#tire valve replacement

[avondaleautorepair12]

Tire service

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

FYI: when you go back to the tire place where you got your tire replaced because you went to your dealership because your tires have been wonky for a week, and the people at the dealership say that the reason your tires are wonky is because the dudes at the tire place forgot to replace the whole fucking interior of the valve and sent you off onto the road with basically just finger tension on the tire stem cap, the response of the person you talk to at the tire place re: reviewing their best practices so they don’t endanger any more people holy shit should not be “haha yeah that happens all the time! :)”

[you do understand how that’s worse.meme]

[ked-r]

Seattle gays I know we are poor but don't buy used cars on aurora ok

[strawberri-syrup]

i love when my tire pressure light comes on and suddenly im dropping 550 on new tires

[jontheredrc]

solid tire installation sucks, 0/10, would not recommend

[watchyourbuck]

buddie AU where Buck goes missing and Eddie can’t handle the firefighting life without him anymore so he exploits his medical skills and becomes a cardio thoracic surgeon and builds a new life for himself but then years pass and he’s called in for an emergency surgery in the middle of the night for a John Doe that showed up in the ER confused and drugged and had a heart attack and he’s suddenly operating on this man and boy he’s so tired but the patient’s organs are shutting down and he has to do a valve replacement and it’s hard and it takes him hours but then he succeeds bc he’s just that good he’s amazing he’s even heroic and so the strange man with no name is taken to post op and he’s stable and holding on and Eddie wants to go home and sleep so badly but he has to check in on him bc he’s his patient and he’s nothing if not a good doctor so he’s walking he has the chart and he’s repeating the instructions he’s gotta give the nurses in his head but then he steps one foot inside the room and all the air leaves his lungs bc the man, the stranger, the patient he just operated on has the birthmark he’s spent the last twelve years dreaming about and wishing he had kissed and his voice comes out trembling and soft and he has to hold onto the doorframe if he doesn’t want to black out and “Buck?”

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible

This 1953 Muntz Jet convertible underwent a three-year custom build under previous ownership, and it was purchased by the seller in 2021. The car is powered by a fuel-injected 5.7-liter LT1 V8 engine paired with a four-speed automatic transmission and a Ford 9″ rear end, and it is finished in Apple Pearl with a white Carson-style removable top over gray snakeskin-style Naugahyde upholstery. Features include custom bodywork, an Art Morrison frame, power-assisted steering, four-wheel disc brakes, airbag suspension, Painless Performance wiring, and more modified and fabricated details. This custom-built Muntz is now offered with a copy of Rodder’s Journal magazine featuring a story on the build and a clean California title in the name of the seller’s business.

Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible

The steel, aluminum, and fiberglass body is mounted on an Art Morrison ladder frame that was boxed and finished in semi-gloss black, and the floor was raised 3″. The exterior was repainted in a Sherwin Williams two-stage Apple Pearl mixed by the late Stan Betz. Features include a chopped Duvall-style windshield, 1950 Chevrolet headlights, dual Appleton spotlights, 1951 Ford Victoria side windows, and a white removable Carson-style top fabricated to match the height of the chopped windshield. Additional equipment includes color-matched rear fender skirts and chrome bumpers. Wear from fitting the top is noted on the rear deck.

Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible

Steel wheels sourced from a 1976 Dodge measure 15″ and are mounted with Cadillac Sombrero-style covers and whitewall tires. A matching spare fitted with a BFGoodrich Silvertown tire is mounted within a rear-mounted Continental-style chrome carrier. A Mustang II front end accommodates power rack-and-pinion steering , and the car rides on an electronically-adjustable Air Ride Technologies airbag suspension system along with 2” lowered front spindles, Strange Engineering tube shocks, a rear Panhard bar, and front and rear sway bars. The seller reports that the front control arm bushings were recently replaced.

Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible

Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible

Braking is handled by GM G-body-sourced calipers matched with Ford Granada discs up front and Ford SVO-specification calipers and discs at the rear.

Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible

The cabin was customized by Jim’s Auto Trim of San Diego, California, and features Glide bucket seats and a rear bench trimmed in gray snakeskin-style Naugahyde upholstery, along with matching treatments for the dash trim, headliner, and door panels. Additional equipment includes a 1952 Lincoln steering wheel mounted to a shortened Lincoln steering column, gray cut-pile carpet, and a Pioneer stereo housed within a custom center cubby.

The engine-turned “Hollywood” instrument cluster houses Stewart Warner gauges consisting of an 8k-rpm tachometer, a 160-mph speedometer, and auxiliary readings for fuel level, battery charge, oil pressure, and water temperature. The five-digit odometer displays 25k miles, though total chassis mileage is unknown. A Lokar pedal assembly was fitted during the build.

Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible

The Corvette-sourced 5.7-liter LT1 V8 features a polished fuel intake manifold along with billet aluminum valve covers, and additional features include an Opti-Spark distributor, a Griffin aluminum radiator, and a wiring loom sourced from Painless Performance Wiring. A set of long-tube headers are connected to a 2.5″ exhaust system equipped with dual Dynaflow mufflers. The seller reports that the oil was recently changed.

Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible

Power is routed to the rear wheels via a four-speed 4L60E automatic transmission and a Ford 9″ rear end with with 3.55:1 gears and Strange Engineering 31-spline axles. Additional photos of the underside, drivetrain, and suspension components are presented in the gallery below.

Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible

The car was featured in issue #36 of Rodders Journal magazine

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. This chapter contains medical trauma in an emergency room, as well as pregnancy loss.

I was going to do my usual thing and post this tomorrow, but i felt too bad making yall wait so you get a one-two punch of pain today (on the bright side, and i promise this, things start to go uphill from here, if you could believe it <3)

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 16

[Prev] [Next]

The darkened operating theater’s focused silence was sharply interrupted with the sound of ringing coming from the phone tucked away in the circulating nurse’s back pocket.  It was very obviously from Law’s phone, but the entire surgical crew kept their heads lowered and honed in on their work.  It was quite difficult to break your stride when someone’s body was cut completely open and their beating heart was framed by a metal cage keeping the layers of fat and muscle from closing.  The nurse was checking oxygen levels of the patient and simply let the phone continue to ring.  No one said a word.

The ringing stopped.

Then it started again.

“Just let it go,” Law mumbled.  He couldn’t be bothered, not when he was quite literally inside someone’s heart.  A mitral valve replacement required just as much care as any other open heart procedure, despite being a relatively easy operation for his skilled hands.

The ringing stopped.  The nurse stepped away from the monitor and made a circle around the team, checking instruments, patient vitals, and needed materials.

Then the ringing started again.  This time, a few glances were tossed around the room by the attending surgeons and nurses, but Law kept his head down, neck-deep in his work.  The nurse pulled the phone out of her back pocket and assessed the screen.  Your photo and name were displayed.

“Doctor, it’s your wife,” she announced.

“End the call and text her that I’ll get back to her when I can.”

Following his instructions precisely, the nurse tapped the red End Call button, opened her doctor’s phone with his passcode from their previous go at this very situation, and navigated to his text messages, pulling up your conversation.  She had to suppress a smile at the photo that was set for your contact- a photo of you and what she assumed to be your dog, both grinning brightly at the camera.  She began to text.

Hi, this is Doctor Trafalgar’s circulating nurse again!  He’s currently in the middle of an operation but he’ll call you back when he’s done!

She was about to put the device back in her pocket when it buzzed with another incoming text message.

Wifey

This is Law’s friend Shachi.  Idk operating room etiquette but his wife was taken to the emergency room from her job, im here with her and another friend.  Can you relay the message somehow?  Thanks.

The unsuspecting nurse felt her heartbeat grow anxious.  She herself didn’t really know how to properly announce that information to her supervising doctor, let alone the entire room of fellow technicians and nurses surrounding a patient with his chest fully exposed and heart cut open.

“Everything good?” the tired voice of the lead doctor called from his position, slightly hunched over the body under the bright lights and protective sheet.  He had stepped back only mere centimeters to let an attending nurse go in with sutures.

“Uhm…” the circulating nurse felt her palms grow sweaty beneath her blue medical gloves.  “It was one of your friends, your wife is in the emergency room, apparently.”

Law felt his blood run cold.  His head shot upward to look at the poor nurse who was now unfortunately involved in this, staring at her with wide, golden eyes below his magnifying hood.  He must have looked profoundly stupid partnered with his surgical mask and bright blue hair net.  “What did he say?”

“That was it, he just said to call him back as soon as he could,” she responded nervously.

“Doctor, the surgery’s almost completed if you–” one of his technicians began before being interrupted by the doctor.

“No, I’ll never leave the operating room until the procedure is finished.  Don’t worry about me, continue your focus on the patient.”  But for the first time in Law’s entire professional life, his focus was everywhere but the patient.  Why were you in the emergency room?  Why were you taken from work?  What in the world had happened?

Were you having another miscarriage?

No matter how hard he tried, he could not bring his focus back to the unconscious patient on the table in front of him.  He felt like a ghost out of his own body, merely observing his rigid frame standing amongst his colleagues, frozen in time and place, glued to the cold tiled floor.  Petrified.  Chills were creeping up and down his vertebrae, spreading out to the very tips of his fingers, making him wish he could run.  Run as fast as he could, run to the next building to where the emergency department was and run through every room to find you.  He needed to find you.

The surgery could not have ended sooner.  As soon as he was given the clear that the patient was in the recovery ward, he was sprinting with all of his might through the halls of the cardiac ward, out through the lobby, and into the bright summer sun that seemed to be mocking him in his frantic state.  His lab coat trailed behind him and passing nurses and patients jumped out of his way as he barreled down the bright sidewalk of the hospital complex, passing small bundles of blooming flowers that almost shook with how fast his feet were carrying him.  He felt like his heart might evacuate from his chest, or that he would surely lose his lunch with the stress of the unknown.

He rounded a corner and entered the emergency wing through a back entrance using his ID, sprinting to the nearest nurse’s desk barely catching his breath.  The young woman behind the counter, caught off guard by his sudden burst into the space, was staring at the man with wide, blue eyes, her fingers frozen mid-typing on her mechanical keyboard.

“T… Trafalgar.  Where,” was all he was able to gasp out as he clung to the counter catching his breath.  He never was much of an athlete.

The young nurse hurriedly picked through the screen of her computer monitor.  “Room 114.”

“Thank you,” he wheezed as he pushed himself off again, this time speed walking through the large corridors of the emergency room, not wanting to cause an issue with the attending doctors.  He passed by empty gurneys and folded wheelchairs, idle medicine carts and nurses chatting with one another, another ordinary day for them.  Room 114 seemed so far away.

Finally, the number appeared on the wall to his right.  The door was wide open, multiple bodies hunched over the bed.  Shachi and Ikkaku bolted upright from their chairs, mouths open about to speak to Law, but he pushed past them and into the crowd of nurses.

Your wrists were strapped to both handles of the bed you occupied, your eyes squeezed shut and an oxygen mask was forcefully strapped to your face, so tight your skin was visibly pinching through the hard elastic straps.  The hose extending from the mask and into an on-board oxygen monitoring machine seemed so foreign on your beautiful face.  A few heart rate electrodes were placed on your chest, picking up a well above average heartbeat.  Your feet were weakly flailing under the covers as multiple nurses had their hands on you, assessing your blood pressure, your oxygen, hands on your abdomen, your legs, your breasts.

Law saw red.

“BACK THE FUCK UP,” he shouted, finally drawing attention to himself from the surrounding nurses.  Hospital etiquette could fuck off for all he cared.  His wife had her wrists bound.  “GET AWAY FROM HER.”

“Doctor, please,” a man from beside your bed rushed forward toward the cardiac surgeon, placing his hands on his shoulders.  “Please don’t yell-”

“Why the hell is she tied to the bed?!” he demanded, every fiber of his being forcing him to maintain at least some level of composure.  Behind him, Ikkaku grabbed Shachi’s wrist and dragged him out of the room, not wanting to put their friend under any more stress.

“She was thrashing in the ambulance, we needed to restrain her,” the male nurse explained, attempting to push Law back from your bed.

Law looked past the nurse’s shoulder and screamed once more.  “I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER.”

A much larger male nurse stood up from his place around your bed.  When he stepped aside, his legs revealed a bright red biohazard container on the ground, a mere glimpse of the pants you were wearing that morning peeking into Law’s field of view.  

“Doctor, calm down or I’m going to call security,” the bigger man threatened, stepping toward Law and giving his shoulders a firm shove backwards.  He was built less like your average nurse and more like a basketball power forward, and the force of his hands against Law’s shoulders sent the black-haired surgeon stumbling backward.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he seethed.  “What kind of nurse ties a patient to the bed when they’re panicking, huh?!  Is that what they’re teaching you ingrates?!  Tying a panicking woman to a bed to keep her still?!”

He forced his way past the larger nurse, much to the man’s discontent, and pushed through the other employees surrounding your bed.  His first action was to loosen the straps of the oxygen mask on your face, giving your skin room to breathe.  His deft hands ripped the velcro blood pressure cuff off of your bicep, tossing it back to a nurse who had stepped away, shocked by his actions.  The oxygen monitor on your finger was next, followed by the restraint on your left hand, which fell limp next to your body.  Your wedding ring was missing.

“Where’s the ring?” Law asked, forcing the blood oxygen monitor into the hands of the same nurse who took the cuff from him.

“What ring?” the basketball nurse asked, visibly angry with the doctor’s intrusion.

“The wedding ring on her left hand.  Where the hell is it?”

A very small, meek voice piped up from across your bed.  “It was removed in the ambulance because the paramedic was afraid she’d hurt herself with it.”

“Hurt herself, or hurt you?” snarled Law referring to the confused gaggle of nurses that had come into contact with his wife, already fed up with whatever excuses they were giving him.  If he was more rational, he could argue that they were simply doing their jobs, but even from his standpoint, what they were doing to you was clearly too much.  “I want every single one of you out of this room, and I want an attending doctor here immediately.  I need one of you to find that damn ring and bring it back to me.  Don’t make me ask twice.”

A few nurses took the opportunity to scramble from the room, visibly frazzled by the surgeon’s fit of rage.  The two male nurses from prior, however, stood their ground.

“You’re not in our department, doc, I’m afraid we can’t take orders from you.”  The larger nurse crossed his arms over his chest in defiance as Law stood between your body and the man.

“Then take my directions as the family member of a patient.  Get.  The hell.  Out.”  If Law were to see himself, he’d have absolutely no idea where this authoritative side of him came from.  He was never one for verbal or physical confrontation, more used to shutting down and bottling in his feelings than displaying them outright, and never would he ever think to get in the face of an extended colleague, but now was not the time for rational thought.

The first nurse to put his hands on Law placed a hand on the shoulder of his fellow nurse, pulling him toward the door.  The larger man finally relented and followed his coworker out into the hallway and around the corner out of sight.  Silence had finally settled over the room and Law rushed to the other side of your bed to unstrap your right wrist from the metal barrier.  Your heart rate on the monitor was slowly starting to even out, but was still maintaining a fairly erratic pace.  His new position allowed him to get a glimpse into the red biohazard container that was improperly placed next to your bed.  Your pants, the ones you had purchased when out with your friends a few weeks prior and that you were excited to finally wear to work, were completely soaked with bright red blood.  The rest of your clothing was in the bucket, specks of blood on your socks, and the lower portion of your flowy summer shirt.  He shoved the bucket out of the way with the ball of his shoe, forcing down the nausea that crawled up his throat.

He placed his hand on your forehead, leaning over you, his face contorted in an agony that mirrored your own.  

Your eyes slowly opened, your body completely spent and exhausted.  He barely wanted to know what kind of ambulance ride you had endured that had rendered your usually-energetic and upbeat form into a shell of your former self.  Your irises were filled with sorrow, and your eyes immediately began welling with tears at the sight of your husband standing above you.  You gasped into the oxygen mask, almost choking on the breath of cold, spicy air that flowed through the hose and forced its way into your body.  Law was quick to pull the mask off, breaking every form of protocol he was familiar with.  He knew his outburst and actions easily risked his integrity as a high profile surgeon, but as he took in the sight of you, completely burnt out, humiliated, scratched up from the binding on your wrists and straps from the mask on your face, he couldn’t find the time to care about his integrity anymore.

Finally free from the confines of the mask, you sucked in a shaky breath, heavy, salty tears flowing down your cheeks like a waterfall.  You weakly reached a hand up to his, and he took it in both of his warm, calloused ones, clenching you tightly, funneling all of his love into you.

“Law…” you tried to speak, but your voice came out more like a croak.  He felt his heart shatter, splintering into toxic pieces of fiberglass that ripped at his flesh, that stung the soul and pierced the very heart he gave to you.  Your lips were violently quivering as your body shook with suppressed sobs, not having any more energy to scream.  All you were able to do was mouth the words, ‘I’m sorry.”

Law’s resolve shattered.  Whatever was left of his pride, his dignity, his status as your strong, unmoving, supportive husband, was fractured.  He crumpled above you, his legs shaking as his head fell to your trembling chest, his hands that held your own remaining close to his own lungs as the tears he had wanted to cry for the past two years of trying for a baby finally escaped from his eyes.  He sniffled, snot rapidly pooling in his sinuses as a result of his tears, but he continued to hold your trembling hand in his as he bit his lip so hard it stung, the scorching hot tears leaving his eyes feeling like trails of magma down his skin.  The smell of hospital sheets did not belong on you.  

The world seemed to implode in on your weak form in the hospital bed, your husband’s defeated body hunched over your own.

A crackled, broken sob exited his lungs.

[sweet7simple]

Mech Pregnancy, Cybertronian biology and the gestation system, and what I like to call the Gestational Protocols

(A sparkling has two parts: The spark and the birth metal).

I have written about mech pregnancy before and that actually went really well! It got over a hundred notes, my most popular post ever.

So I thought, why stop? I love reproductive science. I love science fiction. I want to develop this more.

I spent more than five hours drawing and labeling and I am not fully pleased with it, but I am just pleased enough and tired enough to show you all what I am thinking.

If mech pregnancy, breeding, world building and/or messy hand drawings bring you joy, check below the cut!

(When I say I drew these by hand, I mean I drew them by hand).

(Note: When I mention a CPU, I am referring to a Central Processing Unit, otherwise known as the brain module.)

The codpiece: A goddamn problem. They can transform into transportation, though, so moving a codpiece out of the way surely has to be doable for them.

The valve: It has very large and noticeable exterior energy node and the reason for this is to indicate charge. We see the portus majora, or the larger port from the outside. If we spread these folds, we'll see the portus minora, or the smaller port. The portus minora is where the interior node system begins. Within the portus minora is the valve entrance, which gives way to the valve sleeve.

The spike: It can be modified or replaced, but the design has to be such that it can collapse in on itself and fit inside of the housing. Whatever your personal preference, the plug (the head of the spike) should expand outward in some way for reasons I will explain shortly. The plug is densely populated with small interior nodes while the cord or cable (the shaft of the spike) is sparsely populated with large exterior nodes. This makes the plug more sensitive. When the cable drains of its gel (which is recycled back into the system via a pressurizer fluid reservoir), these exterior nodes sink into depressions within the interlocking segments so that they don't snag on the housing rim when depressurized.

Note: In the diagrams, I call the nodes "energy nodes". There is a reason for that, but it's not necessarily necessary to the system.

Let me explain: I wrote a story where the nodes captured energy from the friction of the spike's external nodes striking against the valve's internal nodes and then that energy was sent to the spark chamber as a backup source of power during spark merging as spark merging dispersed energy and thereby diminished the sparks.

They don't have to be energy nodes, though. Those fun little goodie spots that create so much pleasure don't have to have a dual purpose. They can just be sensory nodes connected to the sensory net, a subsystem of the neural net.

When it comes to spark merging, I use stellar collision to visualize it. Here is a Youtube video that shows the collapse of a binary stellar system that pretty much sums up what I think happens, but on a much smaller scale: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zsIMDKMKUWw

The result of the spark merging, however is that a third body is generated from the collision. This third body is created from the intense heat and energy of the spark merging, and from the fragmented copies of life codes duplicated during the spark merge. This is the sparkling. When its creators' sparks retreat to their own chambers, the sparkling will attach to the creator that is receiving transfluid (I will explain shortly).

A form of gestation control includes putting a shunt on the spark chamber to disperse the foreign energy body.

2. The birthing conduit is what it says it is. Once the sparkling has created its own life code, it will descend down the conduit and join with its birth metal, or sentio metallico, in the gestation tank.

3. The gestation tank is where the birth metal is produced from the metal alloy particles carried in transfluid and the energon provided by the carrier. You can also think of it as a crucible furnace, which is used for melting metals in small quantities within a foundry. The crucible is the innermost cavity where the birth metal is made. That crucible is lined with a layer of refractory material, which withstands high heat. That refractory material is going to keep that crucible hot enough to maintain the birth metal as a liquid without melting the protoform layer between the refractory material and the outer shell of the tank.

So the layers from outermost to innermost are :

Outer shell -> protoform layer -> refractory material -> crucible

Also, I move to call the carrier creator a foundry now because I love that word so much. The Google definition for a foundry is a workshop or factory for casting metal. It just sounds so good.

"Hey, First Aid, is Ratchet your foundry?"

"No, but I get that a lot."

I can't think of an equally cool word to replace the term "sire".

4. The valve sleeve is a semi-permeable layer of elastic protoform that can stretch to a certain degree. The interior nodes are within this protoform layer and creates a bumpy texture. As already discussed the sleeve is self-lubricating. I am starting to realize that I labeled this diagram horribly, but please bear with me.

5. Calipers! They in all the sticky sexual interface stories. I just imagine them as these segmented, arm-like extensions that squeeze and relax depending on stimulation. In fanfiction, they have a habit of "cycling down" whenever stimulated. What I love about calipers is that they do set a minimum and maximum range of flexibility for the sleeve. With calipers, there is such a thing as being too small (the calipers can only tighten so much) or too big (the calipers can only loosen so much). They are synonymous to the pelvic floor muscles in a human that makes a vagina contract and relax, but they just make me think of pussy bones. You have to be careful not to break them.

6. THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART. Here is where the valve sleeve meets the gestation tank. There are two orifices: The tank cap and the lockring. The tank cap is where your mech is going to put some kind of seal as a form of gestation control. If a spike can't get into the gestation tank, then there is no birth metal. If there is no birth metal, a signal will be sent to the mech's CPU and then to the spark chamber to disperse the potential sparkling. How the tank cap is removed depends on how you want it removed. If you want a screw-in cap, then that cap will have to be removed via an invasive procedure (otherwise known as we're going to have to stick this instrument up your valve and twist the cap open and then we have to pull out the cap). If you want almost any other kind of seal or door, you can hypothetically just send a signal from the CPU to the neural net attached to the gestation system and have that seal slide out of the way into a depression within the rim of the gestation tank.

BUT THAT LOCKRING, THOUGH. This is why your spike needs to have a plug that expands to some degree.

Once that cap is out of the way, the mech's spike is going to pop through that lockring, sticking their plug directly in their partner's gestation tank. I like to call this "plugging the tank". Once that plug is in that tank, a signal is going to hit the CPU to start up GESTATIONAL PROTOCOLS. More on that at the end.

That lockring is going to cycle down just behind the plug, tight enough that the spike can't pull out without being too tight.

The purpose of this is to ensure that the gestation tank is filled up with transfluid. The lockring will only cycle open once the tank is full or once sensors within the tank indicate that the flow of transfluid has stopped for a certain amount of time (meaning that there is no more transfluid to be had, even if the tank isn't full yet).

It's a reverse knot! Instead of having a spike that knots, we get a valve that locks! I love it so.

7. The energy - or sensory - nodes are part of a positive feedback loop, meaning that "the product of a reaction leads to an increase in that reaction" (https://www.albert.io/blog/positive-negative-feedback-loops-biology/). In this case, pleasure created from stimulating those nodes (such as friction) encourages more stimulation, which creates more pleasure, which encourages more stimulation, until the loop breaks. What breaks this loop is overloading the sensory net or removing the friction.

When we state that the valve is self-lubricating, you can decide for yourself how it does that. The trick is making sure that the mech can can replace their own lubricant when necessary. One system is to have lubricant be a type of consequence from energon circulation.

Humans self-lubricate their vaginas in several different ways and one of them is that the vagina is somewhat permeable. Plasma (the liquid part of blood) is able to discharge from the bloodstream through the walls of the vagina.

Or perhaps your lubricant comes from the same reservoir as the transfluid for your spike. Since the valve sleeve is only somewhat permeable, the metal alloy particles in your transfluid can't get through. What does leak through is the fluid medium that the metal alloy particles reside in.

The plug is itself not an interlocking segment because the plug, as explained, has to expand so that the lockring can tighten between the plug and the topmost interlocking segment. If the plug is smaller than the interlocking segment behind it, then the lockring will either not tighten enough or will tighten too much. Instead, the plug has an outer protoform layer that is expanded with the same pressurizer fluid that fills the spike. In the diagram above, we see the spike, the spike housing that the spike has to depressurize to fit inside of, and at least three different connections at the bottom. One of these connections bundles the wires for the sensory net and attaches to the neural net.

The bottommost connection is to the pressurizer fluid reservoir. When the spike is pressurized, the reservoir compresses and fills the matrix within the spike to give it its form and rigidity. When the spike depressurizes, the reservoir decompresses as it fills with fluid.

The connection that has a dashed line going all the way up the spike connects the transfluid reservoir to the transfluid line (signified by the dashed line) and out the plug. The transfluid reservoir is actually pressed against the outside of the valve!

So it is possible to bang a mech's valve so good that they leak transfluid all over themselves because you are more or less hitting their reservoir with every thrust. You just have to get the angle right or else you're hitting the sleeve calipers and that might not be as fun.

The Gestational Protocols:

This has turned into a very, very long post. I have been working on it for nine hours now between drawing the diagrams, writing the post, and checking with Google to make sure my science isn't horrifically, unforgivably wrong (I could be using the positive feedback loop wrong, but I don't think I am).

So let me wrap this up with the Gestational Protocols. It's like a mech heat fic, actually, except the heat is very short and starts toward the end of sticky sexual interfacing.

For this scenario, Ratchet and Drift want to produce a sparkling. Because Drift is concerned about Ratchet's health, they decide that Drift should be the foundry. Drift has his tank cap removed beforehand.

They're having a great time, creating all the good friction, lighting up their sensory net like a growing fire. Drift is charged up, Ratchet is charged up, and they're about to hit that overload.

Drift's lockring is cycled all the way open. His calipers are trying to pull Ratchet closer. When Ratchet knows he can't hold on any longer, he pushes as deep as he can go. There's a small moment of resistance when his plug meets the lockring and then he pops through. The lockring cycles down and he's stuck. There's no pulling out now.

Ratchet told Drift what to expect from the gestational protocols, but it wasn't enough. The moment Ratchet is locked in place, a signal is sent from his gestation system to his CPU: Gestational protocols initiated...

His cache memory crashes. He has no past or present or future. He has no idea there was a war lasting millions of years. He doesn't even know what a Cybertron is. Programs are halted, tasks are paused, processing units block external input. Hydraulics fall to the lowest power possible. His frame goes completely limp.

Drift no longer exists. He is now a foundry. He is the function of his gestation system. His CPU has a primary and secondary task: Primary is to maintain the protocols and secondary is to reward Drift for maintaining the protocols.

As long as he lays there and lets Ratchet fill him up, he's fulfilling his primary task. Because it's so easy to let Ratchet fill him up, his neural net rewards him with pleasure and feel-good signals. He is riding a type of euphoria that is thoughtless bliss from the tips of his pedes to the tops of his finials.

A task pops up in his CPU, but he doesn't have the processing power to interpret it. He accepts without caring. He experiences his chest plates cracking open without actually seeing it or hearing it. His system rewards him for accepting the prompt, so he still doesn't care. His spark chamber opens next and he is thrown into the intense, beautiful pleasure-agony of having his spark collide with another mech's spark.

He doesn't remember who this other mech is, but Drift loves them. They're filling Drift up so well, both his tank and his spark. He's so full. He's being such a good foundry. He's receiving all those good neural and sensory signals and he's fuzzy/fizzy with joy.

The spark merge ends after several collisions and spirals. Drift loves every moment of it, and also loves it when his spark returns to its chamber. Now his spark feels swollen and his CPU registers a foreign body. There is a potential sparkling attached to his core. Chances are very good that this potential sparkling will not disperse.

His CPU rewards him with another rush of emotional glee and pride. He's sparked! He did so well, laying there and letting himself get sparked. He's a great foundry. He's the best foundry to ever get sparked. No one has ever been or will ever be as well-behaved as he was.

A notification hits his CPU and he doesn't even try to understand it. Apparently, it's the notification for his tank being full. A second notification and his lockring relaxes. He is deliciously, fully aware of a thick spike dragging across his oversensitive interior nodes, sending one last wave of hot, crackling pleasure through his frame.

Another notification. He doesn't read it. A task pops up. He accepts lazily.

The notification was that the gestational protocols had been completed. The task was to enter a soft reboot. Drift slips into recharge feeling like his only purpose in life is to embody pleasure and creation.

He wakes up feeling swollen and sloshy.

Ratchet is smiling down at him.

"Am I...? Are we...?"

Ratchet stroked a servo across his chest plates. "It's early still. The spark might disperse. But chances are looking good. We're sparked, kid."

And that is how I imagine the Gestational Protocols going: You get your tank plugged and then nothing matters but getting filled up with a sparkling.

Thank you for reading my book-length discussion! Please feel free to interact with me.

I have been working on this for ten hours now. I should proofread, but I am not going to at this time.

EDIT: I was in the shower when I realized I forgot something important - where does the protoform's first colony of nanites come from?

@earthstellar explains here (https://www.tumblr.com/earthstellar/659541951144738816/transformers-medical-analysis-essay-what-are?source=share) what Cybertronians use nanites for, including construction and self-repair. So we can readily assume that the protoform needs a nanites colony.

I'll tell you where the new spark's nanites came from: Their foundry's valve.

Humans do the same thing. We pick up friendly bacteria from the vagina we come out of.

That is all I had to add. Remember to start your protoform off right with a healthy nanite colony.

[wifetomegatron]

imagine how perfect of a husband rung must be. (rung/reader) (nsfw!) (mdni!)* A glimpse into your domestic life will consist of you waking up in his arms, facing each other — your head buried against his neck cables. He murmurs a good morning, and you burrow yourself deeper into his chassis, drawing long, slow circles against the seams. On a busy day, he'll unwillingly untangle himself from you, tucking you back under the blankets to let you sleep longer. Leaving not without a kiss. On the days when you both have nothing to do, unhurried and indulgent, he'd kiss you deeply. Once, twice, and sometimes, they lead to more: hands roaming across each other, languid, loving, noses bumping. Hips moving in tandem. 

Then you'll both fold the sheets together, tidying the bed whilst making conversation. You tell Rung about your silly dreams and your lover listens to you with adoration, eyes wistful and mouth quirked into a permanent smile. At times he combs your hair as you brush your teeth, and if you have long hair, he'd tie it up or braid the strands, learning how to do it from habitually watching you. Then he'd take pleasure out of the little things: such as making you a cup of tea as he pours himself energon, or helping you with your jewellery and getting dressed for the day. 

Aboard the lost light, he's usually consulting with patients, red alert occassionally bumps into you in the hallways on your way out ( still wary if not suspicious.) Then, halfway into the day, you'd reconvene in the mess hall or Swerve's, fingers and servo intertwined atop the table. Cue Rewind making a snark comment at Chromedome about how he never looks at him like that. You know it's untrue, but it flatters you to know that watching you and your partner inspires people ( if not make them — aka either Swerve or Rodimus —ask aloud for the fifth time of the day 'me and who'.)

He says he loves it when you ask him how his day was or if he was doing alright, and you'd have to bite back your tongue from showering him with love, opting to swallow the ocean of words to replace it with a kiss. The crew tends to overlook just how hard your husband works. And when he always looks so put together, it's easy to forget that a simple question could brighten his day. So you took it upon yourself to fill in that role. A stroke of your hand against his shoulder, comforting his frame and easing his back.

He was your love, your dearest, your beautiful, charming Rung. And you were his spark, his darling, his conjunx who is so generous with love, so selfless in your affection. And you like to show it to him, mouth already trailing down his waist, hands moving delicately in and out of him. He was so willing for you, so careful too — always making sure not to buck too hard against your open mouth. Lost in pleasure with his helm thrown back, servos, tangled against your hair. You tell him he's doing so good. So handsome and gorgeous and sublime. He loses himself with a whine when you lick up his spike, hands clever against his wet and open valve.

And when you make love, he's always more than happy to return the gesture, eager to please, to unwind. 

He was always a mech of intuition, filled to the brim with warmth and gentleness, so much that it overflows to the way he thrusts into you. He charts your every twitch, every moan, every sigh; memorizing and learning all the ways he can make you happy. And as he moves in and out of you with purpose, you hold him close — tight, so that you can hear the sound of his spark thrum. And when you finally come, molten liquid pooling in your belly, the release comes in waves. It reminds you of the gradual stop to a symphony, the crescendo pricking your skin as he follows after. Your skin is glowing with love, never depraved when Rung is already up to clean your legs, parting the hair sticking to the side of your temple before planting a soft kiss, thanking you like he always does.  If you are both not too tired, he'll tell you about the book he's reading. You've recommended a few authors — Paulo Coelho, Kafka, Khaled Hosseini. His eyes seem to shine even under the darkness of your shared habsuite, voice barely above a whisper. Intimate, sweet.

Then, as you drift into nothingness in his embrace, you often dream of life as it is: content in the mundane and the ordinary because it has Rung in it.  *au where rung is not primus and he's just a sweet, old mech

[autooptic]

1938 Mercedes-Benz W154

In September 1936, the AIACR (Association Internationale des Automobile Clubs Reconnus), the governing body of motor racing, set the new Grand Prix regulations effective from 1938. Key stipulations included a maximum engine displacement of three liters for supercharged engines and 4.5 liters for naturally aspirated engines, with a minimum car weight ranging from 400 to 850 kilograms, depending on engine size.

By the end of the 1937 season, Mercedes-Benz engineers were already hard at work developing the new W154, exploring various ideas, including a naturally aspirated engine with a W24 configuration, a rear-mounted engine, direct fuel injection, and fully streamlined bodies. Ultimately, due to heat management considerations, they opted for an in-house developed 60-degree V12 engine designed by Albert Heess. This engine mirrored the displacement characteristics of the 1924 supercharged two-liter M 2 L 8 engine, with each of its 12 cylinders displacing 250 cc. Using glycol as a coolant allowed temperatures to reach up to 125°C. The engine featured four overhead camshafts operating 48 valves via forked rocker arms, with three cylinders combined under welded coolant jackets, and non-removable heads. It had a high-capacity lubrication system, circulating 100 liters of oil per minute, and initially utilized two single-stage superchargers, later replaced by a more efficient two-stage supercharger in 1939.

The first prototype engine ran on the test bench in January 1938, and by February 7, it had achieved a nearly trouble-free test run, producing 427 hp (314 kW) at 8,000 rpm. During the first half of the season, drivers such as Caracciola, Lang, von Brauchitsch, and Seaman had access to 430 hp (316 kW), which later increased to over 468 hp (344 kW). At the Reims circuit, Hermann Lang's W154 was equipped with the most powerful version, delivering 474 hp (349 kW) and reaching 283 km/h (176 mph) on the straights. Notably, the W154 was the first Mercedes-Benz racing car to feature a five-speed gearbox.

Max Wagner, tasked with designing the suspension, had an easier job than his counterparts working on the engine. He retained much of the advanced chassis architecture from the previous year's W125 but enhanced the torsional rigidity of the frame by 30 percent. The V12 engine was mounted low and at an angle, with the carburetor air intakes extending through the expanded radiator grille.

The driver sat to the right of the propeller shaft, and the W154's sleek body sat close to the ground, lower than the tops of its tires. This design gave the car a dynamic appearance and a low center of gravity. Both Manfred von Brauchitsch and Richard Seaman, whose technical insights were highly valued by Chief Engineer Rudolf Uhlenhaut, praised the car's excellent handling.

The W154 became the most successful Silver Arrow of its era. Rudolf Caracciola secured the 1938 European Championship title (as the World Championship did not yet exist), and the W154 won three of the four Grand Prix races that counted towards the championship.

To ensure proper weight distribution, a saddle tank was installed above the driver's legs. In 1939, the addition of a two-stage supercharger boosted the V12 engine, now named the M163, to 483 hp (355 kW) at 7,800 rpm. Despite the AIACR's efforts to curb the speed of Grand Prix cars, the new three-liter formula cars matched the lap times of the 1937 750-kg formula cars, demonstrating that their attempt was largely unsuccessful. Over the winter of 1938-39, the W154 saw several refinements, including a higher cowl line around the cockpit for improved driver safety and a small, streamlined instrument panel mounted to the saddle tank. As per Uhlenhaut’s philosophy, only essential information was displayed, centered around a large tachometer flanked by water and oil temperature gauges, ensuring the driver wasn't overwhelmed by unnecessary data.

[portraitoftheoddity]

House ownership so far

I moved in at the beginning of May and it's been.... a project. This house is earning the title of my problem child, lol.

So far, I have:

Seemingly gotten rid of the mice (fingers crossed)

Discouraged the scouting carpenter ants (FUCK OFF YA LITTLE BASTARDS)

Removed soooo many spider webs. (I don't hate spiders, just don't want 'em *inside* my house thanks.)

Cleaned up a truly apocalyptic quantity of mouse poop and sterilized so many surfaces. I needed a shop vac for the basement. I still haven't cleaned out one part of the basement that I'm dreading, and need to vacuum the attic.

Replaced all the locks, which involved a chisel to get the strike plates in a place where the deadbolts would actually connect

Caulked up so many holes

Got a plumber to replace the leaky water heater valve

Got a quote for new fencing (mom got bored and came over and tore down the rotted out segments of fence and pulled up the shitty wire fence out back, which I helped her roll up.)

Replaced the stove, since the mice had colonized the old one and rendered it unusable

As of today, I have adequate water filtration so the water comes out clear and is safe to drink! And I don't have to fill up from my parents' well or the town spring.

Tore down the wallpaper in one of the upstairs rooms (now my office) and repainted the wall

Repainted the living room/dining room/front hall where the walls were scuffed to hell

Installed doorbells

Deep cleaned the most disgusting side door I've ever seen

Got an EMERGENCY plumber because the bath faucet broke and wouldn't turn off at 10 at night. X_X

Assembled a medicine cabinet, but haven't hung it up yet

Assembled a new bookcase. Because priorities.

Called the electric company about getting the rotting trees removed that are in danger of falling on THEIR power lines that run through my property (need to follow up)

Have a basement guy working on stabilizing the foundation from the inside by sealing up the crack and adding carbon fiber supports

Put down a deposit with a landscape contractor to install drainage to lessen further foundation issues from water pressure flowing down the hill I'm on

Repainted the guest bedroom, and assembled a bedframe for it

Installed hook latches for the upstairs doors whose knobs don't latch because they're 75 years old

And honestly I feel like I've barely had the chance to touch anything since I am also working full time and freelancing part time on top of that and my job is nuts right now. I have a whole color coded spreadsheet of everything I need to do. I want to repaint both bathrooms and the kitchen, I need to hang the damn medicine cabinet, I want to build a pantry cabinet in the kitchen so I can turn the front hall closet I'm using as a pantry into a hall closet, I want to set up the basement as a chill out den, and there is sooooo much work to do outside I'm trying not to freak out about it because apart from keeping the lawn mowed, I'm trying to relegate most of it to "next year's projects."

I'm so tired.

[hirocimacruiser]

What are old cars like to drive now?

Mazda Familia 3 door full time 4WD1600DOHC turbo review.

The second generation FF Familia tends to be overshadowed by the success of the first FF Familia. The Familia underwent a Key Concept model change in 1985, and the sports version of the 1.6 (twin cam turbo + full-time 4WD) became popular. Yasushi Shimono drove to Osaka for the later model after minor changes.

Text | Yasushi Shimono Photos Chihiro Abe

The other day, I rented a Familia car in Takamatsu, Shikoku. If you see Nippon Rent-a-Car, Toyota Rent-a-Car, and Nissan Rent-A-Car lined up at the counter in the airport lobby, if you're a car fan, you should probably rent a Mazda Rent-A-Car at this time of year.

It's a personal choice, but the Familia 1500AT I rented was actually very nice. The engine and suspension have the solid feel of a German car, and it feels great. Even though I've already driven over 20,000km, I can barely see any wear and tear.

During my summer vacation two years ago, I took a Familia rental car at the station in Tsuruoka, Yamagata Prefecture, and it was a great ride, and my family was happy with it.

For test drives, members of the media always ride in the manufacturer's so-called PR vehicles.

However, when they later try the same car in a rental car, they are often disappointed to varying degrees. I don't have the space to write about the reasons in detail here, but Familia is an extremely rare example of people rediscovering their charm through rental cars. It feels like a very seriously made car.

I am holding this.

FULLY MASCULINE NOUN CAR

In downtown Osaka, I was given a ride on a nostalgic Familia. 1988 model 3 door twin cam turbo 4W.D. It is a full-time 4WD high-performance model that was part of the second-generation FF Familia series that debuted in 1985.

I splurged on expensive 200,000 yen 0Z racing aluminum wheels for the car I bought this spring. There is a bright red mudflap in the wheel arches.

The guard hangs down. The hobby of the owner, Mr. M (35 years old), who really wants to drive a Lancia Delta Integrale, seems to be depicted on the outside.

The inside can also be customized.

It is. The front seats are BRIDE bucket seats. The handle is MOMO's Prototipo. At the tip of the shift lever is a plastic shift knob that looks like a white ball.

The main body of the 1.6LDOHC turbo engine has not been modified, but the muffler and air cleaner have been replaced with "HKS''. The suspension also uses Mazda genuine sports springs combined with GAB dampers. I'm not Kiyoshi Nishikawa, but I get the strong impression that he was trying to do things one by one, starting with what he could do. Mr. M, who works as a tire wholesaler, is a pleasant young man. It is the year of the year. When I pushed in the tape whose head was peeking out from the set, it played Mr. Children, which doesn't really suit Osaka (?).

However, once it started running, the Familia Integrale was a much more radical car than the standard.

First of all, the suspension is much harder than you might imagine from the specs. The ride quality is almost that of a competition vehicle, reacting honestly to the bumps and undulations of the road surface and transmitting short, jerky vibrations.

I didn't think it was power steering at first either. I slowly turned the steering wheel to turn off the engine and realized for the first time that it had power assist. That's how responsive it is. Basically, the normal engine is so energetic that it's hard to believe. Power is already 140 yen on NET display. However, it is more powerful than the face value, and at the signal Grand Prix the acceleration of all four wheels is like that of a rabbit.

I'll show you.

Even though it is a turbo, it starts to crash immediately after idling.

Delivers comfortable torque. The response in the low rotation range is also not bad. Tachometer red zone from 7000rpm. However, the latest 4-valve It's not as smooth and light as the unit.

It has been replaced with an air cleaner for competition. So, at the top end of 6500 or higher, the engine noise, mainly the intake noise, becomes louder.

Air conditioner control panels, air vents, and

-Dark areas where stereo units, ashtrays, etc. are crowded.

There was a designer who once described the center part of the dash as ``the most expensive part of the car's interior,'' but this car has a panel that says ``FULLTIME 4WD'' embedded in part of it. There is. It was kind of noisy. There is also a shiny silver switch inside the spring, and this is for locking the center differential. The owner once benefited from being muddy.

Apparently there is.

The turbo is effective without any noticeable bumps.

It starts to work, and what's more, it works like a turbo. I miss the way the green snail lights up in the instrument panel every time the turbo kick explodes. What's more, every time I shift up and release the accelerator, I hear the resonant whine of the turbine, which is nostalgic. I wasn't able to do it this time due to time constraints, but I was able to drive on mountain passes and some dirt roads, and it still looked really interesting. Manly and sweaty, a perfect masculine noun.

It's Luma.

Of course, the current Familia, which no longer has a sports model in its lineup, is not such a macho car. However, the Familia has always been a car that has not had a fancy feel to it for generations. Fancy is something like ``a womanly thing that a man has come up with.'' I like the character, which is unusual for domestically produced vehicles, but I'm sure there are people who say that's why it doesn't sell well.

PIC CAPTIONS

The second generation FF Familia underwent a full model change in January 1985. It has a 3/5-door hatch and a 4-door sedan body. Initially, it started with 1.3ℓ and 1.5ℓ NA and turbo units, but a 1.6ℓ turbo unit was soon added. The photo is of the later model. The body size is: total length x width x height = 3990 x 1645 x 1405mm. Wheelbase 2400mm.

The steering wheel has been replaced with "MOMO" and the seat has been replaced with "BRIDE". When the New Familia was announced, the company emphasized the improved quality of the interior, saying, ``If the packaging is the same, the quality of the interior is important.''

With minor changes in 8 years, NA unit

The remaining old E-type units were wiped out and replaced by B-type units. Photo of 1597cc 16V DOHC turbo with 140ps @ 6000rpm and 19.0kgm torque @ 5000rpm

Mr. M's Delta Familia has a majestic red mudguard. The ``GAB'' and ``HKS'' stickers and white OZ wheels clearly reflect the owner's taste.

[steam-beasts]

How I'd adapt TTTE BWBA s22 ep 2; "Forever and Ever"

Original summary; Gordon has a tantrum about all the changes being made to the railway and is sent back to his shed in disgrace, Gordon insists that he is happy to stay there forever but his new friend Nia from Kenya helps him to see the changes in a different light.

My adapted summary; Ever since Edward left the sheds, Gordon had been quite bitter about the changes. Now that Nia has moved in and Henry suddenly announcing that he's moving into Vicarstown, Gordon becomes enraged. In retaliation, he takes his frustration out on Nia and causes an accident.

Plot

A year had gone by since Edward's departure from Tidmouth Sheds, and despite how long it's been, Gordon still can't stop being bitter about it. Since Nia's arrival, Gordon had been disrespectful and belittles her often, bumping her out of the way and calling her a "weak little tank engine". He just directs his grumpiness on to her. One day, he hears a conversation between Henry and Sir Topham Hatt and is horrified to learn that Henry wants to move out.

(Not my art btw, it's on DeviantArt)

He confronts Henry the next day, and Henry tells him "Going to Vicarstown is my choice, Gordon. I don't need your say in it!". Gordon then goes to Sir Topham Hatt about the changes, ranting to him about the changes, but STH just says;

"Edward left Tidmouth to mentor Phillip and Rosie by his own choice, Gordon. Henry is moving away by his own choice as well, nothing can stay the same forever, you know. Just deal with it, and move on"

Sir Topham Hatt doesn't realise how much the changes are actually stressing Gordon out and agitating him.

When Gordon is getting his coaches shunted, he finds that Nia is shunting instead of Percy or Thomas. He's already angered by the sudden announcement of Henry moving out, and Nia, the one who (in Gordon's eyes) replaced Edward, decides to try and calm him down.

Gordon yells back at her, and Nia just retorts by saying;

"Ugh...I wonder how Edward and Henry put up with you, you're such hard work!"

Nia never means this in a rude way, she's just annoyed by Gordon. This remark upsets Gordon even further, so he decides to pull a trick on Nia... the same trick he pulled on Thomas decades ago.

He goes along with it and heads off with the Express early, and doesn't give Nia time to uncouple from the coach.

As Gordon speeds down the line with Nia in tow, he doesn't listen to her begging him to stop and just laughs it off.

(Imagine he's laughing maniacally)

My version of Nia was built without a proper safety valve, so she is a boiler explosion waiting to happen. Her boiler is heating up fast, luckily, her driver manages to reach her coupling rod and uncouples her. But as she's uncoupled, Gordon had reached a junction at that point and Nia ends up going off the rails and hitting a tree at full force, denting her buffers.

Later on that evening, everyone and STH find out what happened and confront Gordon about his errant behaviour.

Gordon is quick to defend himself, claiming Nia "replaced Edward and forced Henry out". This is when he tries venting his hatred of the changes. STH and everyone else just assume he's making up excuses and is overdramatic; he's not.

STH; "Excuses, excuses! I am sick and tired of your whining, Gordon! Nia is staying in this shed and that's final! We must not be so rude!"

Thomas; "You're definitely a big fat Galloping Sausage now, Gordon! You just can't go a day without complaining! Bother, even pulling the same trick on her like you did on me? That's pathetic!"

James; "Just disgusting, Gordon! I don't remember you being so horrible towards tank engines like you were today!"

Emily; "Shame on you..."

After this argument, STH tells Gordon that he's banned from pulling the Express until he gets his behaviour sorted out and is being locked in his berth. Gordon desperately begs him not to, but STH doesn't listen. He is shut up in the sheds, where he has a nightmare about Edward and Henry getting scrapped and wakes up in the middle of the night, unconsciously tearing up and reflecting on how everyone treated him and his dream.

The episode ends with Gordon whispering;

"....N-Nobody cares how I feel...my own controller doesn't c-care how I feel... why does nobody care about me?"

The episode ends.

Yeah, if I were to do Forever and Ever, it would be pretty dark and angsty. It's all hurt for Gordon and no comfort. Plus, it would show a bit of Gordon that's vulnerable and no longer all pompous and arrogant, instead all self-conscious and soft.

[bihansthot]

Great news! My heart and tricuspid valve look great and I don’t need any surgeries! 🥳🥳🥳 I will eventually need my tricuspid valve replaced again but not anytime soon and that’s music to my ears. I also hit a new low on the scale and after about a month long plateau I’m down a total of 35 pounds! It’s been a long and tiring day but totally worth it.

[diabolus1exmachina]

Ferrari 212 Inter Vignale Cabriolet 

The Ferrari 212 Inter, has been considered the first successful model within the Ferrari produced in series, since it also did so with a wide variety of bodies: berlinetta, cabriolet and coupé. The 212 Inter incorporated bodies -it did not have a monocoque chassis-, from designers such as Ghia, Pininfarina, Stabilimenti Farina, Touring, Vignale and cabriolet versions from the British Abbott. It also marked the beginning of a long alliance between Ferrari and Pininfarina. On the outside, a long hood to shelter its V12, two large round headlights, its attractive chrome grille and an air intake next to the front fender stood out for any of its bodies. Its engine was the typical V12 of the house, the work of Gioacchino Colombo. With an inclination between benches of 60º and a diameter per stroke of 68×59 mm. It had a total displacement of 2.6 liters, had 24 valves in total and was placed in the longitudinal front position, just behind the front axle. The feeding was through a Weber 36 DCF double body carburettor, with the option of a kit of three carburettors for the most burned. The final power was between 130 and 150 CV at 6,500 revs for the configuration of a single carburetor, reaching 165 CV with the triple, being able to speed up the tachometer up to 6,900 revs in both cases.

Power was transmitted to the rear axle through a fully synchronized five-speed manual gearbox. As for its brake equipment, it mounted ancient and unsportsmanlike drum brakes on both axles inside some beautiful 15-inch-diameter spoked wheels and 175-millimeter-wide tires. The 212 Inter would be replaced just a year after its birth with fewer than 90 units built for the 250.