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balbirsinghandsons · 7 months

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Alloy Steel Chain Slings: Your Trusted Lifting Solution

Compound steel chain slings have turned into a key device in different ventures, giving a protected and dependable method for lifting and shipping weighty burdens. In India, the interest in excellent combination steel chains and slings has been on the ascent, and the nation brags a vigorous organization of compound steel chain providers. In this article, we will investigate the significance of amalgam steel chain slings and feature the job of alloy steel chain suppliers in India.

Alloy Steel Chain Slings

Alloy steel chain slings are flexible and sturdy lifting gadgets utilized across many businesses, including development, assembling, transportation, and mining. Their ubiquity can be ascribed to a few key benefits:

Strength and Toughness: Compound steel chains are known for their extraordinary strength and sturdiness. They can endure weighty loads and are impervious to scraped spots, erosion, and outrageous temperatures. This makes them ideal for use in unforgiving modern conditions.

Adaptability: Amalgam steel chain slings come in different arrangements, including single-leg, twofold-leg, and multi-leg slings. This flexibility permits them to be tweaked to suit explicit lifting necessities, whether it's a solitary point lift or a mind-boggling fixing activity.

Security: Wellbeing is central in lifting tasks. Combination steel chains are planned in light of security, highlighting load-appraised parts and the capacity to perform well even in unfriendly circumstances, decreasing the gamble of mishaps.

Life span: With legitimate support, compound steel chain slings can have a long help life, giving a practical answer for lifting needs over a drawn-out period.

The Job of Alloy Steel Chain Providers in India

India is home to various composite steel chain providers who assume a significant part in guaranteeing that ventures approach top-quality lifting gear. These providers offer a great many administrations and advantages:

Item Assortment: Indian compound steel chain providers give an immense range of chain types, sizes, and designs to take care of the assorted necessities of various ventures. Whether you require Grade 80, Grade 100, or specialty chains, you can track down them through these providers.

Quality Affirmation: Trustworthy compound steel chain providers in India stick to severe quality control norms. They source their chains from believed makers and lead thorough testing to guarantee that the items fulfill or surpass industry guidelines.

Custom Arrangements: Numerous providers offer custom manufacture administrations to make composite steel bind slings custom-made to your particular lifting prerequisites. This customization guarantees that you have the right hardware to get everything done.

Specialized Mastery: Indian compound steel chain providers frequently have a group of experienced experts who can give master direction on choosing the fitting chain sling and proposition guidance on safe lifting rehearses.

Cutthroat Valuing: The serious market in India guarantees that clients can get excellent amalgam steel chains and slings at serious costs. This moderation is especially helpful for small and medium-sized organizations.

Conclusion

Alloy steel chain slings are irreplaceable apparatuses for ventures associated with lifting and moving weighty burdens. The compound steel chain providers in India assume an essential part in satisfying the need for these dependable and strong lifting arrangements. Their obligation to quality, well-being, and consumer loyalty guarantees that organizations across India approach first-rate compound steel chains and slings. Whether it's for development, fabricating, or some other modern application, amalgam steel chain slings from believed Indian providers are the go-to decision for protected and productive lifting activities.

#Alloy steel chain slings

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kandmboutique · 7 months

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Red and heart bead Bracelet

#rhinestone beads #zinc alloy beads #heart beads #snake chain #adjustable bracelet #lobster claw closure #made from copper

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bemcoindustrialquipment · 1 year

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Buy the best Alloy Steel Chains Sling for your lifting applications from Bemco Pvt Ltd. Our Alloy Steel Chains Sling is well known in the market for its unique features such as flexibility, durability, corrosion resistance, long-lasting capability, and accuracy in dimension. Explore us, for more information!

#Alloy Steel Chains Sling #Alloy Steel Chains Sling manufacturers #Alloy Steel Chains Sling Suppliers #Alloy Steel Chains Sling Exporters

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theladytrader · 1 year

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#Tradewind Finance #aluminum alloy #international trade finance companies #best export factoring companies #supply chain finance companies

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aksbalbirsingh · 2 years

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It is essential to consider the load that the alloy steel chain slings will need to raise before making your choice. Because most chain slings are strong and designed to carry heavy loads composed of many kinds of materials, they can be employed in most circumstances. Alloy steel chain loads may be modified on-site to accommodate different loading types and are extremely flexible to the shape and size of many loads. Get the best quality products from Balbir Singh & Sons.

#alloy steel chain slings

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dailyadventureprompts · 4 months

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Hey Dapper! As an avid follower of- and equally avid inspiration-taker from your work, first of all, thank you for the work you've put into all this. It is a treasure-trove of knowledge and inspiration that has certainly made me very happy. Can I ask for your thoughts on Tharizdun? I've been trying to form a concept of it for in my own world, but I've had little success.

Monsters Reimagined: Tharizdun, the Whisperer in Darkness

Being the default "god of madness" Tharizdun brings together two of my enduring gripes with d&d: gods that no one would actually worship and the enduring legacy of depicting people with mental illness as dangerous lunatics devoid of empathy and reason.

As he currently exists in the DM's toolbox, the whole point of including Tharizdun in your campaign is to act as the powersource behind whichever final fantasy style endboss wants to start the apocalypse before unleashing a mass of offband lovecraftian tentacles. Derivative, trite, his singular desire to inspire others to end the world is MCU levels of failing to give villains proper motivations.

We can do better

TLDR: Far In the wildest depths of the astral sea the ur-god Tharizdun is formless and thoughtless, yet dreaming. Resembling nothing so much as a cosmic nebula of oily clouds, a vast and shapeless expanse of churning primordial chaos that pulses with synapses of psychic lighting containing a consciousness older than time itself. Like a sleeper beset with sleep paralysis the chained oblivion thrashes against a reality it can only barely perceive, sending shockwaves of destruction across the cosmos.

While scholars of all worlds debate the true origins and nature of Tharizdun they can agree on two things:

It is more powerful than all the pantheons of creation, and it is terrified.

Inspiration: I wasn't originally going to do a whole monsters reimagined on Tharizdun, instead simply gesturing on what Matt Mercer has done with the deity (using the roiling chaos as a throughline for much of his Exandrian worldbuilding) and leaving it at that.

Around the same time I got this ask though I was considering doing my own take on Azathoth, the so called "blind idiot god" of the lovecraft mythos, inspiration struck and I decided to alloy the two concepts into what I think is a stronger whole. There's a lot of overlap in the two formless horrors, partly due to Tharizdun being a d&d's attempt to dip its toe into eldritch horror, without quite understanding the thematic framework involved.

Like many other things ( Minorities, the sea, decay, air conditioning) Lovecraft was terrified of objective reality. This might sound like a joke, but fundamental to his mythos is the fear that earth and the white men that lived upon it were not the centre of the universe created by a loving god. Lovecraft lived in increasingly scientific times and the science supported the idea of a universe in which humanity's existence was the meaningless product of random chance. Azathoth was this anxiety embodied in its most extreme scale: the capital G god of the universe which sat in the middle of all creation that was not only uncaring towards humanity (as many of Lovecraft's creations were) but the embodiment of ultimate unthinking chaos.

Trying to port Azathoth (and most of the other lovecrafitan pantheon) doesn't work because the conceits of the genre fundamentally clash. D&D DOES propose a moral universe, and goes out of its way to simplify morality down to such a cartoonish level that it has objective answers. In Lovecraft the horror comes from the fact that the cultists and their fucked up alien gods exist, where as the moral christian god doesn't... in d&d there's no reason for the cultists to worship the fucked up alien gods because the regular gods are both existent and quite nice.

The default d&d cosmology has multiple infinite voids of chaos including limbo, the abyss, and the far realm. I've already given my take on one of these, but I wanted an alternative for the origins of the weird that wasn't specifically focused on entropic decay.

There's a fascinating (and very depressing) history over the term hysteria and the connotations of mental crisis with feminine fragility. The word itself comes from the greek word for womb and there's something about the idea of "primal birthing chaos" that's worth playing with insofar as it makes weird rightoids Jordan Peterson deeply afraid.

Taking these thoughts as well as my earlier gripes in mind, its going to take a bit of an overhaul to make Tharizdun/Azathoth as a credible antagonistic force for a campaign. Also, this might be my own bias as an author showing through here but I don't go in for the lovecrafitan "truths too terrible to be understood". I think the universe is a fundamentally knowable place and if things exist outside our means of perceiving them then we'll just bullrush through and work out a temporary explanation on our way.

Here's my Fix/Pitch: Both Tharizdun and Azathoth are supposed to represent primordial chaos and formless madness. D&D's less than stellar history with mental health issues aside, we know that "madness" isn't evil and it isn't the antithetical opposite of order: It's flawed reason, it's an inability to comprehend, and it's deeply scary for those going through it.

THAT ended up reminding me of a famous quote from lovecraft himself; "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown".

What if we make THAT FEAR into the god? Imagine the panicked sensation of being woken from the deepest slumber by a sudden noise, the door opening or a loud bang going off somewhere on your street..... the phantom horror of something touching you, crawling over you in the middle of the night before you have any of your senses or reason or memory to tell you that it's just your partner or your pet or your own bed sheets. That's the stuff sleep paralysis is made of and it's been haunting us humans since the dawn of time. It's also the same horror of being born, of being a non-thing and then coming into existence in fits and starts without any understanding of the world that you're now

Now imagine there's something out there in the astral sea, the plane of dreams and thoughts... powerful beyond all imagining but created without the ability to ever fully wake up. It is stuck in that first moment of existence because it may well have been the first thing to ever exist and it's been trapped in the shapeless nightmare of an infant since the dawn of time

THAT is how you make a god about the horror of the unknown. A god that is antagonistic to us because it is sacred of us, and it is scared because it has no way of knowing us, knowing the reality it inhabits beyond its own fear.

Adventure Hooks:

The greatest threat Tharizdun presents to most beings in the universe is having a nightmare about them. Through the inexplicable paths of sleep an individual's mind may find themselves connected to the entity's own... receiving terrible visions as the thinking clouds of Tharizdun's body churn in a variable brainstorm. Some aspect of this communion will be twisted into something terrible, birthed into the cosmos with the same shrieking fear and confusion that inspired its creation. Some desperate few seek out this communion, thinking in their hubris that they can give shape to Tharizdun's creation, that the terror beyond time suffers collaborators or requests. (Yes, I'm yoinking the dream-spawning ability of beholders. They were already weird enough before they started getting involved with dream stuff)

Despite being a living entity, Tharizdun is also a place, a plane unto itself streaking through the multiverse like a collossal ameoba through the primordial soup. There are landscapes within the god, whole continents that form and erode through seasons of surreality as the paroxyc titan dreams them into being. One can create portals into these landscapes, even fly a jammership across them, but the act of doing so invites an even more chaotic backlash than visiting the chained oblivion in dreams, letting its terror leak out into the waking worlds.

The name "chained oblivion" dates back to an eon when forces of celestial order attempted to keep Tharizdun contained in the hopes of preventing the escape of its creations or its contact with other minds. This period of the multiverse oft refereed to as the "Time of Quiet" sadly came to an end when the entity's bindings were shattered by a collective of villains and horrors today refereed to as the "Court of Fools" or "Troupe of the Final Void". The Troupe are a motley bunch, unable to agree on a theology but all wanting to pick at the slumbering titan like it was a scab on the skin of heaven. Some serenade Tharzidun with cacophonous music, others hurl saints and sacrifices into its body, some worship or hunt the god's offspring while others stab it with cosmic pokers, just to get a reaction. They want to wake the chained oblivion and don't care how much of the multiverse they have to burn to do it.

Like a mollusc producing pearls as a means of containing an irritating bit of grit, Tharizdun's roiling cosmic body will occasionally spit out an entire world or strange demiplanes as a means of dislodging something it could not pallet. While this has been the genesis of many realms both beautiful and terrible throughout the astral timeline, of late all these worlds worth taking have been colonized by the Troupe. Woe and pity to any mortal who calls such a world home, ruled over by tyrants who care only for destruction, unaware of a cosmos not coloured by Tharizdun's wake.

Titles: The chained oblivion, the spiraling titan, sire of stars, the Paroxsmal god, Lord of all Hysterics.

Signs: Stormclouds that look oily and churn with otherworldly light, formless nightmares and pervasive sleep paralysis, mass delusion, darkness that echoes with the god's muttering and the sound of distant flutes.

Worshippers: Ad hoc worship of Tharizdun tends to congregate around those who have received unwanted visions of the chained oblivion, as the harrowing experiance often bestows those that suffer it with an otherworldy weight to their words, to say nothing of occasional psychic powers. Many abberations likewise pay heed to the chained oblivion, either for directly giving them life or for its great and insuppressable power. Among these include Grell who refer to Tharizdun as "storm mother", The nightmarish Quori follow in the wake of the god's psychic emanations and make up a large faction of the court of fools, and the Kaorti, terrifying mage-things remade by exposure to the spiralling titan's heart who claim to be heralds for the entity.

Art

#monsters reimagined #outergod #tharizdun #lovecraftian #outer spheres #astral #kaorti #quori #far realm #planescape #spelljammer

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upsidedownwithsteve · 11 months

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Bad For Business: Level Eight

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.6k] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutual annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

The storm was unexpected and not forecasted, a monsoon rolling through a July afternoon that went almost unnoticed inside of the arcade. The windowless building didn’t show signs of the rain, nor the dark skies, but by the time the last of the kids left, the rush of a downpour and the rumble of thunder could be heard from the open door.

And once you’d cashed up and pulled your bag from your locker, you let your workmates out the door before you locked it behind you, hearing their goodbyes yelled over the din of the rain as they ran through puddles to their cars, their parents' minivans.

Your bike was chained to a railing ten feet away, away from the shelter of the door awning, placed perfectly in the middle of a puddle that was growing into a small lake. You squinted into the gloom, splatters of rain water sticking to your skin, already humid and sticky from the lingering heat.

Then a car pulled up in front of you, a maroon BMW with shiny alloys and a pretty boy behind the wheel, one you hadn’t seen all week after you’d kissed him stupid in the photo booth. The window rolled down and Steve appeared more clearly, shirt dotted with rain, hair messy from the wind. He was looking at you carefully, maybe warily, maybe nervously.

But then he nodded to the empty passenger seat. “Get in.”

You didn’t hesitate, not the way you would’ve done weeks ago, chin tilted high and haughty, ready to tell Steve Harrington you’d rather swim home than accept a ride from him. But Chrissy had come back from being off sick and Murray had switched up the schedule. You hadn’t seen Steve in a while, not since the kiss, not since he’d had his hand tucked under your knee and hitched your thigh to his hips.

Not since his tongue had been against yours.

Not since he’d whispered your name, a gasping, rough sound that you didn’t think Steve knew he made.

Not since you discovered that you made Steve Harrington hard.

Not since you realised you wanted to do it again and again and—

You got in the car.

The inside of the BMW smelled like Steve, like cedar wood cologne and mint gum, like expensive leather and the half full coffee in the cup holder. You were almost soaked through from the dash across the sidewalk, shirt wrinkled to your body, unnecessary sunscreen and rain water sticking to your skin.

The radio was low, a murmur, the sound of the rain on the roof louder than anything. Steve nodded at you when you finally looked at him and then he shifted gear, pulling away from the arcade and into the storm.

Steve drove you through town without much talking, his fingers twisting the controls on the radio, the sounds of Tears For Fears mixing with the rain on the windshield, the hum of the aircon. You didn’t have to tell Steve where to go, you didn’t have to tell him your address. He drove through the streets, kicking up water as he went, heading towards the familiar row of houses not too far from his own. And just before he turned into the lane, you swallowed hard, not wanting to leave just yet. There were things to say, you were sure of it. You just didn’t know what.

But Steve beat you to it, pulling over in a corner shaded by tall oak trees, at the edge of the sidewalk where the road met a park that was only used for teenage make-outs and underage drinking. It was quiet, empty, and you changed a look at the boy when he killed the engine and the music.

Steve looked different away from the neon lights and despite the storm, it still felt too quiet without the sounds of the arcade. It was too loud without the alarms, the jingles. Too bright despite the grey. It was overwhelming.

“Steve, about last week— what happened, I—”

The boy interrupted you before you could go on, a hand that paused as it made its way to reach over to you, hovering over your thigh, like he decided it wasn’t a good idea. Until he did, Steve’s fingers curling around the skin above your knee and your gaze found his, lips parted in surprise and you watched him think - just for a second - before the words were tumbling from his mouth with anymore hesitation.

“I’ve not stopped thinking about it,” Steve murmured, sounding a little dazed, quiet under the blanket of rain, the sky through the windshield a hazy lilac-grey and god, the world felt fuzzy, it felt soft. “Like, at all. Fuck, I don’t know, I just— I just.” Steve licked his lips, letting his gaze drop to yours. “Wanna do it again.”

The air seemed to disappear from the car. You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

“If you’ll let me,” Steve finished, nervous and quiet and unlike you’d seen him before, his eyes unsure as he made his way back to his own seat, his hand retreating from your leg.

You didn’t let him get far, your hand wrapping around his wrist to keep him close, leaning forward in your chair to meet him over the console, noses almost brushing. You shared the same shaky breath and outside, the rain fell harder.

“We don’t like each other,” you tried to remind him, but the words came out unsure, like you couldn’t remember yourself. “We’re not— we’re not friends. We don’t—”

Steve shrugged, a clumsy thing that you barely saw because he was so close. His hand that you kept on your thigh tightened, a needy grasp that you encouraged by smoothing your palm up his forearm, upupup until you were holding onto his shoulder and fisting his rain speckled shirt in your fingers.

“You’re right, we don’t,” Steve agreed and his voice was lower than before, more sure and back to sounding a little cocky now that you were holding him with the same kind of want that he held you with. “I totally hate you.”

You wondered if Steve believed his own words in that moment, because with the way he was staring at your mouth, you sure as fuck didn’t.

You didn’t seem to care though.

“Right,” you nodded anyway. “You’re so annoying.” Your nose bumped against his, lips hovering. Waiting. Wanting. Eyes barely open.

The rain got louder, fuzzier, a white noise roar that seemed to match your heartbeat.

“Yeah, you’re a real pain in my ass, princess. Can I kiss you?”

Steve was on you before you finished nodding, a pleased hum coming from the back of your throat as he closed the gap, his hand flying up to grasp the back of your neck, like he wanted to be in control, like he wanted to savour it.

It felt less like an argument this time, this kiss. Steve’s mouth swept over yours lazily, languidly, a melting popsicle on a summer day, cherry flavoured and coloured red like sin. It was chaste for a while, innocent enough for two people parked curbside just before a residential street. But the rain had kept everyone indoors, it had washed away the sidewalk chalk, the hopscotch lines and the love hearts.

Instead, it left inky shadows to hide in, navy and lavender light, heavy rain. Enough noise to disguise your moans with, a substitute for the arcade sounds but this felt better, this felt closer. Warmer. Hotter.

Then Steve’s tongue licked over your bottom lip as his thumb grazed the corner of it, an impatient tug that was supposed to be a question. You answered it by parting your lips for him, tongue meeting his, his groan mixing with your sigh. And too soon, he was pulling away, rosy cheeks and glassy eyed, watching you with the most curious expression - like he couldn’t work you out.

And then: “C’mere.”

Steve moved his chair back, cranking the lever until the seat rolled away from the steering wheel. There was enough room there for you to crawl into his lap, to straddle him and get closer than before. So you did exactly that, a little clumsy and a little eager as you scrambled over the console, Steve’s hand catching your elbow to help you, even with a smirk on his face.

“Thought you didn’t like me?” He reminded you through your willingness to throw your leg over his thighs, grinning when you scowled. Steve’s hands found your hips, warm and wide, gripping tight as you lowered yourself over him. “Or does that not matter now that you’re—”

“Steve? Shut up,” you muttered huffily, happy to have worn a skirt as you settled yourself against him, chest to chest, your hands diving into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You rocked your hips, getting comfy, squirming a little in Steve’s lap and you made a little noise as you did so, the denim and the half hard length of the boy catching against your cotton underwear nicely.

“Fuck,” Steve groaned, voice suddenly breathy, the teasing knocked out of him now that you were on top. “Right, yeah, totally shutting up.”

It was easier to press your lips back to his, the neediness mounting, a new kind of want that clawed at your insides and suddenly you didn’t hate the boy at all. In fact, you really liked the way his hands dropped for your hips to hold at your spread thighs, knuckles teasing the edge of your skirt, thumbs rubbing circles the inside of your legs.

You really liked the way he sighed all deep when your tongue licked over his, how his nose pressed harder against your cheek, like he couldn’t get close enough. You really liked the way he kissed you with a confidence that came from knowing how handsome he was, from knowing how a girl liked to be touched.

But you loved it when his mouth hung open when you shoved him back into the seat, a hand to his chest, your own heaving. “Slower,” you told him, whispering, following him back into the chair, where you kept him pressed against the leather. Your mouth was a ghost against his, your bottom lip catching the arc of his cupid's bow, his kiss pink and pouty for you. “Softer.”

Steve did as he was told, hands roaming the expanse of skin under your shirt, fingers trailing up and down your spine as he kissed you like he had all day, all night. A teasing push and pull of his mouth against your own, teeth catching your lip, tongue sliding over your own until you were squirming.

“Yeah?” He asked, lips glossy from you, eyes dreamy.

You nodded, clutching at him, fingers twisting in his hair. “Yeah.”

You didn’t realise you were rocking yourself over Steve until he swore, hands holding you and pushing you down against his hard cock, tight and trapped under his jeans. It was a heady experience, the drag of denim against your underwear, cotton soft and almost soaked through the more Steve kissed you. You felt drunk, the roar of the rain a staticy sound in your ears but Steve’s moans were louder, more important.

He sounded so pretty. He looked even prettier.

So you rested your forehead against his, lips open in a gasp, hips rocking a little faster, a dirty grind that made you feel filthy. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could see.

“M’gonna come like this,” you whispered, only a little embarrassed at your admission. You felt flushed, too warm, the summer air heavy in the car with the aircon off. “Shit, Steve.”

“Christ,” the boy groaned, voice sounding wrecked. “You can’t say shit like that, fucking hell.”

You only whined in response, catching him again for a kiss that turned messy, desperate as you both chased something you didn’t know you’d wanted. Your hands were on Steve’s jaw, titling his head back to kiss him a little deeper as he encouraged you to grind down on him.

He tore away from you when you moaned louder than ever, squirming against his cock through his jeans, letting out a hiccuping sound when the zipper caught against your clit. His lips were on your cheek, the line of your jaw, down your neck.

“Oh my god.”

“Shit, princess, are you gonna come?” He growled when you nodded, your cheek pressed to his. “God, that’s so fucking hot, you’re just— fuck.”

Steve hoisted you away from him, from where you’d pressed yourself against his chest. He coaxed you up, holding onto you with one hand on your thigh, just under your skirt, the other on your waist. He was still guiding you, hips canting up now to help you both gain more friction. You were desperate for another kiss, to feel the dirty flick of Steve’s tongue over yours but Steve tutted as you tried to move back, his hands keeping you where he wanted you.

“Nuhuh,” he murmured, “wanna watch.”

“Oh, shit,” you whined, clutching at the front of his shirt, pulling up the cotton until more skin was revealed, tanned and freckled, a dusting of hair leading down into his jeans. You curled your fingers there instead, holding onto his belt. “Steve, m’close.”

The boy nodded, frantic, suddenly intent on seeing you fall apart, just for him. “I know, I know, keep goin’ for me.” His thumbs dug into your hip bones, pushing and pulling you over his cock, his own breath hitching at the sight of you throwing your head back, eyes fluttering shut, your hold on him tightening. “Fucking hell, you’re so pretty. You look so good.”

It was an easy climb, when he spoke like that. It was a sudden fall when he whispered to you next:

“Can you come like this? Rubbing yourself on my cock? Christ, you’re gonna, aren’t you, princess?”

You came with your lips pressed back to Steve’s, clawing at his shoulders as you whined into his open mouth, his own groan falling onto your tongue, his hands pressing hard into your sides as he jerked underneath you, hips rolling. Steve flushed as he came, cheeks reddening, eyes turning glassy as he watched you and you watched him.

Neither of you moved, not yet, not as quickly as you thought you would’ve. Instead, you leaned into him, body slack and warm, skin slick with rain and exertion, your chest heaving against Steve’s. Maybe you imagined the kiss Steve pressed to your shoulder before you sat up, the fleeting warmth of his lips on your skin, the soft hum that came from him as he did.

There wasn’t any embarrassment as you stared at each other, your legs still splayed over his, the crotch of his jeans starting to darken in one spot, a mix of yours and his accomplishments. If you felt proud at the sight, you tried not to show it. So you both caught your breaths and Steve rubbed a thumb over your knee, wincing when you left him to crawl back to the passenger seat.

You didn’t kiss him goodbye before you left, and Steve didn’t offer any other sweetness when your fingers curled around the door handle, but you did leave him with one parting gift.

“I don’t really hate you,” you told him, suddenly shy despite the marks he’d left on your neck, the mess you’d left his hair. “Not really.”

Steve grinned, a proper, beaming thing before he caught himself and tried to smooth out his expression. He cleared his throat, nodding as he started the engine and gave you one last look. “Yeah. Not really.”

You hadn’t even noticed the rain had stopped.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x reader smut

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goodqueenaly · 3 months

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Do you know what fields of study that the metals brass, pewter, platinum, red gold, and tin could represent on a maester chain? I think the other metals are more straightforward but I am blanking on what these five could mean.

We may actually have an answer when it comes to red gold, or at least the suggestion of a potential answer. Jon noted to Maester Aemon back in AGOT that “gold [was] for the study of money and accounts”, while Bran told Luwin in ACOK that “gold [was] for sums and numbers”. Neither Jon nor Bran specifies red or yellow gold in their respective statements, meaning that it is nearly impossible to differentiate between the two metals in terms of their respective subjects. Personally, I like to imagine that red gold is for “sums and numbers” while yellow gold is for “money and accounts”, signifying the close connection but important, if subtle, distinctions between the two. However, all of this is only a guess, and red gold could represent virtually anything.

The question of red gold aside, I do have some thoughts regarding the other metals. As far as we know, there are at least seven metals whose respective areas of study have yet to be revealed: brass, pewter, platinum, tin, electrum, steel, and lead. (Note that there also appear to be at least six other areas of study for which an accompanying link metal is unknown, as there are 21 listed archmaesters in the appendix of AFFC.) When considering the subjects that these metals might represent, I think it is important to remember that the Citadel functions as both a de facto Westerosi university and as a business marketing the services of its scholars. Therefore, while I would expect - and indeed, we have evidence of - maesters studying and writing works on what we might call purely academic subjects, we should also anticipate (and again, I think we have some evidence for) maesters studying more practical, quasi-professional subjects.

So here’s how I personally envisions the subjects for the known-but-unassociated metals (long, more under the cut):

Brass: shipbuilding, navigation, and generally speaking the study of the ocean. We know that maesters do study subjects along these lines, because Luwin tells Bran that he, Luwin, could teach Bran “the way a sailor steers his ship by the stars”. Because any number of Westerosi families govern port cities and towns or hold seats along major waterways, knowledge of ships and sailing could be a very marketable skill for a maester looking to be placed with an aristocratic family. I specifically decided to assign brass to shipbuilding/naval studies because brass is a metallurgic cousin, so to speak, of bronze (being an alloy of copper and zinc versus an alloy of copper and tin), which felt appropriate for the respective subject matters; as Luwin notes, maritime travel depends, in part, on knowledge the stars to understand one’s position on the sea.

Pewter: agriculture. Again, much of Westeros is an agricultural society, meaning that an understanding of plants, planting cycles, and weather patterns would be potentially invaluable to a maester in an aristocratic Westerosi household. We know, in fact, that maesters act as advisors to lords when it comes to farming and cultivation, because GRRM himself noted that “[t]he maesters try and monitor temperature grand [sic] closely, to advise on when to plant and when to harvest and how much food to store”. Likewise, because we see Maester Luwin discusses harvests, grains, greens, and salted meat during the feast at Winterfell, and because he later tells Bran that he, Luwin, could teach the young Stark prince about herblore, I believe agriculture, farming cycles, and knowledge of various plants would be a key practical area of study for maesters. That said, because pewter is a humble and common material, often used in Westeros for basic cutlery and drinkware, I associated it with agriculture because I can imagine this area of study would be considered unrefined, even vulgar, especially by those maesters looking to spend their lives as Citadel scholars (and, by contrast, might be among the first links for lowborn/smallfolk students to earn, because of their own potential familial background in and knowledge of the agricultural world).

Platinum: law. Perhaps this is partially (or … more than partially) wish fulfillment on my part (as I, and any number of other folks in the fandom, have been complaining about the lack of clarity on Westeros’ legal system forever), but I certainly believe that maesters can and do study law at the Citadel. After all, think of how many times maesters have been associated with citing, creating, or asserting laws and legal positions: the“[s]ix maesters [who] traveled with him [i.e. Aegon I while on progress], to answer any questions he might have on local law"; the objections of Grand Maesters Gawen and Orwyle to the succession claims of Maegor and Rhaenyra, respectively; and the participation of Grand Maester Benifer on Jaehaerys I’s legal reform council (to say nothing of maesterly works like, say, Justice and Injustice in the North: Judgments of Three Stark Lords). Because Westerosi law must, I think, be such a huge and complex topic - understanding the laws and precedents of each of the millennia-old pre-Conquest kingdoms and principalities, not to mention all of the laws created after the unification of Westeros (before and after the formal incorporation of Dorne) - I assigned this topic the metal platinum. Platinum is a precious metal, perhaps a fitting reward for those maesters who fully commit themselves to such a deep and complex area of study.

Tin: geography. I use “geography” as sort of catch-all term to mean the investigation of Terros as a natural world, the creation and analysis of maps for that world, and the study of cultures around the world. We know that maesters study the natural world (think of Arianne, in her second TWOW sample chapter, remembering the debates on the nature of storms held between a septon, a maester, and her father), that maesters create maps (as Robb has Maester Vyman do so to outline his claims to territory as King in the North and King of the Trident), and that maesters study the peoples and cultures of Terros (think of maesterly writings like, say, Songs the Dead Men Sing, or Rubies and Iron, or Horse Tribes, Being a Study of the Nomads of the Eastern Plains of Essos). I like the idea of tin for geography’s associated metal because of tin's connections to the astronomy-linked bronze (that is, pairing the study of the earth with the study of the heavens) and the (so I’ve suggested) agriculture-linked pewter (that is, studying the land to study its cultivation).

Electrum: alchemy. We know that alchemy is a subject studied both generally in Westeros (Yandel refers to Aenys I as a dabbler in alchemy) as well as specifically at the Citadel (Gyldayn notes that Archmaester Vaegon was “devoted to alchemy”, among other subjects). As a subject centered on the transmutation or transformation of elements and matter (and which is popularly associated with the idea of turning “base” metals like lead into “noble” metals like gold) it felt fitting to assign this subject the metal electrum - that is, an alloy of gold and silver.

Steel: languages. Again, we know that maesters study languages: look at the unfortunate Maester Kedry who accompanied Quentyn Martell on his ill-fated voyage east, or Marwyn who “talked with hairy Ibbenese and pitch-black Summer Islanders in their own tongues”, or Haldon Halfmaester who has educated young Aegon in various languages. It also seems that aristocratic Westerosi children learn High Valyrian, at least as an academic subject, as we see Sam, Tyrion, and Arya reflect on their education in High Valyrian. So I tend to think that maesters probably can and do learn High Valyrian as an initial language, and then can earn addition links through study of other cultures’ tongues. I don’t have a particularly strong reason for making this one steel, other than associating study of High Valyrian with a metallurgic cousin to Valyrian steel.

Lead: architecture. Again, I do think there is some suggestion that maesters study this subject: Luwin suggests that he could teach Bran “how to build a castle”, while Gyldayn notes that “[t]he task of building them [i.e. the walls of King’s Landing] was conferred upon Grand Maester Gawen and Ser Osmund Strong”. While this sort of subject could be folded into, say, warcraft, I think there are enough examples of buildings in Westeros that are not specifically designed for war, as well as enough potential for specialization, that I would separate the study from warcraft. (And honestly, how can the Citadel exist in a city with one of the architectural wonders of the world and not support architecture as its own field of study?) I assigned lead to architecture because of his historical use in construction, especially pipes and roofing.

#asoiaf meta #the citadel #maesters #worldbuilding

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iguessimakejewelrynow · 7 months

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Amber absorbs negative energies and transforms them into something positive that heals the body and mind.

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#crystals #wire wrapped jewelry #witchblr #magick #pagan #witch craft #witchcore #cottagecore #cottage witch #green witch #yellow moodboard #rose #gold #necklace #choker #handmade jewelry

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indolift · 4 months

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D Shackles in Construction and Industrial Applications

In the vast landscape of construction and industrial operations, where strength, reliability, and safety are paramount, heavy-duty lifting equipment plays a pivotal role. Among the essential components in this category, D shackles stand out as robust and versatile tools that are indispensable for various lifting applications.

What are D Shackles?

D shackles, also known as Dee shackles or bow shackles, are U-shaped metal components with a distinctive pin mechanism securing the two ends. The shape resembles the letter "D" or a horseshoe, and it is this design that gives D shackles their name. These shackles are commonly made from high-strength materials such as alloy steel or stainless steel, ensuring durability and resistance to heavy loads and harsh environmental conditions.

Components of a D Shackle

Bow: The curved, U-shaped portion of the shackle.

Pin: The straight bar that secures the bow ends and can be threaded or unthreaded.

Collar: A small piece that surrounds the pin and helps keep it in place.

Heavy-Duty Lifting Applications:

Construction Industry

In construction, D shackles play a pivotal role in lifting and securing heavy loads. Whether it's lifting steel beams, concrete panels, or other construction materials, D shackles are used to create reliable connections between lifting equipment and the loads being hoisted. Their robust design and high load-bearing capacity make them essential for ensuring the safety and stability of construction operations.

Manufacturing and Industrial Settings

Within manufacturing facilities and industrial settings, D shackles find applications in various lifting and rigging tasks. From hoisting machinery and equipment during installation to securing loads on conveyors or cranes, these shackles are versatile components that contribute to the efficiency and safety of industrial operations.

Maritime and Offshore Operations

In maritime environments, where heavy loads need to be lifted on ships or offshore platforms, D shackles are relied upon for their strength and resilience in corrosive conditions. They are commonly used in lifting applications, securing cargo, and connecting rigging components in shipyards, harbors, and offshore installations.

Utilities and Power Generation

The utility and power generation sectors involve the lifting of large and heavy equipment, such as transformers, generators, and turbines. D shackles are crucial components in these operations, providing a secure connection between lifting equipment and the loads. Their ability to withstand high loads makes them integral to maintaining the reliability and safety of power infrastructure.

Best Practices for Using D Shackles in Heavy-Duty Lifting

Know the Working Load Limit

Before using D shackles, it is essential to know their Working Load Limit (WLL). The WLL is the maximum load that a shackle is designed to handle under normal working conditions. Exceeding the WLL can compromise the integrity of the shackle and pose serious safety risks. Always check and adhere to the manufacturer's specifications and guidelines.

Inspect Shackles Regularly

Regular inspection is crucial for ensuring the safety and longevity of D shackles. Inspect for signs of wear, deformation, or damage before each use. If any defects are detected, replace the shackle immediately. Routine inspections should also include checking the pin, bow, and collar for any abnormalities.

Properly Store and Handle Shackles

Store D shackles in a dry, cool environment to prevent corrosion. Proper handling is essential to avoid damage to the pin or bow. When using shackles, ensure that the pin is correctly threaded and tightened to prevent accidental disengagement during lifting operations.

Use the Right Shackle for the Job

Different lifting scenarios may require specific types of D shackles. Ensure that you are using the right shackle for the job by considering factors such as load type, load weight, and the environment. Select shackles with appropriate materials and coatings to resist corrosion in challenging conditions.

Consider Shackle Orientation

The orientation of the shackle can affect its load-bearing capacity. When using a D shackle, it's crucial to align the load correctly with the shackle bow. Misalignment can reduce the WLL and compromise the safety of the lifting operation.

Implement Safe Rigging Practices

D shackles are often part of a larger rigging system. Implementing safe rigging practices, including proper sling angles and load distribution, ensures that the load is evenly distributed among the lifting components. This helps prevent uneven stress on the shackle and improves overall lifting safety.

Provide Training for Operators

Operators involved in heavy-duty lifting operations should receive proper training on the use and inspection of D shackles. Training programs should cover essential topics such as load calculations, shackle selection, inspection procedures, and adherence to safety standards.

D shackles stand as stalwart components in the realm of heavy-duty lifting within the construction and industrial sectors. Their robust design, versatility, and reliability make them indispensable for a wide range of applications, from construction sites to offshore platforms. By understanding their basics, adhering to best practices, and prioritizing safety, professionals can harness the full potential of D shackles in lifting operations, ensuring efficiency, longevity, and, most importantly, the well-being of all those involved in heavy-duty lifting endeavors.

#D Shackles #Wire Rope Company in india #Forged Clamps #Alloy Steel Chain #Webbing Slings

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

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A New Afton - Stepfather Steve Raglan/William Afton x Stepdaughter Reader

Chapter 8

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content, daddy kink, praise kink, minor violence

Also available on AO3

taglist @yellowbunnydreams

It’s one of those rare rainy nights in Hurricane when the woman enters the bar.

Friday evening and not long after the 9-5 shift has concluded and the room is already filling.

This latest entry climbs up onto one of the barstools and orders. Slides back down to remove her jacket and place it on the stool. Wallet clutched in hand. Pencil skirt, blouse with one button undone. A small gold chain with a cross at her throat.

The man beside her had not meant to look more than once. But he does. He looks at her and as if sensing his eyes she regards him. A glass is set on a beverage napkin in front of her. She reaches for it. No ring on her finger, though that doesn’t mean anything nowadays. He figures she’s near his age, a little younger. Late twenties, early thirties at most. Takes a dainty sip of the clear mixed cocktail. Her nails are long, polished.

His own are ragged. Cuticles unkempt. Nail beds and fingers and creases of his palms forever stained from the machinery he works on. The animatronics have wreaked havoc on him in more ways than one. He has a ring on his finger. He has a wife and children. He shouldn’t be looking. But he does.

The chatter in the restaurant is white noise. He signals the bartender for another round for both of them. His own drink is amber. Whiskey. She murmurs a soft protest, then thanks him. The liquor runs smooth over his tongue. The ice cubes in her glass click together gently. He rests his arm on the counter. Hers settles near his. Almost making contact. Their eyes link. Another round. Another.

Any caution he might have considered is now drowned beneath the alcohol he’s imbibed. He doesn’t usually drink. And certainly not this quantity. He’s willing to bet the woman beside him doesn’t either. Her cheeks are flushed, pink and pretty. He likes how soft she looks. So different from the alloys and the circuits and the gears and the cables he surrounds himself with everyday.

He helps her put on her coat. Helps her remove it again in the back of his car. The rough engineer’s hands tear her nylons in their frenzy. He licks her mouth open. She lowers herself onto him. The windows fog. Little whimpers and sighs. His beard chafes the skin of her throat. She tightens around him and he spills into her.

They never exchange names or numbers. She straightens her clothing and walks away. He sits behind the wheel and listens to the rain.

***

The next morning the guilt is heavy. Regret. His daughter is missing and the knots twist in his stomach.

“I made a terrible mistake last night, Will,” he says to his business partner.

Afton looks different this morning. His eyes are fever bright. There is a flush to his usually pale skin. He looks exultant, as if he’s discovered something. He knows the look well. He’d seen in during their college years. In the years that have followed when they’d founded the business.

“It’s not your fault Charlie’s missing. I’m sure she’ll turn up. I’ll help look for her,” William says. There is something in his smile. Meant to be reassuring, but it does not quite meet his eyes.

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, yes, I’m worried about her, but it’s not just that.”

“Judging from your scent I can see you spent some time at the local watering hole.” The pale eyed man folds his arms across his chest.

“There was a woman.”

“Ah.” Just that. William seems to understand immediately where this is heading.

“It just…happened.”

“Of course it did.” The seated man cannot tell if the other is mocking him or not. “Did you at least take precautions?”

“No. I mean, unless she’s on birth control. I don’t know.” He drags a hand through his hair. “You’re not…you’re not going to say anything to…”

“No. Your secret is safe with me, old friend.”

He sighs heavily. “We have to find Charlie. I hope she’s alright.”

“I’m sure she’s absolutely fine. Probably just hiding. We’ll find her tucked away cozy somewhere, I’m certain.” He smiles again. It is not warm and it does not reassure the other man. A hand reaches to squeeze his arm. There is something staining one of his fingers. Rust colored, except he doubts that that is what it is. It looks more like…

“Shall we start looking?”

Henry Emily swallows and nods, following William Afton out of the manager’s office.

***

You slump into the kitchen chair—the one you’d previously occupied, now that your mother has returned—and look across the table at your stepfather.

You see Steve lift and set his fork back down without utilizing the utensil. Your mother is talking about her trip. You inhale and the bearded man exhales.

“Is everything alright? You haven’t touched your food.”

“I’m not really hungry,” he says. His eyes have not left your face.

You dig your fork into the pile of fluffy scrambled eggs and take a bite. It is ash in your mouth. You struggle to chew and swallow past the lump in your throat. It takes every effort not to begin crying again.

Eventually you plead unfinished homework and retreat to your room. Your mother enters soon after, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You seem upset. Did something happen?”

“I’m fine. Just a little stressed with school.” You force a smile.

“That’s a pretty necklace. Who got you that?”

You’d forgotten you’re still wearing the heart your stepdad had gifted you. “Oh. I picked it out for myself.” You clutch the pendant, tracing the curves of its shape.

“Sweetheart, you know you can talk to me about anything. Is it a boy at school that’s bothering you?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend at school. Honestly, mom.” You slide the pendant back and forth on the chain.

She hesitates. “Was everything okay while I was gone? With Steve?”

“Yeah. He’s been great. You don’t need to worry, mom, honestly.”

“I’m going to get started on the housework. I’m around if you want to talk, okay?”

“Okay, mom.” Her lips brush your cheek and she combs through your hair before turning to leave.

The door closes softly behind her.

***

You’ve survived the day, mostly by hiding, emerging only for meals you barely consume.

Steve continues to stare. You stare back.

The yellow rabbit he’d won for you is tucked beneath your arm. The beautiful pink roses he’d gifted you are still hidden in your closet, along with the clothes you’d picked out together. Lingerie buried in your dresser drawers.

You hear the door creak open and don’t open your eyes. Your mother probably about to check on you a final time. You’re being too obvious with your sulking and your isolation. You don’t know how else you can behave given the circumstances.

The door closes again and you hear it lock. Your eyes snap open, suddenly alert. You recognize the sound of those weighted footsteps.

The comforter and top sheet are pulled off of you. Your heart is racing. The mattress creaks when he climbs over you.

“She’ll hear you,” you protest softly. One calloused hand drags against your hip.

“I don’t care,” he whispers harshly. His mouth is rough against yours. You whimper, lifting your hips to help him slide your panties off. He moans against your throat when your bodies are joined again. “I need you.” His voice is raw, the words tearing jaggedly from his throat. He fucks into you gently. Your knees squeeze his ribs and you roll your hips into him. Too loud, you think, the panting breaths and the squeaking bed. You can’t stop. You don’t want him to stop, either.

“Daddy.”

His breath huffs over your lips. “My daughter.” His tongue slides across yours.

“Feel so good inside me, Daddy.”

“Baby girl…” His hips work faster, his cock sawing in and out, coated in your slick, your body welcoming him deeper. He laces his fingers through yours and pushes your linked hands down into your pillow. His kisses are salted. Nervous perspiration, maybe. The heat of you together.

His breathing goes ragged, shuddering. Your mouth traps the sound of his ultimate pleasure as he spills into you.

“You’re mine,” he pants beside your ear. “I’m not letting you go.”

***

You hear your mother and stepfather arguing.

It wakes you up early the next morning. You’re supposed to be getting ready for school soon. You remain in bed, your heart pounding as you eavesdrop.

“I know something happened while I was gone. I’m not blind, Steve. She won’t tell me. She’s afraid to.”

“If you’re implying—”

“—I trusted you. You’re supposed to be protecting her. She’s never had a father.”

“That’s my fault how, exactly? Because you had a one night stand with some random stranger in a bar eighteen years ago and didn’t bother to get so much as a name—”

“—I know his name. I found it out later. I lied to Henry and told him I was getting an abortion. He was going to do the right thing—”

“—I…what?” Steve’s voice changes abruptly. So soft you can barely hear him now. You draw back the covers and tiptoe over to the wall, pressing your ear against it. “What was his name?”

“It hardly matters now. He’s long gone. Anyway, you’re missing the point—”

“—What was his name?” Raglan repeats. Still so quiet.

“Henry Emily.”

Your mother knew. She’d always told you she didn’t. A lie of eighteen years now uncovered. You lean back against the wall heavily, needing support. How quickly your whole world was falling apart around you.

Silence for a long time. You hear the adjoining bathroom door open and close. Your eyes flick to the clock. It’s time to get ready for school.

***

The silence continues around the breakfast table. Steve doesn’t touch his coffee. You push your full plate away. He is still staring at you, but now there’s something different in that look. You don’t understand the foreign glint in his eyes.

Your mother still has a week off from work. Perhaps she’s grateful for an excuse not be around your stepfather right now. She busies herself with the housework.

You follow the older man out the door. His vehicle is behind yours, your mother’s beside his. You can still feel the weight of his gaze when you enter the car.

***

You have study hall last period today. You leave early, your car now headed to the social services office your parents work in. You have only been here a few times. Usually just to drop something off or pick something up. Never for a visit. Never for this.

You’re recognized instantly in reception and after a quick phone call told you can go head on in. Steve’s office door is plain, solid wood. His name and title are slotted on a plate beside it. You knock and hear his voice.

You enter and close the door behind you.

His office smells like coffee. It’s warmly lit by a pair of lamps, cozier without the use of the standard office fluorescents above. The window blinds are closed. There is a lot in that small space. It’s organized, but crowded. Filing cabinets and bookshelves. A framed district map and nature scene and certificates on the walls.

Your stepfather looks up from the folder sitting on his desk, setting the pen in his hand down on top of it.

“Why aren’t you in school?”

“I had study hall last period. Are you mad at me?”

He hasn’t said a word to you all day before this. You know it’s got something to do with the conversation he’d had with your mother that morning. Something about the revelation of your real father’s identity.

“No, I’m not mad at you.”

His voice is quiet. Neutral. His hands are clenched into fists. There is a tight set to his bearded jaw.

“You’re upset,” you insist. “Did you know my father?”

He blinks. The clock on the wall ticks softly. A little gurgle from the heated pot of coffee that’s still seated on the burner.

“So you eavesdropped.”

“I could hear you arguing. It woke me up.”

“Yes, I knew your father,” he admits quietly.

Your fingers clutch the vinyl chair in front of you. “Did you…did you know him well?”

“Yes. We attended college together. Founded a business together.”

“The restaurant?”

He nods. “He was the engineer. I focused on the economical side of things. There was overlap between the two eventually.”

“You were friends, then.”

“Yes.”

“Close?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you about my mother?”

“He did mention her briefly, yes.”

Your breath shudders. He was so eerily calm. You think you’d prefer his anger from the morning at this point. “Do I look like him?”

“The resemblance is uncanny. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. Of course you know you look nothing like your mother. I knew it was your father’s genes responsible. I just didn’t realize who he was.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone as in skipped town or…?”

“Deceased.”

Your stomach lurches. “What happened?”

“He was very unhappy. He chose to end things early.”

“He killed himself?” You whisper.

“The disappearance of his daughter—your half-sister—he never recovered from that. Then his son went missing and it overwhelmed him. His marriage fell apart. She went first and then he followed.”

“They both…he was…” You’re feeling lightheaded. It’s too much. Granted the man was a stranger, your half-siblings the same, but still.

“Have a seat.” He rises from the desk and guides you into one of the chairs meant for clients. “It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

“So they never found my…my half-siblings?”

“No.”

“And that’s the reason the restaurant closed, because my father…Henry…”

“A little more than that, but it certainly was the start of the collapse as it were.” He drags the chair near yours closer and settles into it. “Look at me.”

You struggle to meet your stepfather’s gaze.

“I know it’s difficult. But you have a right to know the truth. I’m not upset with you. You’ve done nothing wrong. I need you to understand that.” He brushes back the hair from your face.

You wonder if you would have gotten along with your dad. If his wife would have resented your existence. If you and your half-siblings would have played hide and seek in the vast space of the restaurant and snuck into a movie theater to see an R rated horror movie and argued over drive thru options from the rear of the car and whispered secrets, co-conspirators. Suddenly you’re wondering about a life you could have had. Maybe it had been better being an only child. Easier. Attention focused only on you. But the decision had been made for you. No choice. You’re not sure how to feel about that regret for something and someone you’ll never experience now.

“Do you have any pictures of him?”

“No, but I’m sure they exist in some form. An old news article online, maybe.”

“Was he a good person? I mean, outside of the affair and…”

“Yes, he was. Henry had to battle his own inner demons, as all men do, but overall yes, he was a kind, decent human being. There is no shame in being his descendant.”

“You really cared about him?”

A sigh, exhaled with a faint shudder. “Yes, I really did.”

You nod. It’s something, anyway. Some small comfort. A link to your father through this surrogate.

“Are you going to tell mom?”

“I don’t think it’s relevant at this juncture. You are the one that needed to know.”

“What are you going to do about…”

“I’m working that out. I promise. My feelings for you have not changed.” He stands. You rise to your feet. “You still want me, baby girl?” His voice is husky.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Another shuddering sigh. His mouth crushes yours.

***

William rushes through the last two appointments of the day.

He’s told you to wait for him at the pizzeria.

He still can’t believe you’re Henry’s daughter.

How strange fate was to bring you into his path this way. As if you cannot escape each other. Forever destined to intertwine.

He wonders where your eldest half-sibling is. If fate will somehow bring him back to him as well. He’d be 25 now. Something like that. The last time he’d seen him had been at that state park in Nebraska. A family camping trip turned into another tragedy when he’d stolen Henry’s youngest son.

William parks beside your car. He cannot help but see Henry now when he looks at you. Maybe that’s what had drawn him to you all along.

He brings you back to the manager’s office. He thinks about your father seated there behind the desk he’s just set you on, confessing his act of adultery that had created you.

There is no foreplay that afternoon.

William reaches beneath your uniform skirt and jerks your panties down. He unfastens his belt and opens his pants and shoves his cock into you.

“Oh, baby girl. I need this so badly…” He nips your throat.

“Daddy…” You wrap your legs around his waist and he leans into you, penetrating you more deeply.

“You like it, sweet girl? Hmmm?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Tell Daddy how much you love his big cock in you.”

“I love it. I love your big cock, Daddy,” you gasp. Your nails clutch his back as his prick drives against your pussy over and over, punching little moans of pleasure out of your lungs. “Love it when you fill me up so full of your cum…”

“You want that, baby girl? Want Daddy to breed you? I’m gonna to fill you so fucking full…”

“Yes, Daddy,” you whine. Your lips are parted beneath his. He lets a trail of saliva drop down onto your tongue before he slides tightly wrapped lips over it, sucking it back off your tongue, mouth moving over it like he’s working over a cock, getting it all spit slick. His prick pistons roughly, ramming against your cervix. “Love it, Daddy. Love it, love it, love you…”

Your hair pulled back roughly so you’re looking into his eyes. “You’re mine,” he growls. Not Henry’s daughter. His. He never wanted you. Afton’s always wanted you from the moment he’d laid eyes on you.

“I am yours, Daddy. Just yours.” You stretch to capture his lips.

“Made for me. Mine.” The pounding has become so wet and sloppy and frantic. You’re both sweating. You cling to him and rock and grind against him.

“Daddy, I’m gonna cum. Fuck, Daddy…” He feels you twitch and spasm and shudder around him. One hand slams down on the desk, fingers gripping the edge tightly. The knuckles blanch whiter and whiter. The light leaving Garrett’s eyes. His rough kisses split your bottom lip and draw blood. So much of it from such a small body. Charlie’s wide, surprised eyes, so like your own…

William explodes, filling you with his seed as promised. He feels your hand on the arm still held taut, gripping the desk. He realizes you’ve been trying to get his attention. He rockets back from the past and his gaze focuses on you.

“Steve…”

“My name’s not Steve, it’s William.”

Another long kept secret revealed.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x reader #dividers credit @saradika-graphics

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