, you overextended, expelling the last of your breath as the lamp crashed to the floor, shattering.

The noise was sure to draw attention, giving the council yet another reason to cast you out. You were already a burden; this was the last thing you needed.

Defeated, you collapsed back onto the bed, the cell spinning around you. Your body convulsed, each tremor a jolt of electricity coursing through you.

Then, his voice.

“Y/N? Y’kay in there?!”

The Archer. Your archer. Best friend. Soul mate.

Sweat drenched you, blurring your vision, but his silhouette was unmistakable against the door’s curtain.

A groan of panic escaped you, but it was enough. In an instant, Daryl was there, his arms enveloping you in a protective embrace.

“C’mere, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a deep, gravelly comfort. You clung to the resonance of his words, a cry of relief breaking free as you felt the tension begin to dissipate.

“The blankets n’working?” You shook your head vigorously, pressing it into the crook of his neck, seeking refuge in his sturdy embrace. The scent of smoke and musk from his skin enveloped you, a comforting aroma you’ve always cherished.

“I can’t—find—” Your words faltered, but he hushed you gently. The dizzying whirl of the room gave way to a soothing rocking motion, cradling you towards calmness.

“Breathe w’me. You can do this, just as I taught ya.”

Inhale through your nose, count to four, then exhale.

A sob escaped your lips, your throat raw and aching with each laboured breath. Daryl’s rough yet tender hands glided over your arms, across your shoulders, and into your damp, dishevelled hair. His touch was a mirror to your disarray. As you looked up, Daryl brushed away the stray hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ears with a gentle precision, his gaze never leaving yours. His deep blue eyes held you captive, mesmerizing you, while the dim light cast shadows that accentuated the contours of his face.

More sobs wracked your body, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stem the flow of tears. The imaginary shackles around your chest seemed to dissolve, allowing you to breathe freely once more. His method was effective.

“You’re doin’it, girl, I’m proud of ya,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your clammy forehead, undeterred by the dampness. The kiss lingered, grounding you back to the present. When he pulled away, the absence of his warmth left your skin exposed to the chilly air, sealing the moisture from his lips onto your skin. This was a first—a tender, romantic gesture from him. The blush that crept over his cheeks and ears was mirrored by your own shaky, yet genuine smile. You yearned to voice your gratitude to the archer, but all you could manage was to nestle your head against his chest once more, closing your eyes and syncing your breaths with his. Your hand rested on his side, anchoring you as the room’s spin subsided.

Daryl’s free hand began to trace letters on your back. Instead of pain, the path of his fingertip left a trail of goosebumps, pulling you back to reality.

H-A-P-P-Y V-A-L-E-N-T-I-N-E-S.

He released one arm from around your waist and reached into his shirt pocket, pausing as he spoke.

“I carved something for you.” Daryl’s words were always sparse but laden with meaning. You were the only one privy to this side of him, a treasure you held dear. Each rare glimpse of his vulnerability was cherished, knowing the bravery it took for him to reveal himself.

Sitting up a bit more, you watched as Daryl retrieved a small object from his pocket, placing it in his palm and shifting it into the light for you to see. A gasp slipped through your lips, and you covered your mouth, a silent tear tracing your cheek at the sight of his gift.

An oak rose head, intricately carved.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said softly.

[angelholme]

Vladimir Putin & The Anti-Trans Cult

So lets just sum this up, shall we?

The UK, USA and all of Europe is at war with Russia, because we think Vladimir Putin is an evil bastard who is trying to take over Ukraine. We think he is one of the most evil men in the world, and anyone who is associated with him is also an evil bastard who can’t be trusted.

Very few people disagree with this, and it is the primary reason that Russia are not allowed to take part in The Olympics.

Are you all with me so far?

Good.

There is an organisation called The International Boxing Association.

It is run by a man named Umar Kremlev. A man who is widely criticised for having very close ties with Vladimir Putin (you remember him, right?), for being associated with a Russian state owned oil company and for there being “irregularities” during the elections of 2021 and 2022. He is, in short, a very suspicious character and did I mention him being very close to Putin (the guy who is the reason Russia aren’t allowed in polite company or The Olympics).

He is also the reason why The IBA aren’t permitted to oversee boxing at The Olympics — the first time an international authority was ever expelled from The Olympics.

And — if this wasn’t enough — he was the man in charge when a woman named Imane Khelif was disqualified from the World Championships for “undisclosed reasons” just after she defeated the previously undefeated Azalia Amineva — the previously unbeaten Russian contender.

The IBA — under the direction of a Russian man who is close friends with Putin, and who disqualified someone who beat a previously unbeaten Russian contender — claimed she had “high testosterone levels” but then said “they had not undergone testosterone testing” (so quite how they knew how high her testosterone levels were is curious — did they just look at her and go “No — too high”?), then they said DNA testing proved she “had XY chromosomes” except there is no evidence that she has XY chromosomes, and the only evidence that The Russian lead IBA is willing to provide is “confidential” and shows “a competitive advantage”

So — to sum up — The IBA, which is run by a Russian who is close friends with someone most of the known world hates, and who the UK, USA and Europe is at war with, and who is suspected of being incredibly corrupt, banned a woman from The World Championship for no apparent reason other than she beat a Russian contender who was going to go for the gold medal.

Are you still with me? Because all of this is merely prologue. Now we get to the good stuff.

The woman at the centre of all this — Imane Khelif — is about to go for The Olympic Gold in Paris.

Now given everything I have just told you — that she was banned from The World Championship by a corrupt organisation run by a man with ties to the Russian regime because she beat a Russian contender who was going to fight for the gold and so far there has been no evidence whatsoever to back up the reason she was banned — where do you think the press in the UK, USA and Europe would be on her performance in The Olympics?

Yes. That’s right. They want her kicked out of the contest.

The anti-trans cult is so fucking dedicated to the bigotry that they are willing to side with a man who runs a corrupt organisation, who is in bed with Putin, who has absolutely no proof to back up any of his claims and who banned someone because they dared to beat a Russian fighter just so they can continue to target a woman who has always been a woman and who can punch harder than another woman.

It’s fucking ridiculous.

[danibee33]

ever after - purge!ghoap x reader

cw: dark themes, dubcon, noncon, graphic depictions of violence, blood, sa, overall just horror/slasher movie type of vibe *pls read at your own discretion*

word count: 1.9k

Purge - rid (someone or something) of an unwanted quality, condition, or feeling.

You’re not sure when the sun had set, or how long it’s been since the sirens sounded.

Unable to recall when you were separated from your small group.

You don’t even know if it’s your own blood you’re covered in, or someone else’s. Hopefully the latter..

All you know for certain is that someone is following you. And judging by the silent way they creep just within your peripherals, the knife in their hand glinting dangerously in the flickering, strobing lights, they were only trying to hide their presence enough to keep you waiting-

They want you to know you’re being hunted. Stalked like prey through the desolate back alleys.

You’re not made for this. You’re not a fighter, not a killer, you were never supposed to be here- alone. The grip you have on your own knife tightens to near painful, your breaths growing ragged and shallow, eyes desperately searching for an escape, for something, any fucking thing-

“Awh, c’mon pretty thing..” A terrible, raspy voice echoes off the brick around you, “Make it interesting for me.”

He’s getting closer, and you’re running out of time, and options. If you really ever had options to begin with.

“I think you’ll like what I have in mind for ya.”

Your stomach rolls, threatening to forcibly expel the insignificant amount of food you were able to choke down before the sirens rang out-

“I’ll be gentle.. At first. Get you nice and ready-” – you hear the deep groan he gives, inhaling through his nose, “mmh, fear has a smell, ya know? And fuck, pretty thing, you smell so goddamn good.”

You only just register the change in his tone, amusement turning to something far darker, obviously, he’s done toying with you- and without warning, long, lean arms wrap you up in a bear hug from behind. He’s so much bigger and stronger than you, it’s like he doesn’t even have to try to lift your feet from the ground, doesn’t feel when your heels strike at his shins.

Like the inexperienced idiot you are, you let the hunting blade in your hand clatter to the wet pavement- the potency of your fear numbing your fingers and hands. You try to scream out, but it’s muffled by a grimy, sweaty hand that smells of oil and pennies-

He shushes you almost.. sweetly. Like one might a child, his lips pressed right against the shell of your ear, “You’re a feisty one- I like that.”

With one arm still wrapped around your torso, pinning your arms down, he thrusts the other down the front of your pants, those same disgusting, stained fingers roughly cupping over your cunt- and you swear he fucking purrs against your neck.

But that fear that had gripped you so tightly minutes ago turns red and molten, something primal, instinctual taking over, something you’ve never quite felt before this moment- and you still can’t put a name to it -

With a nausea inducing crunch, the back of your head makes solid contact with his nose. The pain and shock is enough for him to shove you to the ground, your knees making contact first, the asphalt tearing your jeans, debris lodging itself in your soft flesh-

“You fucking bitch!”, the man wails, doubled over somewhere behind you.

You’ve already crawled away, your fingers frustratingly close to the hard rubber grip of your knife when you feel his hand wrap around your ankle. This time his hand isn’t close enough to silence the blood-curdling scream that tears itself from your chest, your free foot kicking vainly, fingertips clawing at the ground.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die terrified and alone on the greasy, wet pavement of a back alley that smells of garbage and ash.

And you wish it could be like the movies and books, where you simply blink yourself into peaceful dissociation- relive your greatest hits, see the faces of your loved ones one more time, maybe even shed a tear for all the experiences you’re going to miss.

But it’s nothing like the movies and the books.

You writhe under him, spit through clenched teeth, “Just do it.”

God, if you could see yourself now, you think you might actually be scared of her. Acting like an animal trapped in a wire, baring its teeth and hissing, howling even when you feel him rip the button and zipper of your pants,

“Don’t worry, pretty thing. I am-” He growls, lower half of his face still drenched in darkening crimson, “And I’m gonna make sure you suffer until the - very - fucking - end.”

Just as he cuts through your shirt, a thick shadow catches your eye. You try to focus on it, because you swear it moved. But, the longer you look, the more you convince yourself it was just your panic- no one was coming to help you. Hell, if anyone did come by, they might just help him-

Another guttural shriek bounces around the alley when he sinks his teeth into the fatty swell of your breast. Not hard enough to break skin, but you think you can already feel the bruise deep in your muscle- the pain radiating and unrelenting.

“You did this.” – he seethes, dirty fingers digging into your now bare thigh, “Could’ve made it good for ya, but then you had to be an ungrateful little brat.”

Your muscles shake and tremble from the prolonged effort of trying to get away, you taste blood in your mouth, but you’re not sure if it’s his or yours. Maybe you split your lip or bit your cheek, both, or more- you don’t know.

He pulls your underwear to the side, your leg pinned open by his own, “Ahh.. there she is. Been waitin’ for this-”

“Please-” You croak, your vocal chords shredded from screaming and shouting, “Please- don’t.”

Vomit rises in your throat when you feel his finger dip between your folds, your body shuddering to a halt- frozen once again.

“Awh..” He coos, pulling his hand away only to suck the offending digit between his lips, “Pretty thing wants to beg now, huh? Too bad-”

Liquid splatters across your face. It’s hot, which only confuses you more. It just keeps coming- soaking into your hair, and washing over your skin. And just as suddenly, the weight of your attacker is lifted, his body making a dull thud as it hits the ground.

What.. the fuck?

Your fear-addled brain isn’t keeping up. It isn’t comprehending this very abrupt change of events, or the fact that the unnaturally hot liquid that covers you reeks of iron, or that the shadows are moving again. Coming closer-

Wait, shadows?

Another scream is bubbling up your throat, but it's cut off when a hand wraps around your bicep, pulling your back off the ground, “Hey, s’allright lass, we got’ya.”

“Don’t-” You pull away, trying to cover your exposed chest.

You nearly stumble over getting to your feet, pulling the tattered remains of your shirt off the ground and jerking your pants back up. All the while, you’re trying to take slow steps in the opposite direction of the two men-

It’s dark, but you can see enough to know one of them is wearing a skull mask- and you wonder errantly if the skull sewn into the black cloth is actually real. The other one, the one that had helped you up, is standing just to Skull-Guy's side. The top half of his face covered by a red skull, though his looks more like a halloween costume.

“Well..” You say, voice far more confident than you expect, “What are you waiting for?”

They don’t move. Red-Skull simply meets the other’s eye before turning back to you, “I’m not running- so, do whatever you’re gonna do!”

You don't know where your raised voice and rage comes from. Maybe from the fact that you were still partially nude, your clothes thoroughly ruined, or maybe it’s because you’re covered in the blood of the man who had almost succeeded in defiling you-

“We saved you.” The taller one says, his accent different, brassy and curt.

“What do you want? A thank you card? JUST GET IT OVER WITH!”

Red raises his hands, “Woah, woah- we dinnae wan’ to hurt ye, lass. We heard ye screamin’. Saw what was goin’ on-”

When he steps forward, you take one back, “What do you want?”

The question seems to offend him, his eyes widening as he takes another step, “Don’ want anythin’. This is just what we do- we dinnae agree with the purge, but..” – he shrugs out of the thick jacket, giving you a view of his broad chest and strong arms, “it does make it easier to pick off the scum, y’ken?”

He holds the garment toward you, not daring to step any closer, “Glad we found ye’ when we did. Name’s Soap.”

You look at the jacket, and back to him, your arms still crossed over your chest- and somehow you’re even more confused than ever. They look dangerous, fuck, they are dangerous- they slit that man’s throat while he was hunched over you and then threw him to side like nothing more than trash. And now he’s offering you his clothes?

“What kind of name is Soap?”

A smile pulls at his lips, pushing the jacket a little closer, “ ‘M ‘fraid that’s classified.”

“We need to get a move on.” – shit, you’d almost forgotten the other man lurking behind Soap, his gaze hooded and indifferent.

“Cannae just leave ‘er here- the big bastard is Ghost, by the way.”

Finally, you take his offering, quickly wrapping yourself in the heavy material- immediately noticing the spicy, musky scent of him replacing the harsh metallic in your nostrils.

“Good girl..” Soap coos, still holding his hands up in a surrendering gesture. And something about the sweet way he says the praise makes your stomach flutter, “Can we help ye get back to somewhere safe? Are ye with anyone else?”

“N-no.”, you struggle to speak above a whisper, “We were separated.”

Soap clicks his tongue, looking back at the one he called Ghost, “Are ye close to where you live?”

Without ceremony, he tugs the mask off his face, hooking it on one of the numerous tabs that litter his vest. And it’s an odd thing, to see just a normal man beneath- he’s attractive, in a rough-around-the-edges way. Striking blue eyes offset by olive tanned skin and hair dark enough you don’t if it’s black or brown in the lack of light.

It takes longer than you’re proud of to stammer out another pathetic ‘no’.

Soap’s gaze lingers on yours, “Ye could come with us.”

“Johnny-”

Both of you look at Ghost as he makes his way closer, his sheer size overwhelming you in the moment- fucking Christ.

“C’mon, LT- she’s got no one. And there’s still-” – he looks at the diver’s watch on his wrist, “four hours left ‘til sirens.”

The giant man glares down at his partner before pinning you with the same unwavering look, and maybe, for just a fleeting second, you think you see something akin to hunger in his eyes. But it’s gone just as fast-

“Fine.”

*throws this into the tumblr-verse and runs*

thank you for reading🖤 there’s only a million and five ways a part 2 could go… hmmm decisions, decisions.

[whencyclopedia]

The Journeys of Paul the Apostle

The journeys of Paul the Apostle, as the New Testament relates in the Book of Acts, started with his conversion experience on the way to Damascus, after which instead of seeking to thwart the growing Christian movement, he helped spread it. His four journeys by land and sea across great lengths of the Mediterranean and over vast expanses of land in Asia and Europe totaled over an estimated 16,000 km (10,000 mi).

The Journeys of Paul the Apostle, c. 55 CE

Simeon Netchev (CC BY-NC-ND)

Paul's First Missionary Journey

After persecution in Jerusalem, Antioch was one of the places to which Christians fled, and it was from there Paul began his first missionary journey. Annexed by Pompey the Great in 64 CE and made the Roman provincial capital of Syria, with an estimated population of 250,000, Antioch was one of the primary cities of the East, along with Alexandria and Constantinople. Located at the northeast end of the Mediterranean on the Persian Royal Road, Antioch benefited from its location at the end of the Silk Road and its proximity to Greece, Anatolia, and Italy. As Hughs and Jones mention, not only was "its wealth derived from being a center of civil, military, and later ecclesiastical administration of much of the Near East but also from its position on the commercial road from Asia to the Mediterranean" (103).

Besides its own wine and olive oil production and as a center for the fulling of cloth products, silk from China, lapis lazuli from Afghanistan, dye-works from the Levant, and weaved silk from Damascus could all have found their way through Antioch for distribution throughout the northern Mediterranean areas. As it lay on the Orontes River and at the edge of a fertile plain, Antioch communicated commercially with the harbor of Seleucia 26 km (16 mi) downstream on the Mediterranean. As common travelers in ancient times hitched their rides on merchant vessels, the water portion of Paul's trip was aboard a cargo ship performing trade transactions. Thus, it was at Seleucia that Paul boarded a cargo ship to the province of Asia, stopping at the island of Cyprus.

Cyprus, with a prominent location at the eastern end of the Mediterranean, was also known for its wine and olive oil production. A scenario for trade would have been a combination of Eastern goods loaded alongside refined and agricultural products accumulated at Antioch. Then, with a stop at Cyprus for partial distribution, Cyprus' products would have been added for final distribution in Asia.

With fellow evangelist Barnabas and Barnabas' nephew, John Mark, Paul first landed at Salamis on the eastern end of Cyprus after leaving the port city of Seleucia and sailing west toward Asia. Like with many of his subsequent stops, Paul first visited the local synagogue, attempting a conversion of the Jews to Christianity. From Salamis, heading west, walking nearly the length of Cyprus, Paul and Barnabas came to Paphos, their point of departure for Asia. At Paphos, the proconsul Sergius Paulus would become a convert.

Paul the Apostle's First Missionary Journey (c. 46-48 CE)

Simeon Netchev (CC BY-NC-ND)

Heading to Asia from Cyprus, Paul's ship stopped at Perga in Pamphylia, in southwestern Turkey today. From Perga, John Mark departed for Jerusalem as Paul and Barnabas pressed on into Asia. At their first stop in Antioch of Pisidia, at the synagogue, Paul preached the history of Israel as he weaved in the story of John the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth, said to be a descendant of David, as the resurrected Savior, son of God. Though Paul and Barnabas initially gained Jewish and Gentile converts, a faction of opposing Jews expelled them from the city.

At Iconium, with similarly mixed results on learning of a plot to kill them, Paul went on to Lystra. As many in Lystra were worshipers of gods and their idols, Paul preached they should turn from worshiping "things" to worshiping the "living God" (Acts 14:15). When some hostile Jews came from Antioch and Iconium and won the crowd over, both groups stoned Paul. Thinking he was dead, they dragged Paul to the outskirts of the city. When some brethren came to retrieve the body, remarkably Paul had recovered and went back into town. The next day, Paul traveled east for Derbe. With his mission ending on a more positive note, large numbers rallied at Derbe to Paul's message. Deciding to head home, retracing their steps through Lystra, Iconium, and Antioch, after appointing elders in each church, the apostles went on to Perga; then, after preaching there a bit, they boarded a ship for a short junket west to the port city of Attallia, then from there they sailed back to Seleucia, then traveled up along the Orontes to Antioch.

Continue reading...

[64yrsold]

ACHES 22. concave

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) aches masterlist previous (21)

“Not tonight,” he mumbled, eyes half-closed as he stumbled down the hallway. I followed behind him, hand reaching into the space between us. 

“How bad is it?” I asked, watching him crawl into bed. I kneeled at his side of the bed, watching his eyebrows knot and twist. 

“Bad enough,” he groaned. “Can you turn off the lights and everything?”

“Yeah, of course,” I nodded. I flicked off the lamps, the lights in the hallway, the droning stereo in the kitchen, anything that made light or noise. 

I came back to our room, delicately sitting on the bed beside him. I moved slowly, trying not to disturb him. I reached into the bedside table, grabbing the lavender oil I always kept there for him. I placed a few drops of it onto my fingers, massaging the oil into his temples gently. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispered. His face relaxed as my fingers circled into his skin. 

“You want anything stronger?” I asked, and a smile flickered onto his face. 

“I just need to sleep.”

“Okay,” I nodded, my fingers lingering against his skin. I watched his eyes flutter, his breathing falling into an even rhythm. “It’s getting worse, you know.”

“I know,” he sighed. 

“I don’t think you’ve gone a night without a migraine in weeks,” I laid down beside him, over the blankets. I knew the movement required to crawl under the duvet would make him nauseous. He was quiet. “Can I please just take you to the doctor, just in case–”

“Nothing they can do, sweetheart.” His frown returned, his breathing quickened. 

“I know, just, maybe last time they missed something,” I looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

“Just let me sleep, okay?” I tried to ignore the annoyance laced between his words. He was exhausted, he was in pain. 

“Okay,” I sighed. I listened to him fall asleep, watching his head sink into the pillows. After an hour, his jaw went slack, resonant snores falling from his open mouth. I slipped under the blanket then, placing my hand on his chest carefully. I fell asleep to the gentle pound of his heart into my palm. 

I woke up when my hand fell into the sheets, sitting up and looking around the room for him. The light from the bathroom peeked under the door, and I listened to him retch and moan. I opened the bathroom door slowly, rubbing his back slowly as he vomited into the sink. I kissed his bare shoulders, letting him cough and spit. 

“Just go back to bed, darling,” he grunted, breathing heavily as he gripped the edge of the sink. 

“No,” I insisted. I stood behind him, pressing my body against his back. “I’ll be right here with you.”

He shuddered, gagging and choking, nothing left for his stomach to expel. 

“I have to sit,” he said weakly, sitting on the tile of our bathroom. He leaned against the cabinet, his cheek pressed to the cool wood. I took his pale hand in mine, holding it still between my fingers. His eyes were closed.

“You want some water?” I asked, and he shook his head slowly. 

“I just want to sleep,” he frowned, a long sob of a sigh slipping from his chest. I moved to sit beside him, pulling his head to my lap. I brushed my hand down his arm, then back up, letting my fingers roll over the valley between his muscles. 

“Sleep, then,” I murmured, and the tension in his shoulders loosened. He slept in my lap until the sun pooled into the bedroom, my bones aching against the tile. I memorized the spaces between the lines of his tattoos, and the way his hair curled around his ears. He woke up, groaning and clumsy, standing to find his way back to bed. I didn’t have the energy to follow him and dozed off, slumped against the bathroom cabinet.

He had left when I woke up. I got into bed and slept in the concave of his pillow.

-> next (23)

[maltmealo]

Chapter 17: Midnight movie thoughts

"what are you doing?"

"Crying."

"you're sad, why?"

"I miss him."

It was late, later than midnight you guessed, an old black and white rom-com playing on the little box TV in the corner. It almost felt like your college dorm room, except for the severe lack of a roommate and the stress of upcoming exams that you had pushed back studying for.

You weren’t focused on what the TV had to say, the words blending into the mindless chatter as you pressed your ear against the wall.

Pop pop pop!

Like throwing bacon in a hot pan, there was that faint crackling of Cliffjumper on the other side of the wall, reassuring you, that you weren’t completely alone. But that was worse, wasn’t it? The experience you had had with Doctor Sowa, a taste of true connection, the feeling of finally being able to relax as someone else supported you, that was what you wanted, not the mere presence of someone.

You lean away from the wall, a pit of anxiety boiling in your stomach as you wrap the thick blanket around your shoulders, hoping to give yourself that same feeling.

You wanted to feel that music.

A low tone broke you out of your thoughts, it sounded like fire, a warm crackle instead of the excited pop of oil, the sound of wood burning inside a ring of stones to keep it from spreading. You would have panicked if you hadn’t heard it before.

Arcee is the one person you have barely seen in your time here.

You stand up off your bed and peek out of the door, a light disappearing around the dark corner. Your legs itched at you to follow, and your rational mind told you that she probably didn’t want to be bothered so late at night when she was probably just walking back to her room; on the other hand, your irrational side had been making most of the decisions as of late, so you followed.

You drop the blanket and walk down the hallway, uttering a silent apology to Cliffjumper if he awakes and discovers you have left your room. Luckily the floor wasn’t as cold, your new socks doing most of the insulating as you turn the corner and head to the only room with a light on.

You peel into the room to see her sitting on a metal slab pushed up against the wall, a bright pink cube in her hand. She stops mid bite as she spots your head, she freezes before finishing her bite and finally speaking up.

“You can come in you know, it's creepy when you hover,” she says loud enough for you to hear as she motions for you to come closer, setting the pink cube down on the desk beside her.

You approach her, looking around the room as you do. Various objects lay scattered around, discarded sheets of metal with holes or cuts in them, motorcycle tires stacked in the corner, and road signs screwed to the wall.

“What's that?” You ask, pointing to the pink cube as Arcee arms your arm and lifts you onto the slab with her. She reaches over and grabs the pink cube, holding it out for you to see.

“This? Just an energon cube,” she shrugs, taking another bite out of it. It looked like jelly, but harder and somehow more liquidy, a thin sheen of pink sweat covering the cube, “want some?”

You nod and reach up, taking a small chunk of the cube and shoving it in your mouth. It was sweeter than what you had tasted when you had bitten Cliffjumper, almost like someone had dumped all of the sugar into one of those off-brand fruit punches that already had too much sugar in it. It was metallic too, almost like a sweeter version of the blood you had pumping through yourself.

You shudder, fighting the urge to expel the confectionary gel from your throat as you harshly swallow it. You wipe your mouth of the leftovers, forcing a smile up at Arcee.

“It's good,” You say forcefully. Arcee looks down at you with an amused grin, shaking her head and taking another bite of the cube.

“You don’t have to lie, you look like you just drank acid,” she says, chuckling and setting down the half-eaten cube, “Not exactly for humans.”

“Why would you give it to me then?” You ask, gagging finally as the syrupy taste lingers in the back of your throat like a cheap cherry cough medicine. Arcee offers you an apologetic smile, rubbing the back of her head.

“Curious, never really had a close interaction with a human before besides Fowler,” She shrugs, the concerned look still on her face as she watches you struggle to get the taste out of your mouth, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good it's just really sweet,” You cough, covering your mouth with your arm as you give her a small nod.

“It's low-grade energon, it’s processed enough for us to drink it but it's not very good,” She explains, leaning down and placing her forearms on her knees to get a better look at your face, “What are you doing up so late?”

“Thinking,” You say simply, leaning back on your arms and looking up at the ceiling.

Arcee cocks her head to the side, and raises what you assume to be a cybertronian version of a brow, “Care to share? Or will you continue to be thinking when you should be recharging?”

“Thinking seems better than sharing.” You respond simply, the sleek metal ceiling reflecting the image right back at you in a distorted blue and oddly human-like blobs.

“Uh huh,” She replies slowly, mimicking your position and looking up at your blob twins, “it's the thing that's keeping you up right?”

“The ‘thing’?” You ask, turning to look over at her.

“You can hear me right? You can hear all of us.” She says, gesturing to her chest where the soft rumbling of her spark originated, “That's what's keeping you awake?”

“That is… a part of it,” you say, turning back to the ceiling. The soft crackle comes back into focus, blocking out any of the ambient noise in the base. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant when you heard what the real thing could sound like, “you don’t…. It doesn’t sound real anymore.”

Her brows furrow and she shifts to a different position, putting her hand on your back to get your attention, “Not real?”

Another faint crackle cuts you off as you open your mouth, it was not fire, no, it was the oil that roasted over it.

“Yeah? I mean, I don’t know how to explain it, its… new.” you sigh, crossing your legs and glancing at the barely cracked doorway.

Arcee pauses, looking away for a moment and looking back, nodding, “it’s certainly something new for all of us, we’ve never exactly outlier on our team before.”

“Outlier?” you ask, vaguely remembering the words from Ratchet’s and Optimus’ description of what you were.

“Yeah, Outlier, it just means your spark is…” she trails off before snapping back, “Unique, more unique then it already is of course.”

Unique. That was certainly something you had heard time and time again in your life. It felt odd to describe this situation as unique even though it certainly was. Not many people had been in this… whatever it was.

“fun,” your voice sounds meek even to you, you don’t want to cringe though, you want to cry, the reason you felt so empty, like all your fight and want had been drained out of you was because you had pushed away the one thing that could keep you full.

Arcee is silent, looking down at you with an unreadable expression, she gently rubs circles into your back trying to figure out what to do.

“Hey, its not-” Arcee starts but she's quickly cut off by Cliffjumper entering the room.

“Whoa, you two hanging out without me? I’m feelin’ a bit left out,” Cliffjumper feigns annoyance and sits down beside the two of you, offering a grin as he taps your head with a finger, “As your official protector and guide, I gotta hang with you, can’t protect what ya can’t see.”

Arcee’s hand falls away from your back and is replaced by Cliffjumper’s, he smiles down at you comfortingly.

“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep,” You explain sheepishly, your voice returning to its designated volume finally.

“Sleep? Well i got the perfect remedy for that aliment,” Cliffjumper nudges you forward off the slab and onto his hand like he was collecting change off a counter.

Arcee stays silent for the duration of your exchange, deep in her own thoughts before she notices you looking at her in concern.

“I’m okay, you go get some sleep,” she says with a small smile, waving you off before she adds playfully, “Cliff isn’t going to bite.”

“Har har,” he deadpans, dropping you on his shoulder and speaking in cybertronian again to her. You try to listen in and understand some of it, but it doesn’t sound like anything you’d ever heard, sharp tones that evened out into noises you’d never even heard, there was no rhythm, even if you were sure that there was a repeated word or two. It wasn’t the words you spoke yourself, it wasn’t flowing smoothly, but they spoke it as if it was as easy to swallow as water.

Arcee responds in the same language, nodding and giving him a weak smile that reminded you of yours not even a few minutes ago. Cliffjumper nods back and begins to walk out of the room.

“Bye, Arcee, thank you.” You wave goodbye to her, turning back and settling down in the dip of his shoulders.

“So,” Cliffjumper starts, walking down the hallway at a steady pace, his spark crackling warmly up at you, “how's the spark doin’?”

You put your hand to your chest like the hole was in your chest instead of your nonphysical soul that you didn’t even know was real two months ago. It was definitely still there, you felt like a water balloon that had gotten poked by a needle, not popping but slowly deflating.

“Could be worse,” you shrug, pulling your hand away from your chest and leaning up against his neck.

“Ever the optimist, aren’t we?” he chuckles, tilting his head to the opposite side when you lean on his neck, his shoulders twitch slightly, jostling you away from the gentle pulsing of the cabling running along his neck, “You gotta lean on my neck cable like that?”

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” you ask apologetically as you move away from his neck cable.

“Nah, you’re fine, just ah… ticklish as you humans would say,” he says after a moment, stopping in his tracks as you arrive at his door, “Nothing big, I would let you do it if I wouldn’t accidentally knock you off my shoulder.”

Before you could respond he entered his room, the bright red lighting hitting your eyes and making you squint. As your eyes adjusted to the soft red LED light of the room you could see it was fairly… dense, unlike Arcee’s room which only had a few things, his room had many, An apple tree planted where the floor had been pried open to sound the dirt below, the slab covered in a giant quilt that was most definitely not made by him and various other things that looked to be from a farm.

“Your room’s nice,” you compliment as he plucks you off his shoulder and plops you down on the quilt, sitting down right beside you and looking around.

“Yeah, it is nice, right? Got most of this stuff from the first human I met,” he adjusts the quilt and you’re pulling closer to him, now effectively leaning against his side as he continues, “Nice old lady, let me set up in her barn, even made me that quilt when the winter kicked in.” he pauses, a reminiscent look on his face before he continues, “that’s why I decorated this place like this, honor to hand that feeds or whatever.”

You let out a breath through your nose and you smile, “That sounds lovely, what was she like?”

“She was… warm, hardworking even though all her systems were failing, she took care of her farm until she offlined,” he says solemnly, rubbing the fabric of the quilt through his digits. He shakes his helm and looks down at you, “Sorry, didn’t mean to get sentimental there.”

“It's okay,” you comfort, soothingly patting his thigh, “Sentiment is good, makes you more human.”

“I ain’t a human, but I appreciate the sentiment,” he chuckles, patting the top of your head with his digit and grinning down at you. “You seem well adjusted to us giants walkin’ around you.”

“Well, yeah, sort of,” you shrug, waving his hand away from your head with faux annoyance, “why do you bring it up?”

“Just ah… nuthin’, I don’t want you to be scared of us, ya know? Humans always seem to be so… scared of big such, and well if you haven’t noticed,” he gestured down at his body with flourish, “we’re big stuff.”

“No, I'm not scared more so…” your voice trails off, your mouth hanging open as you try to find the words that refuse to come to your mind.

“Everything else?” he questioned.

“Everything else.” you confirm, staring down at the ground.

He didn’t say anything more, watching you carefully for a moment before scooping you back up and laying down. Before you could protest, he had laid you on his chassis, right above his spark chamber if Ratchet’s anatomy classes and your senses said anything. Popping took over your senses, bubbling oil and sharp crackles echoing through your mind.

“Everything else ain’t good for you, only a couple of emotions at a time, yeah?” he chuckled, vibrations rumbling through his chassis and through your body. The hard metal under you was warm, like a car’s hood after running for hours.

Your head nods slightly and he chuckles. He reaches a servo up and cups your back, the warmth surrounding your body so the cold wouldn’t invade your poor human flesh.

“You should recharge, everythings gonna be the same when you wake up,” his voice comes out smoothly, his thumb tapping on the berth gently before he stops.

“G’night, Cliffjumper,” You mumble, too entranced by the warmth embrace and the sound of his spark to give him anything else.

His body stills under you as he feels your breathing even out. He glances down at you, not even risking moving his neck lest he wakes you up. He could feel each breath you took, your chest rising and falling in a slow pattern. It was a comfort, he knew you were alive and well. He didn’t quite know why he felt like that, you had bit him, he had scared you, it should have been something that made you hate him and he the same but…

He couldn’t finish that thought. He didn’t want to. Instead, he dimmed the lights and slowly started to go into recharge.

“G’night, squishy.”