#steel forged wheels

[rockettwheels]

High-Quality Kiln Car Wheels for Brick & Ceramic Industries - Rockett Inc

Rockett Inc. offers top-tier kiln car wheels, expertly crafted for the brick and ceramic industries. Our kiln car wheels ensure optimal performance and longevity in high-temperature environments, supporting efficient and reliable production processes.

[k7forged]

K7 Forged Wheels is a premier destination for alloy wheel enthusiasts, specializing in crafting high-quality forged wheels that redefine automotive aesthetics and performance. With a commitment to precision engineering and innovative design, our wheels epitomize strength, style, and sophistication. Explore our extensive collection at www.k7forged.com and experience the perfect fusion of form and function for your vehicle.

[kmlwheels]

[almond-tofuuu]

❄️Can't lose you❄️

Zayne x reader

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries but nothing is detailed, a little (lot) of angst, happy ending tho (kind of)

Word count: 600

Zayne's familiarity with injuries ran deep, forged through years of serving as a doctor and navigating the horrors of a war zone. His resilience, honed over time, stemmed from his ability to maintain composure in the face of chaos, a trait that set him apart as an exceptional surgeon. Yet, as he stood before you, your body drenched in a pool of crimson, his usual calm facade crumbled.

The ER exuded an eerie tranquility that night, a stark departure from its usual bustling pace. Zayne couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him, amplified by your absence. It had become a routine, a cherished moment – your brief visits to his office on your way home, a shared tranquility interrupted only by the relentless summons of emergencies. Initially, he brushed off your delay, perhaps you'd been sent out to deal with a group of wanderers, or maybe you simply missed the train again, it wouldn't be the first time, but as time stretched on, apprehension crept in.

The shrill beep of his pager interrupted his thoughts, summoning him to yet another crisis in the ER. Suppressing his concerns, Zayne hastily navigated the labyrinth of corridors, mentally bracing himself for the unknown ahead. Yet, no amount of preparation could have steeled him for the chilling sight that awaited.

There you lay, motionless upon a stretcher, a crimson tide seeping through your shirt.

Zayne's world ground to a halt.

In that moment, a profound uncertainty gripped him, eclipsing the clarity of his usually sharp mind. Fear and panic coiled around him, suffocating his every thought, rendering him powerless in the face of the unthinkable.

The room pulsed with frantic activity as medical staff swarmed around your motionless form, their urgent voices blending into a disorienting noise. Zayne, usually the epitome of composure in the chaos of the emergency room, found himself frozen, his years of expertise rendered moot in the face of your battered figure. Amidst the chaos, a distant announcement pierced through, signaling the preparation of the operating room, but it was the firm grip on his shoulder that momentarily yanked Zayne from his spiralling thoughts.

Turning, he met Greyson's gaze, a silent understanding passing between them amidst the chaos.

"We're taking her to the OR straight away... You should return to your office. I'll update you as soon as there's any news," Greyson's words were a lifeline in the storm.

Unable to find his voice, Zayne simply nodded, watching in silence as they wheeled you away, his heart heavy with unspoken fears.

Alone in his office, Zayne paced with restless anguish, the image of you haunting his thoughts. He, who had never been one to seek solace in prayer, found himself pleading to unseen forces for your survival. Despite his unwavering trust in Greyson and the medical team, his mind betrayed him with a torrent of doubts.

What if the worst were to happen?

What if your injuries were too severe?

What if he never got the chance to gaze into your beautiful eyes again?

His fingers raked through his disheveled hair, a futile attempt to anchor himself amidst the dark thoughts consuming him, unwilling to confront the unbearable prospect of a world without you.

After what seemed like an eternity, a gentle rap echoed on his office door. Ignoring his own disheveled state, Zayne hurried to greet the visitor, his heart hammering in his chest as he swung the door open to reveal Greyson's fatigued figure. The weariness etched on Greyson's face spoke volumes of the arduous surgery.

"Is she..." Zayne started, his voice faltering as he couldn't bring himself to complete the question.

Greyson's reassuring touch on Zayne's shoulder brought a wave of relief, his gentle gaze offering solace as he delivered the long-awaited news. "She's okay, Zayne. Just breathe... she's alive."

With a shuddering exhale, Zayne released the tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his eyes brimming with tears of gratitude as he whispered a heartfelt "thank you" to Greyson.

Gathering his composure, Zayne met Greyson's gaze once more. "Where is she? I need to see her."

Understanding the urgency in Zayne's request, Greyson provided the room number, observing silently as Zayne bolted down the corridor, propelled by a mix of hope and desperation towards you.

Entering your room, Zayne is engulfed by a tempest of emotions. His heart wrenches at the sight of the resilient hunter he holds dear, now lying vulnerable in the hospital bed, yet an overwhelming sense of gratitude washes over him knowing you're still breathing. Drawing closer to your bedside, his eyes meticulously trace the remnants of your ordeal etched onto your skin—every scratch, bruise, and cut a testament to your resilience. Tenderly, one hand reaches out to cradle your cheek while the other gently clasps yours.

"...I thought I lost you..." Zayne's voice quivers with raw emotion, tears finally breaking free as he surrenders to the flood of relief and fear that had been bottled up inside.

Bowing his head, Zayne tenderly plants a lingering kiss on your forehead, his touch conveying both love and resolve. Pulling back slightly, he murmurs softly against your skin, his voice unwavering, brimming with determination.

"I swear, I will never let anything or anyone hurt you again.... You mean too much to me. I-" he pauses, gathering his thoughts. "I should've said it sooner, but I was too afraid... Now I realise that living in a world without you is far more terrifying.... You mean more to me than you could ever know.... Losing you, would be the equivalent to someone ripping my heart out of my chest.... And when you wake up, I'll make sure you know just how much I love you...."

[nicksalchemy1]

Mientras Respiro, Espero - Part 1

Pairing: Firefighter AU Dean Winchester x Nurse!Plus-Size!Mexican!Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, a firefighter with a reputation for casual flings, finds himself longing for something more meaningful in his life. Meanwhile, you, a stubborn surgical intern, are trying to escape your past in California. When Dean loses a bet and is tasked with cleaning the trucks, your paths cross unexpectedly. Little do both of you know meeting each other would cause some problems.

A/N: “Mientras Respiro, Espero”: Spanish for “while I breathe, I wait.”

Here’s the first part of my little story. I really like writing in this universe and if part goes well, then I’ll continue posting. (I’m gonna post it anyways 🧐) Credits for inspiration again go to @zepskies !!

🚒 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2,167

Warnings: Toxic parental situation, mentions of fat-shaming, childhood trauma, and a quick old-fashioned meet cute.

Part 1 - Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me?

Avalon, California, was a gilded cage with ocean views, where the houses were as polished as the facades people wore. It was in one such manicured home where your story paused.

“Mija, you’re wasting your life with these... these dreams of yours! ¡No seas tan estúpida!” Your mother’s voice was a razor wrapped in velvet, cutting into you as you packed the last of your belongings into an old, battered suitcase.

The room was a mausoleum of your former life, with its pristine walls adorned with academic accolades and a full-length mirror that once reflected a girl desperate to please. Now, it only mirrored your resolve.

“I’m saving it, not wasting it,” you shot back, the words tumbling from your lips like brave soldiers in battle. You tucked a framed photo of your childhood self – the one with the broadest, most hopeful eyes – into the suitcase's side.

Your mother’s silhouette filled the doorway, her arms crossed in the silent indictment. “And what about the family reputation? Our standing in the community?”

You zipped up the suitcase, and the sound of a definitive line drawn. “What about my happiness, Mamí? What about living a life that’s actually mine? With someone who won’t pick on me like I’m still a child?”

She scoffed dismissively, a sound that stung like salt in an open wound. “Esos gringos no saben nada. Happiness is a luxury for those who can afford to be foolish.”

You locked eyes with her in the mirror, your own gaze hardened like forged steel. “Then consider me a fool.”

The house seemed to hold its breath as you shouldered past her, suitcase in hand. Your father stood in the hallway, a silent sentinel. His eyes, a mirror of your own, flickered with something that might have been pride or sorrow – or both.

“Daddy,” you whispered, pausing for a moment.

He cleared his throat, a rumble from deep within. “You always were the stubborn one,” he murmured, his voice barely above a soft-spoken whisper. “Be careful. Call me anytime you need me.”

A nod was all you could muster before you descended the staircase, each step a drumbeat to your newfound freedom. The door closed behind you with a finality that echoed through your bones. The California sun dipped low, as if bowing to your courage.

The suitcase wheels rumbled against the cobblestone path, a small but sure declaration of your departure. Behind you, the house – a beautiful prison of expectation and familial duty – faded into just another part of the landscape.

You didn't look back.

Considering it was your first time flying in an airplane, first class at that, you were anxious. Not about actually being in the plane around people or the way the lady in the seat across from your aisle coffee smelled like someone took a fancy shit, but because you were moving in with a couple that you trusted yet, hardly knew.

Mary and John Winchester were rough around the edges, but they meant well. They knew what happened in your household, how toxic it was, and invited you to stay with them in Lawerence. Plus, you would be able to keep your job. Mary was head of Neurosurgery and earned you a spot as a surgical intern. Working hard or hardly working, am I right? You thought to yourself, smiling to yourself.

And boy, were these ‘gringos’ rich. Not only did they offer you that extra guest room in their house, but they also bought you your first-class seat, in which your butt was in right now.

You knew John was a respected detective, and with his income mixed with Mary’s, they made bank.

You also knew they had two sons. John and Mary mentioned their names, but you knew the youngest worked for the ADA, and the oldest worked as a firefighter.

Cool. Wonder what that's like, you tilt your head in thought.

A stable work life, home life, and family. But not all ‘picture-perfect’ families meant they were truly picture perfect.

And that was for you to figure out.

The airplane descended through the cotton candy clouds, and the world below began to take shape—a patchwork of fields and roads that would soon become your new reality. Your heart danced a nervous tango with the seatbelt across your lap, anticipation tightening with every drop in altitude.

The captain's voice crackled through the cabin, announcing the imminent landing in Lawrence. You straightened up, smoothing the fabric of your jeans as if to iron out the last creases of your past life.

When the wheels kissed the tarmac, you felt a jolt, not unlike the one that had propelled you out of your family’s house. You collected your single suitcase from the overhead bin—a symbol of your fresh start—and made your way through the aisle with a resolve that echoed the click-clack of your boots on the aircraft's floor.

The airport was small but buzzing with life, a hive of reunions and farewells. You stood for a moment at the arrival gate, scanning the crowd until you saw them.

Mary's presence was undeniable. She stood with a grace that spoke of her surgical precision, her eyes warm and welcoming. John, equally imposing in his own right, had the stance of a man who had weathered storms and could chart a course through any adversity.

They spotted you almost immediately, and Mary’s smile widened as she opened her arms. “There she is! Welcome to Kansas!”

You stepped into her embrace, the scent of antiseptic mingling with a soft perfume—a stark contrast to the oppressive aroma of your mother's overwhelming floral scents. “Thank you, Mary,” you smiled, grateful for the genuine warmth.

John extended his hand, which you shook firmly, finding in his grip the silent support of a seasoned detective. “Good to have you here. We’ve got the guest room all set up for you,” he said, his voice a deep timbre of reassurance.

You nodded, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t thank you both enough for this opportunity.”

As you walked through the airport, with Mary’s hand lightly on your back and John carrying your suitcase, you felt the weight of your old life lifting. The conversation was light, peppered with Mary’s questions about your flight and John’s quips about Kansas being the true heart of America.

Once in the car, the grilling starts. “So, how are you doing, hun?” Mary asks curiously, mainly because she’s concerned and trying to make sure you’re comfortable.

“Oh, you know, as good as you can be while moving state from state.” You remark as politely as possible, trying not to seep tension into the car ride.

“I hope you feel better. When we get to the house, you’re welcome to rest. I don’t cook very well,” She clears her throat, shrugging, “But I can give you some money to order something in?”

“I couldn’t do that, but thank you. It’s late, anyways. I’ll wait till tommorow morning.”

“Okay. Just as along as you’re comfortable.” Mary winks, a soft, motherly smile on her face.

You nod, meeting her smile with the same.

John pulls the Volkswagen van into the driveway and puts it in park, shutting the engine off. “Home sweet home.”

You sigh and step out of the car, staring at the home. The house is a two-story structure with a prominent green exterior. It features white trim around the windows and roof edges, contrasting nicely with the green. The front door is wooden with a rich, warm tone. There are two windows on the upper floor and one window on either side of the front door on the ground floor. A chimney extends from the left side of the roof, indicating a fireplace inside.

A well-maintained lawn adorned with various small plants and flowers. A concrete pathway leads to three steps up to a small porch area before reaching the wooden front door.

Mary leads you up to where your room is at and it seemed to be one of her boy’s old nurseries, but now the wall was decorated with two old band posters, The Beatles and a Zeppelin poster. Huh. The bed had a floral blanket and a navy sheet under it. There were two pillows in a white silk covers and a lamp on the beside table.

“John and I are gonna hit the hay, so, goodnight, love.” Mary waves from the doorframe, giving you one last glance before heading off.

“Goodnight,” You reply, setting your suitcase down beside your bed and lay back on your bed.

In the locker room, you changed into your scrubs, the fabric feeling foreign yet exciting against your skin. You tucked your hair under a surgical cap and checked yourself in the mirror. Ready.

The hospital corridors were a maze of activity, doctors and nurses moving with a sense of urgency that was almost palpable. You found your way to the intern's lounge, where a group of young doctors was gathered, pouring over patient charts and sipping on coffee as if it were a lifeline.

That's when you met her — Charlie Bradbury. With her vibrant red hair and a stack of comic books under her arm, she was a splash of color in the sterile environment. She noticed you immediately, her green eyes lighting up with an impish sparkle.

"Hey, you must be the new kid! I'm Charlie, your friendly neighborhood genius slash intern. Welcome to the chaos!" she greeted you with an outstretched hand, adorned with quirky rings.

"Thanks, I'm..." you began.

"Don't tell me," she interrupted playfully, "You're the one who just flew in from Cali, right? Mary's been raving about you."

You chuckled, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "Guilty as charged."

Charlie showed you around, her chatter filling the spaces between the bustle of the hospital. She introduced you to the other interns, the nurses, and even the grumpy guy who ran the coffee cart. Throughout the day, you shadowed her as she confidently navigated patient care, inserting IV lines with precision and calming anxious patients with her quirky humor.

Despite the exhaustion that came with the endless rounds and the mountain of new information, you felt a sense of accomplishment. You were doing this, really doing it — and you were not alone.

In the afternoon, Mary tasked you with delivering first aid kits to the local fire department as part of a community outreach program. You welcomed the break from the hospital walls and made your way to the fire station with a box of supplies in tow.

As you approached, you noticed a firefighter washing a large, red truck — his sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular arms, and his focus never wavering from the task at hand. You hesitated for a moment before approaching.

"Excuse me," you called out, "I have a delivery from Lawrence General?"

He turned around, and you were met with striking green eyes and a smudge of soap on his cheek. He was ruggedly handsome, with a stubble that spoke of long hours and a jaw set with determination.

"Oh, hey," he replied, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Thanks for the-"

Before he could finish, another firefighter called out to him, "Dean, we need you!"

"Sorry, duty calls," he said with a charming, apologetic grin. "Just leave the kits by the door, and thanks again."

"No problem," you replied, feeling a pang of disappointment as the moment ended too quickly. You placed the box down and watched as he jogged back to his colleagues, ready to respond to the next emergency.

The rest of your shift passed in a blur, and before you knew it, Mary was driving you back to the Winchester home. As the car hummed along the road, she glanced at you with a knowing smile.

"I hope your first day wasn't too overwhelming. You did great," she said encouragingly.

"It was definitely a day to remember," you admitted with a tired smile.

Mary's expression turned warm and excited as she announced, "Well, get ready for a family dinner tonight. John and I want you to meet our sons properly. They're excited to have you."

The thought of the evening ahead sparked a mix of nerves and curiosity within you.

"Oh, uh, okay." you replied slightly indifferent by the unexpected dinner, but the prospect of a meal with a family that wouldn’t make measure how many calories your plate has won’t be bad just because you had to meet your “landlord’s” sons. “Sounds nice.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And there’s that! Next time. 😉

Character Introduction For This Series

Dean Winchester Masterlist

[fishalthor]

endless amount of favorite character aesthetics:

No longer a Maiden, not quite a Wise One. Her entire identity had been wrapped up in those spears, her self forged into their steel as surely as the carbon that strengthened them. She had grown from childhood certain that she would be Far Dareis Mai. Indeed, she had joined the Maidens as soon as possible. the gathering storm. brandon sanderson/robert jordan.

↳ aviendha - the wheel of time. by robert jordan

[asimp4bee]

Mea Anderson & The Kyklos relic | TF Selfinsert/oc

The Kyklos (Ancient Greek:κύκλος [kýklos], "cycle, circle,wheel") relic, was one of the many relics forged by Solus Prime. The function of the relic had similiar mechanics to one of her other relics known as 'The Apex Armor' but other than acting as an armor for the user, it also serves the purpose as a 'second body' for the user.

The relic disappeared after Solus Prime's corpse was buried by the rest of the remaining Primes, along with one of her creations whom was named 'Angelus Lux' (Angel Light).

The relic later resurfaced with one Cybertronian named Zodiac, who later fled Cybertron during the height of the war with ex-Decepticon inventor, Voltage.

The Kyklos relic was then passed down to a 19 year old human from Springville, Utah named Mea Estrella Anderson. Zodiac passed the relic onto her as a symbol of his thanks and his affections for the human before they parted ways.

Considering that the relic was not made for human skin, upon Mea's first usage of such relic gave her permanent burn scars across her chest from the heat and power the relic contained that was more suitable for Cybertronian steel/metal.

[diabolus1exmachina]

Alfa Romeo Disco Volante by Touring Superleggera 

The Disco Volante is a two-seater Gran Turismo. It is based on the Alfa Romeo 8C Competizione coupé with its front-central mounted 4.7 litre V8 engine and a transaxle rear drive with unmodified specifications. Each unit, of which the construction requires 4,000 hours of manual work.The present Disco Volante celebrates the myth of the 1952 style icon. The new design briefing required to blend ingredients as innovation, emotion and aerodynamic properties into a timeless and essential shape.During the development stage, Head of Design Louis de Fabribeckers and his team cooperated with the engineers on an almost daily basis. “We focused on the preservation of the design essence. – says de Fabribeckers – Once the design frozen, we had to understand the manufacturing problems and solve them right away without compromising the design.”In consistency with the car’s design philosophy the interior has a ‘science fiction’ feel to it. Part of this ‘spaceship’ atmosphere was created by elements like the red LED interior light profiles. Also, aeronautics has been the inspiration for parts like the dashboard, instruments and seat adjustment lever.The Alfa Romeo 8C Competizione chassis was chosen for its light and rigid structure and its outstanding dynamic properties. Therefore it forms the perfect basis for the coach-built bodywork of the Disco Volante, integrally conserving the rolling chassis and drive train.The Alfa Romeo 8C’s steel space-frame and other structural elements were retained to guarantee torsion stiffness, high performance and the quality standard. The frame members and the central carbon cell remained unchanged. Elements of the underpinning and the body, such as the engine bay and firewall, the windscreen and cowl, the a-pillar and the locks and hinges have been retained too, just as the dashboard and instruments, the pedals and the steering wheel. Parts like doorframes, the roof frame and the c-pillar have been modified to match with the new shape.The layout of a front-central mounted engine, a transaxle transmission and rear-wheel drive offers an optimal weight distribution of 49-51% between the front and rear axles. To ensure excellent handling the front and rear double-wishbone suspension scheme is combined with hub carriers of forged aluminium and additional trailing arms for the rear suspension.The lightweight and compact 4.7 litre V8 engine delivers 450HP and 480Nm peak torque. It is coupled with a six-speed sequential transaxle gearbox with electronic control and paddle-shift gear selection. Together with a limited-slip differential and a state-of-the-art braking system with large diameter, ventilated discs a precise, dynamic and proactive drive is ensured. The Disco Volante can accelerate from 0 to 100 km/h (0-62 mph) in 4,2 seconds and has a top speed of about 290 km/h (181 mph).

All new and modified components of the Disco Volante have been CAD designed. In this process, which covers feasibility, safety, homologation, aerodynamics and structural analysis, the most advanced IT tools and simulation techniques have been used.

Since torsion stiffness and noise reduction are of critical importance, special attention has been paid to the under-body structure and its elements, like the tubular frames supporting the rear wings and bumper, and the roll bar joining the c-pillars. Other complex design issues were the tailgate hinges, the 3d-cambered door window, and the front wheel covers.

The Disco Volante was then submitted to a CFD aerodynamic study to enhance the airflow and ensure optimal downforce in the rear section. After that, FEM calculations were run to assess resistance and rigidity of all parts subject to homologation.

Touring Superleggera is synonymous with the manufacture of lightweight bodywork. The weight advantage of aluminium is one of the assets of Touring Superleggera’s construction methods. Nowadays however, the craft of hand-beating aluminium panels is combined with the use of carbon fibre reinforced plastic (CFRP). For the Disco Volante, Touring decided to use this combination of aluminium and CFRP. This has been the result of a study conducted to define optimal use of materials for the bodywork in terms of weight, resistance, precision, finish and quality, and ease of repair in case of damage.

The CFRP is used for specific components like the front bumper and grille, the bonnet, the skirts, the boot lid and the integrated rear-window frame. The bonnet and the boot lid are sandwich-built with Nomex filler in-between to obtain a better stiffness/weight ratio and to dampen vibration and noise.

The aluminium panels are hand-beaten using an epoxy mould. Since the inner frames of most parts of the bodywork are made of CFRP, this requires gluing of aluminium on carbon fibre. This technique adds to the rigidity as the glue has structural properties.

The body panels are pre-assembled on a laser measurement platform using a jig. This ensures that the strict tolerance required is respected. After adjustment, the panels are either welded or glued. The body-in-white is then used to preassemble and fit all trim components, brightware and moulding.

[spartanguard]

sons of love and death, 13/13 {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon] A/N: Here we are at the end of my @cssns story for 2023!! Hope you like how I've wrapped it up! Thank you all for following along this adventure! (As always, thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl !) rated M | 1.3k words | AO3 |  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Several weeks later

Storybrooke’s harbor was just a few bobbing lights on the horizon, almost disappearing into the glare from the setting sun behind it. It was a clear, cool evening—perfect for a sail. 

Killian had navigated them to a spot just far enough away for privacy, but close enough to get back to town quickly if needed—not that they were concerned with anything happening, but mostly out of habit. That, and he didn’t want to get too far into open water until he was more comfortable with his new prosthesis.

It had taken him a week or so to recover from what happened with Dorian—more mentally than physically, though the stab wound had left a scar over his heart—but once he got through the thick of it and started getting back into a normal routine, he realized he needed something better than the old wooden hand. Surely in a realm with the technological advancements of this one, there had to be better options?

There were—probably too many, if he was being honest. They’d had to go outside of Storybrooke to meet with a specialist (as well as come up with a cover story for his original loss of limb and the subsequent primitive surgery on his wrist), but he was quickly on his way to having a more modern prosthesis.

(A more expensive one, as well; Emma’s eyes had gone wide when she heard the estimated cost, but Gold had been surprisingly generous and offered to pay for it. Killian had first assumed it was Belle’s prompting, but was shocked to find she had done no such thing. It wasn’t quite turning over a leaf, but perhaps it was the final nail in the coffin of their rivalry.)

The following weeks of physical therapy were rough. When learning his magic, he’d compared it to flexing a muscle in a new way; this was similar, but far more literal—and rather more painful, as those in his left forearm had seen little action in the last centuries. Now, though, he was finally getting used to using them, as well as his new hook. 

He had debated getting something a bit more hand-like, but after two hundred years, a hook was what he was used to. This one was far less intimidating, though, and far more dexterous; it actually opened and closed! He was still perfecting his modified grip, but the fact that he had one was thrilling.

(And he particularly liked practicing by using it to remove Emma’s bra straps. He was still working on unclasping, though.)

It was smaller than his old one, but still fit against the spokes of the Jolly Roger’s wheel perfectly. Weighing anchor was still a minor challenge, though, so he had Emma help him with that, and then waited for her at the railing. 

“You’re sure about this?” she asked for the umpteenth time as she joined him.

“Aye; it’s time.”

From the deep pockets of her winter coat, she produced the dagger. It was still as sharp and wicked-looking as it had been all those weeks ago, and knowing their blood sat in the enameled design was off-putting—even worse that it was forged from the steel that had so long been his companion. So it was high time to say goodbye to it, and all it represented.

The portrait had already been taken care of—buried in a small plot in the cemetery, with an unassuming stone bearing Dorian’s name. (Belle had protested simply entombing such an iconic artifact from literature, but no one felt right about trying to display it anywhere, especially with it being both damaged and cursed.) 

He actually had come to terms with the loss of his brother more quickly than he anticipated. Despite all the drama, they had still come from the same womb, but he realized—after some more late nights fueled by slightly more beer than necessary on the back porch with David—it was more the what-ifs he was lamenting. Again, no one understood that better than his father-in-law. (And, in the process, he realized perhaps what he’d thought he was missing was already right there: regardless of what their relationship might be on paper, David had long since filled the brotherly role Liam left empty, and he admitted that Killian held a similar position in his own life. They could only partly blame the subsequent tears on the booze.) 

And now they would put to rest the last bit of Dorian, and part of Killian’s past.

Emma handed the dagger over to him, and he took it gingerly. Despite the emotional weight it carried, it just felt like any old dagger—no hum of magic, no din of dark whispers. 

He glanced down at the railing, where the burn mark from Dorian’s cigarette was still a blight on the wood. It was a scar it would always carry, just like the one on his chest from the blade’s edge, and so many others from his past. 

But it was just a mark—a memory, one from which he had learned and was moving on. 

A line from Dorian’s namesake novel stood out to him: “What fire does not destroy, it hardens.” In a way, it applied to both of them. Dorian had spent so many years burning in the embers of his own ego, entitlement, and anger that it had hardened his heart even against what love it had let in. Killian, though—he’d walked a similar path, but the fires of the Underworld had only hardened his resolve to fight for the things he loved, no matter what.

He didn’t need a piece of metal to remind him of that; the woman at his side was more than enough.

“Fare thee well,” he said, and without further hesitation, dropped the dagger into the ocean.

As long as they could, they watched it fall through the water, the setting sun glinting off its edges, until it slipped into the depths and out of sight. And with it, a weight that Killian hadn’t realized he’d been carrying also fell away.

He took in a long breath of the sharp sea breeze and slowly let it out, then pulled Emma close to his side. “How do you feel?” she asked.

For a moment, he mused on it; how did he feel? It was a complicated set of emotions to sort through, and he’d probably spend some extra time discussing it in his biweekly session with Archie, but one thought swam to the forefront: “Free.”

His dark history would always be there, but he was no longer going to let it hold him back. It took him coming face-to-face with an even darker turn his life could have taken to realize that it was, but now—he was ready to face the future unburdened, and eager for it to start.

“Good,” Emma said, smiling as she rested her head on his shoulder. “So what do you want to do now?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, then took her hand in his and led her away from the rail. “There was one thing I wanted to do with my magic, but never got a chance to.”

“Which was?”

“Remember that delicious red dress you wore to your father’s engagement ball?”

She rolled her eyes, but nodded. “Mm-hmm.” 

“Think you could conjure that up?”

She smirked. “I’ll do you one better.”

The soft, warm breeze of her magic surrounded them, leaving them both dressed as they were that night, the hem of his long tan jacket swishing against her voluminous scarlet skirts. “Perfect,” he murmured, and pulled her close.

And as the sun finally set, revealing a sky full of stars overhead, they danced under the lights—and into whatever lay ahead.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz​ @resident-of-storybrooke @bluewildcatfanatic

[hirocimacruiser]

Over 550ps, top speed over 300km/h. New era complete by Veilside 029838 · 1104

Veilside EVOLUTION RII

Veilside in Tsukuba brings to the world a GT-R that is at the cutting edge of the times, and in complete form!!! This is the Veilside Evolution RII, with the theme of ``faster and more beautiful.''

The engine displacement has been increased to 2680cc with 88 forged pistons, H-stage connecting rods, camshafts, etc.

The turbine is equipped with twin TD-16G. Equipped with ARC intercooler, Trust wastegate x2, etc.

The fuel system is 550cc with only the main injector. The fuel adjustment, ignition timing, and each injector are controlled by the original computer. The muffler is made entirely of stainless steel that meets vehicle inspection requirements.

Main pipe 30 → outlet 10 single. The suspension is strengthened with a 5-level vehicle height adjustment shock absorber and a coil spring kit that is compatible with official vehicle inspections. Rate is F5.5, R4.0kg/m. I wear P-ZERO's F275/35-18 and R315/30-18 on this. The wheels will be Monza's F18 x 11JJ and R18 x 13JJ. The brake system is reinforced with Earl's hoses and D-Speed ​​NoI pads.

The appearance is a blister fender kit. These include the F bumper, F/R fender, R wing, S step, and aero mirror.

The interior of the cockpit has been refined and a complete meter with 3 meters has been installed. It can be said to be the complete product of a new era.

[minoracts]

Factory

Nikola Vaptsarov 1909-1942

(translator unknown)

A factory, Clouds of smoke above. The people – simple, The life – hard, boring. Life with the mask and grease-paint off Is a savage dog snarling.

You must tirelessly fight, Must be tough and persist, To extract from the teeth Of the angry, bristling beast A crust.

Slapping belts in the shed, Screeching shafts overhead, And the air is so stale You can’t easily Deeply Inhale.

Not far off the spring breeze Rocks the fields, the sun calls... Leaning skyward the trees Shade The factory walls. How unwanted, forgotten And strange are the fields ! They have thrown in the dustbin The sky and its dreams. For to stray for a second Or soften your heart, Is to lose to no purpose Your strong worker’s arm. You must shout in the clatter And din of machines For your words to pass over The spaces between.

I shouted for years – An eternity ... I gathered the others too shouted in chorus – The factory, the machinery And the man in the farthest, darkest corner. This shout forged an alloy of steel And we armoured our life with its plate. Just try putting a spoke in the wheel – It’s your own hand you’ll break.

You, factory, Still seek to blind us With smoke and soot, Layer on layer. In vain! For you teach us to struggle. We’ll bring The sun Down to us here.

So many toil-blackened faces Under your tyranny smart. But one heart within you tirelessly Beats with a thousand hearts.

[rockettwheels]

Kiln Car Wheels by Rockett Inc

Contact Rockett Inc. today to get a quote for kiln car wheels. We offer competitive prices and fast turnaround times. Our team of experts is here to help you find the right wheels for your application.

[kmlwheels]

[forgeline]

No talk, all action. Bill Graves Sr. earned the Goodguys 2022 Autocrosser of the Year title in his pro-touring 1967 Chevrolet Corvette. It’s powered by a FiTech-injected 434ci LS7 mated to a Silversport Transmissions Tremec 5-speed manual transmission and rides on Van Steel Corvettes suspension, Viking Performance coilovers, 285/30ZR18 Falken & 315/30ZR18 Yokohama tires, and 18x11/18x12 Forgeline forged three piece GA3R wheels finished with Hyper Silver centers & Polished outers! See more at: https://forgeline.com/customer-gallery/bill-graves-sr

Photo courtesy of Fuel Curve.

[realtobiasthe3rd]

Parts, Pieces, and Particulars

Today, the forge hisses and groans in protest. It had been running hot for so long now, The Core refusing to let the bellows stop as I heated and shaped the small metal forms into gears, wires, and even clock hands. One by one, one after another. The metal takes shape and becomes important parts to a whole.

Parts to a doll that I would not build.

The next day, the wheels and kiln scrape and groan at my efforts. My hand of flesh shaping casings for arms, legs, chests, backs, whatever appendage a doll could have that needed the be plate before my hand of metal moves them in and out of the kiln. The finishing hexes, spells, and designs left unapplied.

More parts for a doll I would not build.

The day that follows brings an unending whirring and buzzing of blades against sanders, grinders, and stones. Removing the chips, the dullness, and the mishaps of the forges heat to blade after blade, long, short, curved, straight. An armory put together for combat.

Still further parts to a doll I would not build.

Eventually, something that does not belong wanders into my workshop. It marvels at the gears, polished to a shine. It caresses the armor shells, white as pure snow and strudier than steel. It runs its hands against a blade, its edge keen and designed to cut. Here, the Doll who wandered from her witch cuts its hand, the black oil like blood smearing behind it. I look up from my bench and see the doll, the stranger it is, the injury it was caused and wave it over. Whispering gentle words, handing it a needle, some thread amd showing it how to stitch its hand. The task done, I get it a bag full of trinkets of use. Some for the doll, some for its witch, and send it on its way.

A bag full of parts, for a doll I didn't build but would happily repair.