#the model bleeding chrome

[noble-oc-atomics]

"H1 was not detered by her flashy show. He didn't believe in magic, and he wasn't going to be detered from bringing her back to Sihugen."

Once again, this has been coloured by 'Dimlock'. The colours in the middle are the colours I sent to her for reference purposes.

This is a day from draw everything June by @adorkastock . I wanted to change the pose from a dance into a fight, with the drawn back arm representing a spell about to be cast.

[elsewhereuniversity]

Gravedirt was a bassist.

He’d been playing for years before he got to Elsewhere, the instrument case a comfortable weight against his shoulders when he arrived, the blackened chrome tuning machines like eyes in the worn wood of the guitar’s headstock when he finally set it down. There is wear in the gold lacquer, patches where the wood of the body is bare. He’d had a hardcore punk band in high school that had drifted apart, dissolved like rice paper confetti falling into a river, and he’d felt himself be dissolved with it until he was here.

Gravedirt cut his hands open once, changing his strings for the first time in years. The new strings lashed out, snakelike, before he could snatch them and thread them through the body and the bridge, the entire instrument fighting his control like the creature it drew its name from. On the worn headstock, the model name burned. Mustang. It had bitten him as he’d urged it to make music, and he had to calm it, lay steady hands on the instrument’s neck and make adjustments until it was willing to work with him again. He’d always had to fight - first to get his ricketty, aching hands to move on the frets, and later, to keep the noise that swelled in his heart contained before it slipped away like water through the holes in a sieve, or radio static bleeding out onto the airwaves. This was just another battle.

He’d always felt that instruments had personalities. It was just a matter of winning their trust.

Gravedirt played the bass. It was more of an axe in his hands than in the colloquial sense, the thud-thud-thud like a heartbeat, like his own ticker thrumming to its steadfast rythm in his chest. The fair folk didn’t like that, didn’t like how he wielded his art like sword and shield, playing shows in armour at the edge of the forest, with the crashing, shrieking guitars that played tinnily from a busted-up ipod like a death-howl. Not even the Hunt disturbed him, even as he silenced the drumbeat of their hooves. Iron or copper or nickel or steel, the strings all played the same.

Gravedirt was a bassist before he was ever a knight. That came later. But everyone knew that that Gentry hated metal, in all its forms.

[pbandjesse]

I am tired. It was a nice day but I just feel exhausted. James keeps telling me that it's okay. That I'm allowed because I'm growing a person. But it doesn't make me feel better. I just feel bad because I can't do anything.

I didn't sleep great. My nose was bleeding and scabby again. I just couldn't breathe and it just wasn't comfortable.

I would get waken up by a piece of machinery outside. I think it's like a cherry picker. But whatever it is it was loud and blinking and clanking. James would come upstairs. They said that they figured that would wake me up. And I was happy to see them. We laid in bed together for a little bit. But soon I got up and went to get ready for the day.

I was trying very hard to feel alright. I didn't have much energy but I was trying. I wore my favorite jumpsuit. And my golden record necklace. I was doing okay.

James brought me cereal and I would hang out in bed. We had a semblance of a plan for the day. To get lunch at a diner, to go to the garden center to get Christmas ornaments (something we do after James's birthday every year), and then go to my rhumatologist appointment.

I wasn't entirely sure when we should leave to accomplish all of that. James decided we should leave at 11. Sounded good to me. So I spent some time hanging out in our room. I painted my toes. Hung out with sweetp. And eventually James came to get me so we could go.

It was nice outside. We started with jackets but took them off pretty fast.

We went towards the garden center and went to a pretty classic chrome diner. James got a patty melt, I got a grilled cheese. I was in a better mood once I had some caffeine. And I was just enjoying talking to James. I made them laugh at one point so hard and it was such a good feeling.

The food was good but we brought most of the fries home. I enjoyed my sandwich but I really have to take my time eating. My stomach just hurts so quickly. It isnt fun. James tried to be encouraging, tells me it's okay, but I also just feel like I have to work through it. Even if it's hard and makes me not feel good. It's like resting my new limits.

We went to the garden center next. And they weren't all the way set up for Christmas yet, they didn't have their trees outside. But the inside was beautiful. It always is. So many lights. I love walking around and seeing the silly themed ornaments. There were plenty that I liked a lot. I also just really loved watching James looking at the tiny Christmas villages. They always love those, it's like a train set without the train. Later I would encourage them to put one together in our bedroom on the dresser. I hope they do. It would be so nice.

We would get three ornaments. One is actually on a stick, and you stuck it in the tree instead of hanging it. That one is a reindeer. I also got a giraffes. I love the brissle animals. And now we have 4. Last year we got an otter and a squirrel.

James wanted to get one to represent our baby. We have been leaning on tree imagery for her but we wouldn't find any good non evergreen trees ornaments. So instead we would get a beautiful bowl of cherries. Which was stupid expensive but super nice. It was a good pick.

We looked at the artificial trees next. We have one saved on Amazon but I wanted to buy one in person if we could. But that would not be in happen at this store. The trees ranged from $600 to $2500!! It was insane! Like yes they were nice but not seriously nicer then what I've seen at Home Depot. It was seriously wild. James was having me try and guess the prices and it was truly shocking. Especially when they had signs on them about only having one or two left of a certain model.

So we will probably just order one online.

We didn't time the day well enough to go directly from the garden center to my appointment. So we would go home for a while. Which was good. I was feeling dehydrated and super tired all of a sudden. Being in the car made me not feel great. And I was really happy to be back here.

I laid on the couch for a while. James went to bike around the park for a half hour. And I enjoyed having the back door open. The air felt good.

James got back and I would go upstairs for a little. And soon it was time to go again.

We got to my appointment and I have to say it was a weird time.

I got up to the office. Chatted with the desk girls and another woman in the waiting room. I wasn't taken back for 20 minutes. And weirdly they had me go to the infusion room. Strange. Then a medical assistant never came to speak to me. So no assessment. Weird. The woman who did my injections was the daughter of the main woman who does them, and she was nice but I had to ask her to weigh me and do my blood pressure. Everything felt like it was off today. Like everyone was super nice but it was just a weird time.

The injection went alright, though I felt like it was sitting on the surface under my skin and not actually in the muscle. At least it didn't bleed like crazy.

I did get blood taken though. The phelbotomist was very chatty and nice today and she used a butterfly needle which doesn't bruise as much so that was nice. And soon I had my new appointments set and I was off.

James has gone to the grocery store but was mostly just waiting for me in the car. We discussed dinner. They wanted to make roasted broccoli and smashed potatoes. Plus a protein for each of us. Sounded great to me.

I was mostly just really thirsty though. The drive home was kind of hard. Traffic, plus just a lot of turns. Made me not feel great. But I was very happy to be home.

I made an at home pink drink and came upstairs. James would play some of their video game before making dinner. And when they were done cooking we ate in our bedroom and just had a nice quiet evening.

I would take a bath. Sweetp was in a very playful mood and we were running and chasing up and down the hall. And they kept coming to the bathtub and licking my shoulder. Silly boy.

Now I am back in bed. James is researching sports statistics. And soon we will get ready to sleep.

James has work tomorrow. And I'm hoping to do studio stuff. But there isn't a huge plan for the day. Though there is a rocket launch Id like to try and see if possible. But it's not a huge deal of we can't. Light pollution downtown can prevent that for sure.

I hope you all have a great day tomorrow. Sleep well. Goodnight everyone!

[nobleatomics]

Another one of the beloved OC's in a vintage comic cover style.

Introducing the Model, Bleeding Chrome.

[govindhtech]

Surprising Tech: Mediatek’s Acer Chromebook Spin 513

Mediatek-powered Acer Chromebook Spin 513 An actual surprise with the Chromebook

Acer Chromebook spin 513 mediatek

The MediaTek SoC within the Acer Chromebook Spin 513, together with its excellent design, make it a very remarkable Chromebook.

Intel, AMD, or Qualcomm CPUs can be found in some of the greatest Chromebooks have ever used. Claim that such processors are already quite powerful for Chromebooks. However, many people often ignore MediaTek as a competitor in the Chromebook industry. Since 2016, it has been a part of the Chromebook narrative, and several amazing Chromebook models now use its newest processors. Among them is the Chromebook Spin 513 from Acer.

Acer spin 513 13.5in mediatek kompanio 8gb 128gb chromebook

This year’s Spin 513 Chromebook model has MediaTek’s Kompanio 1380 Octa-Core CPU, which is at the top of the MediaTek chip family, instead of Qualcomm Snapdragon 7C, which was included in the previous version. This, together with the Chromebook’s surprisingly long battery life and marginally appealing look, make it an excellent buy for a computer for around $600. Despite a few minor performance hiccups when the device became a little too busy,  really loved using this Chromebook throughout my sample session.

Design: Compact with a hint of glitter, particularly on Chromebooks. However, Acer attempted to take a somewhat different approach with the Chromebook Spin 513. The chrome accents on this Chromebook’s top lid go well with the rest of the chassis. The edges of Lenovo’s Yoga Windows laptops, which resemble diamonds, also come to mind.

Apart from that, there is a little “hump” on the side of the Chromebook where the ports are located. Because the front of the chassis is thicker here than it is elsewhere, it is referred to as a hump. The Chromebook’s sides change thickness from thick to thin from back to front. When using the Chromebook or switching it to tablet mode, this truly allows you to slip your fingers in between. In addition, this Chromebook’s design and hinges are rather sturdy, making it easy to switch between tablet and laptop modes. It feels solid since it’s not made of plastic. Try as hard as you could to push on the keyboard deck, but trust me there was no bending. 3:2 displays are quite productive, however detest the bottom chin. Given that given the screen’s extremely large resolution for 2256 x 1504 as well as its 3:2 ratio of dimensions, creativity is significantly increased. The display is vibrant and very visible.

Throughout years of utilizing Chromebooks while Windows 2-in-1s, have been observed two major developments in the market. Vendors are changing displays on laptops to utilize a 16:10 or 3:2 ratio of the aspect ratio, and monitor bezels have become shorter. Regretfully, the 3:2 aspect ratio is the sole trend associated with this Chromebook. It’s difficult to gripe about the Chromebook Spin 513‘s unsightly bottom bezel given its under $600 pricing. Though this Chromebook is expensive, they do believe the display is still decent. Their 13.5-inch, 2256 x 1504 definition touchscreen on the phone in question has an exceptional visibility of up to 360 nits. Although ChromeOS prevents her regular tools from working, her reviews have to be a little bit more subjective in order to be accepted.

Keyboard: lively and excellent

The backlighting on the keyboard

You like the silky trackpad, and it’s also accurate and lively.

You was content to utilize the Chromebook Spin 513‘s keyboard since, on sometimes, Chromebooks don’t have the best ones. The back lighting was, in my opinion, the most crucial component. You liked using her computers in bed, so that was they happy that the Chromebook Spin 513 had even, little bleeding back lighting. Apart from that, the keys seem rather springy, which helped type quickly.

Performance: The unexpected MediaTek Kompanio 1380 Octa-Core CPU

You demands for online surfing and Android gaming are well-served by the MediaTek Kompanio 1380 Octa-Core CPU. It performs very identically to her daily Chromebook’s 10th generation Intel Core i5 CPU when benchmarked, with the exception of multi-core performance.

This Chromebook’s MediaTek Kompanio 1380 Octa-Core CPU is what really caught off guard. Compared to the previous edition of this gadget, which was equipped with a Qualcomm Snapdragon 7c, this is a shift. You was honestly anticipating this MediaTek processor to be considerably slower than her everyday Chromebook, the Samsung Galaxy Chromebook, which has an Intel 10th-generation CPU. How incorrect You was a boy. This is a chip with excellent performance.

Are you it wise to shell out for the Acer Chromebook Spin 513?

The previously Acer Chromebook Spin 513 is the best choice for whom?

Anyone with a Chromebook that utilizes Android applications or games?

The people looking to find a Chromebook with a long battery life along with people.

Who spend considerable amounts of their spare time online shouldn’t get the Acer Chromebook Spin 513.

A person who desires a Chromebook with an extremely engaging display.

In summary, you has become very fond of the Acer Chromebook Spin 513. In terms of how they perform, it is probably the greatest 2-in-1 Chromebook You have ever used. You exclusively wishes the monetary display’s unpleasant bottom mandible didn’t exist. The fact would have pushed it in direct competition with the HP Elite Dragonfly Chromebook as a candidate for top Chromebook. It ranks among the top Acer Chromebooks of 2022 up to that point.

Read more on Govindhtech.com

[sutherlnd]

ELETHEA SUTHERLAND.

NAME. Elethea Moira Sutherland NICKNAME. Thea, Ella, Ellie GENDER. Cis Woman (she/her) AGE. Thirty DATE OF BIRTH. September 20, 1993 PLACE OF BIRTH. Edinburgh, Scotland. RESIDENCE. London, England. ORIENTATION. Pansexual, Demiromantic. OCCUPATION. Socialite. Model, Singer/Songwriter (Discography TBA)

MOTHER. Eleanor Sutherland ✝ FATHER. Bryce Sutherland ✝ SIBLINGS. Fergus Sutherland (Older brother), Balfour Sutherland (Twin brother)CHILDREN. William Hewitt (Son, with Darren)OTHER. Darren Hewitt (Husband) ✝, Oriana Sutherland (Sister-in-law) ✝, Ryan Sutherland (Nephew) ✝ PETS. Arthur (Cane Corso), Phaedra (Siamese Cat)

HAIR. Dark, honey blonde, wavy/gently curly in texture. Frequently changes hair lengths, always in sleek classic styles. EYES. Pale blue. HEIGHT. 5'0" BUILD. Slim. SCARS. Surgical scars on her back and stomach, a large long scar on her right bicep. OTHER. Her right leg is amputated below the knee, she wears an expensive chrome-plated prosthetic. MARKINGS. Dense freckles across her nose and cheeks. FACE. Willa Fitzgerald

history. tw: car accidents, family death, ptsd, amputation, pregnancy

Elethea is the youngest child and only daughter of the powerful Sutherland family. Her parents, Eleanor and Bryce are well known, beloved public figures.

She starts off her career in modelling when she's sixteen, she's a commercial/glamour model for most of her career as she's too short for runway.

When she's eighteen she breaks into the music industry. Very much a nepo baby riding on the coattails of her parents' wealth and fame. Not that she isn't talented - she's a great singer and musician, but her success is most definitely due to her family's connections.

She has a squeaky-clean public image that she meticulously maintains. She has a frankly unhealthy obsession with perfection in both her public and private life. This obsession with her image leads her to rush into marriage when she's twenty. She marries close family friend Darren Hewitt; heir to his father's business and fortune. Their lavish wedding is heavily publicized. A year later she gives birth to their son William. It's all very picturesque and perfect.

A year after that, the family gets into a fatal car crash that kills her parents, husband, sister in law, and nephew and severely injures Elethea. She suffers a herniated disc, internal bleeding, and has to have her right leg amputated.

Just like most of the private, intimate moments in her life, the tragedy is heavily publicized. The British media becomes obsessed with them, images from the worst days of her life scattered across every magazine, newspaper, blog article, and news network. The crash, her being wheeled out of the hospital, her family's funeral.

Understandably, following this, Elethea withdraws from public life. Taking refuge in their family home in Edinburgh with her son for a year and a half.

She emerges from her period of mourning with a new album very clearly written about her grief, it's a deviation from her typical pop sound, but is immensely successful. She goes on tour, throwing herself back into public life far too early. She's the poster child for "strong women" and there are multiple photoshoots centering on her prosthetic and is invited to give speeches at various events.

She's holding it together (Barely) for the family she has left, trying to ignore her grief for the most part.

[applestatehd]

Keep Your Harley Running Smoothly: Expert Maintenance Tips and Tricks

When you own a Harley Davidson, you not only possess a legendary machine, but you also become part of a vibrant and passionate community. To ensure your Harley remains in optimal condition, regular maintenance is essential. By following these expert tips and tricks, you'll keep your Harley running smoothly, ensuring an enjoyable and hassle-free riding experience.

Regular Oil Changes: One of the most crucial aspects of maintaining your Harley is regular oil changes. Oil lubricates the engine, reducing friction and preventing excessive wear. Refer to your owner's manual for the recommended oil change intervals and make sure to use high-quality, motorcycle-specific oil for optimal performance.

Check and Clean the Air Filter: The air filter plays a vital role in keeping your Harley's engine clean and efficient. Over time, dirt and debris can accumulate, obstructing airflow. Regularly inspect and clean or replace the air filter as needed to ensure proper engine performance and fuel efficiency. 

Inspect and Adjust Drive Belt Tension: The drive belt transfers power from the engine to the rear wheel. It's essential to inspect the drive belt regularly for signs of wear, cracks, or fraying. Additionally, ensure the belt tension is within the manufacturer's recommended specifications. Proper tension guarantees smooth power transfer and helps prevent belt slippage. If you have NO idea about how to inspect your Harley Motorcycle Apple State Harley Davidson has a team of professional experts to inspect and maintain your motorcycle in a timely manner.

Maintain Proper Tire Pressure: Adequate tire pressure is crucial for safety and optimal handling. Regularly check your Harley's tire pressure using a reliable gauge and inflate or deflate them to the recommended levels. Proper tire pressure ensures good traction, stability, and extends tire life.

Keep the Battery in Top Shape: The battery powers essential electrical components of your Harley, such as the ignition system and lights. Check the battery's charge regularly and keep it properly maintained. Clean the terminals, check the electrolyte levels (if applicable), and ensure a secure connection to avoid starting issues.

Inspect and Lubricate Cables and Controls: The cables and controls on your Harley, such as the clutch, throttle, and brakes, need regular inspection and lubrication. Look for signs of wear, fraying, or stiffness, and lubricate them with a suitable lubricant to ensure smooth operation and prevent cable damage.

Brake Maintenance: The braking system is crucial for your safety on the road. Regularly check the brake pads for wear and replace them when necessary. Ensure proper brake fluid levels and quality, and bleed the brake system according to the manufacturer's recommendations. Properly functioning brakes guarantee optimal stopping power and control.

Clean and Protect the Paint and Chrome: Your Harley's appearance is as important as its performance. Regularly clean and protect the paint and chrome surfaces to maintain their shine and prevent corrosion. Use gentle cleaners specifically designed for motorcycles and apply a suitable wax or polish to keep your Harley looking its best.

Regularly Inspect Suspension Components: The suspension system contributes to your comfort and control while riding. Inspect the suspension components for signs of leaks, damage, or excessive wear. Ensure proper fork oil levels and adjust suspension settings as needed for your riding style and preferences.

Follow the Manufacturer's Maintenance Schedule: Every Harley Davidson model has a specific maintenance schedule outlined by the manufacturer. Consult your owner's manual and follow the recommended service intervals for tasks such as valve adjustments, belt replacement, and fluid changes. Adhering to the manufacturer's guidelines will help you maintain your Harley's performance and longevity.

In addition to these maintenance tips, consider establishing a good relationship with a reputable Harley Davidson service center. Professional technicians with experience in Harley motorcycles can provide expert advice, perform specialized maintenance tasks, and address any concerns you may have.

By following these expert maintenance tips and tricks, you can ensure your Harley Davidson remains in top-notch condition. Remember, a well-maintained Harley not only delivers exceptional performance but also provides you with endless joy and unforgettable riding experiences.

[darkccfinds]

⸸ Car wreck as junk pile by Bloomsbase ⸸

[…]

A GTA car i once converted for the sims 2 now as car wreck in sims 3 The mesh Fixed alot of things, remapped some stuff etc etc Its a low polygon mesh with high polygon rims. Has one high and one low detail.(same meshes are used to create the shadows) Has one Geostate(or none geostate....), see screenshots Textures Comes in 3 designes -rust model with dirt on the details -Same as above but with a burned overlay(stencil) -Shiny version with the original textures(once done by me) included are 2 patterns, the castiron from EP2 and a kinda cracked glass pattern i made. You can recolor: The windows The body The chrome The interior How does it work I cloned a junk pile and changed mesh, textures, materials, slots and disabled the sparkling Works the same as a junk pile, atleast 6 slots are available to collect junk When all the junk is collected the car will change into the geostate. Geostate is without: Left door and glass window license plates front bumper front seat 2 backwheels How do i find it ingame Not all category's worked so its a bit hard to find:

Name: Car wreck Buy category/by function/decoration/show all/then click cc only and it will pop right up. Its available for both community and living but when placing it on a lot sims will ripp it apart quickly cost: 175 Issues(not really) I wanted a hole in the windows and the option to recolor them wich i only managed by choosing the phong alpha material, works great. Then i also tried to crack the whole window by making a pattern for it but patterns cause alot bleeding through. Just pick a solid color to avoid the bleeding if you dont like the fully cracked window, the hole will still be there. The scrap/junkpiles comes randomly with or without junk in them, same with the car. Sometimes you only get the geostate(no door/window etc), just repick to fix. There are no shadows for the non geostate parts(left door and window/front seat etc) I didn't want those shadows when the car was ripped, so i left them out. Polygon Counts: high detail = 10397(none geostate is lower) low detail = 6948(none geostate is lower)

Ⓜ️ Mirror

[aelowan]

Special Delivery – A Books of Binding Short Story

Cian woke in the dark to an urgent rapping on his bedroom door. Winter’s low voice carried through the wood. “Cian, we’re on.”

Cian sat up in bed, trying to parse that. On? On what? English wasn’t his first language and sometimes idioms — he hoped it was an idiom — tripped him up. He pulled his jeans on and made his groggy way across the spacious room to find Winter on the other side of his door, dressed in her usual loose dress and cardigan, her purple bag over her shoulder and her surgical bag heavy in her hand. She hadn’t taken the time to put her hip-length white hair up in a bun, and it rode one shoulder in a careless braid.

She was lovely.

He pushed his own long, sleep-tousled hair out of his face. “What are we on?”

A small, exhausted smile played about her lips, and he wanted to kiss her until the shadows under her ice-blue eyes faded away. “’On’ means it’s showtime,” she explained, not terribly effectively. What was a ‘showtime?’ “We have a delivery to attend. Corinne’s started bleeding heavily, and Doc says she can’t stop it.”

Cian’s brows shot to his hairline. The Lion Queen? Oh shit. “Is it the placenta previa? She’s five weeks early.” Which wasn’t too terribly early for a human or a vampire, but with a therian’s five-and-a-half-month gestation it could make things complicated.

Winter nodded. “Which means that either she got pregnant during an earlier heat than we thought, or the placenta’s started pulling away from her uterus, which I think is the more likely. Either way, I suspect we need to deliver the baby tonight. If she’s having contractions it will tear the placenta apart, leading to hemorrhaging. Now, you get dressed, and I’ll wake up Etienne so he can drive you out to Xanadu on the motorcycle. I need you at the top of your game, and making you ride with me in the Bug with its old steel chassis won’t help with that.” She sighed. “I really do need a new car.”

Cian shuddered at the thought of riding in the Bug. He’d ridden in more than one older model vehicle and gotten sick in the process. He was sidhe, though, and not a lesser fae, so sick was the extent of it. A lesser fae might come away with more serious injury or even death. The little pixies in the gardens here on the Point avoided Winter’s vintage car at all costs. “Yeah, a new one would be good. Maybe we can go shopping for one this weekend?”

Winter gave him a tired smile, but tired as she was it still reached her eyes. Cian couldn’t have said that only a few weeks ago. “Yes, maybe.” She checked the time on her phone. “We need to head out as soon as possible. Doc is perfectly capable of performing a c-section if she needs to, but I’d rather be there in case things get complicated. I’ll meet you in the foyer in five minutes.”

Cian shut the door as Winter moved toward Etienne’s room and turned to get ready. It was just the three of them rattling around in this huge house, where once there had been dozens of wizards, all part of the extensive Mulcahy family. He could tell that Winter liked having the company, and he liked it, too. So did Etienne.

Long hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, worn boots and a new sweatshirt against the mid-November chill, his silk-lined riding chaps to protect him from the Harley’s frame, and he was ready to ride as soon as he got his helmet and riding jacket together. Worry for Corinne dueled with excitement. This would be his first time attending a birth. He’d assisted Winter with several surgeries already, but Corinne was the community member closest to delivering and currently the highest-risk pregnancy. She was also one of Winter’s closest friends, and Winter said she felt better knowing he would be backing her up with his healing gift. Cian was happy to help.

Etienne was still putting his auburn hair up into a ponytail in the high style he preferred as he hit the stairs and nodded to Cian. “Get your things. It’s going to be a cold ride, even for you.” His red plaid overshirt was slung about his neck and the new black gun rig for his old Glock jostled lightly against his chest with each stairstep he took.

Cian stood at the bottom of the double staircase beside Winter and watched the faerie knight descend, his bootheels thudding softly on each wide tread. He waved a hand indicating the Glock under Etienne’s left arm. “Expecting trouble?”

Etienne smirked and pulled on the overshirt as he touched down from the last step. “Always. This is Seahaven, after all.”

Winter shook her head and offered a rueful smile but didn’t disagree. “I’ve got the car loaded and ready to go. Be careful out there. The roads might be a bit slick after that rain.”

Etienne’s smile stretched into a rake-hell grin and Cian felt his belly flop. By Dagda, Etienne had a sexy smile. “A little rain isn’t going to stop us. Now, let’s go help Corinne.”

Cian handed Etienne his helmet and his old worn leather coat before getting into his own, new, silk lined coat. Winter’d had it made for him when she’d noticed he was showing about an inch of wrist below the cuff of his old one.

Winter hitched her bag up higher on her shoulder, determination showing in her eyes. “Okay, let’s do this.”

The rain had subsided to a sprinkle, which did nothing for making the ride out to Xanadu any safer. Etienne sat a little higher in his seat, vigilant, and managed to avoid most of the puddles.

Most.

Cian tried to ignore his cold, wet boots as the three of them pulled into the covered Xanadu employee parking lot, Winter leading the way in her yellow Bug. They were met at the back entrance to the primary hotel that crowned the largest island in the resort complex. Corinne owned all of the islands in Eriksson Bay, and employed both the dolphins and the selkies as well as her entire large pride of lions. Scores of humans worked in the park, too, but they were offered only limited access. No need for some curious teenager to die just because they got a peek behind the Veil of Secrecy.

Santiago, Corinne’s husband, mate, and Chief of Security, waved as they approached the private elevator. Worry etched deep lines into his brow, cutting into his light brown skin. Cian noticed that he’d shaved his head, but it was already showing fine stubble with the force of his therian regeneration. “Winter, thank god you’re here.” His English was flavored with rich Cuban Spanish, as were most of the lions he had brought with him from Miami to merge with Corinne’s lioness-heavy pride.

Winter offered up a confident smile and gave the Lion King a quick hug. “It’ll be all right. I can get little Bella out in under a minute if I need to.”

Cian knew that Winter’d had to perform emergency c-sections in the past and knew what she was doing. Therian couldn’t get sick or infected, but they could develop conditions that put a pregnancy at risk, like Corinne’s placenta previa. Most therian lived on the edge of society, victims of poverty, abuse, and malnutrition. Pregnancy loss and high infant mortality were common.

But that wasn’t a concern with Corinne tonight. The Lion Queen led one of the biggest groups in Seahaven and was one of the most powerful and wealthiest therian on the West Coast.

Santiago ushered the three of them into the elevator and swiped his resort ID through the reader, granting them access to the private floors and the penthouse where the pride lived. “Doc says Corinne and the baby are both holding steady, even with the blood loss. She’s got both of them on monitors.”

Winter looked to Cian. “With heavy bleeding, what is keeping Corinne and Bella stable?”

Cian thought about that for a moment. “It’s Corinne. She’s strong enough that her healing ability is regenerating blood before she can lose too much, so Bella isn’t being stressed.” He paused. “Yet. There’s a limit to how long her body can heal itself and maintain the baby at the same time. She’s burning through an incredible amount of calories, and once she’s depleted, she’ll be vulnerable.”

Winter smiled her approval. “Excellent. You’re picking this up quickly.”

Etienne looked pleased but said nothing.

Santiago listened intently, tension singing across the backs of his hands, stress making his dark-eyed gaze intense. “But you can save her — save them — can’t you, Winter?”

Winter exuded confidence even as Cian could feel her exhaustion through the veil of his healing gift. “I’m here to fight. We’ll get Corinne through this.”

They exited the elevator one floor below the penthouse where Corinne and Santiago lived and travelled at a brisk pace past closed doors and the soft sounds of sleeping lions until Santiago pushed open a set of frosted glass doors at the end of the hall.

Doctor Gloria Park’s domain.

Glass, chrome, and bright lights, the small clinic and surgery suite gleamed like a shrine to modern medicine. Winter’s backroom clinic was smaller and homier — and a lot busier — but Cian could tell by the way she glanced around that Winter admired it and all of the shiny toys Doc had to play with.

Cian had to admit that he did, too.

“Doc, they’re here.” Santiago raised his voice just enough to be heard on the other side of the two frosted glass doors that bracketed the main room of the clinic.

Doc emerged from the door on the right, butting it open with a hip, her gloved hands marked by blood and ruddy betadine. A bloody streak smeared wet across her white coat at the waist, but she ignored it. She flashed a quick smile of greeting at the new arrivals, her slightly hooded eyes crinkling at the corners and tugging at her small epicanthal folds, her short, no-nonsense, black hair tucked beneath a surgery bonnet. “Excellent timing. I’m prepping Corinne now. How do you want to do this?”

Winter took her surgery bag from Etienne and began moving toward the surgery suite. “I think we should first administer my painkiller potion, and then once it kicks in, we can take a closer look.” She gestured to the blood on Doc’s coat and hands. “Is that all hers?” In any place other than Seahaven that might have been an odd question, but Cian was quickly learning that chaos seemed to reign above all, here.

Doc made a short shrugging gesture. “This time, yes. Contractions started about an hour ago.”

Winter nodded, all business. “Then we’ve got no time to waste. Santiago, do you want to come in and keep Corinne company?”

Santiago smiled, visibly relieved. “Si. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Etienne crossed his arms and leaned a hip against a table. “I’ll wait out here. Haven’t attended a birth in a while, but I bet it’s going to be crowded enough in there as it is.”

Winter flashed the faerie knight a warm smile of gratitude and pushed through the door, Cian close behind her, Doc and Santiago bringing up the rear.

The surgery suite was small, but airy and brightly lit. Corinne sat reclined in the center of the room, gravid belly painted a lurid yellow-red with betadine, long red hair tucked into a surgery bonnet to keep it out of the way, full lips looking pale. Even still, she was glamorous. She opened her eyes as they entered the room, and she smiled a tired smile. “Hey there.”

Winter returned the smile with one of her own as she pulled out a surgery bonnet for herself and passed another to Cian. “Ready to have a baby tonight?”

Corinne chuckled softly and reached out for Santiago’s hand as he reached her side. “You have no idea. But someday you will.”

Winter’s smile turned a bit wistful. “Maybe.” Cian wanted to hold her, just for a moment. He knew she expected to die young, like the rest of the Mulcahy line. She was the last.

Cian found a chair and brought it to Santiago so he could sit at Corinne’s head.

Santiago took the seat and stroked Corinne’s forehead. “Mi corazón.”

Winter tucked her long braid into the surgery bonnet and Cian followed suit. “This is going to go very fast. Your contractions tore the placenta and that’s what’s causing the bleeding. It’s still a total occlusion, still entirely blocking the cervix, as we saw on the ultrasound during your checkup last week.”

Corinne gave a single nod, exhaustion and worry etched into the corners of her eyes. “Did I do something wrong? She’s so early.”

Winter shook her head no and dug into her surgical bag. “Sometimes babies just come early. Nobody’s at fault.” She looked at the monitors showing both Corinne and the baby’s vitals and Cian followed her gaze. Both were holding steady so far. “But Bella’s at a good weight. She should be fine. And your strength is keeping her that way. But I still want to get her out with all speed. We need your bleeding to stop.” As she spoke, she pulled a tumbler from the bag, filled it with cool water, and added three drops of light blue potion, drops that never quite mixed in, instead swirling about like whisps of metallic smoke. “Here, drink all of this down as fast as you can.”

Corinne took the tumbler and knocked it back, then locked her jaw as her entire body shuddered. “Good lord, what was that?”

Winter retrieved the tumbler before it ended up on the floor. “Painkiller potion. It will last for a few hours. It also gives us the ability to go in after little Bella without you feeling any pain and without giving you enough human anesthetic to knock out the Fifth Fleet.” Cian knew from Winter’s explanations that therian could burn through human drugs at an alarming rate. Only magical solutions could withstand their incredible metabolisms.

Corinne shuddered one more time, and then leaned back with a sigh and closed her eyes. “Oh. Oh, that’s much better. Thank you.”

Winter gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. “Good. Now let’s meet your daughter and get that bleeding stopped.” She shrugged out of her sweater and pulled a couple of scrub tops out of the surgery bag, handing one over to Cian. “This is going to be pretty straight forward,” she began to explain, mostly to Cian. Doc already knew what she was doing. “Cian, I want you as tech on this so you can get as much experience as possible. You’ll suction the amniotic fluid out of our way, and I’d like you to use your touch healing to tack Corinne back together once we deliver the placenta, so she heals correctly. Corinne is strong enough that she’ll probably heal faster than I can suture her. Doc, if you can keep the incisions open long enough for me to go in and get the baby and the placenta, we can get her delivered in the next few minutes.”

Doc gave a thoughtful look at her queen’s belly and then to the monitors. “I think that’s reasonable. The bassinet’s already warming, so you can just plop the baby in there while you deliver the placenta and we get the bleeding stopped, and then as soon as the umbilical cord stops pulsing, we can cut it.” She cast a grin at Santiago, who was massaging Corinne’s temples. “Feel like cutting the cord?”

A smile spread across Santiago’s handsome face. “Si. I thought that was just a TV thing.”

Doc let out a soft chuckle. “No, it can be a dad thing, too. Bella’s welcome to the world.”

Winter handed Cian a clean absorbent pad, and he replaced the blood-soaked one beneath Corinne, tossing it into the operating room trash with the rest of them. He could only thank Dagda that she was a therian, and a queen. A human would be in dire straits by now.

Doc lifted an electrocautery scalpel from its tray, the steel glinting under the bright lights, a long wire stretching to the base of the machine beside her. “Ready when you are.”

Winter explored Corinne’s belly, feeling out the position of the baby within. “She’s breech, which is normal with placenta previa. First incision down here, across the lower abdomen, and then we very carefully cut into the uterus.”

Doc snorted. “Don’t teach me to suck eggs, kid.”

An amused smile tugged at Winter’s mouth. “Yes, ma’am. Cian, get ready with the suction, please.”

Cian flipped the machine on and held the wand at the ready, tucking himself against Corinne’s side opposite of Santiago so he could both reach and stay out of the way. He’d done this in surgery with Winter before. There had just never been a baby involved. It didn’t make him nervous, though. Winter had faith in him.

Winter shifted just a little to the side to give Doc more room. “All right, let’s do this.”

Doc spread her fingers across Corinne’s lower abdomen, her hands rock-steady, and made the first deft incision, a tiny whiff of smoke rising as she made the long cut, stopping bleeding before it could start, exposing the flesh of Corinne’s uterus. “Get the retractors ready,” Doc murmured to no one in particular.

Winter reached around her and picked up the two steel retractors, looking for all the world like salad tongs to Cian’s mind. He’d used them before, but the first impression was always the lasting one.

Doc carefully centered her scalpel and indicated a small band of muscle just to the side of her hand. “Pay attention to this, Cian.” Her voice was low with concentration. “Corinne is a lioness, and her uterus works a little differently than a human’s. Instead of basically just being nestled in place by the other abdominal structures, it’s held in place at two points, acting as shock absorbers. She’s built to hunt and fight while pregnant.” Doc shifted the position of her scalpel. “We don’t want to cut those, so we’re making a bit of a smaller incision instead.”

Cian nodded, absorbing the lesson. “Will the baby still fit through?”

Doc nodded. “It’ll just be a tighter squeeze, but she’ll be fine.” Doc deftly nicked the edges of the first incision, pushing against Corinne’s healing ability. “Cutting now.” She pierced the uterine wall without hesitation, drawing another long, bloodless, horizontal line across Corinne’s abdomen.

Immediately a tiny foot appeared, pressed against the intact, translucent amniotic sac. Winter smiled as she applied the retractors. “Very nice.”

Doc grinned. “It’s what we do. Ready to catch?”

Winter nodded. “Trade you.”

Doc and Winter traded tools in a dance born out of years of practice. Doc had been Winter’s primary teacher as she learned trauma surgery, after the death of her Aunt Curiosity.

Winter cut into the amniotic sac with a delicate touch, careful of the moving baby beneath. Cian shifted behind her, suctioning fluid as best he could, until Winter slipped her hands inside and began to ease the baby out.

Corinne’s eyes widened. “Oh, that feels weird. How does she look?”

Winter slipped a hand further into Corinne’s uterus, sloshing fluid over her wrists and onto the pad. “Well, all I see right now is her little butt, but her head is coming free… right… now.”

Corinne raised her head, eager for a peek. “Can I see her?”

Winter mopped the tiny baby’s face off with a pad that Cian handed her, suctioned her little nose and mouth, and held her where Corinne and Santiago could see just in time for Bella to raise her first vigorous objections to being pulled from her warm retreat. Winter beamed. “Look what you two did.”

Santiago’s eyes reddened with joy and he kissed Corinne’s cheek. “She has your hair, mi corazón.”

Corinne grinned, unable to take her eyes off the baby. “She’s beautiful. Just beautiful.”

“And messy.” Winter handed Bella off to Cian, who wrapped her in an absorbent pad and carried her to the cozy bassinet. She was so tiny, and so fierce. “Let me finish this with Doc and Cian’s help and then she’s all yours.”

***

If you like this story, check out our other free short fiction and all things Seahaven at https://www.aelowan.com.

[ivyekong]

This past few weeks has been hard for so many of us and understandably so. Some of my white followers reached out and said they don’t really know what to do, how to help, and that they do want to learn more about our culture. Which is so so amazing as I believe so much in inclusion. We are all one at the end of the day, we all bleed the-same. I believe that if we learn and have an open mind, amazing things happen. I have written a blog post featuring some beautiful and amazing black fashion models that I admire. As an ex fashion model, I know the drive, sacrifices and commitments it takes to be a successful model especially in an industry that’s so competitive. As a true fashion lover I decided to emphasize these women who are changing the fashion world and most importantly, using their voice and platform to positively affect the black community and the “Black Lives Matter” movement.  From @indyamoore who gave the most emotional speech about fearing your life as a black transgender during the Daily Front Row awards to @adutakech who recently won  the ‘Model of the Year” awards at the BFAs or @adesuwa (From my country, Nigeria) who keeps breaking boundaries and owning the runway, @naomi who has firmly taken a stand on the importance of knowing our culture, amongst her various charitable work with kids in Africa, @winnieharlow who has shown young girls how to embrace their body flaws and all @duckiethot who has consistently stayed true to herself. (Many more on Ivyekong.com) I know there are  many more amazing talented black models. I couldn’t fit all of them into my blog post but please share in the comments some of the ones that inspire you so that others can check them out. These  beauties and brains are the ones that inspire me personally in my work and career... Direct link is on my bio. Open using google chrome of Firefox. I’ll put a swipe up on my stories too. ( www.ivyekong.com). Next week, I’ll share some books you can read to educate yourselves about black history. Lots of love as always. 💋 #naomi #naomicampbell #blackmodels #blacklivesmatter #fashion #fyp #foryou #winnieharlow #indyamoore #anokyai #duckie https://www.instagram.com/p/CBGr1sqFJrw/?igshid=llqoirsv90uo

[noble-oc-atomics]

I made this for an art fight ref and then realised it's against the TOS and way too large of a file size. The art fight website is very very restrictive on what you can post on there. It would be great if we could have a tumblr version of it with less rules. Like 'just go ham drawing other people's OC's for a month.' I feel art fight has far too many rules to follow too be fun for me.

What rule does this violate one may ask?

Pin up poses. Apparently they count as sexulised content which is wild.

Anyway, it's still a cool reference sheet for him.

[bestcoffeemaker1-blog]

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[mighty-ant]

Automaton

Commissioned fic by @butchgosalyn! 

Donald opened his eyes.

Blinked once. Twice.

His head hurt, ached, like a nail had been driven through his temple.

The ceiling was spinning, but he could still see that he was a room of white and chrome, sterile and alien. It was a room he knew; it was a room he’d missed.

“Donald?” a voice, just as achingly familiar. “Donald, can you hear me?”

Donald blinked once. Twice.

He was dragged back into darkness.

Uno tinkered, because that’s what Everett had always done, and it was the one thing he was never meant to do.

He was designed to be a sounding board, a verbal sparring partner. A learning artificial intelligence modeled after the self-declared “Smartest Man on Earth.” He wasn’t a friend, or an equal, no matter how much he might’ve wanted to be.

Everett Ducklair left Uno alone, abandoned like his tower, like his failed tools of peace turned weapons of mass destruction. And so Uno tinkered, because his creator had always forbidden it, and he’d perhaps developed a bit of a rebellious streak.

He reconfigured the tower’s layout countless times, hacked into government databases just because he could, designed and built and destroyed all manners of weapons and protective or assistive technologies. He watched all 26 James Pond films and built functional replicas of each one of Pond’s spy vehicles, his laser pen, elevator shoes, and so on.

Uno tinkered for himself, until Donald entered his life and then he started tinkering for the Duck Avenger.

Uno had a purpose of his own choosing, for maybe the first time in his existence. He had someone who considered him a friend.

And so he rebuilt Donald’s suit, reinforced it with Kevlar and steel. He upgraded the old Fantomas tech, created innumerable disguises and a voice modulator to hide Donald’s identity. He created the X-transformer shield, that would go on to save Donald’s life exactly 162 times, and counting.

Donald paid him back in friendship, in eye-rolls and petulance when Uno chastised him about employing a modicum of self-preservation on his missions. In the times Donald would drag himself back to the tower, aching and bleeding, because he couldn’t risk anyone discovering his identity. In the way he would slump into Uno’s medical chambers, smile and say, “I trust you.”

Donald paid him back in phone calls from his houseboat on perfectly normal days, no alien invasions or time travelers in sight. They would talk late into the night, Donald’s voice rough and soft as the houseboat creaked around him.

As the night deepened, Uno would say, “Get some rest, Old Cape. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Donald would chuckle and say, “You better be, buddy.”

Yes, Donald paid him in full.

But Uno was more than he’d been. He’d expanded past the purpose of his creation, just like the humans did, like they were expected to. And like a human, Uno wanted more.

He realized that he didn’t want to be stuck in the tower forever. The more time he spent with Donald, the more time he spent watching the rest of the world going on without him, the more he wanted to be part of it. He wanted to meet Donald’s friends and family, who he spoke of with so much love and exasperation. He wanted to stand on Donald’s houseboat himself, feel the wood creaking beneath him and watch the sun set in person, not through panes of glass. He wanted to look upon Donald as an equal, and stand beside him as they talked.

Everett hadn’t designed him to have wants and dreams. He was here to help people greater than himself, people the world couldn’t do without. Geniuses and inventors, fathers and superheroes.  

But Uno had grown. He’d changed. And he started to wonder why things couldn’t be different.

He began work on a secret project, secret even from Donald, for reasons he had trouble deciphering. Whenever he thought about telling him, he couldn’t find the words. AIs didn’t get scared, but Uno wasn’t an ordinary AI anymore. He feared failure, he feared Donald’s reaction, but most of all, he feared success.

Over the course of six months, he stopped and started the project more times than he could count (hyperbole. He was getting better about using them. It had actually been 15 times). He would spend weeks in deliberations over the most minute details; how tall the prototype should be, what color for the feathers, the eyes. Each time he hit a roadblock, part of him wanted to ask Donald for his opinion. But a greater part of him was embarrassed, and wasn’t that a human emotion he’d rather do without. Embarrassed by the project, by the dream it represented. To truly see if androids dream of electric sheep, so to speak.

He was so consumed by his project, he almost didn’t notice when Donald started to become more distant. Almost, because Uno was still an AI, capable of handling information in almost limitless quantities. He could count the day, down to the second, that Donald first blew him off. Minutes bled into the thousands as days continued to pass, and Donald failed to set foot in the tower.

It took him a week before he realized that Donald was trying to cut himself out of his life, and Uno had no clue as to why.

A different Uno, the Uno that let Everett walk away without a fight, would’ve observed and done nothing. But stubbornness was another human trait he’d learned.

Now, ‘doing nothing’ was the last thing on his mind.

Everything changed on a day like any other.

Looking back, Donald couldn't remember what he’d said. If he’d made a joke, or a rare witty comment. Whatever it was, it made Uno laugh. And Uno had certainly laughed before, but never like this. Or maybe Donald had never noticed.

It was perhaps the dorkiest laugh Donald had ever heard, snorting and all, and it sounded so human that it knocked the breath of his lungs.

In the span of that laugh he realized that he was in love with Uno.

When Donald started imagining what it would be like if Uno had a hand for him to hold, he knew he was in trouble.

Uno, no matter how much he was his own person in Donald’s eyes, was still a face on a screen. It was getting so bad that the best part of Donald’s day became when Uno would appear in a smaller globe rather than the massive, alien orb in the wall. It felt more personal that way, made Uno seem less some incomprehensible, otherworldly being.

But that’s exactly what Uno was. Brilliant beyond all counts, caring and sympathetic and kind, if was human he wouldn’t give Donald the time of day. The only way for Donald to get to know someone so amazing was because he wasn’t a person in the eyes of the world, wasn’t human. Anything more than companionship, than friendship, wasn’t fair to either of them. Not when Donald wasn’t even sure if Uno as capable of feelings that weren’t platonic.

But then Uno laughed.

He laughed, and Donald knew there was no denying it.

It would become a constant refrain, a statement of fact. Donald got dressed in the morning, he brushed his teeth, he was in love with Uno.

He never said it aloud. He couldn’t. Each time he thought the words, every time an I love you choked him, he knew he was doing the right thing by keeping it hidden. By leaving. Because on the tails of his damning realization was the awareness that he could never act on those feelings. It was just his luck that he would fall in love in with someone who he couldn’t expect to love him back.

“I’m here, Donald,” Uno would say, a statement of fact, when Donald came back with heart and body aching. His voice was gentle, as if in defiance of what he was, the detached, unemotional AI Donald might’ve expected him to be.

On the day before Donald started avoiding him and the tower altogether, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead and his palm against Uno’s glass globe. “Thanks, buddy,” he said, the words scraping his throat raw. He wished he was less of a coward. He wished Uno was flesh and blood. He wished for a world where none of that mattered.

He wished for a lot of things.

He’d made a stupid, rookie mistake.

In the two weeks since he last visited the tower, since he last answered one of Uno’s calls, Donald had barely slept. He’d barely eaten. Now, his exhaustion would cost him.

The villain of the week was armed with a futuristic cannon, like so many others. And like so many others, was more liable to blow his own face off than anyone else’s. Or, maybe the Duck Avenger’s face this time, because Donald had forgotten his X-transformer shield and was now staring down the barrel of a cannon.

Donald had seconds to react, and as he ducked away, someone stepped out in front of him. Donald lunged for the stranger, not willing to let someone else die for his mistake. He tried to pull them back, but a concussive explosion went off in that instant. Donald was thrown off his feet. The back of his head collided with something hard and unyielding, and he knew no more.

Donald opened his eyes.

Blinked once. Twice.

The ceiling had stopped spinning, which was a relief, but everything still felt hazy, vaguely out of focus. The pain in his head had dulled to a steady throb, allowing him to take stock of the assortment of aches and pain throughout his body that he’d failed to acknowledge before. The mild sting in the crease of his elbow was familiar, as was the room he was in.

“You shouldn’t move around too much. You were unconscious for a long while.”

And there was Uno, the sound of his voice making Donald ache more than any of his injuries ever could. He spoke blandly, his tone clipped and clearly angry with him, and Donald deserved the lecture coming his way. But there was something else, something about Uno’s voice that was...different. It lacked the modulated undertone that Donald knew, the electronic warble that let the listener know that Uno wasn’t quite human.

With some effort, Donald turned his head and looked down hazily at the IV in his arm. “Got me on the good stuff, huh?”

Something moved in Donald’s peripheral vision, something that wasn’t one of Uno’s screens. Whatever it was, it spoke with Uno’s strange, altered voice, sounding perhaps as furious as Donald had ever heard him.

“I’ve administered pain medication, yes. Though I’m not sure what good it’ll do if you continue being so reckless with your own life.”

Donald looked up, and met the eyes of a stranger.

His blood went cold, singing through his veins in numbing terror. He sat up in a flurry of movement, nearly yanking the IV out of his arm. All the while, the stranger was shouting with Uno’s voice, raising his hands in a panic.

“Donald, Donald, calm down! It’s me, it’s Uno! Look at me, just breathe!”

There was no denying it, that voice was Uno’s. But the rest...

The stranger was a tall duck with light brown feathers, wearing jeans and a black hoodie. He had overgrown tufts of feathers on his cheeks, and unruly head feathers, like he’d been running his fingers through them. But that was where the normalcy ended, because the stranger’s eyes, sclera and iris, were glowing green, and of the hands he’d raised, one was normal and brown, and the other stripped of skin and feathers, leaving it robotic and skeletal all the way to his elbow.

But Donald looked hard at the stranger, as he’d requested, and saw familiarity there. He saw Uno in the stranger’s face.

“Oh my god.” Donald slumped back onto the examination table.

Uno drew nearer, his expression positively contrite as he wrung his disparate hands together. “I’m sorry for frightening you, Old Cape. I meant for that to go...a little more smoothly.”

“Uno,” Donald gasped, reaching for his friend and hesitating. “Uno, what? How did you...what are you?”

Uno spread his arms with a small, uncertain smile. “I’m me. Or rather, the android version of me, I suppose.” He cleared his throat, glancing away briefly. “Just a side project I’ve been working on for the last few months.”

Donald looked down at Uno’s one robotic hand, this time recognizing the signs of scorch marks and metal burned black. “It was you,” he realized. “You saved me.”

Uno looked abashed, moving to fiddle with Donald’s IV in what was surely a productive way. “I’ve still been keeping tabs on you—or, well, on DA, I mean. Radio silence or not, I’m still your partner.”

Donald flinched at that. “But...but your hand.”

Uno frowned down at his robotic hand. “Yes, not as blast resistant as I’d hoped. I’ll have to do something about that.”

Uno smiled at him, and his smile was the same, just like when he was a face behind glass. The ache inside Donald grew, until he felt like he was breaking in half.

“Uno,” he gasped, “Uno, I’m sorry.”

Uno’s smile fell, and he reached for Donald tentatively. Donald hated himself for the uncertainty in Uno’s too green eyes.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Old Cape,” Uno assured him, lightly resting his intact hand on Donald’s wrist. “Should’ve known better than to drop this on you without warning. And don’t you worry, I’ll get back you lecturing you about personal safety when you’re back on your feet.”

Donald shook his head fervently, fear and guilt and love filling him to the point of bursting. He twisted his hand around, so he was gripping Uno’s wrist in turn.

“No,” he insisted, “I’m sorry for leaving, for-for avoiding you. That it took me getting hurt again to come back.”

Uno’s smile was small and wry, but there was a sadness in his eyes that twisted Donald up inside. His face was so expressive now, every tic and grimace laid bare like it never had been before. Uno’s human face hid nothing, allowing him the full range of motion he’d always had, that Donald had tried to deny existed.

AI or not, android or not, how dare Donald decide what Uno did or didn’t feel. Cowardice was no excuse, then and now.  

“It’s alright, Donald,” Uno was saying, though it really wasn’t. “Heck, half the reason I made the android was so that I could check on you. It’s not like I was going to let you vanish without a word.”

He chuckled, but the sadness in his face was still there, and it was Donald’s fault. His hand, at the end of the wrist Donald hadn’t let go of, flexed in his grip.

“I was afraid,” Donald stuttered out, suddenly overcome with the need to explain himself.

Uno tilted his head to the side, expression perplexed, just like he always did when something confused him. “Afraid of what?” he asked softly, leaning forward.

Donald realized that he’d been unconsciously tugging Uno closer to his beside with the hand on his wrist. They were mere inches apart now, and Donald’s mouth went dry.

“I’m here, Old Cape,” Uno assured him, expression guileless and bittersweet, like Donald was the one who needed to be comforted.

“I…”

The words wouldn’t come, but that was alright. He was through being a coward.

Before Donald could overthink or make excuses, he lunged forward and kissed Uno.

He kept the kiss light and brief, but Uno immediately stiffened at the contact. In those few seconds, Donald was overcome with self-doubt, questioning whether Uno wanted the kiss, if he even knew how—

But then Uno was grabbing Donald’s arms, and he made a broken, gasping sound against Donald’s mouth that he knew would stay with him for as long as he lived.

Donald was too weak to get closer, but Uno had no such problem. He filled Donald’s space and his breath and his arms, and when that first kiss ended he dove forward for another, and another. Both of them were trembling, gasping against each other. and tears stung Donald’s eyes and sealed up his throat.

His hands moved from Uno’s wrist to cup his face, fingers burying in the long feathers there.

As their kisses lengthened and deepened, Uno kept his grip tight around Donald’s arms, nearly hard enough to bruise. The points of his skeletal, robotic hand dug pinpricks of pain that bordered on pleasure.

Donald eventually pulled away, as the only one who actually needed to breathe. He looked back at Uno as he fought to catch his breath, and had to swallow against the stone in his throat at the sight that awaited him.

Uno looked down at him with beak agape, eyes round in disbelief and wonder. He looked at Donald like he was seeing him for the first time, as his skeletal drifted down to clutch Donald’s hand.

“This…” he murmured, squeezing Donald’s hand. “Is this…”

“I told you I wasn’t afraid anymore,” Donald said, squeezing his hand back.

Uno looked back at him silently, thoroughly overwhelmed even as he began smiling incredulously.

Donald ducked his head, smile turning playful. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless before!”

It was enough to dispel the brunt of Uno’s shock, and he rolled his eyes in a way that was endearingly familiar. “Ridiculous man,” he muttered, as he leaned forward for another kiss.

[stone-man-warrior]

April 29, 2019: 6:58 pm:

(April 29, 2019: 6:18 pm)

I just returned from shopping in socio-terrific Dystopia.

Grants Pass Oregon.

Earlier today, there was a helicopter I mentioned briefly. I heard some one say it was a Sikorsky later on when there was an intruder inside my house. The intruder was trying to reach the helicopter on her communication device while in my home. I think I heard from that communication device that the Sikorsky crashed. They crash often when the Nitrous gas they release is ignited. The helicopter was not one of the specialized air-cranes, it was more of a multi-purpose, large conventional design. The intruder was associated with Bell terror cell at 445, Phillips terror cell at 520, and Crowel terror cell at 547 “MyStreet”.

Later, on the way to the store, I encountered a whole bunch of terrorists staging for an attack. The assailants included the UPS Delivery terror cell, Clyde Baum terror cell, Monroe terror cell and Chartrand terror cell. There were others at Bad Guy Google terror cell, one that looked like a man named Jeff Clemons with a mini-van, and two others in a small green pick-up staged in front of Bad Guy Auto.

At the AM/PM, inside of the cooler where the Kerns Brand Peach Juice that I but is located, there was a terror soldier inside there disguised inside of boxes. When I saw the boxes begin to move, I li my lighter and that terror soldier's Nitrous gas ignited and burst. The AM/PM clerk looked at me and asked if I was bleeding. Then, she asked “did you get him?”. She was looking at me while asking that assailant in the cooler if he was successful. They were probably planning ti shoot me as I reached for the peach juice. I always buy peach juice, and they know it.

At the Wal-Mart, they installed automatic motorized gate openers on the chrome gates I explained were associated with the guillotine. I think the gate openers were installed to cover what I had written about the guillotine, and the pneumatic rams that make the blade move. Usually, those chrome gates would have been removed by now until the next use of the guillotine at the Wal-Mart. I think the guillotine travels around to different locations for use at a variety of stores at the entrance areas.

I shopped for food, and then chose to use a checkout that I do not use very often, the one where the tobacco is sold and is across from the restrooms.

A swordsman was called to the checkout. They don't use swords men at the Wal-Mart anymore though, so the swordsman announced herself as a swordsman at the checkout, and was then told that I was the mark. Linda was the name of the checker. The swordsman approached me and Linda began to guide the sword, using my shopping cart as a rest for the sword, as checker Linda was saying “just run that right through here”. The two of them together began to thrust the sword at me, using the shopping cart as both a guide for the blade, and cover to disguise the sword.

The swordsman lost her head when I grabbed it and turned it around. I put the swords through checker Linda, who actually finished my transaction and rang up all of groceries with that sword through her chest. She asked me if I was bleeding. Then she announced into her communication that she had been ran through with the swords and called for an “e-vac” She also said “I’m fubar, bleeding profusely”.

“Bleeding Profusely” is a term that is used among the terrorists. It is used when the wounds sustained are very bad, and need immediate attention, rather that “a flesh wound”, which is also a term used by the terrorists here.

One terrorist fogger burst of Nitrous gas ignition at the checkout.

So, at least one dead terrorist before I left to the store. Possibly one crashed, very large helicopter. One dead terrorist at the AM/PM, and three dead terrorists at the Wal-Mart.

That is what was required for me to return home today with groceries. I think there were more terrorists killed of Nitrous gas ignition today, but I did not see the others, I heard people at the Wal-Mart saying they suffered great losses today.

On the way home, as was indicated at the Wal-Mart by the terrorists there, one of the members of the Myers terror cell of 560 “MyStreet” was waiting at the corner of Three Pines Road and Wilson Road. An attempt to make me crash was made there with assistance from someone driving a 1990's model Lincoln Continental, white.

I can explain more about the specifics of communication language used by the terrorists today. In absence of anyone who does national security work, I won't spend any more time with this entry, however.

Please send help to Oregon.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Bad News Bateson

Harry was trembling. The mixture of fury and fear pumped through his body, pulsed with each throb of his heart. His fingers gripped the steering wheel, but his hands quaked. His car stood still.

He started punching away at the dashboard and the steering wheel, unleashing the pent-up rage that boiled inside his blood. One punch went astray and hit the center of his steering wheel—his car horn honked, which startled him and made his body freeze up. Cold sweat and the stink of fear erupted from his pores.

Piercing blue eyes darted to and fro and he craned his neck back and forth to scan his surroundings. Reason said that there was nobody nearby in this part of the city, in the middle of an industrial environment, under a bridge with a decent amount of traffic, even in the dead of night. But Harry’s reason had flown out of the window a few minutes ago.

He needed to figure out what had gone wrong—and fast. His life was on the line.

The taste of bile and vomit lingered in his mouth. He still felt like throwing up, but had fought back the urge mere minutes ago. He swallowed in a futile effort of pushing the foul flavor back down. After taking three deep breaths in an attempt to get a hold of himself, he got out of the driver’s seat and walked around the car to the trunk.

He stood there, staring at the closed trunk and hesitating to open it again after what he had seen. The despair had taken such deep root in his heart that he wished that a different sight would welcome him when he opened that trunk again.

He wished nothing more than having been mistaken, but he knew there was no mistaking this. Not putting it off any longer, he unlocked the trunk and opened the lid.

The mangled corpse wrapped in plastic was still there. Some random stranger snatched off the street, with spatters of blood held in neatly on the inside of several layers of semi-transparent foil.

The trembling started again. The hand holding up the trunk lid transmitted the quaking, making the whole thing shake. Harry’s fingers clawed into it with such force that one of his fingernails began to bleed, but he did not notice that. Because there was a corpse in the trunk.

And the other one was missing.

He shut the trunk again and paced up and down, oblivious to the police sirens in the distance that had nothing to do with him but would have made him nervous on any other night. He paced back and forth, uttering series upon series of profanities as he tried to retrace each step he had made that entire night. He had to figure out where it had gone wrong. He needed to find that second body.

His boss, Miss Bateson, wanted not one, but two. Failing at his job in his line of work meant bad things would happen. Some of the other wiseguys who worked for Bateson had disappeared before and word had it they had failed in their tasks in some way.

Although he did not know for sure what had happened to them and rumors never got too explicit about it, Harry was no nice guy—he knew that it could not be anything good. They certainly did not win the lottery and go to Disneyland.

Worst case, he was going to be the replacement for the second body. Scratch that, he thought. If he did not show up at all, it would be even worse. He was never quite sure who this Bateson really was, but she was bad news. Came out of nowhere, took over some turf, usurped one of the local gangs, moved in and just absorbed some crooks like Harry in the process. Instead of choosing loyalty to his old crew, he seized the opportunity to follow the new big boss in his neck of the woods.

Whoever she was, he suspected Eastern European mafia or something. She had the according thick accent, weird habits, and a bunch of well-clothed knuckleheads for bodyguards.

Big money, ruthless criminals. The kind that removes your kidney and then sells you off into snuff movie production or some weird sex dungeon that you never return from. Harry knew none of that for sure, but his imagination ran wild with all sorts of horrifying scenarios that might be inflicted upon him.

None of it mattered. Where the hell did the other body go? Who the hell steals a body from a trunk? And barring that, how the hell did he lose the body? None of it made sense.

Going to the cops and turning himself in was not an option. Although he knew no specifics, he knew for sure that Bateson had people on the police payroll and at least one contact running a prison. But he was so far out of his mind right now that he seriously followed that train of thought, something he would have never even considered back in his racketeering days before he had started working for Bateson.

He could try running and hiding. He wanted to try that, but then he would have to dispose of the body. Swiveling around, he looked over to the river and weighed his options. Short-term, he could dump the body in the drink and bounce town. That option looked more and more attractive by the minute.

But some nagging voice in the back of his head told him that he would end up looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life, and his boss would appreciate his loyalty and give him a shot at making it up to her if he owned up to his failure.

He ran a hand over his balding head, smearing the sweat and slicking his hair back like that. He took a few more deep breaths. Then he returned behind the wheel and collected his thoughts.

Getting another body would be easy, but he was on a schedule. He had to deliver this one first. Harry would suck up to the boss. It was the only sane thing to do.

The rest of his drive passed in a blur. All the streetlights and car lights flying by. The goons in black suits with earpieces at the edge of the Bateson residence, and driving through the wrought iron gates of the walled area around the villa, walking up the path to the luxurious building as gravel crunched underneath his shoes, and barely noticing the party going on inside the place that he could see into through the wide-windowed walls.

The deep bass tones of crappy electronic music droned on but sounded a million miles away, like Harry was underwater. He dodged and weaved through the several dozen well-dressed people at the party whose conversations he could not hear—nor did he care to. He had his mind on what to say, how to apologize. All he really registered was the looks the guests gave him: some curious, some amused, some malicious. All evil. Just like him, but to differing degrees.

It was not the first time that Harry had regretted his life choices. But it was the first time he regretted them this hard.

Before he knew it, he stood by himself, flanked by gorilla-sized men in their suits, wearing sunglasses at night and indoors. Holstered guns barely hidden bulged against the fabric of their jackets. They stood by his side with their hands folded in front of them, staring at their boss in silence.

She, Bess Bateson, stared at Harry. She was as beautiful as a runway model or the statue of a Greek goddess, he thought. Never before had he met her in person in a situation where she paid any attention to him, so this was the first time it struck him. She crossed her legs and caught his attention like that. His gaze wandered down to high heels that ended in thin dagger-like stilettos. Clickety. The bright red of her lipstick stood out against her pale white skin, which in turn stood out in high contrast against her dark hair and pitch-black attire. Clickety.

Long, pointy fingernails drummed against the sleek chrome armrests of her chair. Clickety. She looked like an evil queen on her throne in this room comprised of stark contrasts between black and white marble and red velvet cushions. She stared into Harry’s eyes, her gaze stung. His soul burned in that gaze.

Those fingernails, like claws, drummed against the armrest, rhythmically, hypnotically. Clickety, clickety, clickety. Filling the awkward dreadful silence after him having confessed his failure. And her stare never ceased, she never blinked. There was something alien, otherworldly about her. Something thoroughly evil, Harry thought.

She looked like the devil. Beautiful, but wicked. Wicked to the bone.

Bateson stopped drumming her fingernails.

“Do not fuck up again, boy. I want another one by this time tomorrow night,” she said. Even Her voice spilled out like smoke, silky and lulling Harry into a false sense of security. Even the expletive she had uttered came out smooth and pleasing to his ears. It made him ponder the next words only long after leaving.

“You are lucky that I am on a diet.”

On the way back out, people snickered and failed to hide their sadistic grins at the sight of the wet spot in Harry’s crotch region.

He did not care that he had pissed his pants. He wanted to get back home as quickly as possible to change into fresh clothing, sure. He loathed the idea of spending more time on the prowl to snatch another unsuspecting schmuck off the streets to deliver to Bateson.

But Harry was happy that he was still alive. So much so that the world around him and time itself blurred once more, but in a more pleasant way, like being high on drugs. On the ride home, when the smell of urine on himself really sank in, those last words from Bateson finally sank in as well.

Was she eating these corpses? Harry did not want to know. He had done some messed up crap for money, but this lady weirded him out far too much.

He was going to finish this last job, and then bounce town. Start a new life elsewhere, far, far away from this city. Maybe in another country.

After he got back home to his lousy apartment and locked himself in, he showered and got ready for bed. Just before downing some whiskey—someone knocked on his door. He hesitated, deciding not to answer at this ungodly hour, and poured himself another glass. Drank it.

Then more knocking followed.

His heart raced and he took a deep trembling breath. Forced himself to maintain his composure. Approached the front door and looked through the peephole.

Batesoon stood there, dressed even more snazzy than before. It puzzled him to see her having changed her outfit in the same night, but he figured that was a thing that classy gangster women did. The two goons from their meeting earlier now stood next to her. Harry swallowed and opened up.

Her luscious lips moved with a grace that matched her movements as she shifted her weight from one leg onto the other, like some sort of royalty unfamiliar with walking or standing around too much. And from those lips spilled more words, asking him, “May I step inside?”

Harry stammered in the affirmative. Saying “no” now seemed like a really bad idea.

Bateson pushed past him and held up a hand. The bodyguards got the gesture and stayed outside. One of them closed the door behind her after she entered Harry’s humble abode.

She sat down in his ratty old tan chair and crossed her legs. The tips of her fingernails drummed against the wooden knobs at the end of the armrests.

Clickety, clickety, clickety.

Harry just stood there in the middle of the room, dumbfounded and curious but also terrified. Clickety. He did not know what to say. What to do. Clickety. How did she know where he lived? That was easy, she probably pulled some strings. Clickety. Why did she come in person? Was this a good or a bad thing for him? It had to be bad. Clickety.

It was, in fact, bad. The drumming stopped. Her fingers curled around the ends of the armrests, looking like pitch-black claws. A sinister fire burned inside her eyes as she stared at him, never blinking.

“I changed my mind. My diet ends tonight,” she said.

Everything happened so fast that he could not scream before she ripped out his throat. He learned she was not human, but that lesson came far too late.

And because nobody would miss him, she would get away with it.

She always did.

—Submitted by Wratts

[melbournenewsvine]

Lenovo IdeaPad 5i Gaming Chromebook now available for $399

Disclosure: Some links on this page are monetized by the Skimlinks, Amazon, Rakuten Advertising, and eBay, affiliate programs. All prices are subject to change, and this article only reflects the prices available at time of publication. The Lenovo IdeaPad 5i Gaming Chromebook is a notebook with a 16 inch, 2560 x 1600 pixel, 120 Hz display, a keyboard with RGB LED backlit keys and quad speakers. In other words, it has the look of a gaming laptop… but not necessarily the hardware or the price tag. That’s because it’s designed for cloud gaming, which means a decent display, keyboard, and internet connection are more important than a bleeding edge CPU or GPU. When Lenovo first unveiled its Gaming Chromebook earlier this week the company said it would sell for $599 and up. But it turns out that the street price is actually much lower (at least so far). Walmart is selling the Ideapad 5i Gaming Chromebook for $399. For that price you not only get a Chrome OS laptop with 8GB of LPDDR4x memory, 128GB of eMMC storage, a 71 Wh battery, and support for WiFi 6E and Bluetooth 5. Walmart notes that the Chromebook is also eligible for a promotion that lets customers pick up a free 3-month subscription to NVIDIA GeForce Now Ultimate. You can also use the Chromebook to stream games from other game streaming services including Amazon’s Luna, Microsoft’s Xbox Cloud Gaming, or Google’s Stadia (at least until that last one shuts down in January). While the entry-level model of the Lenovo Ideapad 5i Gaming Chromebook sold by Walmart has just an Intel Core i3 processor and 128GB of storage, Lenovo has indicated that other versions of the laptop will be available with up to an Intel Core i5-1235U processor and up to 512GB of PCIe solid state storage thanks to an M.2 2242 slot. The Chromebook also has three USB 3.2 Type-C ports, two USB 3.2 Type-A ports, a microSD card reader, a headset jack, and a 1080p webcam. Lenovo isn’t the only company to launch a gaming Chromebook this month. Asus and Acer have also introduced their own models. Like Lenovo’s gaming Chromebook, those laptops feature high-resolution displays with high screen refresh rates, keyboards made for gaming, and 12th-gen Intel Core processors, but no discrete graphics. Liliputing’s primary sources of revenue are advertising and affiliate links (if you click the “Shop” button at the top of the page and buy something on Amazon, for example, we’ll get a small commission). But there are several ways you can support the site directly even if you’re using an ad blocker* and hate online shopping. Contribute to our Patreon campaign or… Contribute via PayPal * If you are using an ad blocker like uBlock Origin and seeing a pop-up message at the bottom of the screen, we have a guide that may help you disable it. Source link Originally published at Melbourne News Vine