#Metal Balers

[joelmillerisapunk]

Howdy Honey I. can't get you off my mind

series masterlist masterlist

wordcount: 6,709

summary: After a tumultuous fall from your horse that leaves you with a fractured wrist and bruised ribs, you find solace in the strong arms and gentle care of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand whose rugged exterior hides a tender heart.

warnings: mentions of falling, fracture, eventual smut, slowburn, age-gap, some fluff, two stubborn people falling in love, angst, from both your and Joel's pov

notes: First of all thank you to all of you for supporting the masterlist, I am absolutely blown away! I appreciate the heck out of you all so very much! <3 <3 Second thank you sm to @joelslegalwhre for screaming with me about all of this ily. Third I wrote this after my own experiences falling off a horse and being carried by a hot cowboy at work. K I'm gonna go panic, love you all bye. gif is by @tomshiddles divider by @saradika-graphics

The sun is high and unforgiving, casting a golden hue over the sprawling acres of your family's ranch—a place where the West still feels wild and untamed. The ranch, nestled in a valley surrounded by rugged mountains, is a patchwork of green pastures, dotted with grazing cattle and horses. The main house, a sturdy two-story structure with a wraparound porch, stands proudly at the heart of the property, its whitewashed walls and red roof are like a beacon for the lost amidst the vast expanse of land. You can always find your way back home.

To the east lies the stables, a long, low building with enough room to house two dozen horses comfortably. Its wooden walls have weathered to a soft gray, and the scent of hay and horse is always present in the air. Just beyond the stables is the equipment barn, filled with tractors, balers, and all manner of tools necessary for maintaining the ranch. The sound of metal clanging against metal often echoes from within as ranch hands tend to repairs or prepare for the day's work. A little further out is the chicken coop, bustling with activity as hens peck at the ground and roosters crow their morning greetings.

On the southern end of the ranch, a series of fenced-in training pens are set up for breaking in new horses or for practicing roping skills. It's here that you often find the newly hired ranch hand, Joel Miller, expertly mending a section of split-rail fence or guiding a young colt through its paces with patience and skill honed over decades. 

You've grown up with the scent of hay and the sound of hooves on dirt, a life that's as much a part of you as the blood in your veins. Recently, your parents brought on a few new ranch hands, a decision driven not only by their advancing years and a growing wanderlust but also, you suspect, by a desire to ensure you're well looked after in their absence. It didn't seem to matter how many times you'd promised that you and [name] the very first and only other person hired to help around, could take care of the ranch -  they never let go of the fact you weren't five anymore. 

Today you find yourself working a little less hard because of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand that looks like he stepped straight out of a Western movie. You watch him from afar as you make your way to take your horse out, his muscles straining against his plaid shirt as he repairs a section of fencing. He moves with an easy grace despite his age and broad build. His salt-and-pepper hair peeks out from under his worn cowboy hat, and you can't help but feel a pull towards him, something beyond the usual respect for a seasoned hand.

The ranch is alive with activity as you prepare Daisy for her daily run. The horses in the nearby pasture lift their heads at your approach, their ears pricked with curiosity. Daisy nickers softly, her tail swishing in anticipation as you lead her out of her stall and toward the open pasture. As you trot along one of the well-worn trails, you pass by landmarks that tell stories of your family's history; there's an old rusted tractor from your grandfather's time, now half-buried in wildflowers; a grove where you used to play hide-and-seek with your siblings; and further on, an ancient stone marker placed by settlers who once claimed this land as their own. Each sight brings back memories that are as much a part of you as they are a part of this place. 

But today, these familiar sights are merely blurs in your peripheral vision as Daisy gallops across the landscape. The wind whips through your hair, and you feel a rush of adrenaline as the horse's muscles move powerfully beneath you. It's in these moments that you feel most at peace, in harmony with the natural world around you.

Suddenly, a sharp cry from Daisy breaks the rhythm of her gait. You pull sharply on the reins as a jackrabbit darts out from the underbrush, its sudden appearance startling her. In an instant, your peaceful ride turns to chaos. Daisy rears up, her eyes wide with fear, and you're thrown from the saddle, the world a blur of blue sky and golden earth. The impact is jarring, knocking the breath from your lungs as you hit the ground hard. Pain radiates from your side and arm. As you lie there, struggling to catch your breath, Daisy gallops away towards the safety of the stables, leaving you alone in a cloud of dust.

The sun beats down mercilessly upon you as waves of pain wash over your body. You try to move but find that even breathing is a challenge. You try to push yourself up, but a wave of nausea forces you back down. It's then that you hear the pounding of hooves approaching fast and boots hitting the ground. 

"Easy there, easy," a familiar voice drawls as strong hands gently roll you onto your back. Joel's face swims into view, his brow furrowed with concern. "Looks like ya had a bit of a tumble, darlin'. Can you tell me where it hurts?" His voice is deep and soothing, cutting through the haze of pain. You manage to point to your side, wincing as he carefully probes the area. "Just bruised, I reckon," he says after a moment, his touch is surprisingly gentle for such calloused hands. "Your arm too. We should get ya back to the house. Might have t'see the doctor."

Over my dead body, you think to yourself.

With surprising ease, Joel scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You can't help but notice the warmth radiating from his body. It's an intimacy that makes your breath hitch in your throat—a sensation that has nothing to do with your injuries.

"Gave me quite the scare there darlin," Joel remarks as he carries you towards his waiting horse. His tone is light but there's an undercurrent of something else—affection? worry? "What were you thinkin’ taking Daisy out alone after that storm last night? These trails can be treacherous."

You want to argue that you're capable and don't need help, that it was just a routine ride and something spooked Daisy but arguing takes energy—energy that's currently in short supply thanks to the pain radiating from your side and shooting through your arm. Instead you murmur a weak apology. "Didn't think it’d be a problem."

Joel chuckles softly. "Well, I reckon that's part of the adventure, ain't it? Never quite knowing what the day's gonna bring." He adjusts his hold on you slightly, his grip firm yet careful. "But next time, maybe wait for someone to come with you. Safety in numbers and all that."

As he settles you onto his horse, he keeps a steady hand on your back, “you okay darlin?” He asks, making sure you're secure before you nod and he swings up behind you as gently as he can. The closeness is overwhelming; his body is a solid wall of heat at your back, and you can feel the muscles in his thighs as they grip the horse's flanks. It's a strange mix of vulnerability and safety, being so close to this man who just (weeks/days?) ago was a little more than a stranger.

The ride back to the ranch is a blur of sensations—the rhythmic sway of the horse beneath you, the scent of leather and sweat mingling with Joel's unique aroma of woodsmoke and something undeniably masculine. You find yourself leaning into him without thinking, seeking comfort in his strength.

"Almost there," Joel reassures you as the house comes into view. His breath is warm against your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. "We'll get some ice on those bruises and take a look at you."

Once at the ranch house, he carries you inside and sets you down gently on the living room couch crouching beside you to remove your boots. His fingers brush against your skin accidentally as he works them off one by one—a touch that sends sparks racing along your nerves despite yourself and despite any rational thought about how much older he is than you. You quickly blink them away.

"Ice pack," he commands firmly but kindly before disappearing into the kitchen. You hear the clinking of ice being scooped from the freezer. 

As Joel returns from the kitchen, the air in the room shifts subtly. He kneels beside you on the couch, his movements deliberate and gentle. "This might be a bit cold at first," he warns, his voice carrying a hint of gruffness that hadn't been there before.

You nod, bracing yourself for the shock of cold. But when he lifts the hem of your shirt to expose your bruised side, the brush of his fingers against the sensitive skin of your stomach sends an unexpected wave of heat coursing through you. It's a clinical touch, meant only to aid in your recovery, but the proximity of his hands to the curves of your body is not lost on you.

He places the makeshift ice pack against your side, the cold seeping your body. You can't help the sharp intake of breath as the icy chill envelops the tender area. Joel's eyes flick to yours, concern etched across his features.

"Sorry, darlin'," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "I know it's uncomfortable, but it'll help with the swelling."

You give him a small, reassuring smile, trying to convey that you understand—that you appreciate his attentiveness. As he holds the ice pack in place, his other hand comes to rest on your hip, a steady presence that seems to anchor you amidst the discomfort.

The room is silent save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock and the occasional crackle of ice as it begins to melt against your skin. You can feel the heat of Joel's palm through the fabric of your jeans, and you find yourself acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

After a few minutes, he slowly lifts the ice pack away, his eyes scanning your side with a practiced eye. "How does it feel now?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate within you.

"A bit better," you admit, the pain having dulled to a manageable ache.

He nods, his attention still focused on your injury. With a gentle touch that belies his rugged exterior, he traces the edge of the bruise with his fingers, his touch feather-light yet firm. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for his next move.

"You're gonna be sore for a few days," he says. "But I think you'll live."

As he withdraws his hand, you feel an odd sense of loss, as if the warmth of his touch had become a lifeline in the midst of your pain. You watch as he rises to his feet, his tall frame casting a shadow over you.

"Thank you, Joel," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words feel inadequate, but they're all you have to offer in this moment.

The corners of Joel's mouth twitch into a small smile, and he gives a nod, turning back towards the kitchen 

While he's gone, you take the opportunity to study him from afar as he walks through the open room to the kitchen. There's an air of quiet strength about him, a sense of resilience. You find yourself wondering about his past—where he came from, what brought him here to your family's ranch. But those questions will have to wait for another time; right now, just talking and moving is enough of a challenge without adding an interrogation into the mix.

Joel returns with a glass of water and some painkillers. "Here," he says gently, helping you sit up enough to swallow the pills before lying back down against the cushions with a wince at the sharp pain in your side again.

“Rest up now," Joel instructs. “I'll take care of things around here for the rest of the day. You just focus on healin.”

You drift in and out of sleep on the couch and everytime you drift out you see Joel lingering around keeping watch over you like some kind old west guardian angel dressed in denim. 

As the day wanes and the shadows grow long across the hardwood floors, you stir from your uneasy slumber. The pain in your side is a dull roar now, thanks to the medication Joel provided. You blink slowly, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of the living room. The ranch is quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling and the distant sound of Joel's voice as he talks to one of the horses in the stable.

Your heart flutters at the thought of him—his rugged features, his gentle touch, and those eyes that seem to see right through you. It's a dangerous path your thoughts are taking, but you can't help it. There's something about Joel that draws you in, despite the years between you.

The front door opens with a soft squeak, and Joel steps inside, his boots leaving a trail of dust on the floorboards. He looks weary but satisfied, his shirt damp with sweat from a hard day's work. His gaze finds you instantly, and a warm smile spreads across his face.

"You're awake," he observes needlessly as he approaches. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," you admit with a small grimace as you try to sit up straighter on the couch. "But better than before." You didn't want to admit how bad your arm was actually killing you.

Joel nods in approval before disappearing into the kitchen again—a man of few words but many actions. He returns a bit later with a steaming mug in hand and offers it to you carefully so as not to spill any on your lap. 

"Chamomile tea," he explains gruffly when he sees your questioning look at what seems like an unusual choice for someone like him, someone who seems more accustomed to strong black coffee than herbal infusions. "It'll help with any lingering pain and help ya sleep." 

You take a tentative sip; making sure to grab the cup with your good hand it's sweetened just how you like it—a small detail that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly because it means he's been paying attention even when he didn’t have to be.  The warmth seeps into your hands as much as into your insides making everything feel less daunting all at once despite your injuries.

The evening settles in, casting a cozy glow over the living room. The ranch is quiet, the animals bedded down for the night, and the chores all done. Joel lingers, his presence a comforting constant in the otherwise empty house. He settles into the armchair across from you, the lines of his face softened by the dim light.

"You should eat somethin’," he suggests, already rising from his chair. "I'll fix ya up a plate."

Before you can protest, he's back in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and the smell of food wafting through the air. You can't help but smile at his insistence. It's been a long time since anyone has taken care of you like this.

Joel returns with a tray balanced in one hand—a simple meal of soup and a sandwich, cut into manageable pieces. He sets it down on the coffee table, pulling it closer to you. "Eat up," he urges, his tone gentle but firm. "You need to keep your strength up."

As you eat, he watches you, his gaze never straying far. It's an odd sensation, being the focus of such intense attention, but you find yourself not minding it. There's a sense of security in his watchfulness, a feeling that you're not alone in this big house.

When you've finished eating, Joel takes the tray away, leaving you to sip your tea in peace. The painkillers are starting to wear off, and as you move to adjust your position on the couch, a sharp, stabbing pain shoots through your arm, causing you to yelp in surprise and discomfort.

Joel, who has been quietly cleaning up the remnants of dinner in the kitchen, is at your side in an instant. "What is it?" he asks, his voice laced with concern. "Did you move wrong?"

"It's my arm," you admit through gritted teeth, cradling the injured limb with your other hand. "I think I might have aggravated it."

With a nod, Joel gently takes your arm in his hands, his touch firm yet gentle. He probes the area with practiced ease, watching your face for any signs of pain. When he reaches a particular spot, you can't help but flinch, a hiss escaping your lips. “Shh, I know. Easy, easy," he soothes you like a wounded animal, before releasing your arm. His brow is furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't like the look of this. Could be broken, or at least badly sprained. We need to get you to a doctor first thing in the mornin’."

"I'm sure it's fine, Joel," you argue weakly, not wanting to cause a fuss. "It's probably just a bad bruise. I'll be okay after a good night's sleep."

But Joel is having none of it. "No, it ain't fine," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You could be doin’ more damage by not getting it checked out. I'll drive you to the clinic myself in the morning. This ain’t up for debate."

You know that look on his face—it's the same one he wears when he's dealing with a stubborn horse or a difficult piece of machinery. There's no point in trying to dissuade him when he's made up his mind. And truthfully, the idea of having a professional assess your injuries is somewhat of a relief.

"Alright," you relent with a sigh, the fight draining out of you. "I'll go to the doctor in the morning."

Joel's expression softens, and he gives your good shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That's the smart choice, darlin'. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

As he moves away to finish tidying up the kitchen, you find yourself watching him, a mix of gratitude and something deeper swirling within you. Despite the pain and the uncertainty of your injuries, you can't help but feel a sense of safety and comfort with Joel around. You're taken from your thoughts when Joel comes back into the living room. "I should be gettin’ home," Joel says after a while, his voice low and reluctant. "But I'll be back first thing to check on you."

You nod, trying to hide your disappointment. The house feels too big, too empty to be without him in it. "I'll be okay, Joel," you assure him, trying not to worry him, though the words taste like a stale cigarette on your tongue. "Thank you for everything."

He gives you a long, searching look before nodding slowly. "Alright then," he says, rising from his chair. "You remember what I said about not pushin’ yourself too hard?"

"Yes," you reply with a small smile. "Rest and recovery."

"That's right," he affirms, pulling on his jacket. "And don't hesitate to call me if you need anything—no matter the time."

You watch as he heads for the door, his silhouette framed by the night outside. Just before he steps out into the darkness, he turns back to you, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the living room. "Goodnight darlin," he says, his voice carrying a hint of something unspoken.

"Goodnight, Joel," you whisper back, the words hanging in the air long after he's gone.

The house is silent once more, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. You finish your tea and carefully set the mug aside, the warmth of it still lingering on your lips. With a sigh, you settle back against the cushions, the pain in your side a dull reminder of the day's events.

As the night deepens, you find yourself reaching for your phone, your fingers typing out a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Hey. Just wanted to say thank you again for today. I'm okay, just wanted to say thanks. Hope you got home safe.

What you really meant was, “please come back I'm fucking scared being alone.”

You hit send before you can change your mind, the message disappearing into the ether. Minutes tick by with no response, and you chide yourself for expecting otherwise. Joel is probably already asleep, or at least on his way to getting some much-needed rest after the day he's had. But just as you're about to set your phone aside and try to get some sleep yourself, it vibrates in your hand, startling you. A notification lights up the screen—a new message from Joel.

Of course. That's what I'm here for. Got home just fine. How are the ribs? Any better with the meds?

You can't help but smile at the concern in his words, the gruff affection that seems to come so naturally to him. You reply, telling him about the tea and the meal, about how much better you feel with him looking out for you.

His response is quick, as if he's been waiting by his phone for your message. 

Glad to hear it. And remember, there's no rush to get back in the saddle if you're not feeling up to it. Everything will still be here when you're ready. Your health is the priority now. If there's anything I can do for you, just holler. I've got your chores covered. Take care of yourself and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything or just want to talk about what happened.

You read his words over and over, each one a balm to the lingering ache in your side—and to the unexpected emptiness in your heart. With a contented sigh, you finally set your phone aside and close your eyes, the sound of the ranch at night lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, you're awakened by the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. You rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock—it's early, barely past dawn. With some effort, you manage to sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the couch, wincing at the stiffness in your muscles.

The front door opens, and Joel steps inside, his hands full of a large wicker basket. "Brought you some things," he announces, setting the basket down on the coffee table. Inside, you find an assortment of items—fresh fruit, a few paperback novels, a soft, hand-knitted blanket, and a small potted plant. "I figured you could use some company," he says, gesturing to the plant. "And the books are from my daughter's collection. She loves a good western—thought you might enjoy them."

The revelation that Joel has a daughter is something that catches you off guard, a piece of him that he kept carefully tucked away, a piece you want to know more about. 

You're touched by the thoughtfulness of his gifts, each one carefully chosen to bring you comfort during your recovery. "Joel, this is... it's too much," you protest half-heartedly, even as you reach out to run your fingers over the soft wool of the blanket.

"Nonsense, darlin’," he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

The way he calls you darlin’ brings heat to your cheeks, and you quickly look away, busying yourself with arranging the items in the basket. When you finally gather the courage to meet his gaze again, you find him watching you with a soft smile on his face and you assume he's forgotten about the doctor until he speaks up.

“Alright let's go.” Joel's stands up and holds a hand out to you. 

You look up at him and chuckle “It's fine Joel. It barely even hurts.”

The argument is brief but intense, with you stubbornly insisting that a trip to the clinic is unnecessary despite the pain in your arm. Joel, however, is just as adamant, his concern for your well-being overriding any protests you might have.

"I ain't gonna stand by and watch you suffer when there's somethin’ that can be done about it," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

You cross your arms defiantly, wincing as the movement sends a jolt of pain through your injured wrist. "And what's the hard way?" you challenge him, though there's a hint of amusement in your voice.

Without warning, Joel strides toward you, scooping you up into his arms before you can react. You let out a startled yelp as he hoists you over his shoulder with surprising ease, his strong hands holding you securely in place.

"Hey! Put me down!" You pound on his back with your good hand, your cheeks hot with embarrassment and indignation. But beneath the surface, there's an undeniable thrill at being so close to him—at feeling the muscles in his shoulders and back move beneath his shirt as he carries you effortlessly toward the front door.

"As soon as we get to the truck," he replies calmly, unfazed by your struggles. "We're going to see Dr. Simmons whether you like it or not."

You continue to squirm and protest as he carries you across the yard to where his truck is parked. The other ranch hands look on with barely concealed grins but wisely choose to keep their comments to themselves. They know better than to get between Joel Miller and something he's set his mind to.

With a gentleness that belies his gruff exterior, Joel sets you down on the passenger seat of the truck and buckles your seatbelt for you before closing the door and heading around to the driver's side. 

Joel.

He grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he navigates the familiar dirt roads that lead away from the ranch. He can see you out of the corner of his eye, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the passing landscape. A vision of stubborn beauty, your jaw set in a way that makes his heart do things it hadn't done in years. He can feel the tension radiating off you—a mix of pain and frustration at being manhandled against your will. He can't blame you for being upset. If someone had picked him up and carried him off like a sack of feed, he'd be mad too. But when he saw you lying there in the dirt, hurt and vulnerable, something inside him shifted. It awakened a protective instinct that he thought had died along with Sarah.

Damn it, Joel, he chides himself. She's young enough to be your daughter. But the thought feels hollow, a weak defense against the pull he feels toward you. You’re strong, fiercely independent, and yet, there’s a vulnerability to you that calls to something deep within him, the need to care for someone - for you. He glances over at you again, taking in the delicate curve of your jaw, and the way your hair falls in waves around your shoulders, taking in the way the morning light plays across your features. You’re a sight to behold, all fire and spirit wrapped up in a package that is far too tempting for his peace of mind. Every time he looks at you, all logic seems to fly out the window. There's an undeniable connection between you, a spark that ignites whenever you're near each other. It's terrifying and exhilarating, you make him feel young again. 

He risks another glance in your direction, and his heart skips a beat when he finds you watching him with those big doe eyes of yours. Joel swallows hard, forcing himself to look away before his thoughts can wander any further down that dangerous path. He needs to focus on getting through this day without letting his guard down completely.

The clinic is just up ahead now, its whitewashed walls gleaming in the early morning sun. He pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine, turning to face you with a stern expression that belies the turmoil he feels inside.

"Ready?" he asks, though it's clear from his tone that it's more of a statement than a question. He's not going to let you talk your way out of this one—not when your health is at stake.

You nod reluctantly, your gaze fixed on the clinic entrance. You're nervous; he can see it in the way your fingers worry at the hem of your shirt, in the slight tremble of your chin. He wants to reach out and wrap you in his arms, to offer some semblance of comfort, but he holds back. It wouldn't be appropriate—not here, not now. Instead, he climbs out of the truck and comes around to open your door for you, offering a hand to help you down onto solid ground.

The interior of the clinic is cool and sterile-smelling—a stark contrast to the fresh air and open spaces of the ranch. Joel checks you in at the reception desk while you sink into one of the waiting room chairs, wincing as even that small movement sends a twinge of pain through your side and arm.  Joel takes a seat beside you in the waiting room, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. He can feel the tension emanating from you, a coiled spring ready to leap to action at the slightest provocation. He knows that look—it's the same one he's seen on injured animals over the years, a mix of fear and defiance. It tugs at something deep within him, a primal urge to protect those he cares about most.

He wants to say something to ease your discomfort, but words seem inadequate in the face of your pain. Instead, he reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering just above your knee before he gives in to the impulse and rests it there gently—a silent promise that he's not going anywhere.

You startle at his touch, your gaze flicking to his face in surprise. But as you meet his eyes, you see nothing but sincerity and concern reflected back at you. Slowly, deliberately, you place your own hand over his.

The waiting room is filled with the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of magazines being flipped through by other patients. Joel's thumb traces idle patterns on your leg as you sit there together in silence.

"Joel," you say finally, breaking the silence that has settled between you. Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the ambient noise like a knife. "I want to thank you - for everything."

He shakes his head dismissively, though there's a warmth in his eyes that wasn't there before. "No need for thanks," he replies gruffly. "I did what anyone else woulda done."

"No," you insist firmly, turning in your seat so that you're facing him fully now—ignoring the twinge of pain it elicits from your injuries. "Joel," you say again, your voice steady despite the pain you're clearly in. "I mean it. You've been... you've done so much for me. More than I could have asked for."

He opens his mouth to respond, to downplay his role in your care, but the words die on his lips as the nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She calls out your name, scanning the room until her eyes land on the two of you.

Reluctantly, Joel withdraws his hand from your knee, the connection between you severed as you rise to follow the nurse. He stands as well, intending to accompany you, but the nurse shakes her head. "Just the patient for now, please," she says with a polite but firm smile.

You shoot him a reassuring look over your shoulder as you follow the nurse down the hallway, leaving Joel alone with his thoughts. He sinks back into his chair, his hands clasped tightly between his knees again as he waits for you to return.

The minutes tick by slowly, each second stretching into an eternity. Joel's mind races with worry and concern. He knows the ranch like the back of his hand, can handle any crisis that comes his way—but this is different. This is about you, and the thought of you in pain, of you being afraid, is more than he can bear.

He can't shake the image of you lying in the dust after being thrown from Daisy, the fear in your eyes when you realized you couldn't get up on your own. It had been years since he'd felt that kind of raw terror, the kind that gripped your heart and squeezed until you couldn't breathe. But in that moment, with you hurt and helpless, it all came flooding back. Joel had always prided himself on his strength, both physical and emotional. He'd had to be strong after Sarah passed, but with you, he felt something shift inside him—a crack in the armor he'd spent years building up around his heart. He cared about you, more than he should. It was a truth he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried. You were young, vibrant, full of potential and promise. And he, well, he was just an old cowboy with more yesterdays than tomorrows. But when he looked at you, when he saw the fire in your eyes, he felt alive in a way he hadn't in years.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears your name called again. He looks up to see the nurse beckoning him forward with a gentle smile.

"You can come back now," she says, her voice soft and reassuring. "She's asking for you."

Joel's heart skips a beat at her words. He rises quickly, his boots thudding against the linoleum floor as he follows the nurse through the maze of hallways to the examination room where you're waiting. His mind races with possibilities—none of them good. 

Why would they need me if everything was fine? Had something happened while you were back there? Was the injury worse than they initially thought?

The door to the examination room creaks open, and Joel steps inside, his eyes immediately going to you. You're sitting on the edge of the examination table, your face pale but composed. The relief that washes over him at seeing you unharmed is palpable; it leaves him momentarily lightheaded as he crosses the room to your side.

"What's goin on?" he asks urgently, his gaze flicking between you and the doctor who is standing nearby with a clipboard in hand. "Is everything alright?"

Dr. Simmons gives him a reassuring nod before turning his attention back to you. "I was just explaining to your friend here that it looks like she's got some bruised ribs and a fracture in her wrist," he says matter-of-factly as he jots something down on his clipboard. "We'll need to keep an eye on those ribs—make sure there's no internal bleeding or complications—but I think she'll be just fine with some rest and proper care.We gave her some pain medication before the x-ray. It may make her tired so she will need to be watched. No driving, etc. And she will need to come back in three weeks from now to get an updated x-ray of her wrist."

Joel lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, relief flooding through him like a tidal wave crashing against jagged rocks. He reaches out instinctively, taking your good hand in his own as he listens intently while Dr. Simmons goes over your care instructions.

Once the doctor finishes his instructions and hands over the prescription, Joel helps you down from the examination table, his hand at the small of your back providing a steady, reassuring presence. "Let's get your meds and then getcha home," he says softly, guiding you out of the clinic and back to his truck.

The drive to the pharmacy is quiet, the air between you thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Joel keeps stealing glances at you, noting the way you're cradling your injured wrist against your chest, the way your breath hitches ever so slightly when the truck hits a bump in the road. He wants to say something, to offer some words of comfort, but he's never been good with this sort of thing. He's a man of action, not words.

At the pharmacy, Joel takes charge, handling the paperwork and payment while you sit quietly on a nearby bench. He can see the exhaustion etched into your features, the way your eyelids are starting to droop. He knows you're running on fumes, and the pain medication will likely knock you out soon.

He heads back to the ranch, the truck's engine humming softly beneath the weight of the silence that stretches between you. You're fading fast, the medication they gave you at the doctor taking its toll. He can see you struggling to keep your eyes open, your body swaying slightly with each turn of the vehicle.

Once he reaches the ranch house, he parks as close to the front door as possible and hurries around to your side of the truck. You're already half-asleep by the time he opens your door, your eyelids fluttering as you fight to stay awake. "Easy now," Joel murmurs, unbuckling your seatbelt and scooping you into his arms with a tenderness that surprises even himself. You let out a soft sigh as he carries you into the house, your head lolling against his chest. The trust you place in him is both humbling and terrifying and the sweet little noises coming from your mouth don't make any of this easier. 

He settles you onto the couch, propping pillows behind your back to keep you comfortable. You smile sleepily up at you, a smile that sends a jolt straight to his heart and many other places. "Stay with me?" You ask quietly. 

How could he possibly say no?

Joel nods, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, “‘course darlin, just gonna make you somethin to eat real quick.” Joel heads into the kitchen to prepare something for you to eat. An Eggo waffle seems like a safe bet—simple and comforting in its familiarity. He pops one into the toaster and waits impatiently for it to brown, his thoughts consumed by the woman lying on the couch.

Joel returns to the living room, the scent of warm waffles wafting through the air. He sets the plate down on the coffee table, along with a glass of water and the bottle of pain medication the pharmacist had given him. "Here you go, darlin'," he says softly, offering you a small smile. "Eat up, and then we'll get you settled in with a movie or somethin."

You nod, managing a weak smile in return as you reach for the waffle with your good hand. The simple act of eating seems to revive you somewhat, though Joel can tell you're still in a considerable amount of pain. He watches as you take a tentative bite, followed by a sip of water to wash it down.

"Thank you," you murmur between bites, your eyes meeting his in a silent exchange of gratitude and concern.

Joel nods, his throat tightening unexpectedly at the sincerity in your voice. "Anything for you," he replies gruffly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. He quickly clears his throat and changes the subject. "What do ya feel like watchin’? There's some old western tapes layin around or we could find somethin else.”

“Hmmm” You think about it for a moment before responding with a slight shrug of your shoulders—a movement that causes you to wince slightly, “I'm not picky. Whatever you want cowboy.” 

If only I could tell ya what I want darlin’

Taglist: @mermaidgirl30 @maried01

[annaphoenix1994]

Mending the Trust

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

Angered, Kiera returned to the ranch with that familiar, yet terrifying gleam in her eye. Sitting outside their home in the driveway, she then became more infuriated at the fact that nobody was there with Baler being at school, Simon being at work with the twins, and Eva being at her weekly brunch date with her friends. Ain't life just good? She scoffed to herself, putting the car in reverse before heading to the station to see Simon for herself after learning the information received from Laswell. How many secrets is my own husband keeping from me? 

Once parked at the police station, she scoffed to herself as she saw Simon's car sitting in the parking lot. Expecting the worst due to her past experiences, she expected him to be leant up against his own car with a younger and far more beautiful woman who had nothing tying her down... No kids, working a part-time job, and looking for a nice military man to take care of her needs. I bet he will by the time I'm done. Leaving her purse in the car, she walked into the station and through the metal detector before walking to the front desk. "Good afternoon, ma'am. Who are you here to see?" 

"Lieutenant Riley." 

The younger woman looked back towards his office that was the last door of the corridor. "Um... Did you have an appointment?" 

Kiera arched her brow and scoffed, "So his own wife needs an appointment to see him? Especially when he has our children?" 

"Oh- Ma'am, I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that he was in a meeting a half hour ago. I-I'll call him." 

She rolled her eyes out of impatience and proceeded to walk down the hallway, gently opening the door to see him sitting at his desk - fully dressed in his uniform and tactical vest set aside, his elbow on the desk while his other hand gripped the armrest of the chair while three other chairs sat across from him: two men and a woman. 

Slowly, Simon's eyes moved towards the door to acknowledge the unannounced visitor, aggravation in his eyes before he realized it was Kiera, his gaze softening at the sight of his wife, a brief smirk splaying on his face. 

"Then I figured we could-" The older man stopped mid-sentence. "Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Riley." 

She flashed a weak smile, "Where's my children?" 

Oh, fuck, she's going to be mad... Simon sighed to himself, immediately regretting his decision to leave the infants sleeping in the bassinets that were in the holding room across the hall - only doing so to keep them asleep during his meeting as they had been restless the entire morning without their mother. 

And to make matters worse, the only person that offered to watch them while in his meeting was the flattering 29-year-old corrections officer who offered to watch the babies during her lunch break. 

Of course, this was only the number of times Simon had ever seen her. He had no physical attraction towards her, but she certainly did. What woman wouldn't? A tall, handsome former military man who prioritized his children over anything thrown his way was definitely in every woman's fantasy one way or the other. 

"Across the hall, love. I finally got them to sleep before my meeting started." 

She nodded before exiting the room, knocking once on the door across the hall before she was greeted by the brunette holding her son comfortably in her arms. "Can I help you?" She asked sweetly. 

Kiera's heart sank into her chest as well as anger spiking through her mind. Who was this woman caring and nurturing her son? How many times had she done this already when Simon had brought the babies to work with him when Kiera would have a doctor's appointment or attend a work meeting? "Just checking on my children since they're not in their father's office with him." She scoffed. 

"O-Oh, I'm sorry. Simon never mentioned he had a wife..." 

"Is that right?" 

"I mean, it's never been brought up, but I assumed he did by suddenly coming back with a ring on his finger," She breathed a giggle. "They're sleeping so well. They were causing him trouble this morning." 

"Uh huh. How many times have you watched them while he's working in the office?" 

"Quite a few, I suppose. He'll have them for almost the whole day until he has a meeting, then he'll call me and ask if I can watch them for about an hour or so. It's not throughout his entire shift. He just doesn't want them to be bothered while he has his meetings because of the radios going off and the Chief talks really loud." 

Well, that's somewhat reassuring, I guess... 

Just as Kiera was going to reply, the door to Simon's office opened, revealing the three individuals that she had seen before, walking a single file line back down the corridor, except his Chief stayed behind for a few moments, "Well, Riley, I'll leave ya to it. Your wife looks like she's eager to speak with you," He teased with a warm smile and the same mustache her father had, immediately pinching her heart at the thought. "Now Kiera, please don't break anything! He's got a new lamp on his desk, and it was a lot of money!" He poked. 

"Oh, I don't plan on breaking anything." She forced a laugh before he softly shut the door behind him. 

Simon knew that look in her eye and as happy as he was to see her, he knew it wasn't going to be the warm welcome he was expecting. He watched as she took a seat in front of his desk, noting the familiar, yet scary gleam she had in her eye. Busted...

"How'd it go with Laswell?" He asked, watching her cross her legs and cupping her knee with her hands, the diamond on her left hand sparkling with the impaling sunlight beaming through the blinds. 

"Oh, you know, the usual," She replied sarcastically. She knows something. Especially when I feel like I'm the one being interrogated... Simon gulped to himself, forcing himself to keep his composure. "I just have one question for you, Lieutenant." 

Fucking hell, here it comes... "Hm?" 

"How long were you expecting to hide this from me?" 

"Hide what?" 

"Okay, here's another question: how stupid do you think I am?" 

He huffed, "I don't think you're stupid, love." 

"So how long did you think you were going to keep this secret of yours from me?" 

"What secret?" 

"Does September 21st of this year ring a fucking bell?" She scoffed, watching him break eye contact with her. "Oh, and on top of that, I found out Makarov is in some prison but still running a group of PMCs to invade Urzikstan-"

"Konni Group." He answered lowly.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you already fucking knew that," She scoffed. "Just like you knew Graves was still alive and teaming up with Alex and Farah in Urzikstan?" 

"Graves is alive?" He questioned, his tone holding no sense of surprise nor dread, Kiera instantly knowing that he had known all along and chose not to tell her. 

"I'm not here to play games," She scoffed, standing up to walk towards the door before Simon stood up to stop her, putting himself between the door and her to prevent her from leaving. "Move." 

"Love, stop," He sighed, gently holding her shoulders. "I'm not playing games with you-" He tried to reassure her with a soft tone to his voice. 

"Should've told me that before you started gaslighting me. But wait, you've had quite a track record with not telling me things that're important, haven't you? From reinstating your status in the S.A.S a month before our wedding, to not telling me Graves was alive after I was sure that fucker was dead when you were the one who said you didn't feel a pulse after the fact, and not telling me that you have some woman in the room across the hall with our children asking her to watch them when you're in your apparent meetings. I'm not doing this." 

"Kiera-"

"Move." She stated again, hating that she had to talk to her own husband this way just to get her point across. 

"Love, listen to me. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to worry. You already have so much to worry about and the last thing I wanted to do was add on to that when I could have it taken care of myself-"

"Oh, now you're sorry? You didn't think to come clean when you looked me dead in my eyes while we were on our fucking honeymoon stuffing our faces with cheesecake and popcorn in Las Vegas when I deliberately asked you if you'd go back and you told me that you wouldn't because you had 'priorities'?" 

He sighed, looking down at the floor after not being able to handle the pain in her eyes at the fact that he did lie to her, but he felt he was doing her a favor by keeping that worry out of her mind. "I'm sorry." 

"If you were sorry, you wouldn't have lied to me in the first place," She scoffed. "I've said what was on my mind. Now move. I'm getting my children and going home." 

"No, you didn't," He shook his head. "You didn't say what was on your mind." 

"Oh, so you want me to really hurt your feelings today if I were to say what was on my mind?" She arched her brow. 

"Yeah, I do. I can take it." 

"I'm not sure about that. By the time I'm done saying what's on my mind, you'll want a divorce and you'll hit up that pretty young brunette over there taking care of our children when you don't feel like watching them-"

"Stop," He warned, his voice heaving a threatening tone. "That'll never happen. I'm sorry I kept this from you. I did it because I didn't want to worry you even more, especially after all of the shite we've been through already-"

"So even then how would you have told me you reinstated your status, huh? When it was time for you to fucking deploy so you could use that time apart to your advantage and not have to worry about arguing about it when you got back?" 

"I was going to tell you, Kiera. It just wasn't the time to-"

"I bet Johnny already told Teeter." 

"He hasn't." 

"Well, ain't that going to be fun? What's next? Are you going to tell me that you really didn't kill Shepherd and he's out galivanting with Graves in the middle east?" 

"I did kill him, Kiera," He spoke lowly. "I can promise you that." 

"You know, it's a damn shame I have to find out things like this from a former supervisor and not my own husband," She scoffed, shaking her head to fight back tears of what felt like betrayal. "You should've told me the truth when I asked you that night. I was looking for reassurance, Simon, and you still lied to me." 

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to ruin our honeymoon by telling you that-"

"So, you left it to Laswell to call me when things are about to go to shit?" 

"No, I had no idea Laswell was going to even call you. We're not even expected to deploy. I just reinstated for good measure just in case." 

"You should fucking know that if it has to do with Makarov, there's no 'just in case.' You can mark my words that you will end up deploying. Especially when Price finds out that Konni is invading Urzikstan and Farah and Alex are on the frontline with Graves. What're you going to tell our kids when they're asking where their daddy is going, huh? What're you going to tell Baler - who looks up to you, by the way - that you're leaving for God only knows how long while, and just in case I need to remind you since you've had a hard time remembering lately, that we've been trying to have another baby. You'd rather risk leaving all of that behind for some fucker that's trying to invade a country that we don't even have anything to do with?-"

"He's trying to start another World War, Kiera, bloody fucking hell!" Simon retorted, aggravated at the fact that she was right but also felt like she was insulting his decision. "I'm doing it to protect you and our kids! Do you really want to be having to wake up every morning to the possibility of having to wear a gas mask before you even go outside because of radiation? Having to worry about your state being nuked? Have you even thought about that?" 

"I'm well aware," She rolled her eyes. "And what do you think is going to happen when our children have the risk of growing up without a father? Having to ask where their dad is while I'm possibly pregnant with our third?" 

"Kiera, with all due respect - it's not about you-" Oh, fuck. I didn't mean it like that! 

A harsh moment of silence fell between them, "I guess it's not." She frowned, moving around him to open the door to his office. 

"Where are you going?" 

"Home, Simon. I'm taking the kids with me." 

"No, I'll bring them home when I leave in an hour." 

She arched her brow with that same scary gaze, "Then I suggest you get them out of the hands of another woman and watch them like you promised me, or is that a hard thing to keep too?" 

[dragonfirerogue-writes]

Hello! If it's okay, I'd like to request a male (or, if you don't want that, a gender neutral) fawning over Tifa Lockhart as she shows off her strength.

Maybe they're at a junkyard and the reader cheers her on to lift and crush old, outmoded vehicles, and it ends with her carrying the reader into the sunset to a more romantic place.

Strength of a Woman

If anyone looked into the junkyard, they would see Tifa and Cloud standing by a pair of legs hanging out of the hood of a rust bucket. Occasionally, a piece of metal would fly out and join a growing pile by Cloud's feet.

"Hey, how much longer are you gonna be?" The blond asks. "We've been waiting for a while now. Isn't that enough scrap?"

You finally emerge from the hood, cleaning your hands of grease and oil.

"I'm done now. And this scrap helps to upgrade your shit, so you better be grateful."

The quip makes Tifa chuckle and Cloud rolls his eyes. He takes a hold of his Hard Edge and slams the blade into the vehicle. The group monk joins in, slamming her fist into the metal and helping to condense the old car into a metal cube.

"Why are we doing this manually again?" Despite the question, Cloud moves to the next thing in the junkyard. Tifa's the one who replies this time.

"They're overflowing with junk since their baler broke," she starts. "Apparently it's been hard to find the parts."

"That's why I'm here," you add. "I'm gonna fix it, but work still has to be done." You put most of the scrap into your storage box and take the rest towards the baler. "So you do your part and I'll do mine!" You twirl a wrench to make your point.

After twenty minutes, you hear a phone ring. You all perk up and look around before Cloud pats his pocket and pulls out his cell. "Yeah?" You can hear the muffled sounds of Barrett's loud voice. Loud enough that Cloud holds the phone away from his ear. With a roll of his eyes, he mumbles an affirmative before hanging up.

"Barrett apparently needs help on a hunt. I'm gonna go do that. You two can finish up here, right?"

With a kick, the baler roars to life and you let out a cheer. "Yup! Now that this baby's up and running, we'll be done in no time!"

Cloud just nods and walks away. As soon as he's out of earshot, Tifa lets out a laugh.

"He hates tedious jobs like this. He left so quickly."

You had joined in the laughter, wiping a tear from your eyes. "I wondered how long he was gonna last."

As the laughter dies down, you both turn back to the junkpile.

"Welp. Let's finish up and go home, yeah?" You say. "I'm sorry I'm not much help on this part."

Tifa gives you a soft smile before leaning in for a quick kiss. "It's what I'm here for. Just make sure the baler keeps working."

You just nod, slightly dazed from the kiss. She moves towards the pile and starts lifting the pieces and throwing them into the machine. You sit by the maintenance panel, making sure things don't break. However, you keep getting distracted by the woman in your company.

Tifa was beautiful by normal standards. Her long, dark hair was soft and shined in the sun. Her skin was near flawless, even with all she does. Her legs were to absolutely die for. And her strength? Godly. The way her muscles flex with every movement enchants you. Her sweat glistens and makes her look ethereal. But her biggest strength was her heart. Despite living in the slums and everything she sees and deals with, Tifa was kind. Her love for her friends and team was what really drew you to her. It's why you fell in love. You certainly felt lucky that her love for you matched the love you had for her.

"I can feel that stare, you know."

You gave a start at being caught, but you recovered with a grin. You can see the light blush on her face that had nothing to do with the job.

"I can't help it, T. You're just... Amazing."

Tifa just laughs and shakes her head fondly. She hefts another piece of metal into the baler before turning to you.

"You're pretty great yourself, Y/N." She moves closer and pulls you into a loose hug. "You're so smart. You don't take anyone's shit. Even Barrett's." The beauty nuzzles closer before whispering, "Not to mention how good with your hands you are..."

It was like a volcano of steam bursts from your head as your face burns red. And despite the line, you can see Tifa blushing as well. There is a moment of intense tension before you both crack up laughing.

"Now I'm thinking things and I want this job to be done with," you mention as you step away, fanning yourself lightly. You look over and blink, seeing the pile of junk gone. "Oh, we're done."

Suddenly, you feel yourself being lifted off your feet. Scrambling a bit, your arms find their place around Tifa's shoulders. A laugh escapes and you kick your legs a little.

"Shall we go home, clean up and do...things?"

Your dark-haired love laughs as she begins walking.

"We have time before the bar opens. Let's hurry home."

Tifa picks up the pace and trots towards the sunset with you in her arms. Nothing could be better.

[wolftattoo]

when man and machine meld FORECFULLY . when a car loves you so much it rams you and yiu have metal stuck in your skin when a carboard baler crushes your arm and its teeth bite into your flesh .

[dykepuffs]

I bought a huge sack of baler jeans by the kilo from a rag shop today and I am discovering heinous things.

Women's jeans have been made of utter shit quality 90%-chewing-gum shit blends for at least 20 years.

The quality of men's jeans at the rag house, even after having been through the baler, are still higher than the quality of jeans that I wear to work.

The zip flies on Levis jeans do not wear out, I am picking out flies from 20 and 30 year old jeans and the metal zips all still work absolutely fine, at most they need a scutch of graphite, but no matter how worn the jeans the metal teeth and the fabric strip of the zip carrier is still rock solid. I wish there was some way to unpop the rivets and reuse the buttons because they too all look rock solid.

Full-cotton jeans can be repaired, and people do try to repair them before they rag them- Plenty of the pairs have home-done repairs, often multiple layers of them, often patched with pieces of other pairs of jeans. Even as little as 2% elastane ones can't be repaired at all and it's worthless to try, they just disintegrate (see my previous despair noise about women's jeans).

[wandererthreatening]

Speaking of Eurovision the UK deserved to flop this year. Last year we finally figured out how to make a single that represents our culture. By paying tribute to Elton John and David Bowie. It helps that Sam Ryder is the kind of genuine talent that you don't get much of in pop music anymore. In contrast Mae Muller had a bit of a Lilly Allen ish vibe to her but the song was bland and vaguely baleric sounding. What really let it down was her weak vocals which could barely be heard over the track. If we're going to flop with our entries we could at least do it in style and go the metal route like Germany. We invented Heavy Metal and its about time we represented that. The fact that we haven't already shows that the establishment continues to over look this legacy. Anyway I wanna see Don Broco on that stage next year.

[kelvinwatertech]

Choose the Right Hydraulic Baling Press Machine For Your Metal Recycling Business

One of the most vital pieces of equipment in the scrap processing sector is the hydraulic baling press. The global economy, which is lurching towards becoming more circular, is being shaped by the scrap metal recycling sector. Businesses are learning how to recycle outdated equipment by utilizing modern technology. However, most firms still aren't aware of how to recycle their metal waste in an economical way.

In steel mills, the metal processing industry, and even the smelting industry, a hydraulic baling press has several uses. Balers assist in compacting huge amounts of recyclable material for simpler storage and transportation. In the case of industries that recycle metal, a baler can be used to extrude different metal scraps into bales, minimizing the amount of storage space and transportation expenses needed to dispose of waste metal. By maximizing the value of each bale, they also enable higher commodity values. Balers are typically used to crush recyclables such as cardboard, paper, plastic, and metal.

Before selecting a hydraulic baling press for their business operations, every business owner should take into account the following factors:

The Amount of Raw Material to be Baled

The amount of material that needs to be processed should be the primary consideration for the business owner when choosing the type of baling machine to buy. Every company is unique, and each produces stuff in varying quantities that must be processed. Before making a choice to purchase equipment, it is crucial to analyze the needs of the company. Based on their size and capacity, hydraulic baling presses are available in a variety of sizes and are priced differently. A corporation should be certain of the volume of material it plans to regularly process and recycle before investing in the machine. Overpaying for capacity that the company doesn't produce is not a good idea.

The lifespan of the Equipment

Durability is crucial since a hydraulic baling press can be used continuously for many hours to maximize production. The business owner must evaluate the needs and compare them to the machine's lifespan before making a purchase. When making a purchase, it's crucial to take into account elements like the equipment's durability, a warranty on part replacement, and a maintenance routine for the machine. Knowing about these issues might help firms plan their work and budgets to account for the equipment downtime.

Raw Material to be Processed

One of the primary determinants of the type of hydraulic baling press to be purchased is the type of material that will be compressed. The type of business and the type of trash that is recycled or disposed of have an impact on the equipment that is best for the organization. The company can recycle in an environmentally responsible and economically viable way by selecting the appropriate recycling equipment.

Safe Operation of Equipment by Staff

Heavy machineries like balers, which have numerous moving parts and crushing rams, must be handled with extreme caution. Two key factors that a business intending to buy balers should look at before making the purchase are the safety features of the equipment and the availability of employee training. The company ought to place a high premium on the working conditions of the personnel using this equipment. Companies must invest in training to help protect employees since safe equipment handling is essential to reducing workplace accidents.

Benefits of Hydraulic Baling Press Machine:

Reduces the cost of garbage disposal.

Offers a simpler recycling procedure that can contribute to creating a hassle-free and hygienic working environment. helps to generate extra revenue from processed garbage.

Facilitates the transit or storage of items

A firm can make the best purchase by first studying and comprehending its equipment requirements and by considering the opinions and recommendations of other business owners. They can use these techniques to locate the ideal hydraulic baling press for the task.

Triple Action Baling Machine | Plastic Baler | Baling Pres Machine | Hydraulic Baler | Automatic Baler | Baling Machine MFR

[misty-missdee]

Weirdgirl™️ hand scar tour.

1. Baler wire cut. Didn’t think it was too bad, but never healed right so here we are.

2. Box cutter deep cut. That shit hurted. I forgot I changed my blade earlier that day and applied waaay more pressure than needed. Had a moment where I didn’t think I cut myself. That is until blood started to well up and out. Cut to the bone. No bandages in any of the work first aid kits nearby either 😊 hand wrapped in paper towel till the end of closing shift alone. It was cool.

3. Idk prolly something to do with punching stuff.

4. Definitely to do with punching stuff. Fractured knuckle. Never saw a Dr (American) and it healed with this weird bump. Knuckle extra hard for punching now at least. The benefits of being unable to express your emotions so you punch metal instead :]

5. Metal corner bashed a nerve in my hand. It looks small, but holy fuck that hurt. To this day dulled sense in the left pinkie.

Had many more that have mostly healed. Used to work real hard!

Right hand more or less unscathed. I need that one more.

[baler-machine]

Scrap Metal Baler is a heavy-duty baler for compressing steel, aluminum, etc. Offers high-density bales, durable build, and multiple modes.

[treesandwords]

Roy G. Biv tag game

Tagged by @somethingclevermahogony , I adore this concept!

Jamos Dalion had travelled a good deal in his youth, and the evidence was abundant in his private room. Books on the shelves were written in no language Jerod recognized, scrolls of parchment he had never seen the insides of piled along the tops of them. A small chest in the corner painted bright red with delicate gilt inlays came from Dalsa in the Latavni Empire, and a Baleric wood carving stood on another shelf high above. There were little copper lanterns and jewelled cases, clay pots and shards of a sharp black stone, a fish made of red glass...Jerod wondered if it was a kind of collection, akin to the one hidden in his own drawers. And of course, there was the map.

As it had been Nysel’s father – or what remained of his wealth – that gave shape to much of the celebration, things from her country, and from the Imperial lands her mother hailed from, were brought to Durrigan when the time was near. Much of it being food. Pomegranates and oranges and southern red quail, black plums and soft cheese and flat, spiced bread, barrels of a drink made from honeyed wine and the juice of lemons. Other things came from them too. A canopy of orange silk. The bride’s clothes.

He shook himself. Here he was, at home, under green and yellow silks in springtime. His brother was getting married. The air carried a scent of heather honey, and blue moths flickered at the lit torches. Right now, there was nothing to fear.

Time passed in great swaths. One of the old men began a hacking cough and Jerod felt the dust surrounding his own throat, the cracks in his lips, the blood drying on his face. Old memories swam to the surface of his mind; a piece of twisted old metal cool between his fingers, a black orb so dark he could see no light within it. A stub of wax candle and a bowl of blood cradled in rust-coloured leaves. A woman with a face like old parchment, cloaked in emerald green, a lantern in her hand.             And older ones. Green veins creeping up the length of a dead boy’s arm. How old had he been? The sleeve of his tunic had been slashed and jostled so that his wrist was visible, the old mark caked in blood and dirt. Were his veins green too, now?

Laedir was of a different sort, and did not look much like his father. Were he not who he was, he would not be half as intimidating. But his younger siblings found him so, because he was the eldest in the family and the heir to Durrigan, because at twenty four he already had a wife and young child of his own. He was not very tall. A dark blue travelling hood covered his hair, darker and curly like his mother, but his eyes were like Jamos’. They too gave little away. He had square hands and a square face of quiet, closed features. Often he did not smile.

Despite everything, he could not help noticing the warm touch of her arm, of the way the lantern light played across her cheeks. Violet night-shadows mingled with the gold radiance, shade and light together sharpening the lines of her nose, her jaw. Jerod had a brief but vivid image of himself sitting across from her and sketching the lines of her face with his charcoals, bringing those shapes to life on parchment.

Tagging: @kaatiba @writingmoth @on-noon

[rolcontechonologies]

Continuous baler manufactured by Rolcon Technologies are engineered to process metal scrap in a fully automated workflow, offering seamless feeding, baling, and ejection. Perfect for uniform metal scraps such as UBCs (Used Beverage Cans), CRC, car body scrap, white goods, and similar materials, these balers deliver exceptional performance and high-density bales.

[annaphoenix1994]

Ch.114 - Mending the Trust

Previous Chapter - Masterlist 1; Masterlist 2 - Next Chapter

Kiera confronts Simon about his lie.

Angered, Kiera returned to the ranch with that familiar, yet terrifying gleam in her eye. Sitting outside their home in the driveway, she then became more infuriated at the fact that nobody was there with Baler being at school, Simon being at work with the twins, and Eva being at her weekly brunch date with her friends. Ain't life just good? She scoffed to herself, putting the car in reverse before heading to the station to see Simon for herself after learning the information received from Laswell. How many secrets is my own husband keeping from me? 

Once parked at the police station, she scoffed to herself as she saw Simon's car sitting in the parking lot. Expecting the worst due to her past experiences, she expected him to be leant up against his own car with a younger and far more beautiful woman who had nothing tying her down... No kids, working a part-time job, and looking for a nice military man to take care of her needs. I bet he will by the time I'm done. Leaving her purse in the car, she walked into the station and through the metal detector before walking to the front desk. "Good afternoon, ma'am. Who are you here to see?" 

"Lieutenant Riley." 

The younger woman looked back towards his office that was the last door of the corridor. "Um... Did you have an appointment?" 

Kiera arched her brow and scoffed, "So his own wife needs an appointment to see him? Especially when he has our children?" 

"Oh- Ma'am, I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that he was in a meeting a half hour ago. I-I'll call him." 

She rolled her eyes out of impatience and proceeded to walk down the hallway, gently opening the door to see him sitting at his desk - fully dressed in his uniform and tactical vest set aside, his elbow on the desk while his other hand gripped the armrest of the chair while three other chairs sat across from him: two men and a woman. 

Slowly, Simon's eyes moved towards the door to acknowledge the unannounced visitor, aggravation in his eyes before he realized it was Kiera, his gaze softening at the sight of his wife, a brief smirk splaying on his face. 

"Then I figured we could-" The older man stopped mid-sentence. "Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Riley." 

She flashed a weak smile, "Where's my children?" 

Oh, fuck, she's going to be mad... Simon sighed to himself, immediately regretting his decision to leave the infants sleeping in the bassinets that were in the holding room across the hall - only doing so to keep them asleep during his meeting as they had been restless the entire morning without their mother. 

And to make matters worse, the only person that offered to watch them while in his meeting was the flattering 29-year-old corrections officer who offered to watch the babies during her lunch break. 

Of course, this was only the number of times Simon had ever seen her. He had no physical attraction towards her, but she certainly did. What woman wouldn't? A tall, handsome former military man who prioritized his children over anything thrown his way was definitely in every woman's fantasy one way or the other. 

"Across the hall, love. I finally got them to sleep before my meeting started." 

She nodded before exiting the room, knocking once on the door across the hall before she was greeted by the brunette holding her son comfortably in her arms. "Can I help you?" She asked sweetly. 

Kiera's heart sank into her chest as well as anger spiking through her mind. Who was this woman caring and nurturing her son? How many times had she done this already when Simon had brought the babies to work with him when Kiera would have a doctor's appointment or attend a work meeting? "Just checking on my children since they're not in their father's office with him." She scoffed. 

"O-Oh, I'm sorry. Simon never mentioned he had a wife..." 

"Is that right?" 

"I mean, it's never been brought up, but I assumed he did by suddenly coming back with a ring on his finger," She breathed a giggle. "They're sleeping so well. They were causing him trouble this morning." 

"Uh huh. How many times have you watched them while he's working in the office?" 

"Quite a few, I suppose. He'll have them for almost the whole day until he has a meeting, then he'll call me and ask if I can watch them for about an hour or so. It's not throughout his entire shift. He just doesn't want them to be bothered while he has his meetings because of the radios going off and the Chief talks really loud." 

Well, that's somewhat reassuring, I guess... 

Just as Kiera was going to reply, the door to Simon's office opened, revealing the three individuals that she had seen before, walking a single file line back down the corridor, except his Chief stayed behind for a few moments, "Well, Riley, I'll leave ya to it. Your wife looks like she's eager to speak with you," He teased with a warm smile and the same mustache her father had, immediately pinching her heart at the thought. "Now Kiera, please don't break anything! He's got a new lamp on his desk, and it was a lot of money!" He poked. 

"Oh, I don't plan on breaking anything." She forced a laugh before he softly shut the door behind him. 

Simon knew that look in her eye and as happy as he was to see her, he knew it wasn't going to be the warm welcome he was expecting. He watched as she took a seat in front of his desk, noting the familiar, yet scary gleam she had in her eye. Busted...

"How'd it go with Laswell?" He asked, watching her cross her legs and cupping her knee with her hands, the diamond on her left hand sparkling with the impaling sunlight beaming through the blinds. 

"Oh, you know, the usual," She replied sarcastically. She knows something. Especially when I feel like I'm the one being interrogated... Simon gulped to himself, forcing himself to keep his composure. "I just have one question for you, Lieutenant." 

Fucking hell, here it comes... "Hm?" 

"How long were you expecting to hide this from me?" 

"Hide what?" 

"Okay, here's another question: how stupid do you think I am?" She scoffed. 

He huffed, "I don't think you're stupid, love." 

"So how long did you think you were going to keep this secret of yours from me?" 

"What secret?" 

"Does September 21st of this year ring a fucking bell?" She scoffed, watching him break eye contact with her. "Oh, and on top of that, I found out Makarov is in some prison but still running a group of PMC's to invade Urzikstan-"

"Konni Group." He answered lowly.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you already fucking knew that," She scoffed. "Just like you knew Graves was still alive and teaming up with Alex and Farah in Urzikstan?" 

"Graves is alive?" He questioned, his tone holding no sense of surprise nor dread, Kiera instantly knowing that he had known all along and chose not to tell her. 

"I'm not here to play games," She scoffed, standing up to walk towards the door before Simon stood up to stop her, putting himself between the door and her to prevent her from leaving. "Move." 

"Love, stop," He sighed, gently holding her shoulders. "I'm not playing games with you-" He tried to reassure her with a soft tone to his voice. 

"Should've told me that before you started gaslighting me. But wait, you've had quite a track record with not telling me things that're important, haven't you? From reinstating your status in the S.A.S a month before our wedding, to not telling me Graves was alive after I was sure that fucker was dead when you were the one who said you didn't feel a pulse after the fact, and not telling me that you have some woman in the room across the hall with our children asking her to watch them when you're in your apparent meetings. I'm not doing this." 

"Kiera-"

"Move." She stated again, hating that she had to talk to her own husband this way just to get her point across. 

"Love, listen to me. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to worry. You already have so much to worry about and the last thing I wanted to do was add on to that when I could have it taken care of myself-"

"Oh, now you're sorry? You didn't think to come clean when you looked me dead in my eyes while we were on our fucking honeymoon stuffing our faces with cheesecake and popcorn in Las Vegas when I deliberately asked you if you'd go back and you told me that you wouldn't because you had 'priorities'?" 

He sighed, looking down at the floor after not being able to handle the pain in her eyes at the fact that he did lie to her, but he felt he was doing her a favor by keeping that worry out of her mind. "I'm sorry." 

"If you were sorry, you wouldn't have lied to me in the first place," She scoffed. "I've said what was on my mind. Now move. I'm getting my children and going home." 

"No, you didn't," He shook his head. "You didn't say what was on your mind." 

"Oh, so you want me to really hurt your feelings today if I were to say what was on my mind?" She arched her brow. 

"Yeah, I do. I can take it." 

"I'm not sure about that. By the time I'm done saying what's on my mind, you'll want a divorce and you'll hit up that pretty young brunette over there taking care of our children when you don't feel like watching them-"

"Stop," He warned, his voice heaving a threatening tone. "That'll never happen. I'm sorry I kept this from you, love. I did it because I didn't want to worry you even more, especially after all of the shite we've been through already-"

"So even then how would you have told me you reinstated your status, huh? When it was time for you to fucking deploy so you could use that time apart to your advantage and not have to worry about arguing about it when you got back?" 

"I was going to tell you, Kiera. It just wasn't the time to-"

"I bet Soap already told Teeter." 

"He hasn't." 

"Well, ain't that going to be fun? What's next? Are you going to tell me that you really didn't kill Shepherd and he's out galivanting with Graves in the middle east?" 

"I did kill him, Kiera," He spoke lowly. "I can promise you that." 

"You know, it's a damn shame I have to find out things like this from a former supervisor and not my own husband," She scoffed, shaking her head to fight back tears of what felt like betrayal. "You should've told me the truth when I asked you that night. I was looking for reassurance, Simon, and you still lied to me." 

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to ruin our honeymoon by telling you that-"

"So you left it to Laswell to call me when things are about to go to shit?" 

"No, I had no idea Laswell was going to even call you. We're not even expected to deploy. I just reinstated for good measure just in case." 

"You should fucking know that if it has to do with Makarov, there's no 'just in case.' You can mark my words that you will end up deploying. Especially when Price finds out that Konni is invading Urzikstan and Farah and Alex are on the frontline with Graves. What're you going to tell our kids when they're asking where their daddy is going, huh? What're you going to tell Baler - who looks up to you, by the way - that you're leaving for God only knows how long while, and just in case I need to remind you since you've had a hard time remembering lately, that we've been trying to have another baby. You'd rather risk leaving all of that behind for some fucker that's trying to invade a country that we don't even have anything to do with?-"

"He's trying to start another World War, Kiera, bloody fucking hell!" Simon retorted, aggravated at the fact that she was right but also felt like she was insulting his decision. "I'm doing it to protect you and our kids! Do you really want to be having to wake up every morning to the possibility of having to wear a gas mask before you even go outside because of radiation? Having to worry about your state being nuked? Have you even thought about that?" 

"I'm well aware," She rolled her eyes. "And what do you think is going to happen when our children have the risk of growing up without a father? Having to ask where their dad is while I'm possibly pregnant with our third?" 

"Kiera, with all due respect - it's not about you-" Oh, fuck. I didn't mean it like that! 

A harsh moment of silence fell between them, "I guess it's not." She frowned, moving around him to open the door to his office. 

"Where are you going?" 

"Home, Simon. I'm taking the kids with me." 

"No, I'll bring them home when I leave in an hour." 

She arched her brow with that same scary gaze, "Then I suggest you get them out of the hands of another woman and watch them like you promised me, or is that a hard thing to keep too?" 

[powerhydrotech]

Reputable Double Action Baler Machine Manufacturer in India

In today’s industrial landscape, efficient waste management and recycling solutions are critical for sustainability and operational efficiency. 

Among the various technologies available, double action baler machines have become essential for compressing and managing waste materials like paper, metal, plastics, and more.

These machines are known for their dual compression capabilities, which make them highly efficient and versatile in handling various materials.

For businesses in Ahmedabad and across India, finding a reputable double action baler machine manufacturer is key to ensuring high-quality, reliable, and cost-effective solutions.

This article explores the features, benefits, and applications of double action baler machines and highlights why businesses in Ahmedabad should consider investing in them.

Power Hydrotech is a trusted Double Action Baler Machine Manufacturer in India, offering efficient and durable baler machines for various industries. 

Our machines are designed for high performance, ensuring reliable waste management and recycling solutions. Choose Power Hydrotech for superior quality and innovative double-action baler machines tailored to meet your business needs.

What is a Double Action Baler Machine?

A double action baler machine is a specialized piece of equipment designed to compress waste materials in two directions – horizontally and vertically.

This dual compression ensures that the waste is compacted more efficiently, resulting in dense bales that are easier to handle, transport, and recycle. These machines are particularly beneficial for industries that deal with large volumes of waste or recyclable materials.

Key features of a double action baler machine include:

Dual Compression System: Provides maximum compaction for higher efficiency.

Robust Construction: Built with durable materials to handle heavy-duty operations.

Ease of Operation: User-friendly controls and minimal maintenance requirements.

Customizable Options: Available in various sizes and capacities to suit specific industry needs.

Benefits of Using Double Action Baler Machines

Enhanced Efficiency: The dual compression system ensures better compaction, reducing the volume of waste and making transportation and storage more efficient.

Cost Savings: By reducing the size of waste, businesses can save on transportation and storage costs.

Environmental Benefits: Promotes recycling and reduces the environmental footprint by managing waste effectively.

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Versatility: Suitable for various industries, including manufacturing, logistics, and recycling.

Industries That Benefit from Double Action Baler Machines

Double action baler machines are widely used across different sectors. Some of the industries that benefit the most include:

Recycling Plants: For compressing recyclable materials like metal, paper, and plastics.

Manufacturing Units: To manage industrial waste efficiently.

Warehousing and Logistics: For compacting packaging materials and other waste.

Automotive Industry: To handle scrap metals and other waste generated during production.

Why Ahmedabad is a Hub for Industrial Growth

Ahmedabad, a key city in Gujarat, is known for its industrial development and thriving business ecosystem. With a strong focus on manufacturing and infrastructure, the city has become a hub for various industries, including waste management and recycling.

The demand for efficient waste management solutions, such as double action baler machines, has grown significantly in Ahmedabad, making it an ideal location for businesses to invest in this technology.

Factors to Consider When Choosing a Double Action Baler Machine Manufacturer

Selecting the right manufacturer for your double action baler machine is crucial for ensuring quality, reliability, and after-sales support. Here are some key factors to consider:

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Double action baler machines are a game-changer for businesses aiming to optimize their waste management processes.

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If you’re in Ahmedabad and looking for a reputable double action baler machine manufacturer, consider reaching out to Power Hydrotech for high-quality and reliable solutions that meet your specific needs.

Take the first step towards efficient waste management and contribute to a greener future.

[global-research-report]

Powering Circular Economies: The Rise of Recycling Equipment

The global recycling equipment market size is expected to reach USD 40.69 billion by 2030, according to a new report by Grand View Research, Inc. The market is expected to expand at a CAGR of 5.4% from 2024 to 2030. Growing concerns pertaining to the depletion of non-renewable resources, along with the high production cost of primary materials such as metals and plastic is anticipated to augment the demand for recycling equipment.

The advent of modern technologies has been demonstrated to be effective, in terms of detecting different types of materials. The increasing necessity for scrap has forced scrap yards to set up technologically advanced recycling equipment. For instance, large recycling facilities have installed sensors to identify metals through infrared scanning and x-rays.

The increasing demand for recycled metals from the automotive, construction, electronics, and food and beverage industries on account of the product’s environment-friendly nature and ability to reduce the cost of production, energy consumption, and emissions, thereby boosting the demand for recycling equipment over the forecast period.

Increasing use of plastics coupled with poor end-of-life waste management has resulted in widespread plastic pollution. Plastic pollution has a severe impact on the environment as well as human health. Thus, the recycling of plastics is expected to play a crucial role over the coming years, resulting high demand for recycling equipment to produce recycled plastics.

The recycling equipment market is fragmented with key manufacturers striving for market leadership. Key players are expected to concentrate on forward integration to increase their profits and expand their regional presence. Manufacturers are anticipated to collaborate with engineering solution providers to offer high-quality product solutions at reasonable prices.

Recycling Equipment Market Report Highlights

The baler press equipment segment is likely to dominate the market in 2023, as it is used for compressing various recycling materials such as cardboard, paper, plastic, aluminum, and non-ferrous metals into dense bundles known as bales

The plastic segment is estimated to witness a CAGR of 6.1% over the forecast period owing to the rising use of plastics coupled with poor end-of-life waste management has resulted in plastic pollution due to which demand for recycled plastic is increasing

Asia Pacific accounted for 39.9% of the global revenue share in 2023, owing to the increased industrial construction and infrastructure activities in emerging nations such as India, China, Vietnam, and Thailand

The recycling equipment demand in India is expected to witness a CAGR of 6.3% from 2024 to 2030, owing to the new regulations and initiatives by the government of India regarding recycling waste

Strategies adopted by companies in the recycling equipment market usually include expansion of product portfolio and distribution network, new product development, and technological advancements

Recycling Equipment Market Segmentation

Grand View Research has segmented the global recycling equipment market on the basis of equipment, processed material, and region:

Recycling Equipment Outlook (Revenue, USD Million, 2018 - 2030)

Baler Press

Shredders

Granulators

Agglomerators

Shears

Separators

Extruders

Others

Recycling Equipment Processed Material Outlook (Revenue, USD Million, 2018 - 2030)

Metal

Plastic

Construction Waste

Paper

Rubber

Others

Recycling Equipment Regional Outlook (Revenue, USD Million, 2018 - 2030)

North America

US

Canada

Mexico

Europe

Germany

France

UK

Spain

Italy

Asia Pacific

China

India

Japan

Central & South America

Brazil

Argentina

Middle East & Africa

Saudi Arabia

UAE

Order a free sample PDF of the Recycling Equipment Market Intelligence Study, published by Grand View Research.

[tempi-dispari]

New Post has been published on https://www.tempi-dispari.it/2024/12/10/monsters-of-rock-2025-e-davvero-necessario/

Monsters of rock 2025: è davvero necessario?

Scorpions, Judas Priest, Europe, Opeth, Queensrÿche, Stratovarius, Savatage. Questo il bill per l’edizione 2025 del Monsters of rock che si terrà in Brasile il prossimo 19 aprile. Lo spazio dove si svolgerà il concerto ha la capacità di 55mila persone. Parliamone. Quando ho letto il manifesto la prima cosa che mi è venuta in mente è stata: gli organizzatori sono alla frutta.

Ma come, nessun nome che abbia una carriera con meno di 30 anni di età? Come è possibile? Secondo chi ha predisposto l’evento tra le band mainstream attuali non c’è nessuno che abbia un’importanza tale da essere invitata a partecipare? Soprattutto il quesito è stato: perché? Per quale motivo programmare un evento con questi nomi. A chi giova? Ai nostalgici? Alle nuove generazioni? Anche se fosse una mera mossa commerciale, sono così sicuri che funzionerà? Hanno la certezza assoluta di riuscire a raccogliere 55mila persone? Le risposte a queste domande non sono positive.

È un concerto che non fa bene a nessuno. In primo luogo alle stesse band. Saliranno sul palco persone con una media di 65 anni a testa. Che tipologia di spettacolo potranno mai offrire? Chi ha comprato il biglietto a cosa prenderà parte? Alla ricreazione del reparto geriatrico dell’ospizio del metal? Certo, sono nomi storici, tuttavia hanno anche un’età per cui potrebbero, o, meglio, dovrebbero anche smettere. Non foss’altro che per salvaguardare ciò che di buono hanno fatto nella loro carriera. Onestamente andare a vedere gruppi di quasi settantenni che cercano di sembrare giovani è uno spettacolo a dir poco patetico. Addirittura i Savatage torneranno in attività pur di prendere parte al concerto.

Ma perché? Con tutta la nuovo musica che c’è, c’era davvero bisogno di concerto di soli dinosauri? Nessun giovane andrà mai a vedere suo nonno che suona metal. E anche per i nostalgici, quale patetico spettacolo si prospetta? Tanto si prendono in giro i nomi storici della musica italiana quanto vengono accettate reunion di tal fatta. Non è la stessa cosa? Vedere suonare i Cugini di campagna non è la stessa cosa che vedere suonare i Judas? A ben vedere il combo di Alford si è formato anche prima della band italiana. Eppure i Cugini di campagna li vediamo nelle balere, mentre la band inglese dovrebbe suonare davanti a 55mila persone. Qual è l’ultimo disco buono di tutti i gruppi in cartellone?

Soprattutto, le persone cosa vorranno ascoltare, le ultime produzioni o i brani storici? Forse sarebbe stato meglio programmare una giornata meglio articolata che inframezzasse band più recenti a vecchie cariatidi. Anche se non credo sarebbe cambiato molto. Ripeto, vedere sul palco personaggio della stessa dei miei genitori, se non di mio nonno, non credo sia uno spettacolo con grande appeal. Soprattutto se i gruppi sono anni che non incidono nulla di nuovo. E da qui si torna alla domanda originale: perché? Che scopo ha tutto ciò? Forse il fatto di aver organizzato in Brasile e non in Europa o negli Stati Uniti è una scelta ben precisa. Probabilmente nello stato sudamericano poche volte hanno avuto la possibilità di vedere dal vivo quei nomi. Eppure non si scappa dal dubbio.

Perché presentarglieli ora, alla fine della loro carriera? Il canto del cigno? Probabilmente gli organizzatori sanno perfettamente che se dovessero proporre lo stesso concerto altrove non avrebbero certo lo stesso riscontro. Se lo avessero fatto in Italia credo che lo spazio riservato all’evento sarebbe potuto essere al massimo un palazzetto, non certo uno stadio. Nomi più blasonati e meglio in arnese sono passati su suolo italico esibendosi in posti piccoli. Tuttavia la domanda torna.

Perché? Non me ne capacito. È come rimettere un ciclista di settantanni sulla bici, agghindato di tutto punto, nella speranza che possa ripetere i tempi di quando era giovane, di quando ha fatto la storia. È impossibile. Diventerebbe uno spettacolo orribile, patetico, ripugnante. Eppure, a quanto pare, c’è chi è disposto ad assistere ad uno scempio simile. Da più parti si sono letti commenti entusiastici. Ma come si fa? Come si fa ad essere felici per una cosa del genere?

Sono gruppi che non devono dimostrare nulla a nessuno. Ormai quello che dovevano dire lo hanno detto. Soprattutto, non fanno più parte del mondo musicale attuale. Senza dimenticare che sono anni, per non dire decenni, che ripetono, musicalmente, sempre le stesse cose. Ora, organizzare un evento del genere sarà costato soldi, parecchi soldi. Credo il cachet di queste band non sia proprio a buon mercato. Non sarebbe stato meglio investire quei soldi in una manifestazione con un senso? Forse con lo stesso investimento si sarebbe potuto organizzare un festival anche di più giorni, con molte più band, maggio gettito di pubblico e anche un rientro più sicuro delle spese. Tuttavia il quesito che più attanaglia è: come si fa ad accogliere in maniera entusiastica un evento del genere?