#Spark Plug Replacement

[steves-auto-repair-va]

We have suggested spark plug replacement and ignition coil replacement on an Audi A3.

There was a code for P0302 cylinder 2 misfire. The technician switched the spark plugs and ignition coils on cylinder 1 and 2 before taking the car for a test drive.

He found that the engine misfire moved from cylinder 2 to cylinder 1. The maintenance schedule for this vehicle says the ignition coils should be changed every 40,000 miles. It has more than 95,000 miles on it.

[mrvolt123]

Car Servicing in Dubai| Spark Plug Replacement in Dubai| Auto Repair Shop in Dubai

Ensure your engine runs smoothly and efficiently with our expert Spark Plug Replacement services. Faulty spark plugs can lead to poor fuel economy, engine misfires, and reduced performance.

[hometowne-auto-repair-and-tire]

New spark plugs were suggested for a Nissan Maxima.

The spark plugs are worn and have too much gap. The gap is 0.055 inches but should be 0.044 inches. 

There needs to be a certain amount of gap between the spark plug and the electrodes. Once they get out of tolerance, usually that means they need to be replaced.

[spenglercore]

TIL the DMC-12 of Back to the Future fame had a plastic chassis. What the fuck.

[hailthedragonmaster]

who wants 2 see a fucked up car bushing

ofc you do. check this out

it's ripped 3/4 of the way. i can bend it with my hand and i don't have insane grip strength. the other side is exactly the same but i won't be able to get that for at least another week

the tie rod end on one side is also fuuuucked. that thang is ripping too. wack.

[hometowne-auto-repair-and-tire]

Spark plug replacement was performed on a Honda Odyssey this afternoon. The service was recommended due to mileage. The minivan has more than 155,000 miles on it.

A spark plug’s lifespan varies among vehicles and the manufacturer’s recommendations. They can also be impacted by other factors, such as carbon buildup.

The check engine light coming out, a car running rough at idle, and engine misfires can be symptoms of a bad spark plug.

[becqthefailednuke]

Writing this down before I forget the details:

I went to go pick up pizza (my sibling had a coupon (rad)).

On way back, nearly hit a tiny chihuahua. However, I slowed down and was able to stop in time. It quite literally ran in front of my car.

Decided to think fast, put on my hazards, pulled over, and grabbed the dog.

Drove the rest of the way home since I didn't immediately see an owner.

Put the dog in my room. He appeared to be pretty old with cataracts. He was scared, but well behaved. He didn't have a collar.

Called the local 24 hour vet to ask if they were busy, and if they had a chip reader.

Made sure to drive by where I almost hit the dog on my way to the vet. Saw a guy on the side of the road looking for something, so I pulled into the nearest street.

I stepped out of the car and asked if he was looking for a dog. He was, and told me "I usually let him out to go to the bathroom, and he always comes back!" (I was annoyed at this. He didn't have a collar, and he was an old dog in the dark. I get not having the space and adapting, but he literally JUMPED IN FRONT OF MY CAR. It would not have taken a very negligent driver to hit him. Thankfully I was fast enough acting, but that really annoyed me. At least have a collar and leash for fucks sake.)

Return the dog to him, and make my way back home.

Eat more pizza.

[mrvolt123]

Experts Help for Spark Plugs Replacement| Spark Plugs Replacement Services| Expert Car Services

Is it time to replace your spark plugs? Our skilled team offers quick and professional spark plug replacement services to boost your car's performance. Faulty spark plugs can lead to rough starts, engine misfires, and poor fuel efficiency.

[steves-auto-repair-va]

Ignition coils and spark plugs sometimes need to be changed out due to age.

For a Kia Optima, ignition coil and spark plug replacement is recommended because an ignition coil boot is torn.

These were the original coils and plugs. Since this happened to one coil, it’s best to install new plugs and coils at the same time.

[dmitriene]

cw: brat taming.

simon ghost riley loves to mess with brats, riling them all up until he can see a little twitch to those pretty eyes, feel the warmth of rising flush all over their face even from this distance, see those shiny teeth's baring at him with spat, provocative words that only make him grin all shark like and ugly, crooked and mean, he loves to corner them, to see the fiery spark smoldering away and replacing with beading, crystalline tears, and now you stand in front of him, all glassy eyed and whimpering.

you bite off more than you can swallow, not simply eat, when you start clenching your small fists and thumping your leg like a bunny, cause simon doesn't even sees you as something menacing, just an adorable brat, squeaking his ears off about how he pisses you off with some slips in his behavior, brooding and commanding, and sure, he gets that you want some control too, over him, as well, and it's so laughable, but he can manage to play along.

simon can make you swallow his cock all the way in your soppy, tight pussy and bounce feverishly on his muscular lap, he'd tilt his head aside to where your fingernails scrabble and tug at the pricky, buzzed hair on his nape, moan out through aborted cries that it's all feels so good, you're so full, tummy knotting hard with upcoming orgasm, your throat tightening over a whiny keen, reverberating with shaking spasm down your weakening limbs, and he grunts, nodding, chapped lips splitting in something cruel.

he catches your bucking hips, tugging them down so your weepy, squelchy cunt would be plugged full, every movement now making you sob, not snap, or taunt him like a silly girl you were, his bulbous, curled tip bumps into your spongy spot over and over, your gummy walls fluttering, quivering hot and messy with all the dribbling slick that leak clear down simon's ramming cock, steady pumping that keeps your greedy hole full.

and when simon makes you hide in his shoulder like a vulnerable, sensitive thing, fat tears soaking through the sweaty fabric of his shirt, hugging over the bulging, coiled muscles of his rippling body, the brat is no longer there, leaving you shivering and boneless on his cock, cheeks wet and hectic from searing embarrassment, as he coos down at you, getting the response he pushed you for, your body cuddling close to his brawny chest, seeking some semblance of comforting touch, as his hand comes to pat down your neck.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[pineyw00dsshesquatch]

How the fuck did regulations occur to where Ford Rangers can't be little trail trucks anymore, but these are ok? I have a '93 steel body truck myself, but I live in the woods. I sorted limbs I'd loaded it up with for garden bed poles and fire wood today and we're hauling a shed tomorrow. My truck is BIG but it's still smaller than current F250's. I used drive a '10 Titan that was about the same size as current Frontiers which are supposed to be the little sport Nissan truck. Hubby's Ranger's a '98 and perfect off trail size.

Sorry I'm just an old truck apologist, but I am fresh with the knowledge that even though they do still make Rangers, they have to be huge for some relatively recent regulations which is garbagio. We were at the auto parts place fixing a lightbulb next to an 00's Tacoma the same size as our Ranger just marvelling at how convenient and useful small trucks are compared to how huge they all have to be now. I love that we can take a little truck like that into the bush and don't need to waste money on a stupid ass side by side or 4 wheeler.

Here's my tronk full of limbs and my hesquatch husband's truck when he surprised me how far he dooted it way off the trail with unparalleled 4WD dexterity. We're only "Ford people" now by surprise coincidence, we were aiming for "old forest truck people" for a hot minute to get to this point.

Fuck the cybertruck. And the rest of the overly complicated, planned obsolescence ridden, right to repair denying, unreasonably enormous eyesore trucks out there.

now i’m not saying it’s going to be funny when a cybertruck massacres everyone inside of it because the autopilot hit a concrete barrier going 40 mph, but when the car made out of thick sheet metal with no crumple zones transfers the entire force and energy of the impact into the now liquidated bodies of its driver like a mortal kombat x-ray move, i might laugh

[esveon]

car mechanic bkg blurb…. let’s celebrate that i crashed my car

“so.. uhm.. how bad is it?”

katsuki grumbles as he crouches down, looking closely at the dents and scratches on your car frame. his coarse fingers trace over them, and his eyebrows furrow. you think this is the first time in your life you wish you were a car.

katsuki has always been so attentive to detail when it comes to his cars.

“‘s not bad, could be worse” he replies, placing his gloved hand on his hip. “‘s an easy fix, though. ya need me to check anything else?”

“spark plugs, please” you gulp, “i’ve been meaning to replace them for a while.”

he chuckles, his other hand reaching for a rattle inside his overall’s pocket. “the total’s gonna cost ya a pretty penny, doll.”

you feign innocence as you move towards him, fingers tracing the center pocket of his overall. “really? i thought i could get a few dollars off since i’ve known you for quite a while, mr. bakugo. it’s all about customer loyalty, right?”

he tilts his head to the side, the corners of his lips growing to form a smirk. his hand slithers to your waist. “what’re ya sayin’, sweets? ya wanna pay me some other way? i only take cash.”

you playfully roll your eyes, shoving his chest lightly. “you just had to ruin it didn’t you, babe.”

“not my fault you’re broke” he burst into laughter, wincing slightly when you slap his arm.

“fine, fine—i’ll fix your car. but—i’m taking my payment tonight.”

[verstappenverse]

Everything He Doesn’t Say

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max has never been good with words, but you’ve never once had to doubt how he feels.

Authors Note: Inspired by this amazing piece from @jungwnies 💕

1.3k words / Masterlist

You find the first one in your glove compartment.

It’s early. The sun is barely up and the pit of your stomach still churns with the anxiety of the meeting you’ve been rehearsing for in your head since 4 a.m. You get in your car, toss your bag onto the passenger seat and open the glovebox to grab the parking permit...

A folded square of paper slips out and lands on your lap.

You recognise his handwriting immediately, messy, slanted a little to the left, almost illegible to anyone else. The edges of the note are frayed like it had been sitting in his jeans for a day or two.

You’re going to kill it today. Like always. Proud of you. –M.

You stare at the note for a long moment. He didn’t say anything this morning when he hugged you at the door. Just pulled you in, kissed your forehead, murmured, “Don’t stress, baby,” and then disappeared back into the bedroom.

But this, this is different, like a whisper he wasn’t brave enough to say out loud. You place it gently into the centre console, fingers grazing it one last time before you shift into reverse.

The second one is inside your gym bag.

You find it after a long day, half-asleep and grumpy and rummaging for your water bottle. You nearly miss it, folded between the towel and your sports bra.

It’s short.

Stop forgetting how hot you are. –M.

You snort. A laugh slips out before you can stop it.

Max has never been great with words. Not when it comes to you. Not in the I-love-you-so-much-my-soul-aches kind of way. He says you’re cute, or you smell nice, or stay close tonight, instead, but you’ve come to realise he says a lot more than he lets on.

You tuck the note into your purse beside your ID, where he’ll never know you kept it.

Max is in the kitchen when you get home that night, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up. There’s soup on the stove. A half-burnt piece of bread in the toaster.

“Hey,” he says, glancing up.

“Hey,” you reply, quietly.

You stop when you see what’s sitting on the counter.

Your old phone charger. The one that frayed weeks ago and sparks when you plug it in, the one you keep saying you’ll replace but never have. It’s not just been replaced but upgraded. A newer, longer cable. Still pink. Still tucked into the exact same cable holder you’d been using.

Next to it is your favourite chocolate bar. The one that's hard to find. The one you mentioned in passing weeks ago, "God, I miss those. Haven’t seen them in ages."

You blink. “Where’d you find that?”

He doesn’t even look up. “Petrol station outside of town. You don’t need to thank me.”

You pause, because you were about to. He always says that ‘You don’t need to thank me’ whether it's setting your alarm when you forget, running you a bath without asking, or quietly re-parking your car after you leave it crooked. He doesn’t say it to be dismissive. It’s almost shy, like he doesn’t know what to do when you look at him with full-blown gratitude.

He sets your mug down beside you, your favourite tea with just the right amount of honey.

You look at the counter again pink charger coiled neatly, wrapper waiting.

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you murmur, reaching for the tea. “Thanks.”

Max doesn’t reply just shakes his head, chuckles and brushes his hand across your lower back. He hands you a bowl and waits for you to sit beside him on the couch, gently tugging the blanket over both your legs.

“I found the note,” you say after a few minutes, voice soft.

He doesn’t look at you. Just spoons soup into his mouth and shrugs. “What note?”

You smile. “The one in my gym bag.”

“Oh.” He blinks like he genuinely forgot. “That was meant for Monday.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, heart stupidly full. “Still worked.”

He never posts about you on Instagram.

It used to sting a little, in the beginning before you understood him, before you stopped comparing him to other people.

Because Max doesn’t care about optics, doesn’t feel the need to declare his love in public or share photos from every date night. He barely remembers to post anything at all unless someone reminds him.

But he does change his lockscreen.

You notice it one night while he’s asleep, phone buzzing softly on the nightstand with some notification he’ll ignore until morning. You pick it up to silence it and catch a glimpse of the photo.

It’s from your trip to Lake Como last summer.

You’re not even looking at the camera, head turned, eyes bright, smiling at something stupid he said. It’s not posed, it’s not perfect, but you look happy.

And he chose that version of you, the soft, unfiltered one.

You place the phone back down without a word and curl closer to his chest, whispering a quiet I love you into the dark.

Sometimes he sends you videos. Random ones.

A goose chasing a guy down a beach. A cat flipping off a countertop. A golden retriever refusing to drop the stick that’s three times its size.

No caption. No context.

It always comes when you’ve been apart too long both of you swamped with work. You’ve learned to read between the lines. It’s never just a meme.

It’s I miss you. It’s Can we talk? It’s I just want to hear your laugh.

You send one back. He replies immediately.

And just like that you’re texting again, heart full.

You walk in on him reading one night.

It’s the same book you’ve been talking about for months, the one you rambled about over dinner, quoting passages like a hopeless romantic.

Max is not a reader. He struggles to sit still unless he’s in a simulator or watching race footage, but there he is, lying on his back, squinting at the tiny print, brow furrowed like he’s concentrating harder than he does in qualifying.

“Max?”

He looks up, startled.

“Are you seriously reading that?”

He shifts awkwardly. “Just wanted to see what it’s about.”

You move toward him slowly, cautiously.

“And?”

“It’s... alright.”

“You hate it.”

“No,” he says too quickly. “It’s just... kinda dramatic... but the girl talks like you. Like, the way she explains stuff. I get it now. Why you like it.”

He flushes and looks back at the page, mumbling. You lean over and kiss the corner of his mouth and hope he understands that this means more than a thousand grand gestures.

Max doesn’t say “I love you” very often.

It’s not that he doesn’t feel it, he just doesn’t know what to do with big, consuming emotions, but he shows it.

In the way he tucks your hair behind your ear when you're too sleepy to do it yourself. In the way he places his hand on your back when you're walking through a crowd. In how he notices when your hands are cold before you do and slips his into yours without a word.

And especially when he drives.

You notice it every single time, how he buckles your seatbelt before his own. Leans over and makes sure it clicks. Tugs it gently to test the tension. Only then does he fasten his own and start the engine.

It’s so automatic now, so ingrained, you don't think he even realises he’s doing it, but you do.

You always do.

One night, months into this quiet, gentle love you’ve built, you find another note.

Tucked into your left sneaker. The old pair you rarely ever wear.

You unfold it and feel your chest tighten.

You make everyday better. –M.

You press the note to your lips, overwhelmed, and decide then and there that maybe he doesn’t need to say “I love you” often, because he’s always saying it in his own way.

In every little thing.